#bc at this point very few people actually listen to her beyond when she’s staring directly at them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

calaofnoldor · 4 years ago

Text

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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in-tua-deep · 4 years ago

Note

I would like to see Hargreaves family time please :3

HMMMM have a bonding scene ;3c

it is unedited though bc i never got around to it lmao

...

The thing they don’t tell you about recovering after escaping from terrible experiences, is that there are some things that you miss about them. You can be glad that you escaped while still mourning what you left behind, even if as far as you are concerned there shouldn’t be anything to mourn in the first place.

Five hated the apocalypse with something heavy and terrible that settled deep in his gut and that tended to be vomited out at the most inopportune times. Or perhaps it wasn’t hate at all, but fear that he experienced. Not that he would ever admit it, mind you.

But there were just some things that just - well. Five had spent over forty years in the apocalypse, sifting through rubble and ruin and scratching out equations on walls that were too broken to offer even the memory of the comfort and safety they’d once upheld. He’d spent forty years clinging to life by his fingernails and re-reading a book that was the only thing he had of his siblings outside of the grave sites he refused to visit,

He didn’t want to go back there. His entire life’s work was getting out of that hellscape and making it so that it never existed in the first place. Five hated and feared the apocalypse, but oh there were some days that he missed it with such a terrible fierceness it rather took his breath away.

He missed it on the days when nothing seemed to go right, when every word that came out of his mouth was wrong. When people looked at him with tightness around their eyes and pinched lips, and his siblings looked at him with pity in their eyes. Poor little Number Five, who couldn’t even accomplish the simplest of social interactions without inevitably fucking it up. Poor little Number Five, who forgot that people weren’t supposed to write on walls or hoard food in their rooms or freak out when someone burned food in a kitchen.

Adapting to a normal life was a challenge that Five hadn’t ever thought about - because what about his life had ever been normal? He was a child soldier, and then an apocalypse survivor, and then a temporal assassin and then - he wasn’t quite certain what he was now. Was he a child, or an adult? What was he supposed to do with himself now?

He missed that sense of purpose in the apocalypse. He missed Dolores. His one companion for so many years. He’d actually known her for longer than he’d known his own family, and wasn’t that an odd thought?

He missed the spot he’d holed up in before an earthquake had ruined it almost ten years before the Commission had found him. It wasn’t much, but he’d found a handful of records that had miraculously survived and an old record player that had even more miraculously done so.

He’d admitted to Dolores that he didn’t really know how to dance, not beyond the general flailing and swaying his siblings had used to drag him into when Luther played something from his budding collection.

(Five hadn’t had the heart to go rooting through the remains of the Umbrella Academy for things that could be salvaged, but he wondered about it often. He wondered if he’d find a whole entire collection of records, of if Luther would have lost interest and gotten rid of them all. He wondered if Allison still read through all the trashy magazines she could get her hands on as an adult, if she still tried to balance books on her head and walk regally through the house just because she’d read it once in a princess book or if she’d grown out of that.

He was back now, and perfectly capable of asking, but he didn’t. He looked at his siblings and saw strangers and missed his childhood even with the shadow of Reginald looming over them all. He loved his siblings as they were now, but oh he ached with the knowledge that the siblings he had known, the ones he had tried so hard to get back to, were lost to time. As good as dead. But then again, perhaps so was he.

He wasn’t the child who left on that fateful November day. He would never be him again.)

He missed Dolores teaching him to dance under the pale moon. Or well, not perhaps dancing so much as gently swaying together with his arms around her, cheek pressed against hers, as he closed his eyes and pretended for a moment that he hadn’t met her in the apocalypse at all. That they’d just bumped into one another in the street and gone on dates where he made her laugh and where he stressed about what to wear - a million inconsequential moments that meant nothing and everything at the same time. He’d wished they’d had a life together instead of the slow drawn out death that was the only thing that existed in the apocalypse.

And perhaps, there were other things he didn’t know he would miss until they were already gone and out of reach. Things he didn’t even think about, until he looked up at night and wondered where all the stars had gone.

It was a silly thing to get upset over, to go tearing through the house like a man possessed to figure out what had happened to the stars.

(Or perhaps it wasn’t so silly after all - the almost-apocalypse he had witnessed destroyed the moon. Was it such a reach to wonder about the stars, as well?)

Light pollution was the simple answer. It wasn’t that the stars were no longer there, just that they were drowned out. Only a few pinpricks bright enough to shine through and be picked up by the human eye. There had been no human lights in the apocalypse, with no one to turn them on or off except one lonely man who had a flashlight with scavenged batteries. Not nearly enough to make any difference.

The stars had been so beautiful. On the clear crisp nights, he’d lay next to Dolores on the ground staring up at the brilliant specks of light and tried his darnest to remember the constellations that once upon a time Luther had enthusiastically outlined for his unattentive brother at the height of his space phase.

(“When we get back,” He’d whispered to Dolores ever so softly, in the way he whispered every wish that only seemed appropriate to utter out loud under the night sky, “I’m going to get Luther to tell me them again, and I’ll actually listen this time. I won’t tell him to shut up, or that stars aren’t important. I’ll listen.”

He’d never been very good at listening, even as a child. But outside of a seven day deadline - the apocalypse had taught him patience. It was something the Commission found to be a boon as well - there was nothing more deadly than a very patient predator on the hunt, after all.)

Klaus had told him that the apocalypse was an addiction, and Five had done his best to quit cold turkey.

He’d returned Dolores to her store, mourning what could never be between them. In darker moments, he wondered if she would have ever actually chosen him - in that imaginary world where they met on a crowded street by happenstance. They’d been forced together at the end of the world, and even though he loved her he wondered about things like choice and happiness and shared trauma. Them breaking up was the right thing to do, he knew that, he just hadn’t realized quite how much it would hurt.

So it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Five sought comfort where he could. That he stole a record from Luther’s collection (it had gotten bigger, a passion pursued into adulthood which was one question answered) that he must have played dozens of times on that record player in their little sanctuary at the end of the world. That he slept on the floor instead of the bed that was far too soft in so many ways.

That he crept up to the roof and lay on his back and stared at the stars that were visible, remembering a sky filled with diamonds and a cool hand in his own and whispered hopes and dreams and secrets from one terribly lonely boy to the uncaring infinity of the cosmos.

And maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise that it wasn’t long until he was discovered up there, gazing at the sky with such careful mourning carved across his face.

(He hated and feared the apocalypse, but he mourned it as well. It had raised him, in the harsh and terrible way that was all the apocalypse knew how to do. He’d been raised by Reginald Hargreeves and forged in bruises and thoughtless brutality, and then delivered into the arms of something else that didn’t care for him either.

He grew into a boy with careless cruelty and harsh criticisms and a love for his siblings that burned hotter and longer than any fire the apocalypse could produce. He grew into a man, or perhaps just something man-shaped, in starvation and desperation and terrible all-consuming loneliness.

Reginald had been fond of telling them, “You will learn through suffering.” It was something trotted out whenever the children were forced to skip meals or run up and down stairs until their insides twisted and they retched on the floor barely held up by burning thighs and weak knees. It was being tossed behind locked doors until they promised their unrelenting obedience to a man who had done nothing to deserve it.

If suffering was a teacher, then surely Five was one of the wisest people alive.)

“What are you doing up here?” Luther asks, too loud in the stillness of the night. Five doesn’t begrudge him it though, it wasn’t every day one was confronted by their teenage shaped brother laying listlessly on the roof at hours when everybody should be tucked away in bed.

“What are you doing up here?” Five parrots back, melancholy mood sharpening the edge of his words into something more pointed than he perhaps meant them to be.

Luther shuffles, looking awkward in his own skin as he so often does. It’s enough to make Five soften, just ever so slightly. After all, Luther isn’t exactly the only member of the house who feels alien in their own body.

Perhaps it’s cruel to take comfort in his brother’s discomfort. But perhaps Five is cruel. It isn’t the worst thing he’s been called in his life.

(No one speaks about the dinner where Five and Diego had been sniping at one another and pushing each other’s buttons where Diego had brought up Five abandoning the family. That had been his exact word - abandoning. Five had frozen and Diego had pressed on, snarling about Five not getting an opinion about Reginald because he’d ditched so early and left the rest of them to Dad’s tender mercies. He’d said far more, but the rest of that dinner was a blur of sound and colors for Five.

Diego had apologized over the incident and then proceeded to not look Five in the eye for the next week. The whole family were so good at picking at one another’s weak spots and hitting them hard and fast. It was practically second nature. They knew which points to leave alone when it came down to it for each other, but not for Five. Not yet.

They didn’t know him anymore. It was a work in progress navigating their respective minefields of trauma in the meantime.)

“I asked you first.” Luther says, childish statement bringing Five out of his own thoughts. At the end of the day, they are brothers.

And perhaps it is that brotherly spirit that prompts Five’s lips to quirk as he offers the equally childish response of: “I asked you second.”

Luther scowls, but he’s fully aware of exactly how stubborn Five could be. That’s Five, built out of spite and pettiness, who never knew how to just lay down and give up. But if he’d been any less himself, they would never be there that night on the roof irritating one another. The thought fills Five up with something that could almost be called fondness.

Luther crosses his arms, and looks away. “I like looking at the stars.” He admits haltingly, and it makes Five sit up from where he was still sprawled on the ground. “I just - on the moon - I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Five cuts in with a fierceness that surprises them both. Five doesn’t look at Luther, just the sky. “There’s not as many stars, here. Not that you can see. It’s supposed to look different, but what’s left is still comforting because the sky is a constant. Because the stars don’t really change, even when the rest of the world does.”

“Yeah.” Luther sounds surprised at Five’s insight. There’s a moment of hesitation before Luther is gently lowering himself down to sit on the roof a few feet away from where Five is. When Five dares to sneak a glance, Luther’s eyes are trained on the sky with an almost wistful look on his face.

“I know I’m not supposed to miss it,” Luther begins, and the thought sounds so much like what Five was just pondering that he can’t help but startle. Thankfully, Luther doesn’t see. “But - it was always my dream, you know? To go up there, into space. I know it was just a rejection now, that Dad didn’t want me around so he wouldn’t have to face his failure.” Luther’s face twisted as he spat out the last word. He’d taken it hard, learning that he was just as insignificant in the grand scheme of their father’s plans as the rest of them.

“But.” Luther continues, his face smoothing out, “It was still four years of my life. I had a routine. It was lonely, but god Five. The weightless feeling? The stars? The sunrises? There’s nothing quite like it.”

There’s a silence between them for a moment that Five decides to break. Because he’s trying, he really is.

“Sometimes,” Five says, so softly that Luther actually shifts closer to hear him, “Sometimes the apocalypse was beautiful. A decade or so in, when the plants just tentatively started realizing it was safe to grow again, and the weeds came back first. Just spots of green and bright yellow dotted through the cracks and crevices.”

(Five had spent many springs of his life wandering through the rubble, leaning down to pick dandelions to admire before he ate them. Even when he was terribly hungry, he’d never eaten all of them - always leaving some to mature and bring more the next year. Picking them up and blowing softly and remembering the first time he’d seen one - on a mission where Ben had quietly and excitedly informed them that they had to blow on it and make a wish. That he’d read about it in a book.

Five had made the same wish for forty some years. He wasn’t sure what he’d wish for now, now that it had come true.)

“And when the skies were clear, at night - the stars were beautiful.” Five admitted, Luther made a sound but Five ignored it to carry on because if he didn’t speak his mind now he might never. “There were so many Lu, way more than we ever saw out our bedroom windows. And on nights where the moon was just a sliver, there were even more. We’d lay out there for hours.”

Luther coughs. Five looks over and isn’t quite sure why there’s a guilty look on his brother’s face. “’We’ would uh, be you and uh, Dolores, right?”

Ah, that would explain it. Luther always got that look when Five brought up Dolores, no doubt thinking about when he’d held her out of a window as leverage to prevent Five from killing someone. Luther hadn’t known then, Five thinks, about exactly how much Dolores meant to him. He’d known she was important, but hadn’t known why. He hadn’t asked.

There’s nothing Five can do but nod though, in response to the question. “Yeah. She likes the stars, she’s always loved things that glitter.” It was why she loved sequins so much, and Five was secure enough to admit that he liked them as well.

There’s an awkward silence between them now, one that Five can’t help but try and break. “I tried to remember the constellations.” He blurts out, grasping at the connection the two of them had shared before it slips between his fingers and results in them quietly going to their rooms and forgetting this conversation ever happened.

He can’t look at Luther, not as he admits this. So he doesn’t, he turns his gaze upwards to the pinpricks of light. “Do you remember, when we were eight and Mom gave you that book of constellations? And you wouldn’t shut up about it for like, a whole month? You kept waking all of us up and dragging us to the roof and you said we had to listen to you because you were Number One?”

Luther surprises Five just a little by laughing, “Yeah! Yeah I do remember that. Diego threatened to throw me off the roof if I ever woke him up in the middle of the night again after the fourth time and I’m pretty sure Klaus learned morse code to complain about me to Ben.”

Five grins, “Nah, don’t flatter yourself. He learned morse code with Ben to gossip at dinner. Your little nighttime shows were just something else he could yell about in front of Dad without anyone the wiser.”

“Of course he did.” Luther just sounds exasperated at their most colorful sibling’s antics, which is a big improvement on how he would have felt about it when they were actually eight. “To be honest, I didn’t think any of you actually listened to what I was saying at the time. I’m surprised you remembered.”

Five shuffles, not exactly wanting to admit he doesn’t remember most of the content but not quite willing to lie to his brother either. “I only remembered bits and pieces. Some names, other shapes. Those three stars that make up that one dude’s belt or something.”

“You didn’t just find some astronomy book?” Luther asks, looking puzzled. He doesn’t look offended at least, that Five didn’t pay that much attention during those lectures so many years ago. To be fair, he’s had plenty of time to come to terms with the idea.

“It felt disloyal.” Five admits after a heartbeat, only half grudgingly. He isn’t exactly the king of heart to hearts, but there is something about Luther that seems to encourage them in him. Even during the stress of the days preceding the apocalypse weighing on him, it had been Luther who Five had told about finding their bodies and who Five had told not to waste his life.

Maybe it was the certain level of kinship between them, both of them trapped in bodies that they did not choose and did not want. Both of them left alone for years on end, having to relearn how to interact with the general populace. Luther was loyal where Five was rebellious, but they had enough common ground between them to be significant.

“Disloyal?” Luther’s tone isn’t quite questionioning, just offering a way for Five to continue his thought where he’d trailed off.

Five’s stomach squirms at the blatant emotion, but it would have to try a lot harder than that to stop him after he’d gotten used to the hollow aching pain of starvation. “I didn’t want to learn the constellations from a book.” He says, and it’s easier to admit to hopes and wishes in the dark with the stars above him. It’s familiar. It’s not Dolores next to him, but Luther isn’t half bad company when he’s by himself. “I wanted to learn them from you, except you weren’t around to ask anymore.”

Now that he’s out of that hellscape, he can half admit to himself that not allowing himself to pick up an astronomy book might have been him giving himself even more incentive to go back and fix things. Not that he needed it but - half of it might have also been a sort of punishment for abandoning his family to whatever fate left them buried in rubble and dead at the end of the world as well. Never let it be said that any of Five’s coping mechanisms were actually healthy.

There’s a silence where Luther mulls that over, before he opens his mouth with a soft expression, “I’m around now.”

It’s an offer and a question rolled into one. It’s not Luther immediately launching into a lecture assuming that’s what Five wants or needs at the moment, it’s him asking, which is an improvement all in itself. If Five was too raw tonight, he would accept that without a question and they could look at the sky in silence together until the dawn came.

The ball is in Five’s court.

“What - what’s the name of the dude with the belt?” Five asks, hesitant and careful and feeling as brittle as the porcelain vases that Reginald decorated the halls with.

Luther’s answering smile is bright and tender enough to hurt.

“His name’s Orion...” Luther explains, and Five closes his eyes and lets Luther’s voice wash over him. When he opens them, it seems like the stars twinkle just a tiny bit brighter than before.

Or that might just be his imagination.

#ask me #yeAH i volunteered to do a luther and five piece bc very few people wants to tag in for luther #look i'm not luther's biggest fan but he has some rights #then again i haven't seen s2 maybe he loses what few rights he has #but i can't help but draw parallels between his and five's experiences #me holding up luther: stinky but still good #tua #the umbrella academy #far tua long #long post #five hargreeves #number five #luther hargreeves #i don't THINK i posted this before but correct me if i'm wrong #should i put this on the masterlist ????? what would i even put it under idk #Anonymous #oneshots

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spine-buster · 4 years ago

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peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | one

A/N: Here’s the beginning of my new mini-series! I hope you all enjoy it. It will definitely be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, so be prepared! There will be five parts!

SUPPORT MY WRITING HERE: https://ko-fi.com/spine_buster

CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.

* * * * *

Brock Boeser felt like he was at some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, with everybody around the circle introducing themselves and their similar predicaments. The group was in a big meeting room at the local community centre, and when he walked in, he saw a group of dads playing basketball in the gym. He sort of wanted to join them instead of being here, in this room, with all these people that he didn’t know talking about what they were going to talk about, but he’d done this back in Minnesota, at his mother’s behest with his siblings, and he was going to do it here, too, in Vancouver, to make her happy and ease her mind and to make sure that he was easing his own mind.

“Um, hello everyone. My name is Brock Boeser. I’m from Minnesota, but I’m living in Vancouver. And um, I’m here with you all because my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease.”

“Hello Brock,” everyone smiled at him, and he smiled and nodded back.

“So it was your dad that was diagnosed,” the leader, a kind, older woman named Esther who had greeted him at the door and stuck with him until everybody sat down, egged on a conversation. He knew she was doing it because he was new; everybody in this room probably already knew each other. A part of him actually wondered if anybody knew who he was. “When?”

“Um, he—he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2010,” Brock revealed, stuttering it out. He knew he’d have to be open at these things – open so people could empathize with him, open so he could empathize with others – but it was still tough for him to do so. “But he—it’s—it’s not just Parkinson’s. Two years after he was diagnosed, he was in a car accident and suffered a traumatic brain injury. In 2017, he was diagnosed with lung cancer. He beat it but then in June it returned to his liver and chest. In July, he had a heart attack and his heart stopped beating for 15 minutes. I was with him and—I—it’s—it’s a lot, as you can imagine,” he tried not to start crying right then and there. Imagine that – first meeting with a Parkinson’s Society of BC support group and he’d bawl like a baby.

“Goodness me, Brock,” Esther said. “He has support at home?”

“Um, well, money isn’t an issue now, but when I was growing up my mom worked three jobs to make sure we were all taken care of,” he revealed. “I’d pitch in too wherever I could, obviously.”

“But it’s been tough for a number of years.”

Brock paused. It had been tough for a number of years. It had been really tough for a number of years. He nodded his head. “Yes ma’am. I try to take it day by day.”

Esther nodded as well. “I don’t know if you pray, Brock, but I know a couple of members around the circle do, and, well – you’ll be kept in all our prayers.”

Brock saw a few people nod their head. Another older woman, probably his mom’s age, clutching a rosary; a Sikh man dressed in a casual suit; a younger woman, probably in her thirties, with short blonde hair. He appreciated the sentiment. He knew that people took prayer very seriously – that people suffering took prayer very seriously. It was, realistically, one of the kindest things somebody could ever say to you: “I’m praying for you.” “Thank you very much,” he said, nodding his head once.

***

There was an arrangement of cookies at the end of the meeting. Even after the 90 minutes of everybody talking about their experiences and emotions, they apparently liked to stick around afterwards as well just to mingle. It didn’t all have to be doom and gloom, he thought. It didn’t all have to be about Parkinson’s or about sick people or losing your loved ones all the time. Maybe some people just wanted to talk about the news. Maybe some people just wanted to talk about sports. The weather. Anything. Anything to make a connection with someone beyond something so tragic.

After stuffing an entire Fudge-O cookie into his mouth, he looked up to see a young woman staring at him, holding her trenchcoat in her arms. She was smiling to let him know she was friendly. He was embarrassed because he knew she just saw him stuff an entire Fudge-O into his mouth. “Hi,” he said, his mouth still full of cookie, the sound of his voice reflecting that fact.

“You’re Brock Boeser, right?” she asked sweetly. “You play for the Vancouver Canucks?”

“Yeah,” Brock couldn’t help but smile. He swallowed the rest of the cookie even though he didn’t really finish chewing it. “That’s me. Are you a fan?”

“My step-brothers are more so than I am,” she said. “But I’m a fan of the team, yeah. I’m Grace Gillespie,” she extended her hand to shake his. “God, they’re not gonna believe me when I say I met you. They’re gonna freak.”

Brock couldn’t help but chuckle slightly. “Do you—I mean, do you want a picture? I don’t mind at all. I’ll sign an autograph on a napkin if you want me to.”

