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phykios · 3 years

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

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

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

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

Percy might hate college.

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

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

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

“How bad is it?”

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

“Ouch.”

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

Her mouth twists in sympathy. “Sucks.”

“Yep.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds good.”

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

Percy slams the computer shut.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Percy chuckles, uneasy.

Several seconds pass.

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

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t get much better.

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

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

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

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

“Uh… sure. I’d love to.”

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

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

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

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

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

Percy nods. Amphibious? “Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

“Where were they sailing through?” Percy asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He coughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t forget--”

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

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

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

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

“I think you should consider majoring in history.”

Percy’s head snaps up. “History?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

“Because… it's too easy?”

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

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

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

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

By morning, he has a response.

Sounds good! Looking forward to it.

***

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

“Hey mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

“An A!”

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

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

“Thanks, mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why can’t he stop smiling? “Thanks.”

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

“It does.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

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

Maybe college won’t be so bad after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal.”

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

He sighs. “You guys are idiots.”

“Frank!”

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

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

It’s… not what he expected.

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

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

And, well. Percy can handle the sea.

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

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

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

Thirty minutes later, he is well and truly wasted.

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

She snorts, grinning at him. “Thanks.”

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

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

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

“You did.”

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

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

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

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

“Gross.”

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

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

“Greek Fire bombs. Five.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he hisses, glaring.

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

“The what?”

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

“That doesn’t help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Some mistakes may have been made.

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

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

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

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

Nico gaped, staring. "What."

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

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

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

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

"It was your idea!"

"I don't have good ideas."

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

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

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

“Seriously?”

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

Freak. Percy would die for the kid.

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

“You’re so weird.”

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

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

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

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

“Shh!” Nico hisses.

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

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

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

That mouth opens, soundlessly, jaw working on nothing.

“Speak.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico’s eyes widen.

Percy stares. “What.”

“I didn’t stop the ritual.”

His stomach goes cold.

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

Percy can’t speak, mouth dry.

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

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

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

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

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

“Annabeth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the best compliment he had gotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “Very interesting.”

Percy stares. Can this guy say anything else?

“This is very well done, young man.”

Oh. “Thank you,” he says.

“Who are you working with?”

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

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

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

“I’m sorry?”

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

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

“Who was that?” Annabeth asks.

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

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

Five hundred?! “Fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His mouth goes dry. “Um…”

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

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

Annabeth, behind him, coughs.

“S-sure. No problem.”

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

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

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

Percy relaxes. He’s got this.

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

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

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

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

And they certainly seem impressed with his talk so far.

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

Well, most of them, anyway.

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

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

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

“And how big were these models?”

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

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

Percy freezes. “Uh.”

Oh, shit.

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

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

In the corner of his eye, Annabeth facepalms.

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

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

Annabeth adds a second hand to her facepalm.

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

“At my… summer camp…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surprising, but definitely not unwelcome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Percy straightens his back. Peace?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“The ones in the British Museum.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smiles, waving her little fists.

Gods he loves this little monster.

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

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

The baby says nothing.

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

Junie blinks at him.

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

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

Percy sighs. Dammit.

Time for a new project, he guesses.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He might be in over his head a little.

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stops.

He squints at one of his doodles.

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

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

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

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

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

No response.

Percy approaches the table.

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

Percy picks up the book, squinting.

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

He looks at his napkin drawing. Blurry and smudged.

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

Blurry and smudged.

Percy stares.

It… can’t be that simple, can it?

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

And he closes his computer.

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

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

“Daw-fins, daddy,” she says, smiling.

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

***

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

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

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

“Update in the Parthenon marbles thing.”

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

He shows her his phone.

Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Damn.”

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

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

He starts. “What did you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annabeth takes her without a second glance.

Then she does take a second glance.

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

Annabeth gapes.

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

Annabeth just stares. Junie babbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Percy nearly drops the bottle. “No shit?”

“Big dude, long mustache, writes poetry?”

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

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

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

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

“No, why do you ask?”

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

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

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

“Can do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Peas,” Junie says.

“Oh, you want peas instead?”

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

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

“Chip off the old block,” Annabeth says.

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

“I’m doing my best here, okay?”

***

Hardrada is… not what he expected.

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

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

“And what about Lover?”

“What about Lover?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gets no response.

Percy looks up, confused. “Annabeth?”

“In the bathroom,” he hears, faintly.

“Everything okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That gets his attention.

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

“Is that…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

Her smile falls. “Are you mad?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Jackson,” she corrects.

“Huh?”

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

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

“Then let’s make it happen.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Psst.”

Jamie looks up.

There’s a four year old staring at her.

“Hi,” Jamie says.

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

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

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

“Bello,” says Junie.

Jamie blinks. “Sorry?”

“Legistne carmen longum de bello Troiano.”

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

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

Junie beams at her.

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

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

Jamie points to the one after that.

“Rex qui pontem fecit erat Ancus Martius.”

“Awesome.”

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

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

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

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

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

She really should have just stuck with German instead.

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

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if-found-return-to-sender · 3 years

Text

Telling the Truth- George Weasley

The truth is sometimes hard.

Sometimes it’s something that we wish we could forget but we will remember for the rest of our lives.

This was that time where I wish I could forget.

Where I wish I could go back in time and change what happened to save the broken hearts of my family.

But I can’t.

Fred Weasley is gone.

It’s been ten years, and our family has never recovered from the brother and son we loved so dearly.

To me, he was one of the loves of my life.

Yes, just one of them. You say that a lot when you fall in love with a set of twins.

The Weasley Twins.

The infamous mischievous pranksters pulled me into their trap when we were in our sixth year at Hogwarts. Originally only dated George but had the hots for both of them.

Eventually, they brought up the idea of being in a polyamorous relationship.

I was shocked but agreed with the fact I didn’t have to keep it a secret that I had a crush on both of the boys. And I loved both of them equally.

Most times were filled with laughter and joy.

With the few arguments and fights in between those memorable moments.

Just like any other relationship.

And just like any other relationship it ended and the three of us became just the two of us.

Me and George.

Nobody took the death of Fred as bad as George and I did.

Everyone else lost a friend, a brother, or a son.

George and I lost our soulmate.

A part of us we had to learn to let go.

A part of us we would have to teach and show to our little ones.

Regretting the fact that Fred never would get to have any of his own to raise with us.

Something George and I were dreading to have to do one day.

A day we were not ready for until we were asked by the small faces of our twin girls. (Apparently, twins run heavily in the family bloodline.)

The twins have just turned nine. Their birthday is on May 31st, just a day away from their father’s and uncle’s.

They have both grown into a perfect mix of George and myself that it’s unsure to say who they actually look like.

The first to be born out of the twins is Minevera Rose. She has grown into her brown hair that has always been long and the big green eyes she was born with. Her nickname is Minnie

Born just ten minutes later is the second out of the twins Marlene Andromeda. It was a surprise to see all the red hair she had on her head when she was born, to go along with the brown eyes given to her by her father. Her nickname is Lena.

We knew we were going to have to do this sooner or later.

But later sounds like the better option out of the two of them.

“Mum, When can we know who is in that photo with Dad?” the little redhead asked me.

I looked over at George with fright on my face. Wishing to just ignore the topic completely. When it came to moving on from his death, neither George nor myself have. Although we’ve both come to terms with it, it is still something that none of the Weasley like to talk about.

Because it makes us think about the dreaded day that we lost him.

I was holding him.

The last thing he did was kiss me while holding his brother’s hand.

“Come on love don’t you think it’s time. They are just two years away from going to Hogwarts and are going to find out there if we never tell them,” George says to me while releasing a sigh.

I didn’t want to.

But he was right.

When they got to Hogwarts like their older cousins they would find the portrait on the wall with his name plastered on the frame. As one of the greats that sacrificed his life to win a war.

“Alright but I’m not promising I’m not going to cry,” I say back to him.

He nods at me as to say he’s not either.

“Before I tell you why don’t you go get your other siblings.”

The twins ran up the stairs bumping into each other as they went up. They came back just a short time after with their brothers and sister.

Frederick Gideon II: our first son, born just a year after the twins. Named after his uncle, a mirrored image of his father freckles and all. Nickname: Freddie.

Arthur Harold: second son, born two years after Freddie. Named after his grandfather and uncle. He has brown hair with matching brown eyes, looking identical to me. Nickname Artie.

Theodora Ginevra: youngest child and daughter, born a year after Artie. Only her middle name comes from someone else her aunt Ginny. She has auburn hair with green eyes, a perfect mix between George and I. Nickname: Theo.

Five beautiful children over the ten years of our marriage.

The youngest is just five years old. She was a surprise, to say the least, but we love her just the same.

“Are you ready to learn about your uncle Fred?” George asks.

I see Freddie’s face light up with excitement at the name. Making me smile.

“You mean like my name,” the freckled boy asked?

“Yes exactly like your name. You are named after him,” I tell him.

He smiles at me after my response.

“When I was born I had a twin and he was born just a little bit before I was,” George starts.

“Just like us,” Lena says while looking at Minnie.

“Just like you two. He and I grew up and did everything together. We pulled pranks, learned magic together. Along the way, while we were at Hogwarts we met your mother. Then the three of us became good friends, and then I started dating your mom and we were like three peas in a pod. But then came the battle of Hogwarts. It was good vs. evil. The three of us were fighting for good, and it came at a cost. After what we thought was the end of the battle your mother and I walked into the Great Hall that was being used as a makeshift infirmary and we saw your uncle Fred laying in one of the cots. He wasn’t doing the greatest. He had been pinned under a wall after being hit with an explosion. We didn’t know how much time we had left with him but we knew it wasn’t long,” his expression becomes sad,” So your mother and I stayed by his side until the very end. It was only a couple more minutes before he was gone, and we had lost your uncle. That day we all lost a part of us that we weren’t going to get back.”

At this point, the tears had started to roll down both of our faces remembering our last moments with the man we loved.

“Where did he go?” Theo asked us.

“He went where all the great wizards go. Which is a place we will never know until we get the chance to go there,” I chimed in for him while wiping away the tears.

“Mum, did you love our uncle like you love our dad?” Minnie asked.

“Yes, yes I did. I didn’t think it was possible to have two soulmates, but after dating your father for a while I realized I loved both of them the same. Realizing that I had two people to love for the rest of my life. And that they would love me for the rest of theirs. For Fred, it was for three years that he got to love me. Your father will love me for the rest of his life no matter how long he has,” I said to them,” love is confusing, and you can never really figure it out. You learn as you go.”

“Mum is it possible for me to have more than one soulmate?” Freddie asks.

“Maybe, you’ll never know until you find them,” I answer.

“I can’t wait to find mine,” says Minnie.

“Me either,” Lena says to her.

“I’ll tell you this though. You’ll never be expecting it when you find them,” I tell them. The response I receive from them is the nods of their little heads.

They then start to talk to each other about when they think they’ll meet their soulmate.

I take the moment to look up at George.

He has a happy but sad smile on his face while looking at me.

I get up and walk to the kitchen, with a smile, to get a moment away from the little chatter coming from my little ones. I begin to make myself a cup of coffee.

I hear footsteps approach me.

I know it’s George.

He puts his arms around me and places a kiss on my head.

“You know he would be the best uncle and father if he was still here,” George whispers to me.

I turn around to face him.

“I know. I also know he’s never left. He’s always been here, he left pieces of himself in each of us. And we’ve made them even tinier pieces with those tiny humans in the other room,” I say back to him.

“I wonder what they’ll think of the new Gryffindor ghost once they get to Hogwarts,” George says to me.

“Oh I have a few ideas,” I giggle back to him.

#george weasley #george weasly x reader #george weasley imgine #fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #Harry Potter Characters #harry potter imagine #george weasley dad #harry potter #fanfiction #imagines #Gryffindor #hogwarts

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queenmuzz · 5 years

Text

Deep Blue Sea; Chapter II: Steel Grey

A bit of a wordy chapter today. The full story is also available on Ao3 for easier reading

******

You attempted not to look too eager as you walked up the stairs to the stage as your name was called, to receive your diploma. Ten years of hard work, sleepless nights, typing up essays, studying, and research had finally paid off to reward you with your ultimate reward: a PhD in Marine Biology. Of course, you knew you had it easier than most, bankrolled by your wealthy father, you never needed to worry about going hungry and studying, or risking a fail mark in order to deliver pizzas or something.

But you couldn't help but feel proud, you'd finally done it! You'd been wanting to study Marine Biology since you were a little girl, especially when you found out that there were creatures that lived even in pitch darkness on the ocean floor. What amazing discoveries must be waiting for you down there! Of course, you were realistic in that you'd probably never be able be the crew member of ALVIN, or any of the other deep-sea-submersibles, but your assistance would be invaluable to understanding the farthest edges of earthly exploration.

You paused for a moment while the Dean handed you the parchment, and you stared out at the the crowd. The lights shining down on the stage made the audience completely invisible, but the flash of camera lights from a certain section was a good indication where your family and loved ones were. You posed and smiled for their cameras for a few moments, before getting off the stage, terrified you were going to trip on your long flowing robe. So you sat down and politely clapped as each of your fellow graduates had their moment in the spotlight.

