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writefightandflightclub · 4 years ago

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Disarming (Santi x fem!reader)

Summary: you and Santi - good friends- are Best Man and Maid of Honour at Frankie’s wedding, and guess what? There’s only one bed!

What is this? This is 5/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. The prompt is “We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend”, requested by @woakiees. Another double trope extravaganza! Hadley, I’m so pleased you suggested Santi for this one, as he immediately came to mind when I was writing this prompt :D Thank you so much for requesting! <3

If you’d like to read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Apparently I get carried away EVERY time I write Santi. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?! :-/

Word count: 7.5k. I’M SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.

Rating: 18+ ONLY (minors out, please, do not read or interact)

Warnings: it gets angsty in the middle. Reader has nightmare- comfort offered. Mentions of reader being “hurt” in the past but vague and unspecified. They have a fight. One or two alcohol mentions- no actual consumption. Food mention. Swearing. Steam leading into smut but not explicit- mentions of masturbation, erections, making-out, one brief allusion to choking kink. Let me know if I missed anything.

Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl @casifer-is-king (loads of the tags aren’t working :-/)

GIF: @nathan-bateman

From the first moment you met Santi, you had simply fallen into step with him. It was effortless, and so, as soon as you found yourself by his side, you stayed there. What’s more, that’s exactly where he wanted you to be.

Despite the man’s hard, no-nonsense edge -which you also appreciated- he was warm and charming. It was easy to connect with him, in a way it hadn’t often been for you. For him too - or so the boys told you - the way you surpassed his defences was a rare thing. It shouldn’t have worked, perhaps. Usually, he was slow to trust and you were quick to love, but on this occasion none of that seemed to apply, the two of you tumbling squarely into a fast-friendship; one deeper and more intense, perhaps, than its duration might suggest. Still, despite the boys’ inferences that you would quickly become an item, and Santi’s continual attempts to blur the lines between this and… something more, “friends” is what you have remained.

You had felt it immediately with him. Something different. You simply... flowed. You fit. It was immediately evident, even on that first night, in the way you orbited around one another, setting up an impromptu beer pong of all things. You moved together with a fluidity and a precision that seems almost tactical- as though you too had run countless manoeuvres in the field with him. You could read him and understand him as though you had drilled his habits and patterns and idiosyncrasies over and over; learning him. However, he was never that much effort - the two of you came naturally to each other, little learning required. You knew each other with your gut.

At that fateful party, when you each escaped to the back porch steps for some air at a serendipitous moment, the conversation had immediately flowed, and not only as a result of his natural, disarming charm. The silence even came easily rightaway – a comfortable thing, the space between you stuffed with contentment, rather than the feeling of a gaping vacuum, needlessly filled. It turned out his best friend was dating yours (the pair to be wed this very weekend) but that almost seemed like the cherry on top, rather than the thing bringing you to each other.

Safe to say, what was true then is true now. You get on so well. You find him fun and easy and generous and you love the man dearly.

…Most of the time.

Those other times, though? Santiago “Pope” Garcia can be a pain in your ass. But that’s another reason you love him, you guess. Keeps things interesting.

“Please don’t kill me,” Santi says sheepishly, and it’s obvious to you he’s laying on the charm - actively trying to be as disarming as possible as he saunters over from the reception desk. For a moment, despite all his training, he looks as though he believes you could pull it off, too.

Your annoyance is already prepped; locked and loaded, as he pads squarely towards the banquette where you are sat - amidst a sea of luggage. You’ve been observing his attempts to charm the desk clerk with interest (his efforts, you surmise, at least partially effectual), and judging from the slight level of desperation in his efforts, you can already tell he fucked up somehow.

“What did you do?” you say impatiently, even as a smile twitches at the corner of your lips.

“I booked all the rooms we needed, for all of the wedding guests, right? 13 rooms here, and all 10 at the hotel across town. 4 more in guesthouses,” he recaps. “Got Frankie and Mila a great deal too, remember?”

You remember. And yet, you fold your arms across your chest, looking up at him incredulously. Okay then. Rolling with your attitude, the man takes a different tack. He sits next to you. Smiles. Leans in. Pats your thigh. He’s trying to disarm you too, you realise. It’s going to take more than that - you’re not some flimsy desk clerk who will form a puddle and bat your eyes at the first sign of his charm.

“Well, funny story. I may have forgotten to book our rooms,” he blurts.

Oh? Oh, great. Yeah. This is a grand fuck-up. The whole damn town is booked-out. It’s a small town. No longer amused, your nostrils flare in annoyance as you tug in a slow breath, schooling your tone just a little before you speak. “You what?” Okay, you didn’t manage to school it all that much.

“Look, I already sort of fixed it,” he smooths. That explains the flirting with the clerk. Although, you think, glancing back at her. She’s pretty. That partially explains the flirting with the clerk, then, you mentally correct. “There’s just one, teeny-tiny issue.”

You raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes. Well?

“We’re gonna have to share a room.”