“Well…it’s a bit awkward to ask you at a Parkinson’s Society of BC meeting, but we could go to the Starbucks down the street and I could buy you a coffee.”

Brock was slightly taken aback at her forwardness. He shouldn’t have been. Girls came up to him all the time. All the time. And they were most definitely not shy. But he wasn’t exactly expecting it to happen here, of all places. A bar, sure. Out with Petey or any of the other guys, absolutely. But not here. “Yeah…yeah sure,” he stuttered out.

“Then we should go,” Grace smiled. She turned to look behind her. Brock saw Esther picking up a few Oreos. “Thank you for leading another great session, Esther,” Grace said.

“Oh you are most welcome Miss Gillespie. How is Hamish these days? You didn’t speak much today.”

“He’s been doing fine lately. His caregivers have been working around the clock for him. They just work wonders, don’t they?”

Esther nodded. “They are angels on Earth. Anyways – we’ll catch up next week,” she said, leaning slightly on her leg to look beyond Grace and to Brock. “I hope to see you here again next week, Brock.”

“Thank you, Esther. See you next week,” he said, realizing he made the commitment before he could even realize what he was saying.

***

“I take that was your first meeting?” Grace asked as she set down the two lattes on the table against the window where Brock was waiting.

“Was it really obvious?” Brock asked.

Grace shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t want to make him feel self-conscious. “It was the stuttering that gave it away, at least to me. I know I stuttered a lot the first few times I came to these meetings. I wasn’t the most comfortable talking about my dad’s condition to a room full of virtual strangers. But within just a few months I realized the people in that room are the kindest, most empathetic, most amazing people that I’ve ever interacted with. So I became a lot more open.”

Brock was transfixed by every word that Grace was saying. “So you’ve been coming here a long time,” he said.

Grace nodded. “My dad got diagnosed with Parkinson’s when I was fourteen. I didn’t start coming here until I was about eighteen, though.”

Brock knew he shouldn’t ask. He knew he shouldn’t. But his brain had ulterior motives, and his mouth – well, his mouth listened to his brain, because it apparently needed to know. “Is your—is your dad like my dad?” he asked. “Does he have, like, other problems complicating things?”

Grace shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “But the Parkinson’s is enough for him. I mean he was diagnosed just short of ten years ago and he’s already on puréed foods. It’s not—I mean, you know as well as I do that it doesn’t regularly develop that fast. But that’s…I don’t know how you do it.”

Brock didn’t know either. Some days he didn’t. “I just take it day by day,” he said simply, just like he said in the meeting. “If I think about it too much…that’s when it’s bad.”

“I hear ya,” Grace said, taking a sip of her coffee. “But let’s…not talk about this for too long. Do you like Vancouver? Do you find it nice?”

Brock appreciated the change in topic. “I love it here,” he nodded his head, smiling. “The city’s great. The fans are great. My teammates – I mean they’re amazing. What do you do?”

“I’m a dance teacher at Goh Ballet – little kids and teens, mostly.”

He wasn’t expecting that. She was drop dead gorgeous, sure – Brock wasn’t blind – but he wasn’t expecting to hear she was a dancer. “Do you, like, dance in the real ballet?”

Grace snorted slightly at his phrasing of ‘real ballet’. “No. I pursued it only up until a certain point. I was good, but uh, I stopped when my dad got diagnosed.”

“Why? Don’t they always tell people like us to have, like, an outlet or whatever?”

“They do. But I loved my dad more than I loved dance. And I would have rather spent the time that I was spending on dance with him instead.”

He understood where she was coming from, and he wasn’t there to judge her. “And your brothers you mentioned, did they help too?”

“Oh no no no. Sorry – I should have specified. I’m an only child. Like, the only child between my parents. But they divorced when I was six and when my mom re-married I gained two step-brothers, Jasper and Theo.”

“How was the divorce?” Brock found himself asking.

“You ever see footage of a nuclear bomb exploding?” Grace giggled as she asked the question. It caused Brock to laugh too even though the analogy she was making was dreadful. “It was awful. The type of divorce nobody deserves, you know? I became a pawn, basically, and my parents would only speak to each other through lawyers. Even stuff concerning me. It was bad.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It was. But it’s the only life I know,” she said. “He was lucky my mom ended up marrying another rich guy. I mean, my mom only marries rich men,” she giggled slightly again. “That’s how Jasper and Theo became my step-brothers.”

“So your family has money?” Brock clarified. “What’s it from? Dad a lawyer or something?”

“Not exactly,” Grace said. “My dad and his brothers own a private equity firm that started like this,” she pinched her fingers together, “and went like…” she continued, spreading her fingers and moving her hands around her like a bomb explosion. “Gillespie Brothers Investments. I’m sure as a Vancouver Canuck you’ve heard of them. I mean they wanted to buy the Canucks before the Aquilinis.”

Brock hadn’t heard of them, but he now knew he’d have to do some snooping when he got home. “I haven’t heard of them. But I mean – sounds like they were successful.”

“Three billion dollars is pretty successful to me,” Grace quipped.

“B—Billion,” Brock sputtered out. “With a B.”

“With a B,” Grace nodded. Brock had no idea he was sitting across from the daughter of a billionaire. She didn’t act like a billionaire. Not like Brock knew what billionaires acted like. He’d never met one before in his life. Well, besides Francesco. “But tell me more about what you like about Vancouver. What about the nature? I always kind of fine a good long walk along the Seawall or through Stanley Park really clears my mind from all…this. What about you?”

Brock smiled. “I find the white noise of downtown clears my mind.”

***

“You want my number,” Grace said as a statement rather than a question as she and Brock exited the Starbucks. They were kicked out. They’d been there for so long that they’d been kicked out because they were closing. Their coffees had gotten cold. They hadn’t ordered new ones. And now they found themselves on the deserted sidewalk, jackets put on hastily, and Grace came up with that.

Brock looked down at her. They’d been able to look into each other’s soul for the past few hours. “Of course I want your number,” he said. There was no reason to hide it. No reason to deny it. No reason to have to wait until next week to see her again as they sat around in a circle in a community centre talking about their parents.

He took out his phone. She gave him her number. He texted his name to hers so she’d have his. When that dance was done, she looked up at him. “I’m really glad I met you tonight,” she said, her voice sincere.

Brock nodded. “I’m glad I met you too. I—I really enjoyed this. And I mean—I needed it.”

Grace smiled, nodding her head. “I needed it too.”

“D’you—” Brock stopped, trying not to get too far ahead of himself. “D’you need a ride home?”

“Oh no no, my driver is right there,” she motioned her head towards a black Mercedes waiting by the curb.

Brock hadn’t noticed the car until now. “Chauffeur?”

“Billionaire dad,” she winked. Brock understood. She took a few steps back before smiling one more time. “Call me,” she said, before flipping her hair over her shoulder and walking towards the Mercedes and getting into the backseat. Brock watched as it drove off, making a right at the end of the street.

He would definitely be calling.

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sokkastyles · 4 years ago

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I read a pro-Ma/iko take a few weeks ago and I would love your insight because I couldn't put into words why it's so 'ick' to me. The post referenced to all the times someone tried to/has touched Zuko's scar. It went something like: 'Katara touching his scar was insignificant because it was a superficial way of 'healing' him (i.e. she was a means to an end for him) but also bc she doesn't 'know' him. While Mai touching it meant she still saw him as the same Zuko and was trying to comfort him.

Okay, so there’s a couple of things going on here so I’m going to address these two arguments seperately:

1) Katara touching Zuko’s scar to heal it is insignificant because it was superficial and she doesn’t know him.

2) Mai touching Zuko’s scar means she sees him as the same Zuko and was trying to comfort him.

I heavily disagree with both of these arguments and not even from a shipping POV, but as someone with a disability that affects the way I look, even though mine is very minor compared to Zuko’s.

I actually have said that Katara’s offer to heal Zuko’s scar was a superficial healing and not what he really needed, but that doesn’t mean the offer itself wasn’t meaningful. Zuko didn’t need to have the scar healed in that moment, and I’m so glad he didn’t because I am very opposed to narratives in which disabilities and disfigurements get magicked away (*stares intently at Netflix’s Witcher) but it was the first time that someone had offered him the possibility of healing, and Zuko’s reaction to that tells you how much that meant to him. He’s totally blindsided by the offer not just because what she’s saying sounds impossible (and I tend to think Zuko had no idea that waterbending could be used for healing, and when she offered to heal Iroh he was not at all in a place to listen), but because he’s used to viewing the scar as a representation of his own failures. He sees it as a burden he has to bear, something he has to constantly make up for. That’s essentially what he says in his speech to Katara. Even when he says he has realized lately that he can choose what to make of it, he emphasizes the idea that it’s something he will never be free of. Katara saying “maybe you could be free of it” is important not really for the offer to have the scar erased, which isn’t what Zuko needed, nor would it make him magically switch sides, but because she’s offering a totally alternate perspective on the scar. What if you didn’t have to bear this burden? What if you never had to in the first place?

And that totally shakes Zuko because it’s the first time someone empathized with him over the scar, knowing who he was, knowing what he’s done and where he’s come from, but not actually knowing the details of how he got it.

Iroh tells Zuko all the time that he didn’t deserve how Ozai treated him, not necessarily in words but in actions. And Iroh was there, Iroh knows the whole story intimately. Iroh watched as Zuko was burned. People like Song and Jet who empathize over the scar but assume he got it while fighting the Fire Nation can’t truly empathize because if they did know who he was, they would hate him. And, in fact, Jet turns against Zuko as soon as he learns he’s a firebender (even if only by association, Jet never saw Zuko firebend, just Iroh).

But Katara knows exactly who he is. And she does hold him accountable for what he’s done. But then she sees something different, when he apologizes to her, and when she realizes that he’s another kid like her who has lost their mother. And unlike Iroh, she doesn’t know how he got the scar. She doesn’t know how his family has hurt him, beyond the one thing he said about his mother (which could have meant a hundred different things). And she could have made all sorts of assumptions about the scar. She could have thought that maybe he deserved what happened to him, maybe he’s just a violent person who got burned doing something violent. Zuko might think that if she knew she would think the same thing that a lot of people both in the Fire Nation and outside of it think (like the guy in the Earth Kingdom village in “Zuko Alone”), that the scar showed how much of a disgrace he was, a failure, a weakling, not even his father wants him. But she doesn’t make any of those assumptions despite not really knowing him. She just sees someone who was hurt and it doesn’t matter to her how or why, all that matters to her is that she can do something about it, and if she can, it would be against her character not to try.

That’s a very powerful disability-friendly message because she’s not ignoring the scar, she’s not looking past it, and she’s no longer seeing him as “the face of the enemy,” she’s accepting him without judgement and telling him that this pain that he carries because of his scar is something that is not and never was his fault. She sees someone who needs help and she offers it.

As for Mai, @firelxdykatara wrote a great post that pointed out that it’s not even clear that Mai is supposed to be touching his scar, and I agree. She’s just touching him and the scar is just there. Which I guess you could say means she sees him as the same Zuko, but there are a couple of problems with this. One, the fact that the writers didn’t bother to flesh out her relationship with Zuko pre-series really puts a damper on this. We have no idea what their relationship was prior to them getting together in season three. All we know is that Mai thought he was kinda cute. What does “the same Zuko” mean to Mai? How does Mai feel about being away from him for three years? We don’t know, and in their very first scene as a couple Mai literally tells us, the audience, and Zuko that she doesn’t care to know, either.

The second issue is that he is NOT the same Zuko. He is not the same. He can never be the same. This is something that should be addressed between them, not only because it’s a major trauma that represents how his life has been drastically altered in the past three years, but because it would affect how they are intimate with each other. How does Zuko feel about the scar being touched? How does Mai feel about it? Is the scarred area overly sensitive? Does he have pain? Does he have nerve damage? How much vision/hearing/tactile sensation does he have on that side? All of those are things that would realistically affect their relationship. I don’t necessarily expect the show to address them but the point is this: he is not the same. The scar is a part of him. Disabilities/disfigurements are not something to look past. They are a part of the person. And in the case when someone acquires a disability, they will be the same in some ways but different in others, and that’s something that a romantic partner has to accept. Unfortunately for Mai, the narrative mostly uses their relationship to show how Zuko is not the same as he was before and can never be, nor should he want to be.

#zuko #katara #zutara #anti maiko #atla meta #ableism cw

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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 years ago

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Written In The Stars CXLIII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I knew ppl were going to drop my fic in this book bc I made things complicated but I don’t regret the plot— did it still made me sad? yes it sure did -Danny

Words: 5,256

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘No Control’ -by Dylan Reynolds

Chapter Five: The New Routine.

Dumbledore knocked on the door three times and Mrs Weasley's voice was quick to answer.

"Who's there? Declare yourself!"

"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry. Mel and Erick are with us."

"Harry, dear!" Mrs Weasley opened the door at once, letting them in. "Mel! Erick! Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright, you said not to expect you before morning!"

"We were lucky, Slughorn proved much more persuadable than I had expected. The children's doing, of course. Ah, hello, Nymphadora!"

"Hello, Professor... Wotcher, kids."

"Hi, Tonks."

Tonks was looking remarkably grim, Mel looked around the kitchen.

"Where's my mum?"

"I told her to go to bed," Mrs Weasley said sweetly, "it's almost midnight, the baby kept her up last night and she needed to sleep."

"I'd better be off," Tonks stood up. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly."

"Please don't leave on my account," said Dumbledore, "I cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."

"No, no, I need to get going," She replied. "'Night —"

"Dear, why not come to dinner at the weekend, Remus and Mad-Eye are coming — ?"

"My uncle's coming?" Mel asked with excitement.

"No, really, Molly... thanks anyway..." Tonks said tensely. "Good night, everyone."

"Well, I shall see you at Hogwarts," Dumbledore told them. "Take care of yourself. Molly, your servant."

He and Tonks disapparated, Erick spoke up.

"You have a lovely house, Mrs Weasley."

"Oh dear, well, we do make an effort on making it cosy," Mrs Weasley smiled. "You're like Ron, all of you, you look as though you've had Stretching Jinxes put on you. I swear Ron's grown four inches since I last bought him school robes. Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, I am," said Harry.

"A bit," Erick agreed.

Mel sat down between them, she was quite pleased about Mrs Weasley's comment on her growth, even though hers was less noticeable than the boys' who now were five and seven inches taller than her.

Crookshanks and Grey quickly made their way to them. Grey didn't like Erick very much, though Mel didn't know why. Crookshanks, on the other hand, was a huge fan.

"So Hermione's here?" Harry asked as he watched the ginger cat ruin the impeccable set of clothes Erick was wearing.

"Oh yes, she arrived the day before yesterday. Everyone's in bed, of course, we didn't expect you for hours. Here you are — Bread, dears?"

"Thanks, Mrs Weasley."

"So you persuaded Horace Slughorn to take the job?"

"It wasn't hard," Mel smiled. "Professor Slughorn was eager to get to know us better."

"He taught Arthur and me. He was at Hogwarts for ages, started around the same time as Dumbledore, I think. Did you like him?"

Harry and Erick shrugged, Mel kept her attention on her plate.

"I know what you mean... Of course he can be charming when he wants to be, but Arthur's never liked him much. The Ministry's littered with Slughorn's old favorites, he was always good at giving leg ups, but he never had much time for Arthur — didn't seem to think he was enough of a highflier. Well, that just shows you, even Slughorn makes mistakes. I don't know whether Ron's told you in any of his letters — it's only just happened — but Arthur's been promoted!"

Harry made a funny noise, taken by surprise. Erick did a sort of delighted hum and Mel stopped eating, staring at her attentively.

"That's great!" Harry said.

"You are sweet... Yes, Rufus Scrimgeour has set up several new offices in response to the present situation, and Arthur's heading the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. It's a big job, he's got ten people reporting to him now!"

"Sounds important," Erick smiled.

"What exactly — ?"

"Well, you see, in all the panic about You-Know-Who, odd things have been cropping up for sale everywhere, things that are supposed to guard against You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. You can imagine the kind of thing — so-called protective potions that are really gravy with a bit of bubotuber pus added, or instructions for defensive jinxes that actually make your ears fall off..."

Mrs Weasley looked beyond proud as she told them all about her husband's new job. Mel was happy for him, she couldn't think of a man who deserved a promotion more than Mr Weasley.

"...So you see, it's a very important job, and I tell him it's just silly to miss dealing with spark plugs and toasters and all the rest of that Muggle rubbish."

"Well, the heart wants what it wants," Mel chuckled, she was unaware of the way both boys looked at her.

"Is Mr Weasley still at work?" Harry questioned.

"Yes, he is. As a matter of fact, he's a tiny bit late... He said he'd be back around midnight..."

Mel felt something awful crawling up her chest when she noticed all the tiny hands on the clock were now pointing at 'Mortal peril'.

"It's been like that for a while now," Mrs Weasley commented, "ever since You-Know-Who came back into the open. I suppose everybody's in mortal danger now... I don't think it can be just our family... but I don't know anyone else who's got a clock like this, so I can't check. Oh!"

Mr Weasley's was now currently pointing at 'travelling.'

"He's coming!" She got up, a second later there was a knock on the door. "Arthur, is that you?"

"Yes. But I would say that even if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!"

"Oh, honestly..."

"Molly!"

"All right, all right... What is your dearest ambition?"

"To find out how airplanes stay up."

Mel and Harry shared a look of amusement, she heard Erick mumbling 'How do they stay up?' Mrs Weasley tried to open the door but her husband kept it shut.

"Molly! I've got to ask you your question first!"

"Arthur, really, this is just silly..."

"What do you like me to call you when we're alone together?"

The group of teenagers froze.

"Mollywobbles," Mrs Weasley whispered to the tiny crack in the door.

Mel choked on the soup, Harry had to hide his face entirely to control his laughing fit after watching her almost die, Erick quickly patted her back.

"Correct," Mr Weasley said brightly. "Now you can let me in."

"I still don't see why we have to go through that every time you come home!" Mrs Weasley complained as the man walked in. "I mean, a Death Eater might have forced the answer out of you before impersonating you!"

"I know, dear, but it's Ministry procedure, and I have to set an example. Something smells good — onion soup? Kids! We didn't expect you until morning!"

They all greeted Mr Weasley, Mel finally able to breathe and Harry able to speak without cracking up.

"Thanks, Molly," He said when the woman set a plate for him. "It's been a tough night. Some idiot's started selling Metamorph-Medals. Just sling them around your neck and you'll be able to change your appearance at will. A hundred thousand disguises, all for ten Galleons!"

"And what really happens when you put them on?"

"Mostly you just turn a fairly unpleasant orange color, but a couple of people have also sprouted tentaclelike warts all over their bodies. As if St. Mungo's didn't have enough to do already!"

"It sounds like the sort of thing Fred and George would find funny," said Mrs Weasley with doubt. "Are you sure — ?"

"Of course I am! The boys wouldn't do anything like that now, not when people are desperate for protection!"

"So is that why you're late, Metamorph-Medals?"

"No, we got wind of a nasty backfiring jinx down in Elephant and Castle, but luckily the Magical Law Enforcement Squad had sorted it out by the time we got there..."

Harry yawned beside her, Mel was starting to feel weary herself after days of sleeping in the backseat of a car.

"Bed," said Mrs Weasley. "I've got Fred and George's room all ready for you, boys. Mel, you're sharing Ginny's bedroom but I don't want you to wake the girls up. Is it okay if you sleep with Erick and Harry tonight?"

"Yeah, it's fine," Mel yawned, too sleepy to care.

"Where are the twins?" Harry asked.

"Oh, they're in Diagon Alley, sleeping in the little flat over their joke shop as they're so busy," said Mrs Weasley, and Mel could tell there was a hint of pride in her voice. "I must say, I didn't approve at first, but they do seem to have a bit of a flair for business! Come on, dears, your trunks are already up there."

"'Night, Mr Weasley," said Harry.

"Thank you for letting us stay," Erick added.

"Have a goodnight!" Mel ended.

"G'night," said Mr Weasley.

Mel had been in the twins' room a couple of times through the years, it was startling when she walked in and couldn't recognize it. The smell of fireworks was still hanging in the air and there was a few boxes of their personal items laying around, but almost nothing left from their essence in the room, it made her feel homesick.

There were only two beds since they weren't expected until the next morning. Mrs Weasley quickly made a third bed appear with a flick of her wand, it was smaller than the other two, mostly blankets and cushions piled together. She apologized profusely, but Mel didn't mind, she would've slept on the floor considering how exhausted she was.

The boys insisted that she took one of their beds but Mel refused, when she came back from changing Erick was already tucked in her pile of blankets. Harry was grinning at the way his feet were hanging over the edge.

The following morning she was awoken by the door slamming open and a pair of feet stomping into the room. She hid her face between the pillows, Harry's mattress squeaked as he sat up, and fabric rustled as Erick pushed down his blankets.