After the ceremony, it didn't take long for you to find your guests sitting right where you guessed they were. Your parents, as per usual, were sitting as far as part as possible, but had remained civil to each other, so that was good. Between them sat Sarah, your best friend, and... Frederick, looking as dapper as always, yet nervous as hell. You'd met via your dad's business connections, he was the son of a wealthy fish processing company that your father did regular business with. You always sensed that both your and his parents were gently nudging you to be with each other. Fredrick (never Fred, always the full name) always seemed to be invited to gatherings that your mother or father arranged, and vice versa with his parents and you. So, eventually... you both started dating, much to the delight of everyone. He was pleasant enough, always a gentleman, but there was something missing...

“I'm so happy!” Your mother placed her hands on both of your cheeks and squeezed to an almost uncomfortable degree. “You've done it!”

“Now, now Carolyn, let the girl breathe, she's had a busy day today.” and your father pushed her aside (earning a slight scowl from his ex-wife) before enveloping you in a big hug. “You've made me a very proud father today. I know I can expect great things from you.” He pulled away and joked, “Now, you can work on that Bachelor's degree in Business.”

“Charles!”

“It was a joke, Carolyn”

“OHMYGAAWD! THIS IS AWESOME! Now you can tell people to address you as 'Doctor'!” Sarah screeched as she nearly bowled you over.

“Yes, because I spent a decade of my life just so I could get 'Dr.' on all my stationary,” you remarked dryly.

“Oh yeah, we better get on that. You could design a whole new template!” she replied, completely oblivious to your sarcasm. You loved her to bits, but sometimes... you wondered about her.

Fredrick pulled you away from her into a polite embrace and a chaste kiss. “I'm so happy for you, my dear. You've finally achieved your dream” his smile was sincere and you couldn't help yourself from pulling him closer to you. Having him near you made the rest of the bustle of the world dim slightly.

But of course, things like this could never last, as your father's voice intruded..

“As much as I'd like to stay here and celebrate, I've made reservations at Figaroni's in an hour. We should be able to beat the traffic and get there in time.” Semi-reluctantly, you separated from your boyfriend, and the five of you made your way out of the auditorium past the multitude of families of every shape and size, each celebrating the achievements of their loved ones.

*****

“Ever since I've known you, you've always been in love with with mermaids” Sarah said, standing up and regaling the table with an embarrassing tale disguised as a toast. This had to be her third drink, if the fact that the champagne sloshed a bit from side to side indicated anything. “Brittany was known as 'horse girl', Jessica was known as the 'Ballet girl',” and you,” she grinned, “you got the name of 'Mermaid girl' once Timothy got a hold of your note book, filled to the brim with mermaid drawings.”

She wasn't wrong, you'd had a lifelong fascination of anything mer-related since your childhood. Mermaid figurines, mermaid dolls, mermaid movies were things you were obsessed about Of course, everyone thought it was one of your endearing quirks. But no one knew the real cause of your fascination with them....and to be truthful, you weren't sure you were, either.

“That's not a bad thing!” she clarified “Because of that obsession, you've pushed yourself to greater, and greater heights, and now...” she dabbed her eyes with the linen napkin as she sniffled “I'm so happy I got to see your entire journey. A toast to your future, and I hope it will be 'fin-filling'!”

Polite 'Hear Hear's', and the clinking of glasses followed, and you took a tiny sip of the bubbly drink. In truth, you were ready to go home. Usually you preferred the solitude, only shared by close friends and family, and only for a limited amount of time. But this was an exception, and you would deal with it, just for tonight as you smiled politely at your guests. Your mother and father had been on their best behaviour, even if they were sitting on the opposite sides of the table, separated by Fredrick's parents. You weren't quite sure why they had been invited, but they had been polite guests, and provided the social lubricant to keep the friction down between your parents.

Fredrick's father slapped his son's back, “It's your turn, my boy.” he said with a sparkle in his eyes. Hesitatingly, Fredrick got up, and licked his lips “So, uh...I met you back at one of your mother's charity fundraising dinners, to be fair...I don't even remember what it was about. It really wasn't that important in hindsight it seems. But what I do remember was the moment I met you, and that gorgeous blue dress you wore. And how you were able to discuss topics about practically everything. When you said yes when I first asked you out, I thought I was the luckiest man in the world.... but..uh.. I think I was wrong...”

Your throat closed, and your eyes grew to the size of teacups as he got down on one knee. You could hear the sound of cell phone cameras being whipped out and pictures being snapped. Even the surrounding tables quieted down to observe you. You were beginning to understand why your father hadn't booked a private room, like he usually did for dinners out. He wanted the spectacle.

Fredrick pulled out a black velvet box and it opened it, revealing an obscenely large jewelled ring. You could barely see the gold underneath the beautiful assortment of light pink diamonds.

“Will you now...” he said, “make me the luckiest man in the world?”

You stared, your tongue caught in your throat. You felt the eyes of the table, the restaurant, the world on you...and you knew how you should should answer, but did you really commit to this man for the rest of your life?

The air was pressing down on you as you struggled to answer. Any longer and it would get intolerably uncomfortable

“I... yes... of course... I'd .. love to...!”

And with that, the entire place burst out into cheers, and Fredrick pulled you into a passionate kiss. This was supposed to be the happiest time of your life so far....

So why did it feel so wrong?

*****

By the end of the meal, you were frankly exhausted, and you were happy that your father offered to drive you home, alone After saying farewells to your mother, friend, fiance and future in-laws, you made your way to your dad's car.

You were less than pleased to see a well dressed, yet unsavoury looking individual standing by the car door. Your father seemed more than delighted to see the man.

“Ah, Doctor, apologies for making you wait so long, it's been quite an eventful day.”

“None needed,” he smiled, a bit too widely for your comfort. He turned “By the way, congratulations on your impending nuptials” Did everyone know about your engagement before you did?

You politely shook his hand, as your dad made the introductions. “Sweetheart, this is Dr. Griffon, a marine biologist I've been doing business with. He's been highly helpful with the surprise I've been planning for you.”

Your eyebrows raised questioningly, you had known your father had been renovating (with your permission) your house the past few months as an upcoming present for your graduation, but why did he need the help of someone such as this doctor?

“You'll see very soon, and I think you'll love it..” your father murmured as he held the door open for you.

You all got into the black Mercedes-Benz E-class (your father had just recently purchased yet another one... the man loved buying luxury cars like you love mermaid themed stuff), with you in the front passenger seat, and the Doctor sat in the back.

As you drove off, your guest attempted to make some small talk with you, “So, what are you specializing in, my dear?” “I'm planning to study deep sea life, there's so much we don't know about down there,” you responded politely.

His hands clapped together in glee, “Oh good, a fellow lover of the quest for the unknown! You'll have a banquet laid out for you”

“And you, Dr. Griffon, what's your area of focus?” you asked, truthfully intrigued. The Marine Biology community, even worldwide, was rather small, and it amazed you that you'd never heard of this man. Hopefully your father wasn't being swindled about a con artist.

“Ah, I'm in a rather niche area of study, focused mainly on what the general population terms as 'Cryptos'. For example, creatures such as the Loch Ness monster, although I prefer the ocean based versions, as opposed to freshwater.” He looked at your obviously doubtful face, and smiled. “Ah, I've seen that look a thousand times, but trust me, you'll understand soon.” You wanted to ask more questions, but you resigned yourself to relaxing into the leather seats.

“I'm so proud of you today, sweetheart” your father spoke after a few minutes of silence. “Well, I've been wanting to do graduate into this field for so long, it feels like the end of a journey, and the start of new one...”

“Oh yes, that.. of course, getting your degree is wonderful and all, but I was talking about your engagement. Fredrick's a good match for you, and together I know you'll be able take over the business when I retire. In fact,” he said as he pulled onto the private driveway that led to the family estate.” I was thinking you could spend the next year just relaxing, no pressure. All you would need to do is focus learning the ropes on how to run the business, and...of course, preparing for the wedding. That's going to take a lot of work on your own, even with your mother constantly butting in.” “Ah...I don't know, I was really hoping to start work, there's a lot of offers I have to sift through, and there's a research vessel of the coast of Puerto Rico I was hoping to join...”

“Sweetheart,” your father interrupted, as he pulled into your driveway. “I understand you're eager to put all your knowledge to good use, but you deserve a break, especially with all the upcoming excitement. Look, I'll pay for all your living expenses for the year, and after that,” he turned off the ignition, “You'll be able to focus on your profession, all refreshed”.

You sat there for a second, thinking of his offer, it was very generous, but... you had really wanted to start the journey about studying the newest discoveries on the sea floor... but your father's business, the thing he had carefully crafted to give to you...” “Alright,” acquiesced, and your father grinned as he ruffled your hair.

“Excellent, you've made your old man proud... now... for that surprise. I need you to close your eyes....”

You felt him lead you gently up the steps, heard him jangle the keys, and as you struggled to take off your high heels, (so thankful you didn't have to wear them for a while, your feet were killing you), he gripped your hands as he led you down the living room... “Alright, open your eyes.” and the sight that unfolded you took your breath away.

Replacing so much of your admittedly massive living room was an aquarium. No, an aquarium was an understatement. You'd have mistaken it for an Olympic sized swimming pool, if it weren't for the fact that there was glass panels allowing a full view of the water, as well as an assortment of fish, rocks, and coral. A miniature ocean habitat. You pressed yourself against the glass, your eyes darting this way and that.

“This...this is wonderful! Thank you so much, dad!” you embraced your father.

“Ah...” the Doctor butted in “All of this pales in contrast to the main attraction...although it doesn't seem to be friendly right now...” his eyes surveyed the scene, before his eyes lit up and he pointed to a craggy rock. “There it is... watching us from behind the rock.”

Your eyes followed his finger to the said mentioned rock, and your breath momentarily stopped. There, glaring at the three of you was a pair of piercing grey eyes... a human torso, connected to a dull grey fish tail....a real live merman.

“Is that...” you struggled to form a coherent sentence.

“It is indeed, one of the few ever documented, let alone captured alive, you are a very lucky woman” the Doctor crossed his arms, obviously proud of his achievement. “Your father's help in acquiring it will have my undying gratitude.”

“I'm just glad it's no longer a threat to my ships.” your father grumbled “nearly a dozen of the company's vessels damaged by it, and one sunk...” he paused and looked at the Doctor, very seriously. “You are certain it won't be a threat to my girl? It was extremely hostile to everyone so far”

“I assure you” Dr. Griffon smiled, “I've spent decades researching these creatures, I know how they can be controlled. It won't lay a finger on your daughter, if it knows what it's good for it.”

“Does he have a name?” you interjected, feeling uncomfortable at how this conversation was going.

“I've been calling it 'Angelo' as it is a rather ethereal creature... although in hindsight, Diablos would have been a better name. Until it was restrained, it was a fiendish creature...”

“He hasn't told you his name?” you asked, perplexed.

“My dear,” the Doctor said patronizingly, “It doesn't speak, they don't have the intelligence to, besides,” his hand tapped the thick glass. “Even if it could, you'd never be able to understand it. I do believe that they have some rudimentary form of communication, perhaps via colour change. When it was first captured, it's scales were a bright blue. Unfortunately, it seems to have gone a sickly off white, which I can't understand... his vitals are within normal range”

He can talk, I know he can! You wanted to scream back at them, but you bit your tongue, preferring to remain polite and silent.

It didn't take a Marine Biologist to see that he was in some sort of emotional distress. The defensive posture, the way he attempted to hide, and the hate in his eyes. The hatred blazed out at your father, the Doctor, and even you. It was obvious to you, but neither of elder men seemed to notice anything. They saw 'it' as merely yet another fish, albeit an extremely rare one, one without any emotions, just the will to survive. As your father discussed... something, you kept your eyes locked on him. Had he been a human, going by his torso, he'd probably push six feet, but with the long flowing tail, he almost reached seven and a half. And despite your disdain for the doctor, he was correct, he looked healthy, although the bags under his eyes might mean he'd been sleep deprived. Not that you could blame him. What emotional turmoil had he been going through, for ...how long? You'd heard rumours of an inordinate amount mechanical failures of the ships for the past few months, but you didn't recall when they stopped, so focused on putting the finishing touches on your thesis. To be treated like an animal for any length of time would be torture...this 'gift' seemed worse and worse the more you thought about it. And his eyes, they glared at you, but now they were tempered a little bit with... fear? The mere thought he might fear you made you sick to you stomach.

“Sweetheart, are you listening?” your father asked, oblivious to your emotions. “Dr. Griffon is giving you important information on how to take care of it.”

“Now now,” the slimy old man smiled “I can't say I blame her for being fascinated with it, she's the only person in the world to possess one. If I only had the resources.... but your father has assured me that I will be able to take examinations of it on it's monthly check-ups. For it's health, of course... we wouldn't want such a marvelous specimen to sicken and die. Now, if you both would be so kind and follow me, I've got a notebook full of information to help you take care of it, as well as when the filters need to be changed....”

******

You approached the aquarium glass again, alone at last. It was almost midnight, and both the men had finally left, leaving you with an enormous book of notes that reminded you of being a freshmen in university again.... You'd perused only the basics, feeding and water temperatures, you would focus on the specifics later on.