You blink at him a few times, in surprise. Well, it’s not ideal. For a number of reasons. But you can think of worse things, truth be told. And he’s not wrong. It is a solution. Still, on his reveal, a succession of emotions and micro-assessments are bounced back and forth between your eyes and his, until you land on resigned annoyance, exhaling a long sigh. That is, until Frankie appears in the lobby, swanning in like he’s walking on air. He probably is, given that he’s getting married this weekend. His face splits with a smile so wide you reckon it should be painful to maintain, and you stand to greet him as he heads over.

You’re glad he’s happy. It means that you and Santi, as Maid of Honour and Best man, respectively, are doing a fantastic job of deflecting all of the stress away from the happy couple. Indeed, that assessment certainly feels true – you do feel stressed. Still, the two of you immediately paint your faces with masking smiles; though, in fairness, it’s hard not to smile while looking at Frankie – his obvious joy is infectious.

Frankie wraps you both in a hug, then rubs his palms together like an excited kid. “I don’t have much time. Just gonna say a quick hello to my parents. Apparently, my mom’s already started crying? Can you two sort some extra tissues for the ceremony or something? Oh, and is everything okay with the rooms?”

“With this guy? Are you kidding?”, you say before you think, throwing your thumb towards Santi. Immediately, his eyes submit a powerful plea to you to keep schtum- it is written all over his face that he doesn’t want to let Frankie down. Not even in the smallest of ways.

Frankie would find his little error funny, probably. But he can find it funny after the ceremony. “Everything is A-OK! This guy? He has every single detail taken care of.”

Frankie grins, his eyes narrowing proudly at Santi as he slaps him on the back, laying profuse thanks on the two of you; then, he floats away again, as if on a cloud. Santi’s brown eyes are big with gratitude when you look at him again, and you can’t help but weaken. You’ll admit, it’s really not that bad of a fuck-up. Besides, you’re tired. Between the drive out here, the wedding rehearsal, and a never-ending list of errands, the day has been long. You just want to get to the room, and maybe even clock a snooze before the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Fine,” you agree, albeit through gritted teeth. “We can share a damn room.”

Santi looks visibly relieved, and squeezes your shoulder in thanks. You’d even been nice enough not to bite his head off. “Yeah. We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend.” Suddenly, he doesn’t sound quite as certain.

“Sure. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?” you smile nervously.

He returns your smile and swivels, heading back towards the desk.

“Oh, wait!” you call after him. “Is it a double or a twin?” you ask in horror. Sharing a room is one thing, but sharing a bed?

He turns, looking over his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter!”, he winks. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna have to take it.”

Oh. Oh dear.

You’re inclined to agree -you don’t have many options- but when you catch yourself stealing a glance at the man’s shapely butt as he walks back to the desk, you begin to chew your bottom-lip nervously.

Right. Ha.

What could possibly go wrong?

**********************

It turns out, sharing a room with Santi is resoundingly not bad at all. In fact, at first, it’s as easy as everything else is with him - even between your hurried preparations for the evening, unpacking, shuttling items to the relevant members of the wedding party, and calling down to reception several times to check the logistics for the rehearsal dinner. Even getting dressed, you find an easy flow as you each flit in and out of the bathroom, dancing around each other with ease and only a hint of friendly bickering.

Santi’s respectful too- always knocking and announcing himself before entering a space, and averting his gaze when he needs to, given that you’re rushing around and undressing. You even manage to ignore the fact there’s only one bed for the longest time, parking that specific panic for later. Even then, he has already made reception send up extra pillows and blankets, forming a barricade in the middle of the bed so you two can comfortably separate.

Thankfully, you are so busy that the idea of sharing a bed with Santi doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re finally ready, dressed in your finery. When you step out of the bathroom, Santi -sat on the edge of said bed- stands up, thrusting his hands into his suit trousers as he takes the sight of you in, pulling the material taut -in a rather pleasing way- across his hips and thighs. He ends up slightly slack-jawed for a moment as his eyes trail over you, brewing with a gentle, self-conscious heat. “Fuck,” he says softly, his voice gruff. “You look…” a little gulp trails down his throat as you give him a little twirl. “…hot”, he says, his eyebrow ticking up on the last beat.

“Wait until you see my bridesmaid dress,” you smile, and he returns it easily, those gorgeous creases appearing around his eyes.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. You can’t help but wonder, vaguely, what it would be like to push him down on to the mattress. Maybe straddle him. Fuck, you should have known this would be a bad idea. A heat rising in your face at that thought of that, you distract yourself by lifting his suit jacket from the back of the chair, holding it out for him as he slips it on to his shoulders, and feeling the luxurious texture of it beneath your fingers.

It’s a grey suit, tailored, and it hugs him in all the right places. The cool colour is perfect against his warm-toned brown skin, and brings out the salt in his salt-and-pepper curls, and in the rough rasp of grey flecked through his stubble.

You try desperately not to notice how good he looks, but this may be your greatest challenge yet.

“Come on,” you encourage, nodding towards the door. “We better head down.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, half-heartedly. The way his eyes are subtly roving over you, though, he looks like he has something entirely different in mind for dinner.