"Wuzzgoinon?" Harry asked sleepily.

"We didn't know you were here already!" There was a soft thud coming from Harry's bed after Ron sat down on it.

"Ron, don't hit him!" Hermione sat on Mel's bed.

"Dear Merlin," She groaned, hiding under the covers. "I'm going to murder you two..."

"All right?" Ron asked.

"Never been better," said Harry, sounding a bit more awake. "You?"

"Not bad."

"I knew there was no way I'd have a quiet morning here," Erick grumbled. "Hi, 'Mione..."

"Hi!" She said brightly, then shook one of Mel's legs. "Wake up! I want to hear all you did during your mission!"

"When did you get here? Mum's only just told us!" Ron said.

"About one o'clock this morning," Harry replied, Mel turned around and squinted, trying to get used to the sunlight.

"Were the Muggles all right? Did they treat you okay?"

"Same as usual... they didn't talk to me much, but I like it better that way. How're you, Hermione?"

"Oh, I'm fine."

"What's the time? Have we missed breakfast?" Harry said.

"Don't worry about that, Mum's bringing you up a tray; she reckons you look underfed," said Ron.

"Well, he is," Mel replied, finally sitting up. "You should've seen my mum — almost forced the food down his throat once..."

Harry threw a pillow at her, but he missed by a considerable distance.

"So, what's been going on?" Ron asked eagerly.

"Nothing much, I've just been stuck at my aunt and uncle's, haven't I?"

"And we just had a road trip around some towns," Erick said, getting out of his covers only to sit down on Harry's bed.

"Come off it!" said Ron. "You've been off with Dumbledore!"

"It wasn't that exciting. He just wanted us to help him persuade this old teacher to come out of retirement. His name's Horace Slughorn."

"Oh... We thought —" Hermione hushed him, Ron was quick to correct his mistake. "— we thought it'd be something like that."

"You did?" Harry grinned.

"Yeah... yeah, now Umbridge has left, obviously we need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, don't we? So, er, what's he like?"

"He looks a bit like a walrus, and he used to be Head of Slytherin," Harry shrugged, then he glanced back at their friend and raised a brow. "Something wrong, Hermione?"

The girl gave a start, straightening in her place.

"No, of course not! So, um, did Slughorn seem like he'll be a good teacher?"

"Well, he's got a sharp mind no doubt," Erick yawned, laying on the mattress.

"He can't be worse than Umbridge, can he?" added Harry, softly kicking Erick to move him away from his legs.

"I know someone who's worse than Umbridge," Ginny walked in sulking. "Hi, guys."

"What's up with you?" Ron questioned.

"It's her, she's driving me mad."

"What's she done now?" asked Hermione.

"It's the way she talks to me — you'd think I was about three!"

"I know, she's so full of herself..."

"You better not be talking about my mum," Mel joked.

"Can't you two lay off her for five seconds?" Ron scoffed.

"Oh, that's right, defend her! We all know you can't get enough of her," Ginny rolled her eyes.

Harry and Mel shared a confused look, and just when he was about to ask the door opened again. The boy pulled up his covers so fast that Erick fell to the floor.

"Oh," Mel said quietly, staring up at Fleur Delacour.

"Children," she said brightly. "Eet 'as been too long!"

Mrs Weasley walked in right after her, looking upset.

"There was no need to bring up the tray, I was just about to do it myself!"

"Eet was no trouble," Fleur left the tray floating between their beds and kissed her and Harry on both cheeks. Erick got up with a scowl, he shook Fleur's hand, not letting her touch him any further. "I 'ave been longing to see you. You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She never stops talking about 'Arry Potter. She will be delighted to see you again."

"Oh... is she here too?" Harry asked.

"No, no, silly boy," Fleur laughed, "I mean next summer, when we — but do you not know?"

"We hadn't got around to telling him yet," Mrs Weasley said grumpily.

"Bill and I are going to be married!"

"Oh," said Harry, looking back at Mel begging her to help him. "Wow. Er — congratulations!"

"That's brilliant," Mel was unsure of how to react, none of the other women in the room looked happy.

"Bill is very busy at ze moment, working very 'ard, and I only work part-time at Gringotts for my Eenglish, so he brought me 'ere for a few days to get to know 'is family properly. I was so pleased to 'ear you would be coming — zere isn't much to do 'ere, unless you like cooking and chickens! Well — enjoy your breakfast!"

She turned around and left the room with a joyous air, then Emily walked in, holding her son.

"Hi kids," She smiled.

Mel jumped out of bed and gave her mother a big hug. She took her baby brother and kissed him all over his small face. Mrs Weasley muttered something Mel could not hear, Ginny inched closer and started to play with Reggie's little fingers.

"Mum hates her," the girl told her, clearly talking about Fleur.

"I do not hate her! I just think they've hurried into this engagement, that's all!"

"Well, it's not like we all have time to spare, do we?" Emily asked carefully, brushing the hair away from Mel's forehead.

"They've known each other a year," said Ron crossly.

"Well, that's not very long! I know why it's happened, of course. It's all this uncertainty with You-Know-Who coming back, people think they might be dead tomorrow, so they're rushing all sorts of decisions they'd normally take time over. It was the same last time he was powerful, people eloping left, right, and center—"

"Including you and Dad," Ginny smirked.

"Yes, well, your father and I were made for each other, what was the point in waiting? Whereas Bill and Fleur... well... what have they really got in common? He's a hard-working, down-to-earth sort of person, whereas she's —"

"A cow," Ginny replied. "But Bill's not that down-to-earth. He's a Curse-Breaker, isn't he, he likes a bit of adventure, a bit of glamour... I expect that's why he's gone for Phlegm."

"That's exactly what people used to say about me and Matthew," Emily raised a brow. "Now they tell me we were the perfect couple! You see, time's all it takes to change one's opinion, I think we shouldn't talk about relationships that aren't ours."

"I think she's lovely," Mel shrugged, softly kissing her brother's cheek. "You guys are being too harsh on her. I mean, Ginny, you're beautiful —"

"I'm sorry, Mel, I have a boyfriend," She joked.

"— But that doesn't mean you're silly, does it?" Mel sat down on her bed. "Have you forgotten how nice she was to Ron after he helped her sister?"

Mrs Weasley left looking rather tired, Emily kissed Mel, Harry and Erick on the cheek before leaving, leaving Leon Regulus in the room.

"Don't you get used to her if she's staying in the same house?" Harry chuckled, staring at the way Ron was struggling to breathe.

"Well, you do... but if she jumps out at you unexpectedly, like then..."

"It's pathetic," said Hermione, without even asking she took Regulus out of Mel's hold, ignoring the girl's protests.

"I feel your pain, Ronnie, don't listen to them," Mel sighed, leaning back on the bed frame.

"You don't really want her around forever?" Ginny insisted. "Well, Mum's going to put a stop to it if she can, I bet you anything."

"She shouldn't!" Mel replied. "What would you feel if you were deeply in love with someone and everyone tried to keep you away from them? You're own family!"

"How's she going to manage that, anyway?" asked Harry.

"She keeps trying to get Tonks round for dinner. I think she's hoping Bill will fall for Tonks instead. I hope he does, I'd much rather have her in the family."

"Yeah, that'll work," Ron snorted. "Listen, no bloke in his right mind's going to fancy Tonks when Fleur's around. I mean, Tonks is okay-looking when she isn't doing stupid things to her hair and her nose, but —"

"She's a damn sight nicer than Phlegm,'' Ginny made a face of disgust.

"And she's more intelligent, she's an Auror!" said Hermione, Reggie cried a bit and Ginny took it away from Hermione.

"Fleur's not stupid, she was good enough to enter the Triwizard Tournament," Harry argued.

"Not you as well!" Hermione scowled.

"I suppose you like the way Phlegm says ' 'Arry,' do you?" Ginny huffed.

"No," said Harry, blushing a bit, "I was just saying, Phlegm — I mean, Fleur —"

"Oh, please," Mel snorted. "You're just upset because Bill is your favourite brother, Ginny — you're scared he'll stop hanging out here once he marries Fleur. Hermione, I know you're lying, you're not angry because she isn't smart enough for your standards."

Hermione blushed a deep shade of red.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you don't," She grinned. "But you know she's not any of those things, I know you do. I mean, so what if she's confident, as long as she loves Bill like he deserves, right? Don't you want him to be happy?"

Ginny looked at Reggie for a long time, then she sighed heavily.

"I would like her to respect our way of handling the house, that's all..."

"That's understandable," Mel nodded. "But she's the one having to get used to the Weasleys, and if I may give my opinion, you guys are as peculiar as any French girl."

Ginny's face showed a small grin.

"In my opinion," Erick spoke casually, grabbing a toast from the tray. "Fleur's too ostentatious — but she knows how to use her charm, which means she's got a brain. Joseph told me she was a great conversationalist—"

"Can't you talk like a normal bloke?" Ron frowned. "Do you like her, yes or no?"

"I'm saying she's nice."

"Nice?" The redheaded boy asked in bewilderment.

"She's not my type," The older boy rolled his eyes.

"What's your type, then?" Ron demanded.

Erick threw a quick glance at Mel before replying.

"Friendly."

"Okay, maybe Mel's right," Ginny continued, Reggie started to get restless and she swayed him a bit from side to side. "But I still get along with Tonks better, at least she's a laugh..."

"Well, she can still come and hang out, but you can't force love."

"She hasn't been much of a laugh lately though," Ron pointed out. "Every time I've seen her she's looked more like Moaning Myrtle."

"That's not fair," Hermione frowned. "She still hasn't got over what happened... you know... I mean, he was her cousin!"

Harry quickly looked down and busied himself with a spoonful of eggs, Mel grabbed a cup of tea and drank half of it in one large sip.

"Tonks and Sirius barely knew each other! Sirius was in Azkaban half her life and before that their families never met —"

"That's not the point — She thinks it was her fault he died!"

"How does she work that one out?" Harry asked, his mouth half-full.

"Well, she was fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, wasn't she? I think she feels that if only she had finished her off, Bellatrix couldn't have killed Sirius."

Mel tried to remember, there was a huge part of that night she couldn't recall.

"That's stupid," said Ron.

"It's survivor's guilt. I know Lupin's tried to talk her round, but she's still really down. She's actually having trouble with her Metamorphosing!"

"With her — ?"

"She can't change her appearance like she used to. I think her powers must have been affected by shock, or something."

"I didn't know that could happen," said Harry.

"Nor did I, but I suppose if you're really depressed..."

Mel suddenly looked down at her hands and gulped. She hadn't tried to do any kind of magic ever since she'd come back from the Ministry, now a new fear was rising above everything else, the possibility of not being able to be as good as before because of her anguish.

"Ginny," Mrs Weasley walked in again, "come downstairs and help me with the lunch."

"I'm talking to this lot!" Ginny exclaimed, her attention quickly leaving Mel's brother.

"Now!"

"She only wants me there so she doesn't have to be alone with Fleur! Emily's too tired all the time, mum doesn't let her do anything..." The girl got up to leave the room, but Mel stopped her.

"Hey, give that baby back!" She demanded. "I was holding him first!"

Ron stood up and took the baby, claiming no one ever allowed him to play with him. Ginny turned around swiftly, mocking the way Fleur would usually move, once she got to the door she looked over her shoulder one last time before leaving.

"You lot had better come down quickly too!"

Harry, Mel and Erick ate silently while Hermione examined some boxes, Ron was now playing with Reg.

"What's this?" Hermione held up a small telescope.

"Dunno, but if Fred and George've left it here, it's probably not ready for the joke shop yet, so be careful."

"Your mum said the shop's going well," Harry mentioned. "Said Fred and George have got a real flair for business."

"That's an understatement. They're raking in the Galleons! I can't wait to see the place, we haven't been to Diagon Alley yet, because Mum says Dad's got to be there for extra security and he's been really busy at work, but it sounds excellent."

"And what about Percy? Is he talking to your mum and dad again?"

"Nope."

"What a git," Erick muttered, drinking his tea while watching Hermione examine the telescope.

"But he knows your dad was right all along now about Voldemort being back —"

"Dumbledore says people find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right," said Hermione. "I heard him telling your mum, Ron."

"Sounds like the sort of mental thing Dumbledore would say," said Ron.

Mel didn't try to contradict him this time.

"He's going to be giving me private lessons this year," Harry said casually. "Mel already finished hers and he'll have time to teach me."

Hermione gasped, Erick merely looked up from his food.

"You kept that quiet!" Ron exclaimed, Mel's brother slipping from his hold without him noticing.

"I only just remembered. He told me last night in your broom shed."

"Blimey... private lessons with Dumbledore! And he said you're ready to go, Mel? I wonder why he's—?"

"Careful with Lee before you drop him flat on the floor!" Mel scowled. "I see why no one lets you hold him..."

"I don't know exactly why he's going to be giving me lessons, but I think it must be because of the prophecy," Harry continued to speak, eyes fixed on his food. "You know, the one they were trying to steal at the Ministry..."

Erick pulled out his wand and with a quick movement, his plate started to follow him around the room. He took Leon Regulus and mumbled something about the baby needing a nap and Ginny needing help back in the kitchen. Mel wished she could've left with him.

"Nobody knows what it said, though," said Hermione once the Slytherin was gone. "Mel broke it."

"Although the Prophet says —" Ron started.

"Shh!" Hermione interrupted.

"The Prophet's got it right," Harry forced himself to look up. "That glass ball Mel destroyed wasn't the only record of the prophecy. I heard the whole thing in Dumbledore's office, he was the one the prophecy was made to, so he could tell me. From what it said... it looks like I'm the one who's got to finish off Voldemort... At least, it said neither of us could live while the other survives."

She wished she could've spent at least one day without thinking about the prophecy, but Harry had to live knowing that he'd have to face Voldemort, so she couldn't complain.

BANG!

Hermione vanished behind a cloud of dark smoke.

"Hermione!" shouted the three of them.

The girl stood up, coughing.

"I squeezed it and it — it punched me!"

"Don't worry," said Ron biting his lip so he wouldn't laugh, "Mum'll fix that, she's good at healing minor injuries —"

"Oh well, never mind that now!" said Hermione, pushing it aside. "Harry, oh, Harry... We wondered, after we got back from the Ministry... Obviously, we didn't want to say anything to you, but from what Lucius Malfoy said about the prophecy, how it was about you and Voldemort, well, we thought it might be something like this... Oh, Harry... Are you scared?"

"Not as much as I was," Harry shrugged. "When I first heard it, I was... but now, it seems as though I always knew I'd have to face him in the end..."

"When we heard Dumbledore was collecting you in person, we thought he might be telling you something or showing you something to do with the prophecy. And we were kind of right, weren't we? He wouldn't be giving you lessons if he thought you were a goner, wouldn't waste his time — he must think you've got a chance!"

"Of course he does!" Mel got up, starting to pick up the pieces of the tray that had smashed when the boys ran to help Hermione. "Harry's a great wizard, we just need to teach him how to fight..."

Her friends looked at her with pity, they must've been thinking of her lifeline connection with Harry and how it could affect her, but Mel couldn't look afraid or else they wouldn't believe her words.

"Guys, we'll get through this..." Mel looked down a the tiny scars on her palm, rubbing them gently.

"That's true," said Hermione. "I wonder what he'll teach you, Harry? Really advanced defensive magic, probably... powerful countercurses... anti-jinxes... probably the same things he taught to Mel. And evasive enchantments generally— Well, at least you know one lesson you'll be having this year, that's one more than Ron and me. I wonder when our O.W.L. results will come?"

"Can't be long now, it's been a month," said Ron.

"Hang on, I think Dumbledore said our O.W.L. results would be arriving today!"

"Yeah, that's true!" Mel admitted, leaving the broken plates on the desk.

"Today? Today? But why didn't you — oh my God — you should have said —" Hermione squeaked. "I'm going to see whether any owls have come..."

Ron and Hermione left the room quickly, Harry and her were left alone, but this felt a thousand times less awkward than a year before.

"Thank you," Harry said, helping her fold the blankets.

"I didn't do anything. You know they're scared, even if they don't show it..."

"I'm thanking you because it must be hard for you as well, not to show it," He tilted his head. "Usually, you're an open book..."

"I used to be," She corrected. "My feelings are just mine, Harry, and no one else needs to know about them."

He frowned.

"Still, you know it's better not to hold things in, right?"

Mel stared at him.

"Look at you, teaching me about how to handle my emotions!"

The boy let out a chuckle and reached to hold her hand.

"It's going to be okay, Mellow."

She melted at the name, it'd been a long time since he'd called her that. She looked down again at her scarred hand, and that stirred her into talking. An idea started to take form in her mind.

"What if there's a chance you don't have to be the only chosen one?"

Harry blinked.

"What?"

"What if I am your backup?"

"H-How would that even..?"

"Think about it," Mel started. "I was there when he tried to kill you, and that's when our connection was created — it grows stronger when you inch closer to death... What if the reason we can feel each other's pain, is because it warns us about the incoming danger? What if the reason we're connected it's because I'm destined to take your place if you die?"

"But — but the prophecy said it was a boy —"

"Prophecies can change, you're not obliged to copy them exactly as they're told! Even Dumbledore thought I could be the child of the prophecy! What if, in a way, we both are?"

"It doesn't mean anything, Mel. I chose to be —"

"Who says I can't choose to help you?" She lifted her right hand. "I marked myself with the prophecy, see? If we do this together we'll have a real advantage. We even promised it back in the ministry, didn't we? If you die I take your place, if I die —"

"I make sure is not in vain," Harry had finally made up his mind. "D'you think Dumbledore knows? Do you think that's why he wants us to decide for ourselves what we'll do with our lifeline?"

"I have no idea," Mel responded sincerely. "But if we're doing this, we need to set the rules now."

Harry thought about it, then he grabbed her hands and squeezed them lightly.

"Let's talk."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @reverse-hxlland @hamiltonwc @omiwashere @t-rexs-world @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @dielgonacoffee @thelastpyle @cedricisnotdead @aconfusedslytherin

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

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florvinhara · 4 years ago

Text

my detectives (part 1)

kjahfjhsj i can have a little infodumping... as a treat... anyway this was originally gonna be 1 post but then i got carried away so part 1 in the series of me ranting abt my detectives!

Kira Isabella Song

Romances N, F, or M

Age: 25 at the start of book 1, currently 26

Birthday: February 7

Star sign: Aquarius sun, Taurus moon, Scorpio rising

Height: 5’7”

Hair: Short, ash blonde, a little longer than chin length

Eyes: dark brown

Race/ethnicity: Korean-American

Other appearance details: Several beauty marks on face and body. a few subtle scars on face/legs from falling out of trees, etc. fingers are callused from band practice and left hand fingers are a little crooked from being broken.

Languages: English, Spanish, a few basic phrases in some other languages

Stats:

Charming/Intimidating

Impulsive/Cautious

Sarcastic/Genuine

Friendly/Stoic

Easygoing/Stubborn

Heart/Mind (equal)

Optimist/Pessimist

Team player/Independent

Primary skills: Science & combat

Strengths: Trustworthy, strong, courageous, calm under pressure, compassionate, thorough, clever, good intuition, self-sufficient, sure of herself

Weaknesses: Petty, caustic, distrustful, secretive, lackadaisical, insubordinate, emotionally unintelligent, can be disdainful, uncommunicative, contrary

Personal:

overall body language is casual and unbothered, lowkey her posture is kind of yikes RIP but she has a very fluid way of moving

her voice is smooth and somewhat low in pitch, very even in tone

Loud and/or jumbled sounds sometimes overwhelm her; she usually has noise cancelling headphones with her just in case

Rebellious as a teenager; she started skipping school and getting into fights, did some graffiti and one time she stole a street sign that she may or may not still have

When she wasn’t breaking rules, etc. she was taking boxing lessons, chilling in the library, going on runs, or playing bass guitar in her band

Wanted to get out of Wayhaven as soon as possible after college but was arrested after she came back because she was selling fake IDs and stole a car; absolutely did not want to be law enforcement but Rebecca and the captain essentially made her

The deal was that she would work at the station for 5 years and if she did well/stayed out of trouble she could then quit- she's 3 years into it

deep down if she wasnt a detective she would want to be a paramedic

She shares a lot of mannerisms with Rebecca and they’re way more similar than she’d like to admit

Birds FREAK her out seriously; she’ll deny that she’s afraid of them but she’ll cross the street to get away from them, also hates crowded places and deep water

Scary resting face and has a habit of just... eerily staring at people who are bothering her until they get spooked, but she's not actually that angry or grouchy, she's really just Vibing u know? she's not gonna correct anyone's impression though or they might start like... Talking to her :/

Loves any book/movie/show with a secret society or spy element and stories about a Hero and their Journey, also loves angsty philosophy books; her favorite movies are cheesy but feel-good (The Mummy, Pacific Rim, anything with big CGI monsters)

Doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth but would kill someone for strong coffee; if she’s really tired you can catch her drinking it cold straight from the pot with a straw

Emo/pop punk teen and she definitely cried when MCR broke up, she also listens to a lot of Dixie Chicks, Johnny Cash, Dottie West, Patsy Cline, etc

She’s been drawing since she was a kid- mainly works with charcoal and sometimes pastels. her sketchbooks are like her diaries and she’s never shown them to Anyone Ever

In her spare time, she still plays some guitar, draws, or reads; her library is extensive because she keeps every book she’s ever read or intends to read (it’s one of the few things she’ll drop real money on)

Very tactile person and fussy about textures, she prefers ultra soft blankets/pillows and her bed is basically a nest

Practical, efficient, frugal- she doesn’t necessarily find joy in cooking or anything but she can do it well enough, quick showers, uses cheap soap/shampoo, cuts her own hair

Her hands get super dry/chapped in the winter and it hurts very much :(

Never yells; when she gets angry she’s very cold & will Not hold back; every word is designed to hurt bc she’s purposefully poking at things she knows are sore spots

At the start of the books, she’s kind of... sleepwalking through life? like, she was in a not-great place mentally for most of her teens and didn’t really have a plan for the future but law enforcement was definitely not it? She isn’t feeling super passionate about what she’s doing and it kind of sucks to not have joy in purpose :( luckily that’s changing and is gonna be a significant part of her journey through the series!