He hadn't moved an inch since you'd left him, still glaring at you. Although, you noticed the fear was gone... that was good, you'd rather him hate you than fear you.

“Hello,” you cautiously said, introducing your name, and his pale eyebrows moved minutely... so he could at least hear you, that was a good sign.

“I don't believe them at all, I know you're not stupid, you're able to understand what I'm saying, and even talk....” you paused, this was a delicate time, you couldn't push him too much, “I'm not going to ask you to talk if you don't want to...I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to. I just... I just want to make sure you're okay...like is the water too warm or too cold? Is it too salty, or not enough? Or food... what do you like to eat? I can try to get you whatever it is you want, and while it might not be as fresh as if you got it from your home...”

There was no response, but his glare had softened, just slightly. You were hopeful, that perhaps some dialogue could be established.... perhaps he had been more talkative prior to his captivity.

“I'm going to sleep right there,” you pointed to your living room couch, “If you need anything....don't hesitate to tap the glass, I'm a light sleeper.” you hesitated for a moment, “I don't want to be your jailer, I want what's best for you”

A swing and a miss, you realized as his gaze hardened...and you decided retreat was the best option now. There would always be tomorrow...and the next day... and the next day...as long, and as much as it takes for you to learn to trust me...

And as you drifted off to sleep on the plush couch, you could still feel his steel grey eyes watching you.

#Devil May Cry #Vergil x Reader #Vergil #Mer!Vergil #Deep Blue Sea

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yourfaveisamunkid · 4 years

Text

Percabeth are MUN kids

P e r s e U s

- He’s got the charisma and quick wit to be a worthy delegate at any conferences.

- His dad’s Poseidon, so he LOVES doing GAs about marine life.

- Every power del (Except Annabeth) hates him because he slacks off all the time yet always ends up with a gavel.

- His STREET SMARTS make him very helpful in committees.

- He talks to horses, who help him gather information.

- He’s definitely fallen asleep in campaign before.

- But when he gets scary... he. Is. Terrifying.

- His eyes get all stormy and he actually develops a good posture.

- “With all due respect, that’s incorrect.”

- “Hey, wise girl, are you hearing this?”

- A Hawaiian shirt is essential with every suit he wears.

- Definitely says present and voting to make fun of Annabeth because she always says present and voting.

- “According to Frederick II, the working class in Ukraine in 1965 was HORRIBLY oppressed.” “Uhh... who was Frederick-” “-An appaloosa I interviewed. That’s a primary source. I will be taking no more questions.”

- “What do you mean a dolphin doesn’t count as a primary source? HE WAS THE ONE CHOKING ON PLASTIC.”

“Present.... and voting.”

- “Hey, I brought Jolly Ranchers! Anyone want one? What color do you want? Oh, well, I’ve only got blue, so...”

A N N Abeth

- I shouldn’t even have to say this, but power del.

- She polishes all her gavels and lines the Athena cabin with them.

- As a child of Athena, she loves to compete in order to show of her intelligence.

- She secretly loves to double del with Percy, though she’ll never admit it.

- Has an extensive amount of research in literally every topic.

- Remember that one time she identified a shotgun on SIGHT? Total MUN kid move.

- Her obsession with architecture makes her great when representing Classical figures from Greece and Rome

- She always, ALWAYS questions sources.

- She loves to say “Present and Voting” because she knows it aggravates the mortals.

- Athena loves watching her and Percy compete with Poseidon.

- In a crisis, she’s always got the most dramatic arcs.

- She doesn’t play by the rules. She WILL attempt to assassinate Stalin 3 times after selling U.S. secrets to the Russians.

- In GAs, she gives the best speeches.

- All her outfits are color coordinated.

- She uses her Yankees cap to snoop on the other delegate’s papers.

- She will hurt you if you make her a signatory.

- She’s the excec board leader at Camp Half-Blood.

- “Me? A signatory? [Laughs].

- “My source? COMMON SENSE.”

- “For a Renaissance philosopher, you sure are stupid.”

- “Brothers and sisters, the time for a rebellion is nigh.”

- [Passes a gossipy note to Percy.]

- “I can’t start a cult? We’re in CRISIS.”

- “I know a bit of French, so allow me to read a letter from a humble French Shepard who wrote during the Revolution.”

- “Present and VOTING.”

- “Alright, let’s skip the small talk- what’re your thoughts on Socialism?”

- “Seaweed brain, wanna team up and impeach the chair?”

- “Man, Dionysus should just hurry up and claim literally EVERY CSMUN delegate.”

- “Point of order?”

- “Yes, are you aware of the effects that this could have on the children who rely on the bread that comes from the wheat from the very fields you’re planning to nuke?”

- “SKIP THE PREAMBS. We’re not in DISEC, for gods’ sake.”

P e r c a b e t h ????????

- Separately, both are good.

- Like Solangelo, however, when together... they are unstoppable

- Since Annabeth and Percy are both charmers, they take turns giving speeches and pass notes.

- They both love double delling

- When they’re together they are the most chaotic

- They’ve definitely started a cult during Salem witch trials

- They assassinate the same kid every Crisis because he talked down to Annabeth one time

- Both are very passionate, very scary, and very angry

- Percy loves coming up with acronyms for papers

- In a Crisis, they always try to outdo themselves

- They come up with the most hard-hitting, thought provoking questions during Q&As.

- “I’m sorry, WHAT did you say to my partner?”

- “Good evening, dishonorable delegates.”

- “Okay, only you five are allowed in our bloc.”

- “A signatory? Me? Why not just ask us to GIVE you the gavel?”

- “You can make me a signatory, but I’m taking all our clauses. Oh, don’t worry- I have a printed copy of them all.”

- “I may have gotten all the ladies accused of witchcraft to join me and overthrow the judicial system.” “I love you.”

- “ThERe’s A GREEK MYTHOLOGY COMITTEE???”

- “Off policy? At least we DID something, unlike the whole Eastern European bloc over there.”

- “Fellow comrades, I think we can all agree that this was NOT the play.”

- “See? The Jackson-Chase Insanity Postulate never fails. Do the craziest thing possible, win the gavel.”

- “Okay, I’ll take the gavel on Monday through Thursday, you can get it on the weekends.”

- “So, even if I punched a political enemy of ours, that would still be illegal, right?”

- “Hey, best dressed! Sweet!”

- “Dating? I think you mean one, united, powerful country.”

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #pjo #percabeth #model un

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fanfeline · 5 years

Note

Hey how about Frederick II (Frederick the Great) I'd love a overly detailed explanation 😁

@laly this one was great

A: Alright. Ready?

N [cousin]: I’M STRAIGHTENING MY HAIR HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!!!

A: [dying] pride month. Okay, I’ve got the portrait. Ready? No context, no context. Here we go.

N: Ohhhh boy! Okay, my first thought is that he kind of looks like Charles Muntz. Munch? The guy from Up. The evil guy with all the dogs. Uhhh…he looks kind of sad. He looks like he’s seen a lot. He also looks like the bird from Rio. You know which one I’m talking about?

A: No! I don’t! Oh,..oh wait, the white-haired bird? Uhhhh NIGEL!!

N: YES! The white bird with the just, ungodly under-eye-bags. It’s like me in the mornings, when I have school and I have to wake up way too early. Okay, he, ah, his hair kind of looks like George Wash-ing-ton? Was he a general of some sort?

A: …Ehhh.

N: Eh? Okay. He does look a little like him. He looks like a little frail old man. Ugh, I’ve got to get to overly detailed, okay. So, this guy, his name is…….Charlie. Cause it’s like Charles, but it’s a little less…no, Charlie’s more fun. His name is Chap.

A: [laughing]

N: He was a nice chap! Okay, so, he grew up, kinda like Dr. Doofenschmirtz.

A: [laughing harder]

N: Like, you know that meme of Dr. Doofenschmirtz, where it’s like “It all started on the day of my very birth! My parents didn’t show up.” Yeah, that’s what his life is like. He’s always been overshadowed by someone. I feel like he has an older sister, and he’s always been tormented by that older sister.

A: As an older sibling, I would like to object!

N: Well, as a younger sibling-! Anyway. Definitely…he’s scared. His mother never liked him. His father was away at war. He…looks like he has snot dripping out of his nose. He, ah, you can see those lips have just a tiny bit of lip tint. Not even lip gloss, just lip tint. He’s just like that. He builds kites for a living, and repairs clocks. Uh, he has a pet rat, named…Newton. Like, after Sir Isaac Newton.

A: Okay.

N: He has a…uh, dog, who’s like a Chihuahua? It’s a Chihuahua, who’s a very scared Chihuahua. Just afraid of literally everything. They’re good friends.

A: The rat and the dog?

N: No!

A: Oh, the guy and the dog. Chap and the dog.

N: Chap and his dog! His dog’s name is like Eeeeeeeeemily? Emily. Uh, and she’s just afraid of life, you know? Which, mood.

[N ranting about straightening her hair]

N: He is…definitely one of those guys, who- wait, is he wearing a turtleneck under his jacket? He looks a little like *sigh* yeah, he just looks sad and scared. He looks like, for a wild time on the weekends, reorganizes his kitchen cabinets. Not even, like, an important cabinet.

A: A spice rack? [for the record, A makes extremely liberal use of their spice cabinet and apologizes for this remark]

N: No, no, the spice rack is the important one! You need that organized! He reorganizes, like, his plates. His dinner plates. Or, like, his cans? He has his cans organized by how much he likes them, and then in those categories of how much he likes them, alphabetized.

A: Okay, any further commentary?

N: Uh, I feel bad.

A: For what you said about him or for him?

N: I want to give him a hug. And I feel like he has a wife? But she’s a little like Miss Trunchbull.

A: What is it with you and Miss Trunchbull?!

N: What do you mean?

A: We had Miss Trunchbull earlier!!!

N: Oh, yeah, it was really long ago. Listen, I’m a changed woman.

A: [pause] No you’re not. Alright, that’s enough.

N: doo doo WE ARE NUMBER ONE! WOO!!!!

[end recording]

#ari babbles #overly detailed explanations #THP #the history peeps #frederick the great #frederick ii

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6ebe · 3 years

Note

Wait you’re a medieval history major? I’m not one, but I have friends who are so I know a bit about the topic. Who’s your favorite Bad Pope? Personally my favorite is Paul II, but it’s arguable if he was really one of the Bad Popes or if he was just slandered in the press. Of the unquestionably bad ones I’d say it’s John XII. What happens when you make a teenager the pope and the prince of Rome. Prob one of the worst popes ever, but partially responsible for the second HRE under Otto 1.

Hahaha I could be facetious and say I’m not a major of anything since I’m not in America 🤪 but somewhat yes I’m a history and politics student and so far half my history ‘papers’ (modules) have been medieval.

Having said that you seem to know more popes than me snshdjdjfk I could only tell you much about innocent III (way too much actually), innocent II (never actually held rome so quite a flop Tbf), Alexander III, urban II (Tbf he was quite a flop too so maybe he’s my fave bad pope), Gregory VII (also exiled from rome can you believe-), clement III, Nicholas II…. (I do know Otto I though ! Not my favourite hre that would have to be Frederick legend Hohenstaufen or otherwise Henry IV simply for being the most excommunicated person in the history of the Catholic Church..

Anyway my history questions are usually thematic and “terrible” popes rarely factor.. most of the ones whose pontificate lasted only like 1 year aren’t much of a talking point in the books I read (I should also preface that my period is 300-1300.. so anything later and I have no idea !!) (Also by hre do you mean holy roman emperor ? Am trying to think of revolutions or whatever which go by hre but no idea)

But I’ll look into those popes if I get a chance I always love clerical incompetence 🤩

#i love talking abt my degree <3 #but um listing niche popes is not smth I am ever expected to or needed to do sndndkf #popes are usually only secondary characters through which to study medieval empire or Gregorian reforms or heresy #and other than that I’ve been given an essay on innocent III bc he was very influential #asks #you’re making me feel like idk anything abt my degree 😭😭😭😭❤️ but nice though I appreciate it <3

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primeetime · 5 years

Text

Why Don’t I Write More

It’s been too long since my last post. A lot has changed in my life, but at my core, I’m still the same. I want to be a great writer so I read. Some days I read a lot. Some days I read a little. But every day I read. If I can find one good quote, one good metaphor, one good simile or just one way to improve my writing, whatever I was reading was worth my time. Eventually I’ll write more, but for right now I focus on reading.

So what I’m I reading right now. Well, next to me on my bed I have 3 books. I have Ta-Nehisi Coates powerful new book “The Water Dancer,” Leo Tolstoy’s epic masterpiece “War and Peace,” and I have Frederick Douglass’ 3rd autobiography, “The Life and Times of Frederick Dougalss.”

It’ll be a long time before I really commit to writing because I feel like so much of writing is based on reading other writers and slowly but surely coming up with your own style.

There are so many writers that I want to read and break down and analyze that I just know that right now writing is on the back burner. I want to read Zora Neale Hurston and W.E.B. DuBois. I want to read Colson Whitehead and Imani Perry. I want to read Langston Hughe’s short stories and August Wilson’s plays. I’ve already read the vast majority of James Baldwin’s non-fiction but I want to read his novels. And that’s only talking about the Black writers.

From the 200 pages I’ve read of “War and Peace” I want to read, at the very least, Anna Karenina and Crime Punishment. I also want to read Oscar Wilde and some other British authors. Lastly, I definitely want to read the great American writers, so as you can see I have no shortage of authors to read. But in the meantime Ill write here and there. I might make a couple more posts in the next coming days because there are a couple burning issues that I want to write about.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get around to it (heck, I don’t even know if anyone reads this lol), but the two topics I want to write about are the different forms that love can take (as Americans our understanding of love is so limited but I read this paragraph from the NYTimes Modern Love section and it inspired me to write something...“I flunked Chem II, which was especially humiliating for the daughter of a renowned scientist. “I’m not worried about your grade,” my teacher said, smiling. “I know that someday I’m going to have your books on my shelf.” I was stunned by his gift of faith. I felt as if I were flunking life, but he had seen my writing in the school paper. Twenty years later, I sent him a copy of my first published book. “I used your book in my retirement talk,” he wrote back. “Then I went home and put it on my shelf.””) and patriotism.

I’ll leave you with a quote from James Baldwin and a powerful video that every American should watch. The quote is from “No Name in the Street” and it’s probably the most despairing line I’ve ever read from James,

“I don’t think that any black person can speak of Malcolm and Martin without wishing that they were here. It is not possible for me to speak of them without a sense of loss and grief and rage; and with the sense, furthermore, of having been forced to undergo an unforgivable indignity, both personal and vast. Our children need them, which is, indeed, the reason that they are not here: and now we, the blacks, must make certain that our children never forget them. For the American republic has always done everything in its power to destroy our children’s heroes, with the clear (and sometimes clearly stated) intention of destroying our children’s hope. This endeavor has doomed the American nation: mark my words.”

The video I leave you with is of MLK’s funeral. I decided to watch it after reading Baldwin’s description of both the service. This post is getting longer than I expected, but I also want to add in James Baldwin’s description of the funeral service.

The church was packed, of course, incredibly so. Far in the front, I saw Harry Belafonte sitting next to Coretta King. I had interviewed Coretta years ago, when I was doing a profile on her husband. We had got on very well; she had a nice, free laugh. Ralph David Abernathy sat in the pulpit. I remembered him from years ago, sitting in his shirtsleeves in the house in Montgomery, big, black, and cheerful, pouring some cool soft drink, and, later, getting me settled in a nearby hotel. In the pew directly before me sat Marlon Brando, Sammy Davis, Eartha Kitt—covered in black, looking like a lost ten-year-old girl—and Sidney Poitier, in the same pew, or nearby. Marlon saw me and nodded.

The atmosphere was black, with a tension indescribable—as though something, perhaps the heavens, perhaps the earth, might crack. Everyone sat very still. The actual service sort of washed over me, in waves. It wasn’t that it seemed unreal; it was the most real church service I’ve ever sat through in my life, or ever hope to sit through; but I have a childhood hangover thing about not weeping in public, and I was concentrating on holding myself together. I did not want to weep for Martin; tears seemed futile. But I may also have been afraid, and I could not have been the only one, that if I began to weep, I would not be able to stop. There was more than enough to weep for, if one was to weep—so many of us, cut down, so soon. Medgar, Malcolm, Martin: and their widows, and their children.

Reverend Ralph David Abernathy asked a certain sister to sing a song which Martin had loved—“once more,” said Ralph David, “for Martin and for me,” and he sat down. The long, dark sister, whose name I do not remember, rose, very beautiful in her robes, and in her covered grief, and began to sing. It was a song I knew: “My Heavenly Father Watches Over Me.” The song rang out as it might have over dark fields, long ago; she was singing of a covenant a people had made, long ago, with life, and with that larger life which ends in revelation and which moves in love.

She stood there, and she sang it. How she bore it, I do not know; I think I have never seen a face quite like that face that afternoon. She was singing it for Martin, and for us.

And surely, He Remembers me. My heavenly Father watches over me.

At last, we were standing, and filing out, to walk behind Martin, home. I found myself between Marlon and Sammy. I had not been aware of the people when I had been pressing past them to get to the church. But, now, as we came out, and I looked up the road, I saw them. They were all along the road, on either side, they were on all the roofs, on either side. Every inch of ground, as far as the eye could see, was black with black people, and they stood in silence. It was the silence that undid me. I started to cry, and I stumbled, and Sammy grabbed my arm. We started to walk.

Baldwin, James. No Name in the Street (Vintage International) (pp. 156-157). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

https://www.c-span.org/video/?443156-1/martin-luther-king-jr-funeral-coverage-1968

For me, the most moving part was the march. All the despairing Black faces that lined the street from Ebenezer Baptist Church to Morehouse College was just haunting. The assassination of Dr. King is probably the most devastating event in the history of Black America. Yes Dr. King was just a man, but for many African-Americans he had come to be the physical manifestation of hope. When he died, for African-Americans, hope died and we’ve been trying to recover ever since.

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vehlika-pelican · 7 years

Text

#Little Demon the Second Coming of Lavernius au - Master Chief finds out Long post maybe and im on mobile and can't do a read-more so you are WARNED: right so I'm a total spaz and forgot the most important supporting tidbit of the sangheili's misunderstanding of Tucker and Master Chief's relation: John-117 leads Spartan II Blue Team. Tucker is on Blue Team. and the sangheili are like oh these poor mammals think blue and green are the same (meanwhile reds are all the same to these dumb mandible-faces). anyways, they ask Tucker and he's like "yeah im on Blue Team, i've been a member for most of my adult life" but they don't get that Bloodgulch Blue Team and Spartan II Blue Team are very different entities so the Demon's Blue Team must logically be Little Demon's Blue Team !!!! and when coupled with their belief in family wearing matching colors dark green MC, and light (blue-ish) green Tucker MUST be related. so they think its like when theres both an adult's table and a kid's table at thanksgiving where the younger, lower ranking family members are in their area and the respectable, superior family members are in theirs but they are all ultimate seated within the same house. and imagine what'll happen as the Spartans come to discover this and it isn't at a proper debrief or whatever some Elite goes up to Master Chief and is like "i assure you, your hatchlings are well-cared for and growing impressively" or whatever and everyone on the UNSC Infinity is like "what." and some guy is like "the Spartans lay eggs?!" but no one corrects him and its a whole fiasco but the sangheili is just thinking "they make so much noise. the condition of the Demon's younglings must truly be of great concern." but John is just. "my..hatchlings?" and the sangheili just thinks he's choked up in worry right so he says, "yes! the oldest came to Sangheilios and has been trained by the Arbiter and the greatest warriors he has selected himself! and your grandchildren show much promise as well." Blue Team's like ???? but Frederick says "con...gratulations?" just in case and John goes "what do you mean? i don't have any... hatchlings?" but the sangheili thinks oh he must be an uncle or somesuch- YOU'RE NOT HELPING YOURSELF JOHN- and talks about Tucker and his very sangheili son and all the little hatchlings being kept safe on the colony world and Captain Lasky has to corale a bunch of towering Spartan IIs and aliens and intelligence people into a conference room like a herd of wild Cortanas in order to get this straight. and that's how Master Chief learns that the UNSC has been exploiting a misunderstanding in order to help interspecies relations and woops i guess you have a family now boss man but don't worry Tucker knows and we've had him playing along, don't worry he's pissed too (and we used him as part of a fucked up AI project but they say that part under their breath bcuz this man has gone rogue for AI) but he's out there liberating a colony from an oppressive regime and no he isn't available right now but- What Halsey tooketh, the UNSC giveth...back? returneth? (his family) so. the sangheili- goddamn it, Thel- developed a theory like a spark and let it burn down the whole planet. well, it can't be helped now because its been too long and we might hurt their feelings and we don't need anymore glassings, John, so get onboard please and thank you. but in the rush to clear this up with Chief and his Blue Team, the ship's crew has taken to this like just as much kindling (humans are THE gossips) and woops who knew Chief was sewing his wild oats all over the galaxy. #thotChief (i kinda regret this but not really) so ONI has to disclose some things about P. Freelancer because John refuses to do anything without as much intel as possible. so the sangheili think he had A Kid and that kid was chosen by heretics to be a savior, this poor guy was impregnated with an alien embryo and gave birth, yes he survived, but he got to Sangheilios before we got our hands on your "grandchild" and now they're too high profile to touch (Tucker must be a shrewd and clever bastard). Thel'Vadam accidentally started the rumor but it was a perfect way to smooth negotiations with them so Tucker's an official ambassador and we get access to all the things now and we're not very sorry. Master Chief just sighs and accepts his fate because peace is important and it's too established and will they ever stop fucking with his personal life? but Blue Team teases him by calling him "grandpa/gramps" "i didnt know you and the Arbiter were so close, John. when's the ceremony?" and "do you have pictures in your wallet" "you are mighty spry for a granddad." and then they learn about how many people are involved and John supposedly and really has to live with like 200 grandkids on Chorus and Son Tucker and Daughter-In-Law Carolina and Daughter-In-Law Kimball (kimbalina without Tucker involved with either one but the sangheili are poly as a species and they don't understand. they think Tuckalina happened and why would adults limit themselves to a single partner thats not good for genetic diversity although they REALLY dont get that Carolinas vagina ISNT a tennis ball machine regardless and they've lost all hope in explaining this shit) so he's got enough supposed grandkids to have several sport's teams or fill a small stadium and the teasing becomes "how was the soccer match? did you root for your grandkids or for your grandkids?" "how many minivans did you have to hitch together?" and its. fucking annoying. because he doesn't know any of these people and even if he did, John doesn't know how to have a family (aside from his team). but he has no choice now. Master Chief has to meet his "son". Meet this other Blue Team. Punch Thel a few times probably. and having a family isnt all that terrible. imma go hide now. blacklist "vehl's headcannons" if you dont want to keep seeing my stuff.

#lavernius tucker #rvb #master chief #blue team #Little Demon the Second Coming of Lavernius #halo #sangheili can't see red #well they can but its all basically black and how are humans alive with this shit all inside them #they can see light-ish red tho and donut is livid #vehl's headcannons #thotChief is saving the universe

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criminallyimaginative · 8 years

Text

Penelope & Derek’s Matchmaking Service

Prompt: The reader and Reid both have a crush on the other person but are too scared of ruining their friendship to tell the other person. Penelope decided to give them a little push and drags Derek into her mischevious scheme.

A/N: This was an idea that popped into my head because I could definitely see Morgan and Garcia meddling in their coworkers love lives. I’m not opposed to making a part two of this, so let me know if that’s something that you would want. Also, anyone who can catch the subtle F.R.I.E.N.D.S. reference that is in here somewhere is my favorite person ever. Enjoy :)

Note: (Y/F/C) = your favorite candy

Warning: nothing

Word Count: 3k

Rating: PG

Penelope sighed in frustration as she watched you and Spencer alternate staring at each other. It was almost painful the way that neither of you actually caught the other doing so. It was like some form of fate caused you to look away a second before Spencer decided to look up. Derek noticed her standing in the doorway. “Hey Baby Girl,” he called and walked over to her. She muttered a “hello” before huffing and crossing her arms. “Whoa whoa whoa, what’s the matter gorgeous? Those processing systems in that big brain of yours hung up on something?”

“How does it not drive you crazy?” she mumbled and Morgan raised an eyebrow at her.

“How does what not drive me crazy?”

“The two of them!” she whisper-shouted and spun around walking off toward her lair. Derek rolled his eyes, but obediently followed her down the hall.

“Gonna need a little more information sweetness,” he told her, leaning against the doorframe.

“Oh c’mon, do I need to spell it out for you? (Y/N) and Spencer. The way those two are pining after each other it’s both sickening and sweet at the same time. I’m not even a profiler and I can tell that they are head over heels. I mean I know (Y/N) is because she told me one night when I got her super drunk with the intent of forcing the information out of her, but that is beside the point,” Penelope explained as she pulled up the bullpen’s security video feed and maneuvered the cameras so they were facing you and Spencer’s desks.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m people watching.”

“Do you do this all the time?” Morgan asked standing behind her chair.

“Only when we don’t have a case or anything else to do,” Penelope defended, “You would not believe how boring it gets in here and you people never come visit me!”

“But why- you know what nevermind. Just please tell me that you don’t mess with the cameras in my office.”

“My vision, you are the object of my affection but for the most part my attentions have been focussed on my current OTP as you never do anything interesting in your office.”

“Forgive me for actually doing work instead of making googly eyes at my coworkers.”

“So you have noticed!”

“Of course I’ve noticed. The whole team has noticed. The only ones in the dark about it are the two of them,” Derek chuckled. Penelope smiled as she watched the two of you. You had gone over to ask Spencer something, but he had been so focused on his work you’d startled him and he’d almost spilled his coffee all over himself.

“They are so cute,” she sighed, “Derek I want my OTP to be together!”

“Somehow I don’t think we get a vote or have the power to make that happen,” he replied, kissing the top of her head. Penelope suddenly perked up.

“But what if we did?”

“What are you talking about?” he asked as she spun her chair around.

“What if there was a way that we could force Reid’s hand and make him admit something or ask her out?”

“Baby Girl, Reid has specifically told me that he doesn’t want me messing with this. You think I haven’t tried to get him to make a move?”