Her apartment is cluttered but clean and she knows where everything is, if someone moved one of her things she would not be able to find it and it would bother her until she located it

She’s not stubborn exactly? Like she’ll concede an argument if it’s not super important to her and has no problem with losing or backing down in many cases; she’s pretty open minded in that respect, but if something is central to her values then she will Die before she backs down

On that note she’s overall a very logical person but when it comes down to it she'll follow her heart/first instinct

Does not care about rules or procedures At All, she'll follow them if it suits her end goal but otherwise... nope

Lowkey she… did not care about the reveal? it was a surprise but not her first priority in the moment- she kind of already thought UB was sketchy and didn’t trust them, so mainly she was pissed off that Rebecca had sent them to babysit her instead of actually help solve the murders

Speaking of Rebecca their relationship is kind of yikes. Kira isn’t exactly mad that Rebecca was gone so often, but she does think that she kind of forfeited her parenting rights and was annoyed that Rebecca was interfering with her life; first by getting her on the force and then by dropping UB on her. So now it’s Very Awkward between them because Kira doesn’t want to be like… mean but honestly what is there to say?? They’re trying but neither of them like to share personal information so it’s rough

On the subject of sharing, she just… genuinely doesn’t like to open up. Like, it doesn’t come naturally and in her mind it’s just… nobody else’s business what she’s feeling/what’s going on in her life

Genuinely does not realize that people care about her unless they openly tell her lmao... sad hours but at this point in the story she honestly doesnt think that any of UB cares abt her beyond their job besides the one she's dating :(

"Everyone should be allowed to feel things and rely on the support of the people around them, their emotions are Valid. not me though, this is my personal problem and as such its dumb so i have to get over it alone"

Her primary love language is acts of service, she wants the people she loves to have everything they might need; she’s Soft and really just wants snuggles but also she does not want to address it out loud

Her way of asking for affection is to just... stand/sit there and occasionally glance at the person... hovers like a sad ghost until she gets a hug... literally like 🥺👉👈 sjdhdkn Clown girl

She’s sarcastic and makes a lot of snarky comments, but generally she’s pretty honest unless she doesn’t want to talk about something (in which case she’ll brush it off and deflect or change subjects) which is why it annoys her so much when people are willfully dishonest or conniving

Pretty adaptable and capable of rolling with the punches but she generally dislikes surprises and being the center of attention

genuinely she's pretty chill! and a Huge enabler of chaos as well, like unless it's specifically bothering her she's gonna let it happen and mostly she thinks it's pretty funny to watch from the sidelines

in short she's basically like a feral cat who stares suspiciously at everyone from a distance until they successfully pspspsps their way into her heart and then she would die for them <3 but if she's mad she will make direct eye contact while shoving glasses off the counter

ahdgsksg ok last one i swear she Cannot Sit Properly, always has to be some flavor of lounging or leaning or sitting twisted into a pretzel

#my eternal love for u if u made it thru this whole post <3 #lowkey these are gonna double as my writing notes which are currently scattered between 5 million notes on my phone #ANYWAY #twc

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fairycosmos · 4 years ago

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chloe what do you do when you feel really suicidal? but like not like before- but NOW that you are grieving such a painful loss? dont need to answer but i read your a. to the anon that felt trapped and like they couldnt leave now bc their sibling died too and like you and that anon i feel the same. im so so suicidal chloe. i cry every day and night and i feel despertate but my parents just lost their child so. how do you cope... as much as its possible. what do we do? fuck.

dude i am so sorry you're in the same position as me and you are going to hate me for saying it but there is no satisfactory answer 😔 it's a cruel joke. we're in the worst pain we've ever been in, and our instinct is to want to make that stop. but we can't because now we're obligated to stay alive, where all the hurt is, because we're one of the only ones left. and we dont want to cause more of this feeling by ending it all. it's like a contract you didn't agree to and are now trapped in for the foreseeable. grief is the absolute heaviest thing a person can carry, it's a fucking nightmare. it doesn't make any sense, it doesn't have a cure and it's disorienting as fuck. it's ok to be exhausted by it. reality has been irreparably worsened and it's an absolute tragedy, it's completely unfair. personally i'm more suicidal than i've ever been, but like you, i know i'm not going to do anything. and in moments of great pain, where i want to act on those thoughts, i find myself coming back to that fact. i watch the idea of suicide run its course through my head and then i acknowledge the reality of things, that i can't leave. that it doesn't matter how sad i am and how tired i am, because i'm still here, and processing these emotions is a part of that. the urge to kill myself is there, but the actual act of suicide has never been less of an option than it is right now. so i can feel whatever i need to feel, but there's no point leaning into it or daydreaming about it. because it's not going to happen. sometimes i'm screaming and crying to myself in absolute agony while this is all going on, and sometimes i'm just sitting staring at my phone, numb. the desperation is very real, and i understand that. but it is not as urgent as it feels in the moment. no matter how many times i think i'm at my limit, i know that there's going to be tomorrow. and at the moment that sounds like a really bad thing. but i know that by waking up my parents aren't getting a call saying i'm dead, which for now is kind of the whole point. i am living to minimize their trauma, i am living for them, and an optimist would have hope that that could keep me alive long enough until i get to the point where i can eventually live for myself again. i could definitely see that for your future, even if you can't. the thing is you don't have to know what to do and you dont have to look for ways to fill the void that has been left behind by your sibling. you just have to learn to exist alongside it, and i do mean just exist. as awful as it is. waking up, putting one foot in front of the other, crying and crying and crying. that is good enough. i know it doesn't feel like much of a life, but. it's the short term answer, or so it seems to me. another thing i remind myself of is how it all comes in waves. waves are the nature of both grief, and strong suicidal urges. maybe they're always running in the background, but the moments of pure despair where you feel like you're bursting at the seams, they're so strong and harsh that they flare out faster than you realize. and they feel unbearable, and i know those moments are very frequent when you're in our position, but it's good to remember that the intensity of their nature makes them temporary. especially if the grief is fresh, every little thing triggers an avalanche of hopelessness. but some part of me believes these experiences will either a. become less persistent with time or b. become a part of us we learn how to navigate. at the moment, the simple act of being completely broken by these episodes means you're surviving them. i think it's not a matter of knowing how to cope, but knowing that if you're here to ask these questions - what do i do, how do i go on, etc - then that is proof you have been coping. and it probably doesn't feel like you have been. i think there's a common misconception that coping is thriving, letting go, having positive memories. and sure that's a part of it. but there is a lot of darkness and absolute horror to work through before that. additionally, there is no rule book on how exactly to work through it. theres just time, experience, learning what works for you and hanging on. i'm trying to hold my own hand through it, i'm trying to look at the present moment i'm in and just think about what i need at that very second. not what i'm going to do tomorrow, not what i should've done yesterday, but what i have to do right now to make it through. a lot of the time the answer is nothing, and i just sit and stare or cry, because like i said, ultimately nothing can fix it. theres no epiphany that can change what happened.

as far as practical things you can to do combat suicidal thoughts goes, i have a few suggestions that i really hope you consider as viable choices: talk to your doctor/therapist - idk where you live or what your financial situation is like, but if it's at all an option i would really urge you to seek professional help. at least let your GP know what you're dealing with so maybe they can refer you to a therapist, or give you some mental health resources. grief counselling is also a step in the right direction. having someone to talk to and implementing positive coping mechanisms into your day to day life, even if it's the last thing on earth you want to do, can work wonders. understanding your own suicidal thoughts, why you react the way you do and what you can do about it, can really come in handy when you're breaking down. it's ok to reach out. it's ok to visit different counsellors until you find one that fits you. it's ok to treat your emotional turmoil as seriously as you'd treat any physical disease. there is always support and treatment options available in some form, and it is always worth looking into.

call a (grief or suicide) hotline - i've had the hotline number open in my browser for days. if you are in a moment of crisis, it can absolutely help to have someone talk you through your emotions, listen to your pain, and then give you some gentle recommendations as to what you should do next or where to go from here. you don't have to tell them your name, you don't have to say anything you don't want to say. you're in control of the call and they care about keeping you going. you're not alone. theres also online grief support groups - i'm in a sibling loss group on fb. it's absolutely crazy how many people are in this position.

talk to your parents/family/friends - i know saying 'this is a tough one' is a giant understatement. idk if it's the same for you, but i've been isolating to cope and i don't want to tell anyone what i'm thinking because they're already having such a hard time grieving my sister. but if there's anyone you trust, i just want you to know it's alright to lean on them. it's up to you how much you open up, but the urge to keep to yourself leads nowhere. those around you can relate (to an extent) with your grief, and sharing it, talking about memories and crying together - it's fucking awful, god it's the worst thing ever, but it's necessary. and i don't want to say it helps, but a shared burden is always better than trying to shoulder it alone. you deserve to be listened to and supported. and if you think you're being an inconvenience to your loved ones, that's your inner self hatred talking. they would likely rather be there for you when you need it, than have you harm yourself because you kept it all pent up. it's a lot easier said than done, but it's important to keep in mind that it's an option.

try to create a safe space - try to remove things from your living space you could use to harm yourself with, and make the environment as comforting as possible. refer back to safe coping mechanisms/ distractions that have worked in the past - this can be as simple as going for a walk, watching stupid shit on your phone, meditation, having a crying session, writing to your sibling or just about how you feel in general. these are not suggestions that will solve anything or cure mental illness by any stretch of the imagination. they just get you out of your head. that can really make a difference.

create a crisis plan and learn what triggers you - this is a bit of a process but that's alright. being able to identify what sets you off, and being able to recognize your own toxic thinking patterns/behaviours, is the first step towards combatting them. another idea is, if you do end up talking to a loved one or a mental health professional, come up with a plan with them regarding what they should do when you're suicidal and your judgement is impaired. you can even start by just making one for yourself, like writing down a few suggestions as to what you should do when you're in a crisis, what your other options besides suicide are.

i think that's all i've got right now. i'm sorry this got so long, especially when i know nothing truly helps. i just know what it's like having all this useless life in front of you that you're going to have to fight through without the one person who always should've been there. i keep thinking about what she'd say to me if she could see me, and i know she'd be livid if i threw my life away, but. that doesn't change the fact that she didn't get to live hers, and that i miss her so so much it aches. i keep coming back to the idea that our relationship will continue to grow beyond death. i can still talk to her, reminisce with her, understand her, love her. so much of this reality was shaped by her. it's not the same as when she was here, but it's not total absence either. anyway, i'm so so sorry for your loss and i hope you can just focus on taking care of yourself, love. because your life still has so much worth and you deserve to see your own future even if you cant stand the thought. moments of happiness and peace are still 100% possible. it's just never going to feel like it did before. and it's ok if you spend the rest of your life struggling to come to terms with that fact, because at least you got to live the rest of your life. i'm sending so much love to you and i'll be here if you need a friend. one day at a time.

*no pressure to read all this you can just refer back to it whenever you feel the need

#anon #tw suicide #long post #sorry i dont shut up💖 this 1 hurt

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techni-kolor · 4 years ago

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I’m picking two random numbers, I trust you! 24, 75

Soulmate AU and Sharing A Bed !! (Also this one, and the previous one aren't fully fledged fics !! Just rough outlines <3)

The scene I pictured !! It's Jon's second year of university, he's irritated, and annoyed, and maybe just slightly buzzed, bc Georgie has just dragged him to another concert that he has no interest in. He'd have been totally satisfied with something underground, or punkish, or really anything BUT Georgie's theater friends who think they are the next 1 Direction at some outdoor festival that he can't even pronounce.

AND Georgie has already flitted away into the crowd after finding some people with her same pretty purple script on their skin, her color for friendship soulmates, and bouncing away to chat with them. Leaving Jon unfortunately and irritatingly stranded.

He's just trying to make his way towards the drink table when someone, likely an over excited groupie by her tee shirt and screaming, knocks right into him.

The impact knocks him down and results in an immediate bloody nose.

Which of course, lands him in the Med Tent for some gauze and to clean up his now stained shirt.

Only there's only one bed since the concert is pretty much unknown and understaffed and its already been taken by a stranger, a clearly drunk stranger, who looks to be Jon's age if Jon appeared anywhere close to his actual age.

Who Jon apparently wakes up with his entrance, since he immeadatiely sits up and in a loud, and totally awed voice says, "Wow, you're pretty. Even with blood all over your face."

And, because this day can't get any worse, Jon feels the tingle of a soulmate mark curl over his wrist as the words draw themselves into his skin.

Ignoring the stranger, and the med student staffing the tent who appeared to have gotten lost in a pile of gauze at this point after panicking at the sight of blood, Jon shoved up his sleeve to see the words wow, you're pretty. Even with blood all over your face scrawled over his wrist.

"Perfect, a drunken stranger." He mutters under his breath, not even bothering to check the color of the words.

Only for his new soulmate to let out a shout and crane his neck to stare at his own wrist.

"You're my soulmate." He whispers in awe, with giant, dialated eyes.

Jon rolls his own eyes. "Yes. Well, I don't think its going to last. My ideal friendship is not someone I met drunk with a bloody nose."

The stranger just stares.

At this point the med student appears to have figured out how gauze works and busies themself cleaning Jon's face much to his ire.

And the annoyance is only added to by the stranger staring at him the entire time as if his bloody nose was fascinating. Jon would say something but he truly doesn't have the patience for being ditched, listening to horrible music, a bloody nose, AND having an intoxicated frat boy stare at him.

Finally, the med student appears to finish their ministrations, if Jon was generous enough to call it that, and now is arguing that he should lay down on the bed for a while. Apparently oblivious to the fact that the stranger is still on the bed.

Jon argues that fact vehemently, only to be interrupted by the frat boy.

"I'm fine sharing a bed with my soulmate."

Jon, annoyed beyond all belief, "You share a bed with all your friends?"

The stranger just stares.

"What?" Jon is pretty much snapping at this point.

"Yours is just friendship?" The frat boy sounds very disappointed for someone who had only met him approximately four minutes ago.

"Yes, of–" Jon has to pause. Rolling his sleeve back up, the words stare at him. They were the stupidest words for a soulmark he'd ever seen, but they are a silky green. His personal color for romantic soulmates. (His and Georgie's had faded from that green into a cheery yellow, his friendship color, after only a few months of dating.)

"No, this is not. This is not happening." He mutters.

The stranger just grins, not abashed at all and still pretty buzzed.

"It does solve the bed problem." He says, incredibly peppy for someone still splayed out on a cot and with Jon as his soulmate.

Jon stands stiffly for a second and considers storming out, but the med student is still staring pleadingly at him as if they were certain he would die if he walked out and the frat boy's dark eyes are warm and even hazy with alcohol are softly welcoming with just a hint of good humor.

It only takes seconds for his resolve to break.

"Fine. But I'd like to know your name first."

"Tim, Tim Stoker." The frat boy, Tim, says and grins brightly, patting the empty space in the bed beside him.

Jon sighs. "I'm Jonathan Sims. Jon, if you prefer."

"Nice to meet you, soulmate." Tim grins.

He pats the bed again and Jon can't help but aquisse, laying down next to him and ignoring the starchy sheets and the scent of cheap beer in favor of Tim, his soulmates, warm skin and the close, but respectful, press of him.

"So, acid green?" Tim asks and Jon sighs but can't help but explain the reasoning behind his particular color and why his hand writing was such neat cursive.

They end up spending the rest of the concert talking on the bed and as Tim sobers up, and Jon relaxes (and the med student finally finds someone else to fuss over) they realize that this is gonna be an amazing start to the weirdest meet-cute ever.

(And once they part ways and Jon finds Georgie to get home she frets VERY hard over his bruised nose but can't help but grin at the fact that he found his soulmate in arguably the most and least cool way ever. And she demands that he look Tim up on Instagram and text him immediately with the number he gave him. They both stare at how hot Tim is AND at the fact that he's also an English major, the same as Jon and already works in publishing.)

#balanced-to-a-tea #This one seemed fun !!

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gotatext · 5 years ago

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PREFERRED NAME — nora. i think i started going by it in like, 2009?? my full name is eleanor but i hated it n thought it was way too pretentious n i never felt like it fitted me so when i started writing on forums i decided i’d be a nora rather than eleanor and then my school friends called me it and it just kinda stuck, the only person who calls me eleanor is my mum

PRONOUNS — she / her / ethereal being beyond comprehension

AGE — 23 but i tell everyone im 21 because even tho time is literally fake im desperately clinging to that fleeting thing we call youth trying to catch it like smoke in my hands

PINTEREST — i actually have two. this one is my main one where i just cram all my shit n i’ve had it for years and some of its super unorganised. then i also have this one which is one i made for exclusively female characters. it started as mythological figures but now its like, women in literature and the occasional oc as well. variety is the spice of life!

DISCORD — lindsay lohan’s meth#8664

TUMBLR (PERSONAL/MUSE/RPH) — i used to be froseths but now im pvrscphones cos ya gal is a fucking whore for mythology

OTHER SOCIAL MEDIA YOU’D LIKE TO SHARE — oi oi guvna ere’s me twitta. also here’s my letterboxd n my goodreads if anyone still uses tht

MYER-BRIGGS — enfp / infp border .... the classic profile of a lit student

HP HOUSE — hufflepuff, am fuckin mad.

ZODIAC — libra which is a joke because i am in no way balanced but i guess i AM indecisive and a peacekeeper so?

DO YOU BELIEVE IN ASTROLOGY? — i believe it when it says good shits gonna happen in my life and blame it if bad shit happens but i don’t strongly follow it i just find it interesting

HOW OLD WERE YOU WHEN YOU STARTED RPING ON TUMBLR — maybe like 14?? my first rp blog here is literally so embarassing i wrote as clove from the hunger games n my best friend irl wrote cato :/ it was wild

WHAT YEAR WAS IT? — like 9 years ago?? 2010 maybs

NAME A RANDOM ROLEPLAY THAT STICKS OUT IN YOUR MEMORY — me n my friend ellie made this really cool group the summer before we left for uni which was loosely based on a concept mentioned mayb once in the divergent series, but it gave us loads of freedom to make it our own thing. it was called the fringe n it was like..... this dystopian society where people with different genes were cut off from the rest of society n lived in overrun slum cities where different groups had like, a monopoly over weapons, produce, etc.... my character jack was the leader of this lost-boy-esque tribe called the wolf pack who were hunters n used to run across the rooftops wearing the skins of animals they’d killed and engage in tribal rituals with sacrifices to the gods n shit. sounds lame but everyone there was so invested in their character arcs that it was a shame to see it go. but ! it kind of reached its end point so we blew it up w nukes n they all died. tragic.

WHAT WEIRD ANIMAL WOULD YOU HAVE AS A PET IF IT WAS REALISTIC — a fox?? do ppl keep foxes? idk i’ve always just felt a sense of connection w them like when a fox stares at me im like this shit is life i am living and breathing in this bitch.... visceral

NAME THE FIRST SONG ON YOUR DISCOVER WEEKLY ON SPOTIFY OR THE FIRST SONG THAT COMES ON APPLE MUSIC / ITUNES SHUFFLE — everbody party tonight by cobra man n summer girl by haim..... not my usual stuff but big summer chillin vibes,.....

NAME A BOOK THAT YOU READ IN SCHOOL THAT YOU SURPRISINGLY LIKED — lord of the flies and also the handmaid’s tale. one of assignments was to write a chapter from another character’s perspective n i chose moira

NAME A BOOK YOU HATED THAT MOST PEOPLE LIKED — skellig. fuck off with ur asprin ugly bat man i don’t care. also of mice and men. don’t care about the rabbits or curley’s goddamn wife.