“He told you that, but he never told me,” she chirped, turning back toward her computer and started typing away. She pulled up a website for custom floral arrangements and started clicking on various options.

“What are you doing?”

“Creating something that all of you men hate. Competition,” she replied, patting the side of his face. A few more minutes of meddling the order had been placed, ready to be delivered tomorrow morning.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m going to be the one he blames for this?” Derek sighed shaking his head.

“Ha, do not worry my vision. If all goes bad, we pretend like it never happened,” Penelope told him.

You walked into the bullpen the next morning smiling happily as you carried two cups of coffee. You glanced around looking for Spencer, before nonchalantly setting one of the cups down on his desk and arranged the mountain of sugar packets you’d also brought into an orderly pile. You quickly scurried back to your desk and sat down, trying to look casual as you waited for Spencer to arrive. “No coffee for the rest of us, I’m genuinely hurt,” Derek teased, as he sat down on your desk.

“Hey, the only order I remember is Spence’s because it’s the easiest thing ever: a large black coffee and then just bring the whole container of sugar to him,” you replied trying to casually look around him.

“Uh huh,” Morgan muttered, clearly unconvinced.

“Good morning,” Reid said as he walked over to his desk past the two of you.

“Hi, Spencer,” you chirped, “I stopped for coffee this morning and brought you some.”

“Thank you so much, you would not believe the morning I’ve had. How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you replied tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Well, thank you. Did you know that coffee was banned three times in three different cultures: once in Mecca in the 16th century, once when Charles II in Europe banned the drink in an attempt to quiet an ongoing revolution, and once when Frederick the Great banned coffee in Germany in 1677 because he was concerned people were spending too much money on the drink,” he rambled. You smiled and shoved Morgan off of your desk, so you could actually see Spencer.

“Well, I didn’t know that, but I do know that banning coffee should be a crime,” you giggled. Reid smiled back at you and opened his mouth to say something but suddenly went pale. “What’s-”

“I have a delivery for a Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” a man said cutting you off.

“That would be me,” you replied, turning around. “What can..I..do..” you stuttered as you came face to face with a huge vase of lilies and red roses.

“Sign here please,” the delivery man said, handing you a clipboard and setting the vase down on your desk. You scribbled your signature down on the form and handed it back to the man. “Have a nice day,” he said walking away.

“Yeah, you too,” you muttered still too focussed on your flowers.

“Oh my god, those are gorgeous,” JJ mentioned as she walked over to your desk.

“Who are they from?” Emily asked, joining the two of you.

“I have no idea,” you replied, pulling the card off the side of the vase.

“Read it,” JJ urged leaning in closer. None of you noticed that Spencer had unconsciously leaned closer to the group as well trying to listen.

“Nothing can ever compare to your beauty, but these flowers are certainly a nice way to compliment it. I hope these make that lovely smile of yours appear on your face, signed your secret admirer,” you read out loud and closed the card.

“Oooh, this is interesting,” Emily said nudging your shoulder.

“Any idea who it could be?” JJ asked.

“Not a clue,” you replied, sitting back down in your chair, “I’m not seeing anyone and no one has asked me out recently.”

“Anyone who you hope it is?”

“Yeah, but considering he hasn’t shown the slightest sign of interest I’m pretty sure it isn’t him,” you mumbled. Unbeknownst to you, Spencer had wandered away into the break room fuming. This happened every time he’d finally work up the courage to ask you out on a date or flirt with you at all something would happen. Morgan would come interrupt, Hotch would suddenly announce that you had a case, or in this case, some jerk would write you poetry and send you flowers. He downed the rest of the coffee that you had bought him and started making another cup.

“You ok, Pretty Boy?” Derek asked watching Spencer stir the coffee quite angrily.

“Just peachy,” Spencer growled.

“Ya know, you could just ask her out. (Y/N) has no idea who sent her those flowers,” Derek casually mentioned.

“Ha yeah right, I’m reasonably certain she’d rather have fancy flower man whoever he is,” he grumbled.

“Fancy flower man? Really Reid, that’s the best you can come up with?” Derek asked trying not to laugh.

“I have plenty of other vulgar things I could call him so don’t push it.”

“Hey, I’m not the one encroaching on your girl, but I would recommend you do something about it before you loose her to fancy flower man.”

“You think I should what?”

“Well, you’re her friend. I’m pretty sure you can find a way to top the giant array of flowers that he sent her.”

“I definitely could,” Spencer muttered, deep in thought, “I need to get to work but first I’m going to get Garcia to figure out who sent those to her.”

“Uh,” Derek stuttered, trying to come up with a way to divert him, “Why does it matter who it is? You should be more concerned with your plan to woo her, you can worry about who it was later.”

“You’re right. I’m going to take my lunch early. I need to go get a few things,” Spencer said and quickly rushed back to his desk to grab his wallet. Derek sighed in relief, happy that he’d managed to redirect Reid’s thought process, and made himself a cup of coffee. Your sudden presence in the break room caught his attention. “And where are you going lady of the hour?” he asked sipping his coffee.

“I’m grabbing another sugar for my coffee and then I’m going to get Garcia to find out who this admirer person is.” Derek did a spit take and started coughing. “Whoa, you ok?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. But maybe you should just let this play out? See if he reveals himself to you?”

“Derek, I just want to know who it is so I can tell him I’m not interested. There’s only one guy who’s attention I want and he seems to not really care.”

“Sweetness, Reid is a great guy just a little awkward and shy when it comes to ladies, you might try being a bit more obvious about it,” he teased. You furrowed your brow and slowly turned your head toward him.

“How did you know I have a crush on Spencer?”

“I’m a profiler and I’m really good at my job.” Derek replied.

“Yeah sometimes I forget what we do for a living.”

“And the fact that Penelope can’t keep her mouth shut,” he muttered quietly to himself. Just not quiet enough.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing!”

“I’m going to kill her!” you growled and stormed off toward Penelope’s office.

“No no no, wait!” Derek shouted as he chased after you. You tore the door open and walked in.

“Hello my lovely, what can I do for you today?” Penelope chirped. You narrowed your eyes at her before flicking her on the side of the head.

“OW!” she shrieked. “What was that for?”

“I cannot believe you told Derek that I like Spencer. I told you that in confidence and you swore you wouldn’t tell another soul,” you fumed.

“Technically you told me that while you were drunk.”

“Same thing!”

“But you know I tell my chocolate thunder everything, so you should’ve expected this.”

“Ugh, my life is over,” you whined. “Spencer is still acting weird and now some stranger has sent me flowers. Can you make yourself useful and tell me who sent those at least?”

“I take offense to that comment!”

“Who told shared a secret that she swore she would take to the grave?”

“Fine,” she muttered, “but I already know who sent them. I looked it up earlier.”

“Then who is it?”

“It’s uh, Brian in payroll,”

“Brian in payroll?”

“Mhm,” she mumbled, twisting a piece of hair around her finger.

“Uh huh, does Brian in payroll have a last name?” you asked crossing your arms.

“Yes, yes he definitely does.”

“Yeah? What it is then?”

“Well, I can tell you that it is most certainly not Morgan or Garcia.”

“Penelope,” you groaned. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m just trying to spice it up, you know force our dearest doctor’s hand.”

“Yes and in doing that you’ve managed to scare him. He took off fifteen minutes ago,” you grumbled flopping down in the chair beside her.

“Aw, sweets it’s gonna be ok.”

“My life is over.”

“Hey look on the bright side, at least you got some bitchin flowers,” she said trying to lighten the mood. You lifted your head and glared at her.

“Not funny.”

“(Y/N), you need to get back to your desk and take a look at this,” Derek said as he walked into Penelope’s office.

“And you! You knew she was going to do this and you didn’t stop her,” you growled and stalked over to him, poking his chest.

“As upset as you are right now, I really think you should just go back to your desk. You might like what you find,” Derek replied pushing your hand away. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“If this is another part of this BS plan you two have going on, I’m going to kill you both,” you grumbled, stalking down the hallway.

“What are you doing?” Penelope whispered at Derek, as they followed you.

“Just watch,” he replied with a smug look on his face. You were expecting to see yet another bouquet of flowers that the two of them had sent to you, but you certainly weren’t expecting this. Your desk was scattered with various pieces of paper and rose petals. A large white teddy bear was sitting in your chair with a bouquet of gardenias nestled in its arms and a bag of (Y/F/C) tucked in beside it. You stood rooted in place out of surprise until Derek gave you a slight nudge. You walked forward and picked up one of the pieces of paper. You smiled as you recognized Spencer’s handwriting and started reading. It was a poem by Christina Rossetti, one of your favorites actually “I loved you first”. You had talked about this with Spencer months ago, when you both discovered your shared love of poetry. From the looks of it, he had managed to write down all of your favorite poems on these little notes (probably including a few of his own favorites) and put them all over your desk. You plucked the bouquet of gardenias out of the bear’s arms and smelled them.

“Red roses traditionally symbolize love and passion while gardenias’ symbolize pure, secret love which more accurately displays how I feel about you,” Spencer mumbled from behind you. You immediately spun around and dropped the bouquet back in your chair, before throwing your arms around his neck and crashing your lips into his. He seemed to be stunned for a few seconds, before kissing you back and wrapping his arms around your waist. Hoots and hollers came from all around the office, mainly from Penelope and Emily. You separated a little breathlessly and rested your forehead against his. The pair of you were smiling from ear to ear. “Please tell me this isn’t a dream,” he muttered closing his eyes.

“Nope,” you replied popping the “p”, “I’m real.”

“So I take it you like me too or else I think you’ve been sending some very mixed signals.” You chuckled and kissed him again.

“Does that answer your question?” you asked, after you’d pulled back.

“I think it does, and to think I had a whole speech planned out to make you at least go on one date with me,” he replied scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. You just shook your head and smiled at him.

“That’s so sweet, but how on earth did you have time to set this up? I couldn’t have been gone more than fifteen minutes,” you said, turning slightly to look at your desk,

“14 minutes and 23 seconds actually, but I’ve had the notes sitting in my bag for about a week now,” he told you.

“Ok, that’s enough, back to work all of you,” Hotch said, commotion having finally drawn him out of his office. There was a collective “sorry” muttered from around the office, before Hotch turned his attention to the two of you. “Do we need to have a conversation or can I trust that this isn’t going to affect work?”

“I think we’re good,” you answered.

“Good, now I need to call Dave and inform him that he owes me twenty bucks as do the two of you,” Hotch chuckled motioning JJ and Emily. The two women groaned slightly before reaching for their purses.

“Wait, what?” Spencer asked raising an eyebrow, keeping his arms wrapped around your waist.

“To make a long story short, we started a pool going for how long it would take the two of you to get together after three months of watching the two of you flirt. I had yesterday, Hotch had today, Rossi had tomorrow, and JJ had next Monday,” Emily explained as she walked up the stairs and handed the money to Hotch, who gladly pocketed it and went back in his office to presumably call Rossi who was off on vacation time.

“I cannot believe this! How many people in this office are invloved in our love lives?” you cried in frustration, even though you were smiling.

“Wait, who else is involved in our love life?” Spencer asked, looking down at you confused.

“And that’s our cue to run chocolate thunder,” Penelope muttered, as she took off running dragging Derek along behind her. You shook your head and laughed, all irritation suddenly vanishing.

“Wonder what that was about,” Reid thought out loud, as you unwound from his arms and moved all his gifts out of your chair.

“Don’t worry about it, just remind me to tell Brian from payroll to send her some flowers,” you told him. He looked very confused but just shrugged and kissed your forehead. You grinned up at him, knowing that this was the start of one of the best times in your life.

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #dr reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagines #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #david rossi #fluff

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louismirage · 8 years

Text

And My Heart Is A Hollow Plain~ II

Its the 1600s and all Louis wants is the freedom he knows he will never taste again.

He knew happiness, knew a good life and love. Had dreams and reasons to see the good in people, to expect good things from life.

Forced into a marriage he will never get out of, all he’s looking for is a breath of life. Maybe something or someone to come save him from the hell he knows.

~ II

Harry along with the men he considered friends, could feel the cold air in the middle of the night as they rushed through the dark and dirty streets of Doncaster. They were trying to escape the men he was supposed to be closing a deal with before heading back to London. He made a sharp turn into a street, trying not to breathe in the pungent smell of piss that seemed to be everywhere before daring himself to look back, making sure his friends Niall and Zayn were still behind him.

He stopped out of nowhere, making the other two men who had been accompanying him all the way from London collide against the other when they couldn’t stop on time. Their gazes followed his own noticing the wall in front of them. A dead end. They looked back in panic, watching the men getting closer and just like that, Harry threw himself forward. He climbed the wall without a problem, followed by the other two who didn’t hesitate to follow him when the trust between them was unbreakable.

As soon as they were at the top, they jumped down and ran straight to hide in whatever place they could find. They ended up up squeezed together in a narrow crevice below the steps leading up to a back door. They were still trying to catch their breath when Zayn let out a muffled noise filled with pain, making the other two look at him trying to see what was going on.

“Malik? Zayn, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Niall.” Zayn answered, trying to hide the pain on the side of his stomach. He felt a warm wetness knowing he was bleeding, that was it for him.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, trying to move so he could be closer to him. “Zayn, you need to tell me what’s wrong!” He hissed, then looked around to make sure no one had heard him.