WHAT TV SHOW DID YOU RECENTLY BINGE? — im not a big binger bc i find it jst makes me depressed if i watch tv all day but im nearly finished stranger things season 3 n i recently finished euphoria (big rec but proceed w caution as quite triggering content)

FAVOURITE QUOTE — cool girl speech from gone girl. but also “there’s something dangerous about the boredom of teenage girls” i know its like.... such an overused quote but it really encapsulates this kind of feral girlhood that a few of my characters like bridget n greta have tapped into. i also loved the line “i feel like i could eat the world raw” from song of achilles, that really captures this kind of.... pure n childlike enthusiasm tht i wanna achieve w rory

LINK TO A VINE THAT EXUDES YOUR ‘ENERGY’ — this is my energy completely am always covered in glitter n staring broodily out of the windows of ubers at 4am like im in the sad bit of an indie film

DO YOU WRITE OUTSIDE OF RP? WHAT DO YOU WRITE? — uhh.... not as much as i shd.... i want to be a writer so i shd be makin some effort to get my stuff Out Into The World but im just not.... lol. ive done a lot of poetry collections . i wnt to finish a novel @ some point too.

THREE YOUTUBERS YOU STILL TRUST — bold of you to assume i trust any youtubers

A CELEBRITY CRUSH THAT JUST WON’T QUIT — id literally die for saoirse ronan n timothee chalamet :/ chance perdomo also owns my ass.

EVER MEET A CELEBRITY? SHARE YOUR STORY — i once high-fived dani harmer, the actress who played tracy beaker. today my sister text me tryin to make me guess what celebrity she just saw on holiday in wales and for ages she let me think it was timmothee but it was actually bradley walsh from the chase :/

WHAT’S YOUR PICTURE-PERFECT NIGHT? — i am in a bomb ass crop top and mini skirt, several scrunchies in my hair, glitter all over my face, wearing cowboy boots. we eat dinner in a trendy but affordable pub that doubles up as a cocktail bar n then we drink zombies or sex on the beaches n go to a rave where everyone is on the same wavelength n i share drugs with girls in the toilets and we swap numbers knowing we will never text each other but its ok bc in that moment we feel like we are soulmates and everyone is super drunk n touching everyone else n its all very visceral and we walk through the woods when the rave ends and lie in the grass because we wish to suck out all the marrow of life

A CONSPIRACY THEORY YOU KINDA BELIEVE IN — princess diana was murdered

ARE ALIENS REAL? — maybe the real aliens are the friends we made along the way

PLAY ANY PHONE GAMES? WHICH ONES? — love island game im addicted and way too invested in my fictional relationship with bobby, a cartoon

WHAT’S A FILM YOU LOVED WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG AND RECENTLY WATCHED, ONLY TO FIND OUT YOU DON’T ANYMORE — bold of u to assume i remember my childhood. but if we’re talking last 10 years angust, thongs n perfect snogging is so so cringe

DO YOU COLLECT ANYTHING? — pairs of glasses belonging to other ppl when they break / get new ones even though i can see perfectly well.

WHAT’S SOMETHING YOU WANT TO LEARN MORE ABOUT BUT YOU’RE TOO LAZY? — mythology...... always a craving and a wish i’d read like ancient texts but my school wasn’t good enough to do greek or latin or any of that shit n even tho i could read english translations i cant be bothered. also criminal psychology

THREE LANGUAGES YOU DON’T SPEAK, BUT WISH YOU COULD — italian, french and latin

MOVIE YOU’VE WATCHED MORE THAN 5 TIMES — ladybird, about time, angus thongs, shrek 2, what we do in the shadows, the history boys, atonement, coraline, the breakfast club, ferris bueller’s day off

NAME A FICTIONAL CHARACTER FROM TV/FILM/MOVIE/GAME/BOOK THAT YOU FIND YOURSELF PROJECTING ON / YOU RELATE TO — cecilia lisbon. rue in euphoria. alison brie in glow. adam parrish in the raven cycle. richard papen. olivia cooke’s character in thoroughbreds. allen ginsberg in kill your darlings. lily in sex education. holliday grainger’s character in the film animals --- i too am an aspiring writer who never writes and just gets drunk instead .

DO YOU FOLLOW ANY SPORTS? WHO DO YOU ROOT FOR? — no. cba

HOBBIES BESIDES WASTING AWAY HERE? — i go to the movies basically every day bcos i work in a cinema. im also a voracious reader n i occasionally do theatre or costume making

PLUG A TV SHOW / MOVIE / BOOK / VIDEO GAME / ETC… YOU WISH MORE PEOPLE WOULD CHECK OUT — where the wild things are (film by spike jonze). animals. beats. the book fen by daisy johnson and a girl is a half formed thing by eimar mcbride. andy warhol’s biography from a to b and back again

WHOSE BRAIN WOULD YOU LIKE TO PICK, ALIVE OR DEAD? — phoebe waller-bridge on how i get her life. carey mulligan on how she got to be such a good actress n how i can become her. maybs wes anderson. maybs gillian flynn. i tend to listen to podcasts w the ppl i really wanna pick the brains of.

TEAM EDWARD OR JACOB? — edward :/

LAST MOVIE SEEN IN THEATRE — blinded by the light n i lovd it

DO YOU STILL READ? — when i finished uni i kinda got out of the habit but this week i finished two books so ive set myself the challenge of a book a week.

IF SO, WHAT ARE YOU CURRENTLY READING? — i finished song of achilles yesterday n i also finished call me by your name yesterday. started circe by madeline miller today, im also partway through milkman by anna burns and the plays of annie barker

ON A SCALE OF 1-10, HOW MUCH DID YOU HATE FILLING THIS OUT? – 3 i didnt hate it bcos at heart i am self-indulgent and love fashioning some sense of self when i feel lost in a world that is scary and constantly changing

#wshedtask002

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stillthewordgirl · 6 years ago

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LOT/CC fic: Somewhere on Your Road Tonight (ch. 18)

Sara and Leonard made a life for themselves, together in 1958, after the Waverider left them, Ray and Kendra behind. But now they're back on the ship, Mick has been twisted into Chronos, Kendra is pregnant, and Savage is still out there. They'll deal--together. (Sequel to "Chances Are.")

Well, this is a doozy. There's a lot of talking in the first half of this one. (Balanced by lots of action in the back half, though!) But I needed to have the team working things out in a way that felt believable to me (and, oh, I love my team banter!). And I really wanted to get into what the various team members were thinking at this point. Hope you enjoy! Many thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta.

Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

As soon as everyone’s back inside the ship, Rip gets them into the air and then into the timestream before they settle down for a team meeting. Kendra’s the focus of a lot of eyes as she paces the bridge, expression thoughtful, before stopping and turning to face them all.

Leonard, slouched in a jump seat with one foot hooked over his other knee, considers her with a slight smile. They’ve all changed quite a bit, he thinks, yet again. This focused woman—a far cry from the somewhat uncertain former barista who’d gotten on the ship—is no exception.

“Torvil--who’s a lot more coherent now, by the way--said that...that Savage was gunning for him, that he wanted his blood, just like he wanted mine,” she says, wrapping a hand around her other arm again. “And he stabbed him for it—not the best way to go about the process, I suppose, but the quickest way to get in and out of there. Although Savage did take the time to gloat.”

Raymond shrugs a little from where he’s sitting, watching his wife like she’s the best thing ever. “Don’t they always?”

Kendra gives him a quick smile, then looks at Rip. “Apparently, Savage said that our blood, Car...Torvil’s and mine, apparently from any incarnation, is the key to unlocking some sort of ‘Thanagarian technology.’” She shakes her head. “Something that, with that key, will let him ‘erase time itself’ and become…become a god.” Despite the grim words, she smiles again, just a little. “No word on if that was accompanied by a diabolical laugh, but it probably was. He’s hitting all the clichés.”

Jax shakes his head in amazement. “And he just...told Torvil this?”

Kendra nods. “I get the impression he was quite pleased to brag to someone about his lovely plan,” she says drily.

Leonard snorts. “Like you said,” he drawls. “Hitting all the clichés. Classic bad guy speech. Never quite got the point of it myself.”

Sara elbows him from her position next to him, and he smirks. But Rip’s staring off into the distance, eyes a little wide and wild, and then he whirls, tapping at the screen next to him.

“Thangarian. That’s the race of extraterrestrials that the Time Masters used to justify setting Savage up as the world’s leader,” he says urgently. “Gideon? Do you have any more information on Thanagar or its people?”

“Very little beyond its basic location, Captain Hunter,” the AI says promptly, if somewhat apologetically. “The Time Masters apparently kept whatever they knew about that a closely guarded secret, even from the AIs they needed to guide their timeships.”

This AI sounds a bit miffed. Leonard lifts an eyebrow at Sara, but she’s just listening intently, a frown on her face.

“Did they tell Savage about the Thanagarians?” Stein wonders out loud. “I can’t imagine the Time Masters would have wanted him to, quote, ‘erase time itself.’”

Jax nods. “Yeah, that’s gotta be an extracurricular for our not-so-favorite psychopath.”

“That, I cannot say, Mr. Jackson,” Rip tells him. “But...”

Kendra holds up a hand. “Wait. He told Torvil something else too. That...” She bites her lip. “That the Thanagarians gave the three of us—me and Khufu, and Savage himself—our powers.”

The team digests that while Raymond looks at her, a worried expression on his face. “But...how would they do that? You got your powers when...”

“When Savage killed you and the meteorites hit,” Sara finishes. “So...a meteorite contained the technology?”

Leonard gives her a rather impressed look, and she smirks at him, whispering ““I pay attention too.”

“Yes...” Rip mutters to himself, continuing to study the screen before him. “The chronothermic reaction could be explained by that. But...how...”

“That rock’s gotta be long gone, British,” Mick mutters, finally speaking up from where he’s slouched in his own jump seat, holding a bottle of something he’d apparently acquired at the resistance camp. “Rubble. You think he’s travelin’ back there, Big Bird? To where...when...you’re from?”

Kendra darts him a glance and a roll of the eyes—but also a smile—for the nickname. “I don’t know. Maybe,” she muses. “So…1700 BC? But what’s the blood connection?”

“Something…well, magic?” Sara cuts in suddenly. “I’ve encountered that before.”

Leonard can’t resist. “Any sufficiently advanced technology…” he drawls.

“….is indistinguishable from magic,” Stein finishes. “Clarke’s Third Law.” He gives Leonard a smile. “A good point, Mr. Snart. Presumably, the Thanagarians have hit that point of advancement.”

“So Savage has blood from both Big Bird here and from Bird Guy,” Mick observes. “And he can…what? Dump it on a big rock and say some mumbo jumbo? Like the ‘Eyes Wide Shut’ scene from before? And the hell’s that gonna do?”

“ ‘Erase time itself,’ ” Rip muses. “But how? Is he going back to get the original meteorite? That doesn’t seem to work…” His eyes widen then, and he turns back to his screen, but the others mostly ignore him for the moment.

“I do wonder how he’s defining becoming a god,” Kendra says thoughtfully. “I mean, I was a priestess of Horus. Our gods, as we thought of them then, weren’t incarnate…not in the land of the living, for the most part. Unless Savage thinks he’s going to change all that.”

Steins shakes his head. “That’s impossible.”

Leonard can’t resist again. “Clarke’s First Law,” he tells Stein smugly, getting a blank look from nearly everyone else and a look that mingles great amusement and slight annoyance from the older man. (And a quiet chuckle from Mick, whom Leonard knows isn’t inclined to let the others know he actually reads.)

Mick grunts then. “Be more than willing to help Savage into whatever afterlife he wants,” he says, taking a swig from his bottle.

“You’re not alone in that,” Raymond tells him seriously. “I…”

But Rip turns back to them again, a certain satisfaction on his face. “I think I might have an idea.” He points at Kendra. “The meteor shower, the one that started all this, back in 1700 BC. It was the first recorded instance of a rare alignment between Earth and Thanagar.”

He pauses dramatically and Leonard rolls his eyes. “Spit it out, Rip!”

The captain gives him a weary look but continues speaking. “There have been a few more alignments over the centuries. And one of them was in 1958. Just before we arrived there, actually.”

Jax snaps his fingers and looks at Stein. “Savage had a meteorite there! That’s how he…uh…”

“Made you into Bird Boy,” Mick observes.

“Well…yeah.”

“So what are you getting at?” Sara asked, studying Rip. “You want us to go back to 1958? We can’t cross our own timelines, can we?”

“Indeed, you should not, Ms Lance,” Rip tells her. “However, we’re still parsing this out. Gideon, what were the years closest to 1958 when there was also an alignment between Earth and Thanagar?”

“1975 and 2021, Captain,” the AI says crisply.

Leonard frowns. “So, you think he wants to get the tech from all those rocks? He’s already immortal. How much more immortal can he get?”

Rip sighs. “I do think he wants the meteorites, yes. But I don’t think he wants to use the Nth metal technology embedded in there.” He scans them. “I think he wants to blow it up.”

Mick nods into the thoughtful silence. “Could get behind that.”

The captain points at him. “Ah, Mr. Rory, but I think you would not. Such an explosion…it would destroy the world.”

“But why would Savage want that?” Raymond asks, looking around. “He wants to rule the world. You can’t rule what isn’t there.”

But Stein holds up a hand, and Leonard tilts his head to the side at the sudden rapt look on the professor’s face. “Wait,” the older man says. “There’s a reason you mentioned multiple years, alignments and meteorites, isn’t there?” He takes a deep breath. “If he detonates, say, three meteorites—and their technology--in three different time periods, would happen?”

Jax cuts in, looking a little puzzled. “How can you destroy the world three times in three different times?”

“You can't,” Rip tells him. “It would create a temporal paradox.”

“Which would result in a timequake that would return the Earth to the point of the first chronothermic reaction,” Stein concludes. “Ancient Egypt.”

In a twisted way, it’s genius. “But this time around, Savage not only has a timeship, he’s immortal and knows it, and probably he has other future tech, too,” Leonard says slowly. “Peachy.”

Jax lets out a long breath. “OK, it's official,” he says, looking around. “This is the craziest bad guy plan in the history of bad guy plans.”

“I don't think that sanity is a yardstick by which Vandal Savage can be measured,” Rip says with a sigh.

Raymond is starting to process Stein’s words, and his eyes are bright. “Savage would have to detonate the meteorites at times when the planets were in alignment, wouldn’t he?”

“I believe so.” Rip shakes his head. “I can’t be sure that three times, as the professor said, is the amount he’ll use…”

“I bet it is,” Sara tells him. “As I said, I’ve had some experience with magic.” Her lips twitch, although maybe only Leonard sees it. “And magic users. Three seems to mean something, ritually speaking.”

Kendra nods. “The number three had a great deal of meaning back in Egypt, in my first life,” she adds. “Triads and plurality and a lot of symbolization. I wouldn’t be surprised if Savage defaulted to that.”

“So, three different versions of Savage will have to do this at once?” Leonard asks. “What’s he gonna do, go back and tell himself what to do?” He gives Rip a wry look. “I thought interacting with your past self meant bad things?”

Rip doesn’t take the bait, but he does give Leonard a wry look in return. “Well, Mr. Snart, if we manage to complete our mission, it will mean bad things for Savage, will it not?”

Jax speaks up. “So if Savage plans on blowing up the world three times, how do we stop him?”

Stein’s eyes, Leonard thinks, are impressively icy. “We don't,” the professor says. “We kill him.”

Mick makes a surprised and admiring sound, and Leonard lifts an eyebrow and smirks. “Why, professor, I’m impressed,” he drawls. “I do believe we’re rubbing off on you.”

Stein smirks back, and Kendra moves toward them, looking intrigued. “How?” she asks.

The professor nods to her. “We've always known that only you, or perhaps a reincarnation of Mr Hall, could kill Savage using items exposed, as you were, to the meteor's radiation,” he says. “Now, the radiation works both ways. It gave Savage his immortality, but...”

Leonard makes a thoughtful noise of his own as the pieces come together. Rip nods too. “It also makes him vulnerable,” the captain breathes.

“And Savage is about to unleash the radiation from three meteorites in three different time periods,” Raymond concludes, now sounding truly excited.

“Triple the exposure,” Jax adds.

Stein inclines his head “Yes.” He looks grimly pleased. “Which should be sufficient to render Savage mortal.”

Sara chuckles, a sound that Leonard decides is really somewhat bloodthirsty. “And then all we got to do is kill Savage three times,” she says with satisfaction.

“Indeed.” Stein scans them all, then looks at Rip. “Gideon can navigate the Waverider,” he says, “and we can split into teams. One in 1958, one in 1975, and one in 2021.”

Rip, who should probably be the one making that call, doesn’t countermand it. He takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. Leonard feels another prickle of sympathy at how the man must be feeling, with a way to finally beat his old enemy in his sights. (Damn, he’s gone soft.)

“Yes,” the captain says finally. “Dr. Palmer, Mr. Rory—you’ll go to 1958. I suggest you familiarize yourself with the maps of the area again. Martin, Jax, Sara, to 1975. I believe I know where—and I bet you can guess too. And Mr. Snart, Ms. Saunders…with me, to 2021.” He lifts his chin, eyes distant. “It’s time to end this.”

They don’t have much time to get ready or to do anything else, and part of Sara is glad for it. She wants a moment with Leonard, that’s it, but first she changes into her full White Canary leathers, complete with the jacket, and visits the armory to make sure she has a full complement of knives, her bo, and other weapons tucked away

As she’s turning for the door, though, she very nearly literally bumps into Kendra, who halts in surprise. They both laugh a little, and Sara studies her friend, recalling a thought she had earlier.

“You OK?” she asks. “Torvil…”

Kendra gives her a tiny smile. “Torvil,” she says with a sigh, “really was doing better. They’d broken the programming, but he didn’t remember anything of his past lives. Just that, perhaps, he’d known me…Chay-Ara.” She shakes her head. “That would be generations in the future. I suppose it’s possible he has a…a me out there. I don’t know. But he was pretty dedicated to helping the resistance now. He’ll be OK.” She meets Sara’s eyes. “And so am I.”

“Good.”

But Kendra’s not done. “And you?” She folds her arms, tucking her helmet under her arm. “I noticed Savage’s daughter pulled you off for something. And you and Snart looked pretty serious when I arrived back at the Waverider.”

It’s perceptive. Sara considers. It’s so much to go into right now, but…

“We’re going to have a kid,” she says with a sigh, then blinks as Kendra’s eyes widen. “Oh, hell. Not now!” She runs a hand over her hair. “I mean, not anytime soon. Sometime. Because…well, Cassandra’s our descendant. Leonard’s and mine.”

Kendra stares at her. “Well,” she says after a moment, “that makes my situation seem a little less weird. Or at least comparatively weird.”

Sara shrugs helplessly. “Yeeaaahhh. I mean…I don’t think I’m unhappy about it. I’m not unhappy about it. But it’s a weird feeling. Knowing it’s coming.”

“Boy, do I hear you about that.” Kendra steps aside as Sara joins her. “Well. If you’re not pregnant yet, at least you know you’ll make it through this.”

Sara chuckles. “That’s what Leonard said.”

Kendra does too. “I’m trying to figure out if I should be disturbed by that.”

Leonard and Sara exchange a long kiss before Sara vaults out the Waverider’s hatch into 1975 Norway (followed by Jax and, somewhat more slowly, Stein). Nothing more, nothing less. They know what they mean to each other. The words don’t need to be said.

Still, as Leonard crouches behind part of the rooftop in 2021 St. Roch with Kendra and Rip, he wishes he’d said something. He’s not sure what. Nothing so cliché as “I love you”—Sara knows. But…

Savage makes his entrance onto the rooftop then, walking over to the meteorite in its crate with a vial of blood in his head, and Leonard feels Kendra tense next to him. He glances her way and sees how her eyes are narrowed, the straight line of her mouth, the rage in every bit of her posture. Savage has been plaguing her and hers for so long it’s almost hard to wrap his brain around, and now he’s keeping her from her son and her future.

Rip’s noticed it too. “Patience, Ms. Saunders,” he says very quietly. “Our teams need to act simultaneously.”

In 1958 Harmony Falls, Mick stalks along next to Haircut, just barely keeping his need to torch something in hold now that they’re here. They saw the meteorite cut through the sky just a moment ago, and they’ll be at the site in moments.

Things, he thinks, have worked out better than they’d had any right to—he’s not Chronos anymore, he’s getting along with Snart again, they rescued Rip’s kid at least, the Time Bastards are scattered space dust, and Snart somehow survived blowing them up. (He’s still not quite clear on how that happened.) But that doesn’t change the fact that it was the Time Bastards and Savage who were the ones that started this whole mess, and while some of it’s been fun, a lot of it wasn’t.