“Nothing, they grazed me with one of their knives before we got out of there, but it’s nothing.” Zayn said, and when Harry reached to touch it he pushed his hand away.

“Jesus Zayn, you’re bleeding!” Niall exclaimed a little too loud, making the other two hiss at him to shut up.

Harry’s eyes widened when he felt the sticky warm liquid seeping out of Zayn’s side, gasping when Zayn let out a sharp cry of pain. And when the light he hadn’t seen before got closer, he thought it was all over. He tried to get away but soon a man had his arm around his neck in a tight lock while he tried to set himself free. He gasped for air, seeing a few other men grabbing Niall then Zayn, making him scream.

“Let go!” Harry shouted, landing on his hands and knees when the man pushed him forward.

“Who are you and what are you doing here? You’re trespassing property, the property of Lord Clark to be exact.” The man who had pushed Harry said, still pointing a sword at them while the other two men still had a tight hold on Niall and Zayn.

“We didn’t mean to...we were trying to escape.” Niall quickly said, hoping they would let Zayn go, now seeing how bad the wound was. He had been stabbed and hadn't said a thing, “Just let us go and we’ll be on our way.”

“Not so easy.” The man pointing his sword at Harry spoke, then turned to another one who was holding an oil lamp, “Lord Clark is gone, get Liam.”

Zayn groaned and gritted his teeth together when he was lifted up and taken into a dungeon. Harry and Niall struggled in their hold wanting to help Zayn, seeing the way he was quickly losing blood already looking pale. They were thrown into a cell while Zayn was put into another on a cot as gentle as they could before a girl no older than twenty started working on him. They watched her give him a bottle with a clear liquid which he drank from and minutes later let out an ear piercing cry, making Niall and Harry flinch and get closer to the bars wanting to see what was going on.

“You’re going to ruin your teeth.” The girl told him, and handed him a rag. “Bite into this, it will help.”

Zayn’s olive skin was glistening with sweat and his eyes were red. His lips were trembling as he grabbed the rag and bit into it. He nodded at the girl and then looked up at the ceiling, his screams were muffled by the rag and his hands grabbed fistfuls of the old but clean blanket the girl had brought with her.

“Hey! You!” Harry shouted over Zayn's screams, “Do you even know what you're doing?”

The girl looked him up and down, and without saying anything turned to look at the wound again. Harry started shaking the iron bars, desperate to know if she was qualified to do what a doctor should have been doing.

“I’m talking to you!” Harry continued shouting.

“My name is Lucy.” She finally looked at him with an angry expression, one Harry wasn’t used to receiving, “And my mother is the town’s healer. I know what I’m doing, but right now I can’t concentrate with your screams.”

“Let her do her job.” Niall pulled him back by the arm, “We’re lucky they’re helping him, they’re not going to let him die.”

“I need to talk to this Lord Clark...or whoever is in charge. Maybe the wife.” Harry looked at the dirty walls with disgust.

They watched Lucy until she was done, giving Zayn some water after. He ended up falling asleep while Harry and Niall paced around in their cell, desperate to get out of there and go back home.

****

As soon as Liam had taken a step towards Louis, he stopped halfway not moving at all until Louis started walking and grabbed his hand pulling him towards the bed. Louis could feel him shaking, yet said nothing the moment Liam closed his eyes when he started taking his clothes off, moving onto Liam’s as soon as he was done. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he opened them again and lowered Liam’s pants down, blushing when he saw what was underneath.

“Do you– Do you want me to..?” Louis trailed off, knowing Liam knew what he meant. His face felt too hot and his hands were starting to sweat.

“No! Just close your eyes okay, close your eyes and I’ll do it myself.” Liam quickly said, blushing when he saw Louis fully naked standing in front of him.

Louis nodded and got on the bed next to Liam, quickly closing his eyes, trying to convince himself that it was for the best while Liam was already regretting it. Liam wrapped a hand around himself, trying to get hard but it was impossible when he kept thinking about what he was going to do. After a few minutes, he forced himself to think of something else, someone else, quickly forgetting that Louis was in the room right next to him and soon he was hard trying not to make a noise.

“A– Are you ready?” He asked Louis, hearing a small yes in return.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes seeing Louis already on his back, silently thanking him when he saw he had put his shirt back on and his privates were covered even though he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. He wanted to say something when he noticed Louis wasn’t even hard but bit his tongue, and instead sat up then crawled towards Louis already hesitating a bit.

He was already in between Louis’ legs when he started going soft again as soon as Louis wrapped his legs around his waist. He quickly scrambled off of him and to the other side of the bed where he started crying, covering his face with his hands.

“I’m sorry! I can’t– I can’t!” Liam wailed, tensing up when he felt Louis’ warm hands on his cheeks, making him look at him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay...you don’t have to, I’ll figure something out. I’m so sorry I made you do this, don’t cry.” Louis quickly said, shedding a few tears of his own. He felt horrible for what he had put Liam through and shed a few more tears fall, having already accepted his fate.

Liam was still crying, unable to stop while Louis tried to calm him down when they heard a knock on the door and Louis was quick to put his hand over Liam’s mouth to keep him quiet. He gestured for him to keep quiet and once Liam nodded, he got up and put his pants back on. He opened the door seeing Andrew, one of the guards, standing in front of him with a nervous expression.

“Yes?” Louis said, using the same cold tone his husband would use.

“Sir, I apologize for interrupting you, but I was looking for Liam and he’s nowhere to be found.” Andrew quickly said, watching Louis tilting his head to the left.

“And what does that have to do with me?” Louis asked, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling bad when Andrew fiddled with his clothes but it was the only way he would get respect when Howard was gone. Well, as much respect as he could when they already knew the way he was treated. The many abuses going on behind closed doors late at night.

“Frederick and the rest of the guards caught three men hiding by the steps in the backyard, one of them was injured but Lucy managed to patch him up before he could bleed out. Lord Clark is not here and Fred thinks Liam will know what to do with them, especially the leader who already tried to escape and set the others free.” Andrew explained, seeing Louis nodding.

“Go back to the dungeons and wait for me there, Liam went out but he’ll be back soon. I’ll handle it, now go back and have their leader ready for me.” Louis ordered, and as soon as Andrew nodded, he closed the door and hurried back to Liam who only had the bed sheets wrapped around his waist.

Liam’s eyes were red and his face was wet with tears as he watched Louis looking for warmer clothes.

“It was Andrew, Frederick caught a few men and I’m gonna go see what’s going on. Get yourself together then get there, get dressed and wash your face.” Louis kissed the top of his head, then got up putting his coat and shoes on before he left his bedroom.

He grabbed an oil lamp and made his way outside and into the dungeons, hating to be there but he had to know what was going on. As soon as he stepped inside, he wrinkled his nose at the smell, and followed the light until he was in a room with Frederick and Andrew standing in the middle with a man kneeling on the ground in between them.

He carefully observed him, taking in his black shirt and pants already dirtied almost as if he had been rolling around on the dirt, then his dark brown and curly hair pulled back by a black bandana. As soon as they heard him, the stranger lifted his head up and that’s when Louis saw his red plump lips and his bright green eyes already glaring at him. Louis did not let him intimidate him.

“What’s your name and why did you think it would be a good idea to break into my house?” Louis asked, stopping a few feet away from him, feeling a bit awkward when the stranger observed him from head to toe then back up again in a calculating manner before he smirked.

“And why’s a pretty thing like you so rude to their guests? Have you no manners?” Harry asked, taking in his bright blue eyes and pretty face, too pretty for a place like the one they were in.

“I asked you first.” Louis retorted, taking a step closer as soon as he noticed his hands were tied behind his back.

“Look, we were just trying to escape a few men that were trying to kill us, I led my men here when we got stuck at a dead end. We did not mean to trespass but we had no choice.” Harry explained, hoping he would let them go.

“Hmm, and why should I believe you when you won’t even tell me your name?” Louis raised his brows, expecting him to give him his name, making sure he was making eye contact with him.

“Edward. Now, do you believe me?” Harry said, seeing him flickering his eyelids and some sort of emotion pass through his face before he took a step back, almost as if he had been burned.

Harry furrowed his brows and observed him as best as he could. For a moment, the boy standing in front of him looked pale. His eyes became watery before he looked away to wipe the tears away. When he looked back at him, it was as if he didn’t almost have a breakdown right there.

Louis wanted to run away and hide in his bedroom the moment he heard that name, a name he hadn’t dare to say outloud or even think of for the past four years. He blinked a few times trying to make the tears that were threatening to come out go away, and when he looked back into his jade green eyes remembering how his used to be a pretty aqua, he realized the stranger in front of him could help him end his main problem. Something Liam sadly wasn’t able to do.

Louis looked back at him, figuring out he was nothing but a thief along with the other two and in exchange for their freedom and money, he wouldn’t mind doing him a favor. He really looked at him finding him attractive, and so sure of himself that he would be able to give him what his husband never could and would never give him.

“Out.” Louis said, looking at Frederick and Andrew whose eyes widened at the order.

“I- I’m sorry?” Frederick stammered, not sure if it was the right thing to do knowing Lord Clark would have his head if something happened to his husband.

“Get out and make sure the rest do too, I’m going to question this thief and you’re only making him nervous. Now sit him on that chair and make sure he’s tied up.” Louis ordered, watching how they scrambled to do as he ordered, “Now get out.” Louis ordered as soon as they were done.

“But sir–” Frederick nervously took a step forward.

“Get. Out.” Louis said through gritted teeth, watching them walking out followed by the rest.

As soon as he was alone he slowly made his way to Edward, stopping right in front of him then walked around him wrinkling his nose at how dirty he was. He wanted to tell him to take a bath, but he could care less when he was going to get dirty again. He stopped in front of him again, watching him, not really knowing how to even start then decided to get straight to the point. He needed to act fast before Howard could get back.

“I could let you and your friends go, you know.” Louis said, carefully observing him.

“Then do.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Oh but why would I do that, what’s the point then? I will let you and your friends go in exchange of something.” Louis said, and when the man expressed curiosity he continued, “I’ve been married to this pig of a man for four years and like his three former wives I can’t give him children, of course he thinks it’s my fault and doesn’t get that the problem is him, not me.”

“And what does that have to do with me?” Harry asked, “If he can’t give you children then that’s not my damn problem. Divorce the pig and be done with it.”

“You know that’s not allowed.” Louis said, taking a deep breath when he was starting to get frustrated.

“Like I said, not my problem.” Harry glared, “I don’t even know what you’re getting at? Why am I even here?”

“I think you know what I want.” Louis rolled his eyes.

“No I don’t, now let my friends and I go.” Harry started fidgeting in the chair, trying to untie himself.

He stopped when he felt his warm and soft hand on his left cheek making him look up at him. That’s when green met blue. One pair of green eyes, defiant and wild. Another pair of blue eyes, desperate and cunning.

“I need you to get me pregnant. It’s that easy, then I’ll let you go.” Louis said, hoping to convince him. Hell, he didn’t even know if the man in front of him was into men, but he had nothing to lose.

“You are crazy! Why would I do that!?” Harry pulled his head away.

“He’ll kill me if I don’t get pregnant soon. If you don’t help me then I’ll have no choice but to keep you and your friends here, and without the proper medical care and living in a filthy place like this I’m sure your friend will die soon and you won’t be able to save him.” Louis tilted his head to the left, giving him the most innocent look.

He had to act fast to convince him, and out of nowhere straddled him and wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Get off, you’re crazy!” Harry started fidgeting again, trying to shake him off but he only held on tighter.

“You have nothing to lose.” Louis said, slightly rolling his hips, smirking when he heard the small intake of breath coming from him, “You get to fuck me all you want and in exchange I’ll let you and your friends go, send you on your way with your pockets full of money.”

“Get off.” Harry said through gritted teeth.

He felt his cock twitching the moment the crazy man in front of him once again rolled his hips, then moved them back and forth as he trailed kisses down his jaw to his neck then back up again.

“Do you really want me to get off?” Louis stopped moving his hips, “When was the last time you got to fuck someone?” Louis fiddled with his collar, then leaned down to nip at the skin of his neck leaving a red mark behind.

“That’s none of your business, now get the fuck off of me.” Harry growled, swallowing his spit when the man sitting on his lap looked down then back up at him, fluttering his eyelashes before he let out a frustrated sigh and got up.

Harry watched him walk towards the exit, his eyes trailing down to his bum then back up when he abruptly stopped before he turned around giving him a sorry look.

“My condolences, I’m sure you’ll miss your dear friend but it won’t be for long. We’re all going to follow him soon, but I’ll make sure you go last.” Louis said, then started walking again when his deep and desperate voice stopped him.

“Wait!” Harry called after him, sighing in relief when the blue eyed man turned around and gave him a questioning look.

“Yes?” Louis asked, trying to fight his hopeful smile.

“You promise you’re going to get him a doctor then let us go?” Harry asked, watching him getting closer until he was standing in front of him.

“You have my word.” Louis nodded, watching him until he slowly started nodding.

“Fine, but I don’t want to be tied up. I know you’re going to.” Harry glared at him, “I am trusting you, you gave me your word.”