It’s time for Savage to burn.

“When can I kill him?” he asks Haircut, hearing his voice come out harsher than he intends.

The other man misunderstands. “We have to wait for the meteor to go critical.”

Well, duh. Mick had listened, back at the Waverider. He’s just wondering how he’ll be able to tell. “When's that?”

“When he starts the ritual in all three time periods.”

In 1975 Norway, a slightly younger Sara Lance lifts her voice in alarm. “Um, we got a nuclear bomb, here. Professor, Jax, we need you!”

The slightly older, slightly wiser one, hidden outside with Stein and Jax, just smiles as the younger man stretches a little to see his fiery Firestorm-self roar out of the building, bomb in hand.

“Oh, man, I forgot how much of a badass I was,” Jax says admiringly.

Sara smiles, then tenses. “Look.”

Outside the building now, Savage and his men are approaching another group, a large crate between them. Sara strains to hear but can’t quite manage it. Body language, though, makes the exchange quite clear.

Savage says something with an oily smile (does the man have any other kind?), spreading his hands out before him. The other man responds…and then everyone’s distracted as the bomb explodes not so far away, a fiery mushroom cloud rising into the sky before that past Firestorm pulls the energy into himself.

Everyone but Savage. The warlord grabs a gun and fires, turning, and the other men drop, probably without ever seeing what had happened.

Savage tosses the gun away with a laugh. “No,” Sara just barely hears. “I expected to take it from you by force.”

In one smooth motion, Savage opens a vial of blood and dribbles it out on the meteorite before him. And then he starts chanting in a language Sara can’t understand.

Huh. Go figure. Mick had been right.

Two other Savages in two other times follow suit. The chanting rises, and the watching Legends tense.

“Ah. Well... I think that's our cue,” Haircut says as he and Mick approach the oblivious Savage. Mick grunts in approval and readies his heat gun. It’s about time.

Of course, that’s when a shriek from behind them makes Ray spin. Ah, fuck, Mick thinks as he sees the hawk thing. Burning feathers stink—and he’s still gunning for Savage.

Haircut sighs.

“Really?” he asks Mick. “These guys again?”

Mick doesn’t think that deserves a response.

“Now!” Rip yells as he draws his gun and Savage’s voice climbs in triumph. Kendra spreads her wings and launches herself into the air, and Leonard, following on the ground with his cold gun firmly in hand, sees Savage whip around at the sound of those wings, the warlord’s eyes widening with what seems to be glee.

Well, Leonard’s pretty sure he’ll find the former high priestess a bit more of a battle than he’s expecting. And she’s not the only one. He aims his gun at a Savage lackey and fires, watching the man crash to the ground, glances up to track Kendra’s trajectory, and launches himself at another soldier who’s aiming for her.

“Keep them occupied!” Savage yells.

The meteorite is glowing. Sara nods to herself and glances at the other two. Jax’s smile is just a little vicious. He glances at Stein, the grin widening.

“You ready to show these fools what's really good?” he asks.

Stein grins back at him. “You have no idea.”

Sara smiles as she watches them merge in a swirl of fire and take off. Then she takes a deep breath, stepping out from behind the cover as Savage’s head jerks up to watch them and then snaps over to regard her.

“Glad we're past the point of worrying about the timeline,” she observes, snapping her bo out to full length. And then, finally--finally, after all the trials and the sacrifices and the plans gone wrong and right—she steps forward to face Vandal Savage.

The warlord smiles at her. There’s no real humor in the expression.

“Oh,” he oozes, “you're too late.”

Sara gives him a slow, smug smile.

“A Time Master's never late,” she informs him. And attacks.

Ray’s trying not to permanently harm Savage’s hawk creatures, but they’re keeping him busy. Concerned, he uses a breather to glance over toward Savage, hoping Mick has the dictator in hand.

He looks just in time to see Savage fly across the clearing, landing with a thud as Mick strides toward him, apparently happy to handle at least the preliminaries with his fists.

Oh. Well, Mick’s doing just fine.

Kendra knows she’s going to need to keep her head here. As she stoops toward Savage, knife in hand, she thinks briefly of Sara, and how her friend had described the bloodlust. Here, now, Kendra understands that better than ever. She can feel red rage trying to cloud her vision, all the years of fear and heartbreak and death coming to a head, here and now.

Savage’s rictus grin, she thinks, actually looks a little scared.

Good.

Jax soars through the air, pitching fireballs left and right, laughing a little with the sheer joy of finally getting here, ready to end Savage.

Well, he thinks, glancing down at where Sara’s fighting like it’s a dance. Or at least keeping the soldiers off her so she can end Savage. That works.

Focus, Jefferson!

I’m doing fine, Gray, he thinks back. Let’s enjoy it while we can.

It takes a while, but Mick finally decides he’s beat the shit out of Savage enough. He pauses, pointing his heat gun at the man on the ground, suddenly weary. Time to end it.

Savage gapes up at him. “You can't kill me,” he roars despite his current position of weakness. “I'm immortal.”

Mick regards him in return. “Guess you haven't heard the news,” he says. And fires.

The flames, and the screams, are very satisfying.

The scene on the rooftop is chaotic enough, and Leonard’s focusing enough on trying to keep others away from Kendra, that he completely misses that Rip’s in trouble--until the very moment he hears Kendra yell “Rip!” and he spins to see the captain fall off the side of the building.

Well, shit. He stares at the railing a moment, trying to steal himself to go see if the man needs rescue—or if he’s going to have to tell the kid why his dad, after everything, isn’t coming back.

Then he hears the hum of the Waverider engines.

Rip suddenly comes into view, arms folded, an obdurate expression on his face. Leonard lets out a breath he won’t admit is relieved. The asshole’s standing on top of the Waverider itself, rising into view like this is something he does every day.

Well, Leonard respects a good entrance. He inclines his head toward Rip, who does the same in return.

And then both of them turn in time to see Kendra grab Vandal Savage by the throat.

It’s been a good fight. Sara’s quite satisfied by the time she finally gets her bo braced securely against Savage’s throat,

She’s not that contract killer anymore. Leonard was right. But she’s still assassin enough to know that sometimes horrible things have to be done. And as one of the people who can do them, she’ll shoulder that burden to protect others.

Sara pauses just a moment as she braces herself, listening to Savage’s choking noises. She thinks of the look on Miranda Hunter’s face as she bid her husband and son farewell.

And then she snaps Savage’s neck and lets him fall.

For Miranda.

“Goodbye, my love,” Rip hears Kendra hiss into Savage’s face—and then, like it’s a dream, he sees her shove her dagger into his chest.

Finally. Finally. Finally.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Snart step up behind them, and he has the sudden impression that the other man is going to say something. He doesn’t want to hear it. Instead, Rip pushes forward as Kendra steps back, catching Savage before he can sag, putting a hand on the knife and shoving and twisting it.

Savage gasps in pain and…god help him, it feels good. It feels wonderful.

“Ah, you can feel it, can't you?” Rip hisses at him. “Things are different this time. You're mortal.”

Savage grimaces at him, blood staining his mouth. He’s dying. Oh bloody hell, he’s finally dying. “But yet, my death does not save the life of your wife,” the man breathes “I may die, but you—and your son—will live knowing that you failed to save the life of...”

Rip, red rage clouding his vision, twists the knife more. “Aah!” the warlord gasps.

“Never speak her name again!” Rip commands, tears standing in his eyes. Then he hauls off and shoves Savage…into the power transformer nearby, the unprotected transformer, which he’d thought might be necessary.

Savage….well, Savage goes up like a candle. Electricity crackles, and the watchers have to shield their eyes at the flash. The surge spreads, throughout the city and maybe farther, and the dark shape that was a once-immortal warlord falls to the ground.

Rip closes his eyes.

Finally.

Leonard lets out a long, slow breath, glancing at Kendra, who’s staring at the dead shape of Vandal Savage with dry eyes. After a moment, the former high priestess looks up at him--and then he sees the woman he’s become somewhat fond of behind her eyes again.

He can’t imagine what it must feel like for her. Like how he’d felt when he’d killed Lewis, maybe, except without any mixed feelings (he’ll admit those had existed, in his head) and thousands more years of pain.

“You OK?” he asks.

After another moment, Kendra smiles at him.

“Yes,” she says, spreading her wings wide and stretching. “Yes, I really think I am.”

He’s about to respond when the roar of the Waverider engines echoes again, and even Rip’s head snaps around. The ship lands, although it immediately takes off again as soon as its three passengers debark, and Leonard immediately starts for the first of those passengers.

Sara gives him a slightly tired but utterly triumphant smile. He hadn’t been worried about her, not really, but it’s still good to see her, here and whole and—holy hell, it’s done, isn’t it? It’s really done.

And right on the heels of that thought comes: What’s next?

Leonard shoves it away. He’ll cross that bridge when he has to.

They stop just a little apart. Sara turns her head as Firestorm passes them, talking to Rip and Kendra with great excitement, then looks back at him.

“You need to see Stein and Jax’s nifty new trick,” she tells him lightly. “Though they got my boots wet.”

Leonard lifts an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Sara takes a step closer. “I...”

The Waverider reappears then, and they both turn to watch it. Mick’s the first one off, followed closely by Raymond. Leonard lets out another relieved breath. Have they really all made it through this?

“Damn it!” his friend curses as he vaults over the edge of the wall and studies Savage’s still (and still slightly smoking) form. “I wanted to be the one to kill him. Again, I mean.”

He glances up and meets Leonard’s eyes. The men exchange a grim but real smile.

But then Sara speaks up again. “Um...” she says, as Leonard spins to look at her. “I don't think our problems are over yet."

The meteorite is still glowing, and it’s getting brighter. That can’t be good. But Firestorm’s there, then, reaching for it as Jax yells “I'm on it!”

“On what?" Mick wonders.

The whole thing glows even more, but whatever Jax thought was going to happen, doesn’t. “It's not working,” the younger man says with puzzlement and alarm.

But Raymond approaching now. “I got this!”

He doesn’t “got” it—his weapon or whatever it is fizzles out with no change to the increasingly glowing rock. And Leonard’s alarmed enough now that he doesn’t even make a crack about performance issues.

“What happens if only one of these goes off?" Sara asks Rip, reaching out to wrap her fingers around Leonard’s.

The former Time Master, ripped from his moment of triumph to something that’s clearly the opposite of that, is simply staring at the meteorite. “Uh... time will remain intact,” he manages. “The world? Not so much.”

There’s not enough time to panic, not really. Leonard has a second to wonder if freezing the hell out of the damned thing would help at all before Firestorm claps his hands together.

“OK, guys, let's fly this thing out of here,” he says, apparently addressing Kendra and Raymond.

But the former shakes her head. “To where?” she asks. “We would never get it far enough away."

“Maybe the Waverider can,” Raymond says. “Rip, we need...”

But the Waverider’s rising already, above them, as the team members turn and stare, its tractor beam fastens on the meteorite, lifting it as the ship itself lifts into the air.

And Rip is still standing there, staring at it, too.

“Gideon,” he breathes. “What are you doing?”

"I'm flying the Waverider into the sun, with the meteor on board," the AI informs them, her voice precise and emotionless in their comms.

“And you on it too,” Sara retorts, glancing at Rip, whose eyes are wide and horrified.

“Indeed. I guess this is goodbye." Then, more quietly, “I’m sorry, captain...Rip. The jumpship is where we left it. You can use that to return to Jonas. Be safe...be well.”

Leonard winces at the look on Rip’s face, glancing at Sara. She returns his expression, as do the now-separated Jax and Stein and the others. Even Mick’s wearing the slightly blank expression Leonard recognizes as Mick dealing with feelings.

“Gideon,” the captain says quietly, staring into the sky, oblivious to the rest of them, even though the ship is no longer visible, “please don’t do this.”

“I see no other choice,” the AI tells him. “And...I may very well be the last of my kind, captain. What is there, now, for me?”

It’s Mick, unexpectedly, who speaks up next. “What’s next for any of us?” he asks gruffly, glancing at Leonard. “I mean...don’t know I can jus’ go back to stealing and burning shit. We’re all weird losers in our own right. Y’fit right in.”

Stein laughs a little. “I prefer ‘unique,’ Mr. Rory. But a good point. Perhaps we all belong together.”

Rip’s found his voice again. "Gideon!” he says. “Are you...are you still there?”

“I'm still here, Captain.” But the AI’s voice is faint.

“Someone needs to protect time. We need you for that mission. I need you.” He shakes his head. “I’ve lost…so much. I can’t lose you. Please.”

Silence. Leonard hears Sara’s intake of breath. They wait. And...

“Perhaps, I'm not yet ready to die," they hear faintly.

Rip runs a hand over his hair. “Is the solar ray still functional?"

“In fact...operating at...rate of 12,000 percent."

The captain nods, eyes distant. “Transfer all available power to the time drive,” he says, eyes still fixed on the sky, on something too far away for him to see. “Get ready to eject the meteor, and hope that you have enough power for one last jump.”

Leonard starts to ask, but...

“What happens if only one of these goes off?" Sara asks Rip, reaching out to wrap her fingers around Leonard’s. He shakes his head roughly, suddenly feeling like he’s missing something.

There’s not enough time to panic, not really. Leonard has a second to wonder if freezing the hell out of the damned thing would help at all before Firestorm claps his hands together.

“OK, guys, let's fly this thing out of here,” he says, apparently addressing Kendra and Raymond.

But the former shakes her head. “To where?” she asks. “We would never get it far enough away."

“Maybe the Waverider can,” Raymond says. “Rip, we need...”

But the captain’s shaking his head, looking just as confused as Leonard feels. Then he focuses on the Waverider—did the ship look that much the worse for wear before?—and starts for it, very nearly running.

“Where’s the meteorite?” Sara asks suddenly.

By the time they all make it on to the ship, Rip’s pretty much collapsed in the captain’s chair, looking horribly relieved and like he rather desperately needs a nap. Sara, who’s really just about had it with not knowing what the hell is going on, raises her voice.

“What happened to the meteor?” she asks sharply, seeing Leonard nod in agreement. But it’s Gideon, not Rip, who answers.

“I flew it into the heart of the sun, Ms. Lance,” the AI says, an odd tone in her voice that Leonard doesn’t think he’s ever heard before. “I angled the ship to eject the meteorite before impact, and then time-jumped away.”

“G!” Jax exclaims, sounding appalled. “You could have been destroyed."

“Should have been," Mick rumbles. “Don’t do that shit.”

Sara sighs, then glances at Leonard. But her lover is watching Rip with an odd expression on his face, like he thinks there’s something more going on. Rip meets his eyes, then smiles a little, glancing at Sara.

“Now,” he announces, “who fancies a return trip to 2016?”

Just one chapter left...

I really hope at least a few people get the Clarke’s First Law joke. :)

#captain canary #legends of tomorrow #season 1 #somewhere on your road tonight

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dyketectivecomics · 7 years ago

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So...what ARE you feelings on bruce being a Pisces? Let alone that Cass is an Aquarius, Dick is an Aries, Jason's a Leo and Tim's a cancer?

I slowly shut my laptop and set it aside on my bed, staring ahead at nothing in particular as I reminisce on a favorite Pisces in my life. My best friend since childhood, a girl who i’ve known for well over a decade, more than half of my life really, who happens to share the exact same birthday as Fictional Character Bruce Wayne. A Pisces-cusp.

I think on the similarities I see between them, the qualities of her character that only I and a few others would know, and try to think on how others have perceived her before joining our friend group over the years. I admire her empathy, her passion for music and video games, her willingness to put all of her friends above herself.

And then i remember how she drunk-texted our group chat last night just to tell us she loved us & that she couldn’t wait to hit up a gay bar with us when we’re all back in town.

And I cackle. Because if no one else does, I do see these qualities in Bruce Wayne’s character. Just a hair below all the so-called brooding and angst. Bruce is a water sign who’s a little emotionally stunted in that he tries to hide his feelings, but he feels oh-so-very much. He’s a Pisces trying to emulate a Scorpio and falling just short (bc lets be real, he’s got too many kids that he definitely dotes on) but yknow… it’s something that when he’s done correctly by writers, they somehow manage to fit those qualities in without even realizing, I think. Sure, he’s not a kid that I grew up with and there’s plenty of differences because my friend is, yknow, an actual person who’s more than a couple of personality traits. But damn if I don’t see similarities….

Now, as for the rest of the kids & others that I relate them to… (under the cut, tagging as “long post” for mobile users just incase tumblr wants to be a butt again) Also a warning bc some of this will sound like I’m ripping from astrology sites but honestly just narrowed things down from my own personal experience with these signs. Take all of this observation & comparison with a grain of salt, if you wish.

Cass is an aquarius, like myself. And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t see more than a few similarities in what few scattered stories I’ve been able to read so far (or even that I might be prone to reading a bit too much into some of it bc hey, I have a fav now & I want to see myself in her, sue me). One of these days I’m probably going to sit down and really dive in, but for now, I gather what I can, listen to the meta that others have, and ofc, try to form my own opinion.

That being said, an eccentric-ass Aquarius is really the only choice to take over the mantle from a sensitive-ass Pisces, and everyone can fite me on this. Aquarians & Pisces, my friend and I, Bruce and Cass- all on a similar wavelength, esp when they’re encouraging each other and learning to grow from one another.

Cass is an air sign that most people only see as being grounded because of the discipline David Cain instilled in her from childhood. She’s funny, wise beyond her years, and intensely dedicated to the mission at hand bc of what it means to help others as a whole. And this is fault that I see in myself and in her: she’s got plenty of empathy for those she might already be close to, and absolutely cares about humanity in a greater sense, but caring for individuals without getting to know them can be uncomfortable. She’s driven, but can be blindsided by that dedication and burn herself out easily if others don’t intervene. Also, an introverted extrovert, one who’s absolutely ready to meet with others and collaborate/team-up, but can get a little lost in her own head from time-to-time.

…

Now, Dick the Aries. My other best friend since childhood also shares this sign with my First Favorite Robin. And I do see more than a number of parallels between the two of them. My aries friend has a penchant for taking over projects and setting themselves in charge of the operation. But they also have the charm and ingenuity to make themselves to seem the perfect and best fit for that leadership position. They’re rebellious, a little brash in decision-making, but they’ve also mellowed out over the years in many small ways. Still on fire about what they’re most passionate about in life, and more than willing to achieve it by any means necessary, damn anyone who thinks that they won’t.

There’s a popular consensus in fanon to make dick a kind of hufflepuff who’s just there for his friends & loves hugs and is lovey all around- but Dick is driven. He cares for his friends fiercely and will help them absolutely, but he’s ready to avenge them too. He’ll punch you in the face, pirouette with the utmost amount of sass, and then make you feel bad for making him do it in the first place. He’s got that bit of deviousness that will make you second guess his intentions. But if you’re already part of his inner circle, you have nothing to fear from him. And that’s where his lovey side then has room to come out.

…

Moving on to Jason the leo, and I know you didn’t ask, but Im adding Stephanie to this discussion as well since she’s a leo too. A few leos that I’ve gotten to know over the years can be summed up very lovingly as this: attention whores. (again. very lovingly. i love each and every one of those bitches so damn much, this is something they’ve each used to describe themselves lmao)

Leo is the King of the Zodiac, commanding attention in the room whenever they walk in. They’ve got plenty to say, of course, and they’re excellent diplomats/socialites in many ways. Often best suited for a leadership position. They know how to read the conversation and the room and turn it best into their favor. They will dazzle you with their wit and charm, but also in their knowledge of the subject at hand. If they have an Opinion, they’ll absolutely let you know what it is, and they’re not afraid to hold back on what they perceive to be a truth. Some will have a bit more tact than others, but they’re a fire sign, after all.

Did this just describe Jason & Steph? well maybe not to some, but I definitely see their drive to complete their own missions & joining up Bruce’s crusade as Leo qualities. Steph and Jay are willing to do what it takes and butt heads with whoever they must if it means doing what they see is right. They’re absolutely social people too (maybe Steph a bit more than Jay will be), and you can’t deny they’ve both got a certain kind of charm over the rest of the family.

…

Tim the cancer sign… this is… difficult actually. One of the few signs that I don’t recall having significant interaction with. (& honestly the character & Robin that I have the least personal interest in. I do want to like him but I just…??? Havent rlly found the time to put into reading up on him more)

But just going off the water sign aspect, and knowing water signs in my life… Emotions & emotional intelligence are obviously going to be at the forefront. From what I’ve gathered on Tim, he’s very well-rounded in all areas of his life, and driven to succeed at whatever he’s set his mind to. I can absolutely respect the strength his character has commanded over the years, and his popularity is absolutely earned, I think. Writers have worked hard to make sure he’s distinct from Dick & Jason before him in many ways, and I’ll have to look deeper into his character & listen to more meta on him before I’ll be comfortable to speak further on that.