“I’m not stupid! What guarantees me that you’re not going to try to escape or kill me.” Louis snapped.

“If I’m going to do this at least let me enjoy it! Need I remind you that I will be leaving my child behind to be raised by some old bastard. That’s the least you can do.”

“Like you care.” Louis rolled his eyes, “You probably have a few too many bastards all over England. One more is nothing.”

“You don’t know me.” Was all Harry said, before he looked away towards the hallway that led to the cells where his friends were.

“I’ll get someone to come get you and take you to my bedroom.” Louis said before he walked out, running into Liam who did nothing but stare at him with a nervous and somehow angry expression.

“You can’t be serious Louis! He’s a complete stranger.” Liam grabbed him by the sides of his arms shaking him a bit.

“I already made up my mind.” Louis pushed him away, “I’ve lived the past four years in misery and I’m not gonna let him end me like that. I don’t care that he’s a stranger as long as he gives me what I want.”

“Louis–” Liam started.

“Take him to my bedroom and tie him up, preferably to my bed then make sure no one interrupts us. Distract Howard if you must when he gets back. Do whatever you can but keep him away from my bedroom.” Louis ordered, then walked away with the knowledge that Liam was going to do as told.

#Louis Tomlinson #LouisTomlinson #Harry Styles #HarryStyles #Bottom!Louis #Top!Harry #Mpreg #Pregnant!Louis #New Fic #Larry Stylinson #LarryStylinson

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hermanwatts · 4 years

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Sensor Sweep: Legion of Time, Creepy Asimov, Fletcher Pratt, Lost Worlds

Gaming (Modiphius): Today we’re delighted to announce the release of Conan the Adventurer in PDF a major new sourcebook for the acclaimed Robert E. Howard’s Conan Adventures in an Age Undreamed of RPG. Conan the Adventurer is the definitive guide to the lands south of the Styx River, including serpent-haunted Stygia, Kush, Darfar, Keshan, Punt, Zembabwei, and that vast region known to the folk of the Dreaming West as “the Black Kingdoms”. Rife with mystery and ancient, long forgotten cultures and ruins, this region is brimming with potential for adventure and intrigue.

Science Fiction (John C. Wright): LEGION OF TIME was first serialized from May to July of 1938 in Astounding Magazine. It concerns one Dennis Lanning, who, as fate would have it, is the lynch pin on whose actions the existence of two mutually-exclusive future worlds hinge. The visions reveal that some future act of his will grant one of the two futures certainty, and abolish the other into impossibility. The impact of this tale on the science fiction readership of the day is easy to underestimate, and that for several reasons. Foremost, because it is hard to remember or imagine how new the central conceit of the story had been.

Asimov (lithub): By 1969, Asimov himself reported, he was being described by longtime friend Frederick Pohl as someone who “turned into a dirty old man at the age of fifteen.” Asimov, by his own account, was “perfectly willing to embrace the title; I even use it on myself without qualms.” He wasn’t kidding. Two years later, he published The Sensuous Dirty Old Man.

Review (Eldritch Paths): I never know what to expect from author Brian Niemeier. His works always seem to subvert my expectations while exceeding them. Strange Matter, his collection of short stories is no different. All the stories are just weird and different, and they range from fantasy to sci-fi to weird fusions of genres. In short, it’s awesome. Here are my thoughts on each story.

Culture War (Walker’s Retreat): Independent author Misha Burton had a good Twitter thread (starting here) that identifies why contemporary fiction sucks harder than a Hoover on overdrive. Reproduced below; emphasis mine. There is a significant difference between fantastic fiction of the form “what if I fought a dragon” and “what if I were a dragon”. For this discussion I don’t mean “dragon” literally–it could be magic spells or handwavium mutant superpowers.

Comic Books (13th Dimension): Marvel has been producing high-end omnibi collecting this classic run but in June, the publisher is scheduled to start making the stories available in the more affordable Epic Collection paperback format. Roy Thomas and Barry Windsor-Smith’s Red Sonja debut might be the main selling point — but check out the other artists represented in this volume: Gil Kane and John Buscema. Beauteous.

Fiction (DMR Books): The last ninety-plus years have seen Haggard’s star slowly fade. There was a massive shift, in many ways, immediately after World War Two. A large percentage of the authors writing for the pulps and Men’s Adventure Magazines after WWII were influenced by HRH either directly or indirectly. However, there was a zeitgeist in the air which said that all those titans from the time before the Bomb were somehow wrong, and that a “better way” could be found…or just hadn’t been tried. Thus, the gradual memory-holing of H. Rider Haggard.

Gaming (Monsters and Manuals): In adventurer-dense settings, you get an adventurer-friendly infrastructure developing. Institutions arise to facilitate what adventurers do, from your bustling inn brimming with hirelings and rumour, to your adventurer’s guild, your market in ancient treasures and exotic weapons, your sages willing to shell out fortunes for rare collectibles, and so on. (Arguably, the true potential of adventurer-dense settings has never come close to being fully explored; would a system of adventurer insurance come into being? How about hireling labour exchanges?

Tolkien (Tor.com): We’ve come now to the end of Fëanor’s story: to the infamous Oath and the havoc it wreaks on Valinor, Middle-earth, and especially the Noldor. In the title of this series of articles, I’ve called Fëanor the “Doomsman of the Noldor” for this reason. Mandos is known as the Doomsman of the Valar because he is the one who pronounces fates, sees the future, and is especially good at seeing through difficult situations to their cores. I’ve named Fëanor similarly because it is his Oath, his set of ritualized words, that bind the Noldor in a doom they can’t escape.

Fiction (Goodman Games): The Appendix N is a list of prolific authors of science fiction and fantasy. But Fletcher Pratt is not one of them, at least not in comparison to most of the authors on the list. He primarily wrote historical nonfiction about the Civil War, Napoleon, naval history, rockets, and World War II. So why is Fletcher Pratt listed in the Appendix N and why does he have the coveted “et al” listed after The Blue Star?

Sherlock Holmes (Pulp.Net): I’ve posted several times about Solar Pons, a popular character inspired by Sherlock Holmes that was created by August Derleth, continued by Basil Copper and more recently by David Marcum. (I think calling him a pastiche doesn’t do him justice.) We’ve gotten reprints of the original works and collections of new stories, and recently we got the return of the scholarly journal on Solar Pons: The Pontine Dossier.

Video Games (Rawle Nyanzi): No one plays video games anymore. It can sure feel that way when no one purchases the indie game you worked so hard on. All those sleepless nights, all that time, effort, and money — all of it is ignored. You feel like you did nothing of value. But I’m not here to talk about video games, I’m here to talk about books. It’s easy to think that no one buys your book because “no one reads anymore,” but I believe that perspective is very mistaken.

Manga/T.V. (RMWC Reviews): In June of 1972, Nagai’s Devilman manga began, and in July an anime based on it began airing. A horror-action series that would become one of his flagship franchises, the anime was significantly toned down for television. The same year, on October second, Mazinger Z debuted in Weekly Shōnen Jump and a subsequent anime series from Toei Animation would begin airing on December third.

Publishing (DVS Press): Tradpub is a facade, but perception matters. You have to think about who you are facing, in what arena you are facing them, and what victory means. Yes, traditional publishing is in trouble right now due to store closures and paper supply problems, but that doesn’t mean they are dead. Most normal people don’t spend a second thought on the entire industry, and they certainly aren’t looking at any numbers to see what the problems within the industry are.

Biography (Interstellar Intersection): Mark Finn penned what has become the definitive biography on Robert E. Howard in the 21st century, titled “Blood & Thunder: The Life and Art of Robert E. Howard.” Published by MonkeyBrain Books in 2006, a second edition with revisions was later furnished by the Robert E. Howard Foundation Press in 2012. Finn, a scholar from Texas, was nominated for a World Fantasy Award in the Special Award — Professional category in 2007 for his biography and scholarship of Howard, highlighting how desperately the genre fiction community needed new scholarship of Howard, as his creations outshined him.

Fiction (Paul McNamee): Hugh “Bulldog” Drummond is ex-SAS with a problem–he’s easily bored. Civilian life holds nothing interesting for him. He places ads for excitement. Once he’s sifted through the dross, he finds himself pulled into an international plot set on destroying Great Britain as a world power. Only Bulldog and his team of former comrades-in-arms can save the day, weaving between the law and the villains. I.A. Watson brings us a modern Drummond. This novel is as high-octane as any action movie out there today. The novel is wall-to-wall action, does not let up, and leaves you breathless.

Art (DMR Books): The three stories in “Castaways” were all good to varying degrees, but the Frazetta art, every single plate of it, is what really sticks in my mind decades after I laid eyes on it. What I didn’t know until much later was that Frank had just finished up his first ever paperback gig doing ERB covers for Don Wollheim at Ace books. The Canaveral Press edition of Tarzan and the Castaways was Frazetta’s first chance at illustrating a book in the more prestigious hardcover format. Like the major league ballplayer he very nearly became, Frank swung for the fences.

Fiction (Legends of Men): The lost world genre centers around exploration. The land that comprises the setting has been lost or is legendary to the European characters in the stories. They often have something valuable like diamonds or gold. Those valuables compel the characters to search for the land, which is always hard to find and traverse many dangers in the process. The protagonists are usually forced into the role of explorer, even though it might not be their primary skill. For example, in King Solomon’s Mines, the protagonist is an expert elephant hunter who undertakes an exploratory quest.

Gaming (Old Skulling): Due to their importance and influence on the sword and sorcery adventures, Factions can effectively be treated as characters and, as such, can influence the events of the campaign in a myriad of ways. But how do we resolve the outcome of their actions in a fair and neutral way? This system proposes assigning them scores in 4 main Attributes similar to those of the PCs: Warfare, Subterfuge, Machinations, and Influence.

Sensor Sweep: Legion of Time, Creepy Asimov, Fletcher Pratt, Lost Worlds published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

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maxwellyjordan · 5 years

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Ask the author: Interview with Justice John Paul Stevens

Kate Shaw is a law professor at Cardozo Law School. She clerked for retired Justice John Paul Stevens during the 2007-2008 term.

Last week, Justice John Paul Stevens sat down for a wide-ranging telephone interview with me. The occasion was the recent publication of his memoir, “The Making of a Justice: Reflections on My First 94 Years” (Little, Brown and Company, 2019). A lightly edited transcript of our conversation follows.

Question: Thanks so much for agreeing to do this, Justice. The book is wonderful, and it contains not only great biographical detail, but a lot of new insights for those of us who teach some of the cases you discuss in the book.

Justice Stevens: Well, anybody who is able to wade through the entire book is entitled to high praise.

Question: No, it’s very readable! So — will you tell me a little bit about why you decided to write the book?

Justice Stevens: I was just trying to think that through when you called. I really don’t know. I started to write about the party, on my 94th birthday. The project just grew after I started.

Question: So you didn’t sit down intending to write a comprehensive autobiography?

Justice Stevens: No I didn’t, I definitely didn’t. I didn’t have a clearly defined purpose at any time in figuring out what to write in the book.

Question: Do you think having spent so many years writing pretty much full time, the absence of a big writing project created a space you needed to fill with something and so you decided to do this?

Justice Stevens: Yes, I’ve always enjoyed writing, and I think that it just got me started, and then I just — had to keep going.

Question: Let me ask you a little bit about the process of writing the book, because it’s so detailed: There are descriptions of your first-year constitutional law professor’s specific lectures, and depositions you took as a young lawyer in Chicago, and then of course a lot of behind-the-scenes details regarding particular opinions while you were on the Supreme Court. What was your methodology? Did you rely mostly on your memory? Did you have journals that you kept along the way, or did you rely on your papers from the court?

Justice Stevens: It was actually a combination of different things. When I got up to the court, it occurred to me that I should ask my law clerks for help, and I wrote a letter to all of the clerks, asking them for their memories of their own terms.

Question: You did! I sent some memories in.

Justice Stevens: Of course, some of the memories, the [District of Columbia v.] Heller case itself, or Bush against Gore, some of those, I had pretty firm memories of. I knew I was going to cover them, and I did.

Question: What about your time before the court — did you keep journals when you were young, or did you mostly rely on your memory in reconstructing those events?

Justice Stevens: I mostly relied on my memory. That was pretty much the entire basis for the stuff about my pre-court years.

Question: Wow! That’s incredible recall, Justice.

Justice Stevens: Well, they were pretty memorable events that you don’t forget. Meeting Charles Lindbergh or Amelia Earhart or seeing Babe Ruth hit a home run. You don’t have to have much of a memory to have those things come back to you when you start thinking about your childhood and so forth.

Question: You did have a number of pretty incredible encounters in your childhood. Let me ask you to talk about something else you write about in the book, which is your early exposure to the criminal justice system. When you were 12, your father was charged with embezzlement for transactions involving loans to save your family hotel, which was in distress after the stock market crash of 1929. The Illinois Supreme Court later unanimously reversed his conviction. Could you talk a little bit about what impact that early experience had on your later views on criminal justice?

Justice Stevens: It certainly convinced me that every now and then, criminal justice can go wrong because my dad was anything but a criminal. He was a very fine guy and completely honest. My memories of him were teaching me to tell the truth and things like that. That was an important event in my early life. There’s no doubt about it.

Question: You think it instilled a degree of skepticism about the results of the criminal justice system?

Justice Stevens: Yes. It is a system which is a fine system, but it makes a lot of errors. The fact that it is capable of making errors is something we should keep in mind when we authorize something like the death penalty which is just — it cannot possibly be defended by the law of averages or something like that. You just should not put anybody to death unless you have absolute certainty on the issue of guilt or innocence.

Question: I want to come back in a couple of minutes to that. Let me stay with your early life for just a few more questions. I hadn’t known that you worked on your college newspaper at the University of Chicago. You wrote some editorials and reviews; you served in a leadership position. I was going to ask whether you think that experience had any long-term impact, whether it shaped you at all as a writer, or in terms of your interactions with the press over the years.

Justice Stevens: It did have an impact, I’m sure. I remember it as an important part of my college life. I don’t know if it affected my views on any particular issue, but it certainly had an impact on my general interest in writing and that sort of thing. Whether it colored my views on the constitutional rights of free speech and something like that, I really don’t know.

Question: I was going to ask in a related vein about your general view of the press coverage of the court and its opinions. Do you think the Supreme Court press corps gives the public an accurate sense of the work of the court, just on balance?

Justice Stevens: I think they do a remarkably good job — to read Monday’s output and summarize it in time for the next edition of the paper requires some pretty intelligent work. On the whole, I think the regular reporters do a very good job.

Question: Just a couple of more questions about your early life. The chapter on your naval service contains a lot of new detail about your wartime experience; it’s a totally fascinating part of the book. I was going to ask you to talk for a minute on how formative that experience was, how you think your time in the military impacted the kind of justice you would later become, and your decision to share these details in the book.

Justice Stevens: Of course, when I joined the Navy and when I took up the correspondence course in cryptography, I had to sign an oath that I would never reveal what sort of work I was involved in. It was only some years after the war that Congress passed a statute relieving me of that obligation. A lot of that was totally secret for a number of years after World War II. I don’t think the permission to describe it has made all that much difference right now. But the service did have an impact on me. I think my votes in the flag cases [Texas v. Johnson and United States v. Eichman, in which Stevens dissented from decisions holding that statutes prohibiting flag-burning violated the First Amendment] were no doubt influenced by my military experiences. No doubt about that.

Question: In the book, you describe the process by which you got your clerkship with Justice Wiley Rutledge — on the recommendation of two professors on the faculty of Northwestern, with no interview, and after you and your co-editor-in-chief of the law review flipped a coin to figure out who would get the Rutledge clerkship and who would clerk for Chief Justice Frederick Vinson. The hiring of Supreme Court law clerks is in some ways quite different today — anyone can apply; there are in-person interviews. But of course, professors still play an important gatekeeping role. So I was going to ask whether you think the process really is very different today — and if so, is today’s process a better one?

Justice Stevens: I am not sure it’s quite as different as it appears to be. Even today when I hire law clerks, I will pay especially close attention to the particular person who’s recommending someone. For example, some judges I have especially high regard for, and some law professors also carry more weight than the average. It still might come down to a very important recommendation, which might actually determine the outcome. So I’m not sure the process is really as different as it appears to be.

Question: I see. What about the interview? Does the interview make some difference?

Justice Stevens: Yes. I always prided myself on my ability to choose good clerks, and one of the key elements was whether I thought I would like the person. If I got along well with a person in an interview, I was much more likely to hire that person. It’s just a question of personal give and take which you develop in your interviews.

Question: OK, I was going to ask about when you were a young lawyer in private practice in Chicago before you became a judge and then a justice. In the book you mention at a few points that you were a Republican. There isn’t a terribly strong sense of partisan identity that comes through, though at one point you mention that in those days, the Republican party was still the party of Abraham Lincoln. So I was going to ask if you’d be willing to comment on what your partisan identity or formation was like in those early years?

Justice Stevens: It really had almost nothing to do with my life or my practice of law. I had been born a Republican. My dad was an active Republican, but he was not active in politics and I really never was either. It’s true that I did belong to that party, but it really had very little impact on my public work or my private views.

Question: Another episode in your early professional life is the period you spent serving as minority counsel on the Monopoly Power Subcommittee of the House Judiciary Committee. I’d always had the impression that it was a very formative experience, in particular in terms of your views on statutory interpretation. I was wondering if you could talk a little bit about that — how it impacted your view of how the court should approach interpreting statutes.

Justice Stevens: It was really an important part of my career because it was the first significant public job that I ever had. Of course, I think the working relationship between the members of the two parties was much more healthy at that time than it became later on. Almost all the issues that came before the committee, the members of the committee did not approach them in a partisan sense at all. They really worked together on the investigations and their role in them. I just have a different impression of the attitudes of the members — it was very different then than I think it is now.

Question: What about specifically in terms of the role of legislative history and other interpretive devices in interpreting statutes — how do you think that experience affected your approach to answering interpretive questions, deciding how to address ambiguity in statutes?

Justice Stevens: I never really thought there was any reason to be skeptical about legislative history. During my years as a practicing lawyer, it just was part of your study of what Congress was trying to say in their statutes. I never really considered judges or scholars as either those who used legislative history or those who were opposed to it until after I got on the court. It seemed to me, obviously, that when you’re trying to figure out what a group of drafters meant in what they wrote, anything that sheds light on the history is appropriate to consider.

Question: One related question — I believe that it’s the case that Justice Stephen Breyer is now the only member of the court with any substantial legislative experience. At the same time, all of the most recent appointees have served in some capacity in the executive branch. Does that have any significant implications either for statutory interpretation or maybe in separation of powers cases?

Justice Stevens: I had not really focused on that change, but it probably is significant, and it may have an impact on the work of the court.

It may well be that Justice Sandra Day O’Connor’s experience as a legislator and Justice Hugo Black’s experience did have an impact… being more conscious of the public consequences of the decisions. I just haven’t really thought about it, but I do think that there’s a failure to pay adequate attention to the public impact of decisions … and that’s quite unwise.

Question: You talk in the book about some of the political patronage cases, in particular from your time on the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 7th Circuit, but more recently the partisan-gerrymandering cases. One thing that comes through in both of those lines of cases is your early and consistent view that the Constitution imposes a basic duty to govern impartially. Can you elaborate a bit on where that constitutional rule comes from, and if you have any comment on the court’s recent, and of course now ongoing consideration of challenges to partisan gerrymanders?

Justice Stevens: Of course, I think it’s an easy issue and they should have decided it a long time ago. What they’ll do with it, I don’t know, but it always seemed to me perfectly obvious that the government official has to act impartially. I think the constitutional source of that is the equal protection clause of the 14th Amendment. I think I said that on several occasions. I think if you just focus on the importance of governing impartially, you can’t possibly defend partisan gerrymandering. It is diametrically opposed to the duty to act impartially. It seems to me that that’s a duty that should be shared by every public official.

Question: OK, you’ve mentioned Heller, and I should say it was very kind of you to mention my assistance with your dissent in that case. I was going to ask you to talk a little bit about why, of all of the cases that you participated in during your time on the court, Heller is the one that still keeps you up at night.

Justice Stevens: It’s just a recurring problem that confronts us almost — if not on a daily basis, then at least on a weekly basis. These mass shootings are peculiar to America and are peculiar to a country that has the Second Amendment. So I think that interpreting the Second Amendment to protect the individual right to own firearms is really just absurd, and it’s also terribly important. It happens over and over and over again. I think I should have been more forceful in making that point in my Heller dissent. I don’t blame you any more than I blame myself for failing to place more emphasis on that point.

It’s a characteristic of American society that is not shared by any other civilized country. I find it really mind-boggling that my suggestion that we ought to approach the problem by just getting rid of the Second Amendment really has not captured more popular support, because it’s so obvious that it’s an undesirable part of our government structure.

Question: When Heller was decided, there were people who argued that whether it was correct or incorrect, it was a victory for originalism, because not only Justice Antonin Scalia’s majority opinion, but also your dissent engaged very extensively with founding-era materials. I was going to ask you to explain why you decided to fight so much of the Heller opinion on originalism’s terrain.

Justice Stevens: I didn’t really think at the time or I don’t think now that the question of whether originalism is sound constitutional interpretation had any particular relevance to the outcome of that case. We’re trying to understand what the draftsmen of the provision intended, and a lot of the evidence depends on the fact that New York and Philadelphia and Boston had local laws that would have been unconstitutional under the amendment as construed today. That’s the point that Justice Breyer made so effectively in his dissent. I didn’t think of it in terms of whether we were fighting an originalist battle or just a common-sense battle.

Question: I wanted to ask about Bush v. Gore, which is also a fascinating part of the book. You end your discussion of that case by saying that you “wish that the public confidence that the Court had earned when it ordered President Nixon to produce tapes containing evidence of his wrongdoing could be so easily restored,” but that you “remain of the view that the Court has not fully recovered from the damage it inflicted on itself in Bush v. Gore.”

So there’s this suggestion that both the Nixon tapes case and Bush v. Gore are particularly important cases when it comes to the public’s faith in the court as an institution.

What in particular makes those cases so important? Both involved presidents or prospective presidents — is that part of it? Is it that the court appears to many people to transcend partisanship in United States v. Nixon, while many people read Bush as representing the court succumbing to partisanship?

Justice Stevens: The other thing that’s a significant point in both cases is the quality of the majority opinion. The opinion in the Nixon case made a lot of sense; there was really not much doubt about the correctness of the decision. But the majority opinion in Bush against Gore is even worse than I thought it was at the time. I read it over more carefully working on the book. I found that the opinion is internally inconsistent as well as just not making any sense. The quality of judicial work in both cases is a significant aspect of the importance of the cases.

Question: Just a few more questions, Justice. The term that I clerked, in addition to being the Heller term, was the term in which you announced in Baze v. Rees that you had concluded that the death penalty could not be constitutionally administered. You suggested earlier that there’s a straight line between your early experience with the criminal justice system and that 2008 opinion, but obviously you were on the court for many years before announcing your conclusion about the death penalty. Had you long anticipated that you were moving in that direction? Did it surprise you when you got there?

Justice Stevens: It did surprise me. I really remember reading John Roberts’ opinion in the case and thinking his whole business of it doesn’t make any sense. It really dawned on me during the deliberations on that case, that the death penalty really cannot be justified on the grounds that ostensibly supported it. I really think it turns out to be just quite wrong. It really dawned on me when working on that case.

Question: Reading the chief justice’s writing in that case was what crystallized it for you?

Justice Stevens: I think that’s right.

Question: Wow. OK, so in the course of preparing this book you revisited nearly four decades of Supreme Court decisions. I was going to ask whether you came away with any new insights into the court’s treatment of precedent. On balance, has the court been sufficiently protective of stare decisis or consistent in its treatment of precedent, both historically and, to the extent you wish to comment on it, in recent years and today?

Justice Stevens: I think it’s been insufficiently respectful of prior decisions through the years, really beginning with Justice Thurgood Marshall’s writing in his dissent — the last dissent that he wrote [in Payne v. Tennessee]. I also dissented in the case. It’s a victim-impact case. And I really think it’s gotten even worse in the lack of respect for that doctrine that the court has developed over the years.

To say in the case they decided a couple weeks ago [Franchise Tax Board of California v. Hyatt], overruling a case I wrote, for six justices, and five justices overruled it. It made me think, maybe when they overrule they ought to find out whether at least the majority of the judges who have addressed the issue agree with it. Because overruling Nevada against Hall — it makes absolutely no sense in terms of — looking into the future. Because states have been sued in the courts of other states so rarely, that you might just as well have a rule you can follow rather than change it 20 years later for a different rule that clearly is not any better than the other one. Of course, my own views about sovereign immunity made the case particularly easy for me. But the reasons given for overruling it don’t make a lot of sense at all. Of course, you can’t spend a lot of time criticizing it because its impact on the law — because this happens so rarely, once or twice in 15 or 20 years. But to overrule the case? It just doesn’t make any sense at all. [Justice Clarence Thomas’] opinion for the majority really doesn’t explain why they needed to take a second look at it anyway.

Question: Yes, he has only a very short discussion of stare decisis, and Breyer’s dissent seems to suggest that the case’s insufficient respect for precedent has significance beyond just the narrow immunity issue presented in the case. Do you agree with that?

Justice Stevens: Yes, indeed. I certainly do.

Question: Your discussion just kind of answered this question. I was going to ask how much you keep up with the court these days. I gather you read most of what they produce?

Justice Stevens: Yes I do. It’s a principal source of my reading. I’m a little bit behind right now, but I do keep up with their work.

Question: Just one more question. I was going to ask about proposals to change or reform the Supreme Court. Various proposals to change the court by increasing its size, changing selection methods, imposing term limits — some of which have been around for some time — seem to be attracting more public attention these days. I was going to ask if you had any interest in commenting on any of those proposals.

Justice Stevens: I think the number nine is right. They should stick to that. In time perhaps they’ll come back to their senses on some of the issues. I don’t think the remedy is changing the size of the court.

Question: OK, Justice, I appreciate your taking the time to do this. Enjoy the rest of the day, and I hope you get some ping pong or some swimming in.

Justice Stevens: Thank you very much.

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