…

To round out this discussion, I want to bring Barbara into the mix, because she’s had a fixed birthday for awhile now. And tbh she’s just as much part of the family as the rest I think (yes, I know some people get Babs fatigue bc she’s the first batgirl & gets the other girls lost in the shuffle but hey! I’ve loved her for awhile now!) She is *drum roll* a Libra!

Now, this ones a bit tricky, bc the most important Libra in my life is my mom. Buuuut, she and Babs are both cusps… on opposite ends of this zodiac sign. I admire my mother for her resolve, inventiveness, work ethic, and stability. I also loathe her tendency to micromanage projects, become overly involved in the work of others (to the point where she WILL find out whats going wrong) and how she tends to overwork herself (just this past spring has been really really difficult. I’m surprised she hasn’t worked herself into the grave with the amount of stress she puts on herself)

Now some of these qualities, I absolutely see in Babs. But I also see a bit more awareness in her character, esp when she’s grown up into her Oracle persona. She seems able to recognize what she’s doing and how she’s affecting others, and will sometimes use that to her advantage. She’s a character who’s grown into the adversity she faces & doesnt let it change her resolve for completing the mission, even if it needs to be from a new (& probably better) angle. She adapts well to change, or forces the change to adapt to her. She is a force to be reckoned with and admired.

…

All of this to say… at the end of the day, the stars are still just balls of gas and light that sit some billion light-years away from us. Do they really control our personalities? I mean, probably not. But there’s enough similarities in those traits to make you wonder… and it’s honestly just a Good Fun Time regardless.

#long post #randywrites #asked and answered #sorceressassassin #ok that should cover tags lmao #anyways jim gordon is a capricorn and i totally see it bc my sis is one too & omigosh the way mom n sis butt heads is hilarious when i think #abt how its a reverse of jim & babs butting heads #the parent/child dynamic is reversed by sign & a little by social convention but not rllyby much #anyways bruce absolutely loves and tries to relate to all of his kids but heaven help him #so yeah this is what i mean when i say I'm laughing over bruce being a pisces bc I'm usually imagining my friend #altho her boyfriend isn't a pisces i think he's a leo... so they def don't have that bruce/selina dynamic... since selinas a pisces too #hey like signs with like is usually the best way to go #I've got a lot of feelings and i tried to pare it down to the basics but this still came outlong #home y'all don't mind that tho anyways. happy sunday everyone I'm just gonna go cry about stats now

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defenestrata · 7 years ago

Note

erich + ALL (too bad suffer w me)

stares into camera like i’m in the office. thanks realm. i lov having friends on the internets. i’m still figuring out erich’s character bc he was ( and likely still is ) a little bland but what’s under the cut is long so enjoy djhsjhfs

QUESTIONS FOR YOUR OCS

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

about half an hour at best, to be honest. and he’s the most patient person in his family.

How easy is it for your character to laugh?

not easy, not at all. erich isn’t no-nonsense, he just doesn’t have a tendency to open his mouth and laugh. sharp exhales and repressed smirks all around.

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?

sleeping pills. due to a couple of past incidents, erich has a crippling discomfort in the dark. and he’s also not rich enough to keep the lights on all night. about 1/3 of the time, he doesn’t need artificial medication, but sometimes he does.

How easy is it to earn their trust?

full and complete ‘i’d die for you and i know you’d die for me’ trust ? near impossible ! erich’s trusted like five people in his life, one of which went missing, two of which were separated from him and the other two that betrayed him.

How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

his idea of mistrust is pretty black and white. which means that he only decides to lose faith when you do something that stabs him in the back. that’s probably why two people have already stabbed him in the back. maybe one more will.

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

laws are only good for making sure everyone stays out of everyone else’s way. otherwise, miscellaneous laws like piracy and intellectual property aren’t that important to him.

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

the one particular thing that triggers nostalgia for him is snow. erich’s memory of snow is not separate from his memory of old friends and family. until the point that he didn’t reunite with his fam, he felt nothing but a hollow bitterness. now, seeing snow is a little more calming.

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child?

alright, so for one, for the longest time he was supposed to be an important role model for his sister, younger than him by five years. so he was pushed to start being responsible from a pretty young age. after that he had to be pushed to participate in things at school, which he hated doing because it was all silly and he was bad at arts and crafts.

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

oh yeah, sure. he has no sanctity when it comes to that kind of stuff. his first swear word has to be shit. but in german, so scheiße. mama was absolutely shooked.

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

unfort, erich has told and continues to tell a lot of lies, some little and white, others less so. the most significant lie he’s told is hiding what really happened while he was on his own from his family. okay, this needs some insight on his backstory jhsjfds but uh to summarise: he was separated from his family, under the guardianship of a stranger for a little while, but got involved in deep web conspiracies and eventually got himself kidnapped and psychologically tortured for a bit but he hasn’t told his fam about it after they reunited.

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

his pride, damn it. he will never admit he hasn’t understood anything ever, he’ll just nod and try to fill in the gaps himself and i hate him.

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

try his best to reach it. his parents didn’t raise a quitter. probably just duck into a quiet place if there are too many people around.

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

he thinks he looks really good in this grey jacket he has, which he’s especially partial to. it’s pretty shit. what he really looks good in are stark colours, especially black and white.

What animal do they fear most?

dogs. he has allergies. other than that, maybe raccoons.

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

he rehearses absolutely nothing and dies like a man. however, to be honest, speaking isn’t really his thing, it’s kind of a last resort. he’s much, much more of a listener. that being said, he has the tendency to say things that aren’t socially tactful, but not frequently.

What makes their stomach turn?

later in his arc he’s forced to be a decent protagonist and blackmail the antagonist with what the antagonist loves the most. he doesn’t like being in a position where there’s absolutely no doubt he’s doing something bad. basically if he knows he’s breaking the golden rule, he’s going to be uncomfortable.

Are they easily embarrassed?

yes. yes. and his friend jamie, another oc, will use this to her advantage until she dies.

What embarrasses them?

compliments. insults. mentions of his past. just anything that’s about him, being said by another people. he talks about himself, others talk about themselves

What is their favorite number?

what’s the point ?? he has no favourites.

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

noah fence but he’s a terrible person to ask about this. he’d literally say “familial love is like platonic love but for family” and “romantic love is platonic love but when you kiss”.

Why do they get up in the morning?

fuck if he knows. first it was because he’d get dragged out of bed by his physical therapist if he didn’t show up. now it’s because he’s being hunted down by an organised crime cult thing.

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?

erich has difficulty making personal attachments to anything, so he isn’t frequently overwhelmed by strong feelings of jealousy. if he is, he has difficulty making anything of it beyond “i am mad. why am i mad. what”.

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)?

for the first week erich does try to take some kind of moral high ground and ignore it, but second week leads to bitterness and snideness. although envy is not really a big deal for him. he has a fairly healthy family dynamic once he reunites with them, finances aren’t terrible etc. if i had to attribute a fatal flaw to them it’d be either pride or wrath.

Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom?

i mean, in theory he’s comfortable because he doesn’t think of it as some super taboo subject. sure, sex. but because he’s been socially constrained for much of his life he’s just kind of bleh about it.

What are their thoughts on marriage?

marriage is marriage. woop. does he want to get married ? heck no, he’s got shit to do.

What is their preferred mode of transportation?

the london tube (he lives in london). the organisation of so many lines with all the crossover points is so, so satisfying.

What causes them to feel dread?

forgetting. names, places, faces, details. especially when he can’t remember if it was important or not. he hates being surprised by events.

Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth?

yes. yes. absolutely yes. truth is way overrated in society in his opinion. nothing is really true because everything is subjective. in which case, people can just pick the reality that suits them. if it doesn’t hurt anybody, why bother.

Do they usually live up to their own ideals?

no. his ideal isn’t as much an image of himself as it is the goal of taking down aforementioned organised crime ring. he hasn’t done that yet.

Who do they most regret meeting?

i’m so very glad you asked. albert michael strauss, a colleague of erich’s father, who took him in after he was separated from his family, and took splendid care of him — for the first year. after that, he realised that erich was involved in shady business and gave him out to the police without a blink which later led to the kidnapping. yeah, erich wants him dead.

Who are they the most glad to have met?

kisha and jamie, his physical therapist and her mentee respectively. they were pretty successful in bringing him out of his shell after the torture, giving him support, asking about his family, helping out with finances, and finally even letting him stay with them when he gets evicted later in the story.

Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke?

if erich’s super comfortable with you he may tell you stories of his younger sister being dumb. of which he has quite a few. otherwise, if he’s feeling a little prideful, he’ll tell you the story of how he got onto a plane and got off it scot free without a boarding pass or a passport. yes, that did actually happen, and he’s so proud.

Could they be considered lazy?

no. he knows what he wants and he’s proactive enough to get it.

How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt?

oh boy, okay so erich rarely does things that make him feel a super genuine sense of guilt. he tends to justify it with ‘it was necessary’. but if something does indeed make him feel guilty he will he haunted by it for days and days.

How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive?

he listens and nods and maybe even quips. if its someone very close he’ll agree to help if needed. he’s got a very impersonal kind of supportive system that i’m still figuring out.

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap?

i mean provided that a) he trusts someone, and b) cares about them to the extent that he has such strong platonic love that he begins to be confused about his feelings, he’d be in love. but that’s a huge process. so no thanks.

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)?

not really sksksk he forgets things like a cool person.

What memory do they revisit the most often?

memories of being locked in a tiny dark room, memories of being kept in a blindingly white, noiseless room. memories of being bombarded with loud and overlapping speeches and music till he can’t even hear his own thoughts. that kind of memory.

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people?

difficult. his natural cynicism of people emphasizes on their flaws and may even ignore their good points. even with his best friends, he can’t ignore flaws when they pop up. it doesn’t diminish his appreciation of them, however.

How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

facts: erich’s sense of self is awful. he is pretty much playing a video game character of himself in the real world, interacting with objects and making observations with little attention on himself. if someone did call them out for being apathetic, cold and/or straight up duplicitous and condescending he’ll go “yes but what’s your point”

How do they feel about children?

okay, kids are a bit of a weak spot with erich, mostly because he has a baby sister. he likes how silly and unbothered about the world they are, it’s very amusing to him. also, objectively, he’s relatively decent at calming kids down and taking care of basic needs. once the mess that is his plot is over he wouldn’t mind having a kid.

How badly do they want to reach their end goal?

he wants to take down mettugi pretty badly but he’s not passionately blindsided enough to do something stupid. he’s willing to kill but he’s not willing to die. if he plays his cards right it won’t be necessary.

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so?

shrug emoji. it all depends on who he can connect with.

QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS

A) Why are you excited about this character?

i’m excited mainly because i want to break a really gross trope in writing him. there’s this trope of tall, dark, handsome boys with dark pasts that are abusive to their friends and generally flat characters with no real meaning to them. i want a surface level tall, dark and handsome with genuine wit, capacity for sympathy and a moral code skskks

B) What inspired you to create them?

oh boy long story short i doodled a person on the back of a test paper in ninth grade which gave me an idea for a detached character who hacks in solitude and he’s sort of developed over the years into what he is today. no single thing inspired him.

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

no, because they’re the protagonist for the first segment of this story.

D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

absolutely not ! draft one erich was much older, and ethnically german. this erich is younger and the son of turkish immigrants to germany.

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

i think we’re both too detached and awkward to get along and get close, but we certainly wouldn’t have arguments.

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?

frustration because ARGH i’m having trouble getting a hold of him and fleshing him out

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

erich is meant to be a little volatile, but i’m having difficulty defining it very well. also it gets everyone around them to pull away just when they were getting close and that’s frustrating as an author too.

H) What trait do you admire most?

casual sympathy ! erich won’t hold your hand and tell you it’s alright but he will try to cook for you. he also tends to be generous to buskers and the like just because.

I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe?

yes but i do that with all my ocs because they’re so defined by their context and canon.

J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

uh i’m not 100% sure what this question is asking tbh but the way this story is proceeding it’s very much driven by the characters — the story doesn’t make the muses, it’s the other way around.

#LONG POST FUCK #realmzenith #oc talk.

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ango-boydetective · 7 years ago

Text

[a quick fic, definitely not my best work? but i thought of this scene after thinking about what might cause taakitz to grow as close as they did in such a short amount of time? i concluded late-night cooking :^) (maybe i should make this a mini series bc theres no actual cooking in this one)

anyways read away. spoilers for lunar interlude 4 and everything prior to it i guess. also its 6am and i havent slept, take pity on me vghjbjn]

Taako stares up at the ceiling of his private quarters. He’s so, so tired- the Director has them all training heavily for something she won’t even tell them about. She seems unsettled, though; maybe even frightened, so even Taako agrees to the extra training. Still, despite his aching bones- Thanks, Magnus- he can’t sleep.

The room’s dark and mostly silent. There’s always a little background noise on the moonbase, and tonight Taako can swear he hears Merle’s loud snoring from one room over. It’s really not that loud, but with Taako’s growing agitation, it seems to get louder and more obnoxious by the minute, like Merle is personally trying to slight him with those awful snorty noises.

He lets out a long, dramatic sigh and finally gives up on sleeping. Definitely not so close to the loudest dwarf he’s ever heard. So, with a huff of annoyance, he unzips himself from the once-comforting-now-stifling warmth of the sleep sack. That’s another problem with this fucking moon base. It’s always either too hot or too cold, and right now it’s definitely too fucking hot.

A series of more loud, annoyed huffs later and Taako finds himself on a couch in the main part of the quarters he shares with the only other two Reclaimers. They won’t be Reclaimers much longer, he thinks. They’ve only got one relic left to Reclaim. Reclaim is a stupid word for them. Claimers is better. They never owned the relics so how could they RE-claim them? Well as long as they paid him, he couldn’t give a rat’s ass what they were called.

He huffs for the hundredth time that night and slips into a pout, his chin resting on his palm. He’s staring out of the huge floor window they’ve got going on- which, by the way, super trippy when you’re drunk, fuck whoever designed this room- and thinks.

He thinks about his aching body and the stupid extra training sessions. Magnus did not need to tackle him, thank you very much. Taako doesn’t take the big hits. That’s Magnus’ job. “Magnus rushes in”, and all that. Yeah, well, Taako’s good out here. Away from the physical portions of combat.

He’s not worried about whatever they’re being trained to face. He’s Taako, from TV! He’s a powerful wizard, the likes of which the world has never seen! Nothing could kill him. Well, nothing but the fiasco at Refuge. But that was a one-off. The Director probably just got spooked since it’s their last job. Still, he knows better than to go against her wishes. Plus, Magnus physically lifted him into the training dojo, so it wasn’t like he’d had much choice.

Thinking about Refuge puts Taako in an even worse mood. It’s not the same, though. Instead of just tired bitterness, there’s… a hint of something else in it. Something familiar and bad. Thinking about all the times he died is weird. He’s used to a more normal amount of death, AKA none.

Well. Unless Kravitz was right.

Kravitz.

Taako’s thinking about Kravitz now. He’d intended to charm Kravitz into dropping the whole, y’know, looped death thing, while they were on that date to the Chug ‘n’ Squeeze, but he’d actually had an okay time. His charms weren’t really needed, either. Since their last meeting in Lucas’ lab, he’d definitely seemed a lot more agreeable.

Almost shooting him in the back was kinda awkward though.

One of these days he should really get the umbra staff checked out. It keeps doing shit without consulting him first which, first of all, rude. It was probably cursed or something. It carved some letters into a wall, exploded Ango’s cookies, and it had almost ruined his date with Death. That was all incredibly inconvenient.

Still, Taako thinks about the cost of removing a curse and thinks about his empty coin purse and shrugs. As long as it doesn’t kill anyone he otherwise wants alive, he’s good.

Does Kravitz count as alive?

...Does the Grim Reaper even sleep?

Luckily for Taako, he’s got the Grim Reaper on speed dial. Kravitz gave him the ability to contact him via his Stone of Farspeech when he wanted Taako to schedule their chat about the fate of Refuge, and he’d never taken it away. Well, he’s about to get a late-night call from the one and only Taako.

Taako tucks his legs under himself and pulls out his Stone of Farspeech. A second later, he speaks into it.

“Krav, my man! You awake, dawg? Taako wants to chat!”

His voice echoes around the empty room for a moment. It’s silent for a moment. Taako purses his lips together. If Kravitz sleeps, how does he find time to reap people? Is it a 9-to-5 gig? Does he get paid vacation time? Dental? What are the benefits to being Death? Is there an employee discount at every funeral or something?

“Taako..? Wh- why on earth are you calling me at two in the morning?!” Kravitz’ voice appears at last, sounding more worried than anything, disrupting Taako’s train of thought.

“Cause I wanted to chat, homie!! Got nothing else to do,” Taako replies, relaxing a little more on the couch. How does this guy even sound handsome? Taako silently appreciates he’s dropped the accent.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” His tone loses that worried quality to it. Taako raises an eyebrow to the empty room.

“Elves don’t need to sleep. Sure, I like a good snooze every now and again- who doesn’t? Which reminds me, actually. Hey, do you sleep? I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Taako teases.

“Well, no, I don’t need to sleep, but-,” Kravitz begins, interrupted by Taako.

“I didn’t call you in the middle of a reaping, did I? Oof, that would be awk-ward! Your soul being taken by the Grim Reaper, only for his good pal Taako to make a special appearance. Ooh, what if they’re a fan?” Taako can envision himself twirling something as he speaks, though what he’s not entirely sure.

“Taako, Taako, no, I’m not- I’m not busy, I, wh-, why did you wanna chat? Is there even a reason?” Kravitz sounds like he’s feigning annoyance now. Taako beams at the empty room. Still, his question stumps him momentarily. Did he have an actual reason beyond asking questions?

Taako lets out a hum in response, thinking. A beat later, Kravitz speaks again. He stops and starts every now and again.

“L-listen, Taako. I, uh. If this is… Okay, I really enjoyed our… uh, when we hung out, but if this is some form of, of booty call-”

Taako interrupts him with loud laughter. When he composes himself, he speaks again. “Oh, no, no sweetie, honey, homie, you’ll know when it’s a booty call. Besides, we’ve only had one date. Buy me dinner and we’ll see where things go.” He’s goofing, of course, but… well he’d be lying if the idea of another date didn’t appeal to him.

Taako swears he hears Kravitz sigh, either in amusement or exasperation, or a mixture of both. “Well if that’s not it, why did you contact me?”

“Well, they say you’re supposed to wait a few days after the first date to call them back, make ‘em wait-,” Taako begins.

“Taako,” Kravitz interrupts, semi-stern. Taako rolls his eyes.

“Fiiiiine! I couldn’t sleep and I wanted to ask you a bunch of shitty questions about being the Grim Reaper,” he admits eventually, pouting a little that Death could pull the real answer from him so easily.

“If you wanted to ask questions, you coulda asked them on our date, y’know.” This time, Kravitz sounds like he’s teasing. Taako’s glad he used the word ‘date’ this time, even if he’s being teased.

“Well I didn’t think of them til now, doofus,” Taako retorts. “Unless you want every date to be an interrogation.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Oh, so you weren’t kidding about, about dinner, then,” Kravitz states, a hint of surprise in his voice. He seems to hear himself, and hurries to explain. “I-I mean, I’d be happy to! I’m just, well. Surprised, I guess. I, I wasn’t sure if you were… as… interested, I suppose.” Taako smiles a little to himself. Kravitz is adorable. “Are, uh, are there restaurants on the moon?”

Taako taps his chin. “There’s a mess hall. That’s not very intimate, though. Plus my umbra staff acted up twice there, and you know how well that went the last time, with you and me.”

“Wait, that wasn’t the first time it’s done something out of your control? Taako, I really think you should get it checked for curses-”

Taako waves a hand in the air, calling for Kravitz to calm down. He quickly remembers they’re talking through Stones of Farspeech and switches to actual audible words. The lie comes quick and easy. “Don’t worry, broseph, I’m getting it checked out next week. For sure.”

“...Okay, but please, Taako, be careful with an object like that.” Kravitz seems reluctant to drop the topic, but says no more about it. “Then, uh... how about something planetside?”

“For our second date? Sure, if you can find somewhere good enough for Taako, and his date Death,” Taako points out. He hesitates. His next words are semi-scandalised. “Do you even eat food?”

Kravitz lets out an awkward chuckle. “Well, I don’t need to, but I do eat every now and again. Just for the taste, more than anything. I, uh, I don’t get hungry.”

“Well fuck it, if taste is all you want, we should have dinner here on the moonbase. I can cook up a storm better than any shitty chef in Neverwinter. I’m Taako from TV, remember?” Taako announces loudly.

The idea of cooking dinner for the two of them is one hundred percent better than a meal in some restaurant somewhere. He can charm Kravitz with food this way… His speciality. Especially now that he knows the poisoning incident wasn’t his fault.

Kravitz laughs. When he speaks again, Taako can hear his smile. “Y’know, that… that actually sounds nice.”

“Also,” Taako speaks up again, breaking the somewhat romantic tension with a loud demand that leaves Kravitz giggling. “Just so we’re clear. This is definitely not a business date this time. This is one hundred percent pleasure and I don’t wanna hear a single goof about dragging me off to hell or wherever the fuck. Seriously. I just died, like, eleven times in a row. I’m kinda sensitive on the subject.”

“Okay, I won’t talk about work, got it.” Kravitz still sounds like he’s smiling. Goddamnit. Taako wants to see that smile again.

“Why not right now?” He asks the question before he can stop himself, and he’s not about to take it back, so he just bites his lip and waits.

“Now? At two in the morning? Don’t you share a living space with Merle and Magnus?”

Damn.

“Yeah, it’s okay. We can schedule this for when those two idiots are away.” Taako tries his best not to sounds disappointed. He fails. He’s tired and sore and… if he’s being honest? A little lonely. Which makes no sense.

“Taako,” Kravitz sighs. “If there’s something else wrong… I know we’ve only hung out a few times, and the majority of those involved attempts to kill you, but you know I’m here for you, right? ...I can’t imagine dying over and over was pleasant. If, uh, if you need someone to talk to, besides Magnus and Merle, and the, the others on the moonbase, I-I mean, you have access to my Stone of Farspeech. Obviously at, uh, at any hour.”

Taako’s struck by the sincerity of those words. He really can’t come up with something clever fast enough in response, so instead he lets out a slightly hysterical, “Natch, homie!!”

Kravitz doesn’t respond to that. They sit in silence for a handful of heartbeats. Well, a handful for Taako; his heart is hammering away.

It takes a long, long time, but Taako does eventually give in. His voice is low and defeated when he speaks.

“Okay. Yeah. I’m-,” his voice cracks a little. He pauses. “I’m a little messed up about, about dying. And, uh. Watching my friends die. And everyone in that town. It hit me harder than I thought it would.”

Kravitz doesn’t respond for a second. When he does, it’s so soft and kind and sincere.

“Do you wanna have that date now?”

Taako rubs at his dry eyes with the heel of his palm. There’s no tears. He sniffs. “We’d have to be quiet so we don’t wake mmmmMagnus n’ Merle. Fuck them for having the same first initial.”

Kravitz lets out a soft chuckle. “I’ll be right there. Don’t be spooked when I appear.”

“Why would I be spooked by the Grim Reaper appearing at my door late one night, after I’ve just got done a bunch of dying?” Taako drawls back.

“Who said anything about a door?”

Taako spins around at his suddenly very near voice and spots Kravitz. A rift is closing up behind him and his scythe melts away into thin air. He’s a couple feet behind the couch, wearing the warmest smile a cold man like him ever could. Physically cold. His demeanour, once you have a date with him, really warms up, as far as Taako is concerned.

Despite himself, Taako beams. Kravitz smiles right back.

#taakitz #late night cooking on the moon #if i make this a series this is pt 1 #if i dont its standalone #uhhhh a little bit of fluff little bit of angst #happy end tho #taz spoilers //

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stillgeekingout · 7 years ago

Text

surprise! it’s chapter 13 of the ultimate aaron milverton crossover fic! I may have stopped my routine but I will never give up on my greatest work

previous: 1 here, 2 here, 3 here, 4 here, 5 here, 6 here, 7 here, 8 here, 9 here, 10 here, 11 here, 12 here

------

A week later, Rachel was once again visited at work. But this time, it wasn’t Aaron visiting.

“Blair? How did you-- what are you doing here?” Blair had appeared-- literally appeared-- in the middle of the store. Luckily, Rachel’s manager was in the back as usual and no other customers were around. She had believed Zoe about Blair and Alex being gods, but the teleportation still threw her off guard.

Rachel couldn’t imagine why Blair would show up out of the blue. She hadn’t gotten the impression that Blair had particularly liked her on their last encounters.

“I need to speak with you,” said Blair by way of greeting. “But first, I am going to eat some froyo.”

And with that, she began loading a cup, leaving Rachel trying and failing to think of a response. (Blair really loved froyo, according to Zoe. They had been texting constantly for a week and a lot of Zoe’s end was just stories about Alex and Blair, her coworkers, and her new friend Violet. Rachel didn’t mind. She thought it was nice how much Zoe cared about her friends.)

Blair ate her froyo in silence, filled and ate a second cup, and finally addressed Rachel. “I came to offer a proposition.”

“Ok…” She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but that wasn’t it. “What kind of proposition?”

“Well, Zoe won’t stop talking about you, and there’s all that mortal nonsense about physical distance--”

“Wait, she talks about me?” Were Alex and Blair hearing about her the way she heard about them? She hadn’t realized she would like the idea as much as she did. It felt nice to be among the people Zoe cared enough to talk about.

“When will you humans learn not to interrupt the divine when we’re speaking? Yes, I just said that she talks about you. Now, as I was saying--”

“What does she say?” She wasn’t sure what she wanted Zoe to be saying.

“You’re making me regret my proposition before I even make it.”

“Sorry, go on.”

Blair took a deep breath, eyeing Rachel as if to make sure she wouldn’t cut her off this time. “Zoe is the best human I know,” she said matter-of-factly, “and she clearly thinks highly of you. And not having you around is making her upset. My proposition is this: one of Zoe’s human friends has informed me that there is a position open at the Smithsonian, and--”

Rachel caught on to what Blair was trying to say. “Whoa, wait, I can’t move to DC!”

Blair huffed at being interrupted again. “Why not?”

“Well, my parents are here,” she said, though she had been eager to leave her parents’ house for months. “And I just met Zoe, I’m not about to Rebecca Bunch myself at her--”

“I do not know what that means.”

“It’s from a TV show.”

“Oh, one of those.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rachel said, not wanting to anger Blair too much. Zoe had said she didn’t really lash out anymore, but Rachel didn’t want to push it. “The point is, I can’t move halfway up the country for a girl I barely know anything about.”

“Well that’s easy, I can tell you about her. What do you want to know?”

“That’s… nice of you, but not what I meant.”

“I don’t understand what the problem is. I will provide housing for you if necessary. Although I’m sure that you don’t have issues obtaining human currency, considering that you work in such an esteemed field as frozen yogurt distribution.” She gestured around at the store. Rachel laughed. Blair stared at her as if she didn’t understand the joke.

“Listen, Blair, this is really nice of you,” Rachel said, “but I just can’t. It’s too much to process right now.”

“Very well. I will return when you’ve had time to consider.”

“That’s not what I m--”

But Blair was already gone, vanished into thin air.

------

Aaron couldn’t decide what was worse: when he had been agonizing over Chad not liking him back, or his newfound agonizing over being in a long distance relationship.

That was a total lie-- as terrible as long distance was, he definitely preferred it to his previous situation. He and Chad talked constantly. They skyped every night. Aaron still got excited every time he saw Chad’s face pop up on his screen. And even though Chad was far away, he was still undisputably Aaron’s. That feeling alone was worth the pain of separation.

For all intents and purposes, he was very, very happy. But Chad’s next visit couldn’t come soon enough.

------

How was christmas shopping with violet?

Rachel sent the text, then flopped down on her bed. She and Zoe had been texting for several weeks. It was comfortable, easy. Rachel no longer felt nervous to reply to every text. She still didn’t know where she stood on the romantic front, but Zoe hadn’t mentioned anything about it. For now, it was nice having a friend to talk to.

Two friends, actually. She and Aaron had seen each other several more times. She had come close a few times to telling him the truth about everything, but it was easier just to console him about Chad. (Who, by the way, was visiting for New Year’s. Rachel got an update on the countdown every time she and Aaron talked.)

Her phone buzzed.

Suuuuuper weird lol i finally met her infamous detective friend bc we stopped by their office

???

Oh did i not tell you about that? it’s somebody she knows from college, they have like a consulting business or idk. but they kept asking me a million questions about my family and if i had any relatives my age in georgia

Weird, why?

apparently i look like some dead drug lord??? Violet has told me this before but she tells me a lot of weird stuff, i try not to ask too many questions tbh.

your roommates are gods, aren’t you beyond ruling out weird stuff lol

Blair had stopped by the store earlier that day, in fact. It was her third time, and luckily Rachel had finally convinced her to use the front door in case there were other people around.

“The position at the Smithsonian was filled,” she’d said. “But I’m still prepared to find you something.” Rachel had insisted that it was still too soon and too drastic. Blair had stuck around to eat 4 or 5 cups of froyo, and they had actually talked a little bit. It was nice, in a weird way.

I’m used to my own weird by now hahaha, Zoe’s text said. actually though sherlock did look kinda familiar to me too so probably we met at some point and now she’s mixed me up with this other girl

Wait omg sherlock???

yeah... weird name i know

no omg I think you might have met aaron’s ex

you sure??

How many people do you know named sherlock…

wtf……. small world

Did you catch a last name? I’ll fb stalk. She wondered if Aaron’s ex was cute. They seemed to have about the same taste in terrible women.

homes? i think? something like that

Sure enough, “Sherlock Holmes” was the first result on facebook. Lives in DC, went to SACU. So this was the girl who had broken Aaron’s heart. Her profile picture was hard to see, so Rachel clicked to make it bigger… and almost dropped her phone.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her hands shook. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and then looked back at her phone cautiously, hoping she had been imagining things. But no, the uncanny resemblance was still there.

“Hamlet!” she shouted to her empty bedroom. “If you’re doing this, it’s not funny, okay? Leave me alone!”

Her phone buzzed.

so, any conclusion? same sherlock?

Then, a few seconds later: omg does this mean violet and aaron went to the same college

Rachel steadied herself. She couldn’t do this right now. She couldn’t respond to Zoe like everything was normal. Since the day they met, Zoe had always been surrounded by things that reminded her of the life she was trying so hard to forget. Blair looking like Laura. Zoe driving Marci’s car. But this… this felt more deliberate than coincidental.

Hey I’ll talk to you later ok? She managed to send the text to Zoe, then put her phone down. What now? Was this Hamlet’s ghost messing with her? She wouldn’t, right? Rachel couldn’t bring herself to believe that Hamlet would intentionally hurt her.

She sat on her bed, taking deep breaths. After a few minutes with no sign of anything out of the ordinary, she picked her phone back up and called Aaron.

He answered almost immediately. “Rachel!!! What’s up?”

“Hey, are you busy?” she asked, trying to match his enthusiasm and failing miserably. “Can I ask you something weird?”

“Um...?”

“Just-- are you around people?” Her voice was shaking. “I don’t want to bring this up if you’re not in private.”

“No, I’m not around people,” he said cautiously. “Rachel, are you ok? You sound weird.”

“I think so. I mean, I’m not in danger. Um. I hate to ask you this, but can I talk to you about Sherlock?” Now he must be really confused.

“What about Sherlock? Did she try to contact you?” If Aaron sounded concerned before, now he really did.

“No! She didn’t. It’s complicated. Um, this is going to sound weird, but can you tell me what she looks like?”

“Short brown hair, glasses, really pale, kinda tall…” So the picture was probably real. Maybe she was imagining the similarities to Hamlet. A lot of people fit that description. She looked at the picture again, and-- nope, definitely still looked like a less goth Hamlet.

“And um, she lived at SACU full time, right? She didn’t like pop back and forth from Orlando?” She couldn’t imagine that her former best friend and roommate led some sort of secret double life in Middle-of-Nowhere, Georgia. But she just had to check.

“I mean, she was secretive, but I highly doubt it… hey, can you tell me what’s going on now?”

“I…” She hadn’t really thought far enough ahead to come up with an explanation. “So um. It turns out Zoe’s friends in DC know Sherlock.”

She heard Aaron sigh. “She really is going to haunt me forever, isn’t she?” he muttered.

He meant ‘haunt’ as a figure of speech, Rachel told herself. There’s no way Sherlock is ALSO a ghost. Out loud, she said, “Um, so I looked her up because I was curious and I wanted to make sure it was the same Sherlock. That’s all.” Now that she was fairly convinced that Sherlock was actually just a person who looked a lot like Hamlet, and there was nothing supernatural going on, she didn’t want to go into more detail. Maybe doppelgangers were just much more common than she previously realized. She did have a cousin who looked a lot like her.

“And what were you saying about Orlando?” Aaron asked.

“Oh, uh, nothing.” Very convincing.

“Rachel. Are you sure you’re ok?”

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t tell Aaron, and she definitely couldn’t tell him over the phone. “I’m fine,” she said, trying to steady her voice. “I’ll explain later. It’s not a big deal.”

“Ok…”

“I promise. I’m ok. I’ll talk to you later, ok? Thanks for answering.”

“You’re welcome…” He still sounded skeptical. She hung up.

She got on her computer and googled Sherlock Holmes, only to find out that her (their?) friend had a vlog. Because of course. She clicked through a few videos, but the similarities to Hamlet were too disturbing. Right down to the ace ring.

Knowing how much of a bad idea it was, she pulled up Hamlet’s channel. (Her therapist always told her not to watch the videos, and she usually agreed. But then, it would be much easier not to if she could just delete them. Her therapist never understood why she didn’t, and never seemed to believe that she physically couldn’t.) After two or three videos, she managed to close the tab. She lay down on her bed and cried.

That night, she dreamed of Hamlet dying in her arms.

------

Rachel’s phone rang. It was Zoe.

She let it go to voicemail.

She felt guilty for ignoring Zoe the past several days, but she didn’t know how to talk to her. With all of her secrets back to the forefront of her mind, it seemed impossible to be casual. Eventually, Zoe was bound to ask her more things about her past. Or, you know, what her last name was. Somehow or other, Rachel knew she would find the videos and see everything. Which left her with two options: tell Zoe everything before that could happen, or ignore it and hope it would go away. And she hated confrontation.

Her phone buzzed with a voicemail notification. It occurred to her that she and Zoe had never actually talked on the phone, only texted. Which meant she hadn’t heard Zoe’s actual voice since Thanksgiving weekend. She figured she should listen to the voicemail. It had to be something serious if Zoe was going to the trouble of actually calling.

“Hi, ok, so I really need you to call me. I haven’t heard from you in days and I don’t know what the explanation is but I need to know that you’re ok and you didn’t have some kind of emergency. And I really hope you’re safe and fine and you don’t have a family member in the hospital or something. Please call me if you get the chance so I know if you’re ok. Bye, I love y-- I MEAN! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that, I’m so used to saying that to my mom and friends and stuff… not that we’re not friends! I just. And this is making it worse, I’m sorry, I lo--NO. Gods. Ok. Call me. Bye.”

Rachel played the message again. She felt terrible for making Zoe nervous about her wellbeing.

I got your message, she texted. Sorry I’ve been MIA. I’m ok… it’s hard to explain.

Her phone rang again. This time, she answered it.

“Hello?”

“Ok, seriously, what the hell?”

“What?” After the message she’d just heard, she hadn’t expected Zoe to sound so angry.

“You can’t just disappear off the face of the earth like that,” Zoe said. “I get that like, things happen and people get busy but you can’t go from texting every day to not saying anything for almost a week and not expect me to get worried! I’ve been freaking out!”

“I’m really sorry, I--”

“Listen, if you don’t want to talk to me anymore, can you at least have the courtesy to tell me? I’m not going to waste my time if you don’t want to be friends but it’s really not cool to just ghost me like that.” Trust me, Rachel thought, I’ve seen ghosting, and this isn’t it.

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you,” Rachel said.

“Then what?” Zoe still sounded angry. “Because honestly I’ve been wracking my brain for days and if you don’t have an emergency and you’re not avoiding me then I’m really confused as to why you can’t just respond to a simple text, even to say you’re too busy to talk.”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Rachel said. She should have known confrontation would come for her one way or another. “I’m… I’m not exactly what you think I am, Zoe.”

“My best friends are gods,” Zoe said. “Try me.”

Rachel sighed. “I wasn’t being totally honest about being ok,” she said. “I mean, I’m fine, I’m safe, I don’t want you to worry about me. But I have these... ghosts, I guess. Of my past. And sometimes it’s too much.”

“Rachel, I’m here for you,” Zoe said, no longer sounding angry. “We’re friends now, ok? You can tell me.”

“That’s the thing, I really can’t tell you.” Maybe she didn’t have to. Maybe Zoe would understand anyway.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… ok, so some things happened in my life that… really kind of messed me up. And it was really bad for a long time. I’m mostly fine now, but sometimes I just get reminded and that’s what happened the other day and I just… I couldn’t…” She trailed off.

“Hey, if you’re dealing with something, you can just tell me that, okay? You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong. I’m here for you either way.”

“Thanks,” Rachel said. “I’m just not ready to talk about it yet. Maybe someday I’ll tell you.”

“In the meantime, tell those ghosts I said to leave you alone,” Zoe said. It took Rachel a second to remember she had used ghosts as a metaphor. “And if you need space, I’m cool with that too. But do me a favor and tell me that next time, ok?”

“Ok. Sorry I worried you.”

“I’m just glad you’re ok,” Zoe said. “And that you still want to be my friend.”

“Of course I do!” Rachel said. “You and Aaron are the first people in a long time I feel comfortable being friends with.”

Zoe laughed. “Wow, so glad to be in an exclusive club with Aaron,” she said.

“Seriously! He’s a great guy,” Rachel said. “Over the top, sure, but really genuine.”

“Oh, speaking of Aaron, did you ever find out if--”

“Hey!” Rachel cut her off. “Um. Remember the thing I said before, about not being able to explain? That again, but can we not talk about Sherlock? I don’t know how to tell you why, but I just really don’t want to.”

“Okay…” Zoe sounded confused. Of course she did. Nothing Rachel was saying made sense.

“Oh and hey, Zoe?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for reaching out to me,” Rachel said. “That was a really thoughtful voicemail, and um, I know you said it on accident but I think it’s perfectly fine to tell your friends you love them.”

“Oh my gods,” Zoe groaned. “That was so embarrassing…”

“No, I thought it was sweet!”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I’m not. It means a lot to me,” Rachel insisted.

“Well um. You’re welcome, I guess.” There was a long moment of silence, then Zoe broke it. “So um, do you mind hearing a story about Violet? Will that bother you?”

“I would love to hear a story about Violet,” Rachel said. Zoe was so considerate. Why had Rachel been nervous to talk to her again?

Zoe launched into her story, and Rachel forgot everything she had been worried about. She forgot all the trouble about a potential relationship and her past and Blair coming to pester her about moving and just thought about Zoe, and how nice it was to have a supportive friend to talk to and to hear stories from.

“...so now she’s got a whole group of people convinced, and I don’t even know how to start undoing all that damage,” Zoe wrapped up. “Blair thinks it’s hilarious, though, so at least that.”

“That’s great,” Rachel said. “Um, I should go actually. I think my parents wanted to go out to dinner or something.”

“Ok,” Zoe said. “Well it was nice actually talking to you.”

“Yeah! We should do it again. At some point. If you want.”

“I’d like that.” She could hear Zoe smiling through the phone.

“Well, goodnight. I love you.”

“Oh my gods, stop it,” Zoe said. “I’m never living that down, am I?”

Rachel had said it as a joke, but she realized that no matter how she felt about romance or relationships or long distance or whatever else, she did love having Zoe as a person in her life. And that had to be enough justification, right? But she didn’t say any of that-- because she had a feeling, or maybe a hope, that Zoe already knew. Instead she just said, “Nope!”

“Love you too,” Zoe said, as if to confirm everything Rachel hadn’t said. “Bye.” She hung up.

With just one phone call, Rachel felt that warm feeling again. Like she did at the Goodwill buying the jackets. And in the back of Zoe’s van on the way to Miami. And on the beach at sunrise.

For a second, she almost considered Blair’s proposition.

------

The next time Blair showed up at the store, she didn’t even ask about Rachel moving. She just went straight for froyo and conversation. Rachel had a sneaking suspicion that Blair was actually starting to like talking to her. (She did know a lot about mythology, even if a lot of that came from Percy Jackson.)

“So Blair,” Rachel said, after they had been talking for a little while. “You’re like an all powerful goddess, right?”

Blair narrowed her eyes. “Of course…”

“How much control do all-powerful goddesses have over the internet?”

“That’s absurd. As much as we want.”

“I wasn’t doubting you!” Rachel assured her. “Just asking.”

“Well, are you ‘just asking’ for your own amusement, or did you need something from me?” Blair looked at her expectantly. Rachel took a deep breath. The idea had come to her suddenly, and she thought it just might work. A way to get one step farther away from her past.

“Do you think you could delete some videos for me?”

#tajwash #ohhey tajwash is actually semi more relevant in this one lol #hamdam #blairgp #I am committed to finishing this dang fic if it kills me #I'm actually quite pleased with this chapter even though I've gone totally out the window with my schedule #mine

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