“You’re probably going to spend all night being chased by the single bridesmaids,” you add casually as you collect your purse, and apply a final dab of lipstick in front of the mirror. You’ve already clocked a few members of the wedding party eyeing him up, and you don’t exactly blame them for being thirsty. Besides, Santi is a huge flirt; so perhaps he’ll be the one doing the chasing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he ended the night with his tongue thrust deep in someone’s throat, which -you assume- is typical Santi fashion.

“Isn’t it traditional, anyway,” he smirks cheekily, applying a splash of cologne, “for the Best Man to hook-up with one of the bridesmaids?”

Lord, does he have to smell so… edible.

“Got news for you, man. You fucked up. You can’t exactly bring a girl back to your room now, can you?!” you tease, nodding back towards your shared bed, a wall of pillows already arranged down the middle. You mean it to come out in good-humour, but you can’t scrub the hint of jealousy from your tone entirely.

You feel so silly for being jealous of whomever he may hook-up with. After all, Santi is always the one testing the boundaries of friendship with you. It’s not like he’s ever made a secret of the fact he’s attracted to you- and you are the one here will a firm line in the sand. A line you simply won’t cross with him. Can’t cross. You want to - of course you do, but after being hurt in the past, you have simply built-up far too many defences; or, more accurately, just the right amount of defences, you think, to protect you. So, no matter how disarming the man is, you simply have to keep your guard up; because if he breached your walls, you know everything else would come tumbling so easily down.

You had fallen so easily into friendship with him, and you are certain that you would fall just as recklessly in love with him.

You’re not ready for that.

You can’t take being hurt again. Besides; Santi? He’s an incredible friend. He’s tenaciously loyal and dedicated to his squad. But when it comes to love, and sex, you doubt whether serious is even his thing - and you’re too afraid to ask.

“You ready to do this?” he asks, with a wink.

“Yep,” you nod. “Let’s roll,” and with that, you turn, heading for the hallway.

“Princesa- that dress really highlights your ass,” he praises as he tags along behind you.

“Thank you, it’s true,” you smile devilishly, already beginning to let your guard down, just a little. He’s simply so disarming. “Speaking of, Garcia – did you get your trousers a size too small on purpose?”

“Oh, you noticed?” he retorts, smugly, guiding you through the door with a hand on the small of your back.

Okay. Sometimes you flirt back. After all – look at him.

Especially in that damn suit.

***********************************

The rehearsal dinner goes swell. Frankie and Mila are a picture-perfect, loved-up couple, and they grin their way through the evening as if they slept with coat hangers in their mouths. The speeches are well-received, including Will’s, thus setting a high bar for you and Santi tomorrow. (You may be biased, but Santi’s is ten times funnier, and it’s going to kill, in your opinion.) There are no dramas through the evening- logistical or familial, and thanks to you and Santi overseeing everything with a military precision, it looks as though -so far- it is shaping up to be the perfect wedding weekend.

Finally, once your duties are over for the night, you are able to let your hair down a little, so to speak, and enjoy the food and company on offer. Still, with a big day ahead tomorrow, things wind down relatively early, and -having lost track of Santi at some point- you find yourself back at the shared room a little while before him. You usually burn out more quickly than he does in social situations, but even taking that into consideration, you begin to fret about where he has gotten to. With the way he was flirting his way through the party, though, it doesn’t take a genius to guess what (or who) might be keeping him up.

You try to sleep but you can’t, your mind going to the worst places, so, by the time Santi does return -softly cracking the door, and padding in with his shoes in his hands so as not to wake you- you have stewed in your own thoughts long enough to have become a little cranky. A little… green-eyed.

“Hey,” he greets in surprise when he enters, immediately noticing the soft lamp glow, and seeing you still sitting up in the bed, mindlessly watching the flicker of the tv on mute.

“Hey,” you return, your voice noticeably strained. “Have a fun time?” You find yourself wishing you weren’t sharing a room, then you wouldn’t have to know what he got up to.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, slipping off his jacket and laying it over the back of a chair. “Did you? How come you’re still up? Thought for sure you’d be wiped out by now.”

So, he did think of you, then?

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply neutrally, fixing your eyes dead ahead as he begins to slip out of his trousers and shirt too, until he’s dressed in only his tight black boxers. Next, he takes off his watch and sets it at the bedside, and you notice that he smells of perfume. A cloying, floral scent that makes you feel a little sick.

“Just gonna have a quick shower and then I’ll slip in with you, okay?” he says, his voice slow and deep and muted, matching the soft light.

You still don’t look at him. You can’t.

“Do what you want. You usually do,” you bite, the words tasting bitter as soon as they have left your lips, and tears of regret pooling as your anger dissolves.

You don’t blame him if he was with someone – you really don’t. You’re simply angry at yourself; because you wish you could be that person, and you can’t for the life of you seem to find a way.

“Okay. What was that for?” he bristles, reacting defensively, turning towards you. And perhaps it’s because it’s late and he’s tired, or because certain demons feel safer coming out under the cover of darkness, but he doesn’t stop there. Especially when all he gets from you is a stony, pointed silence. “You know what? Actually, no. You don’t get to do this”, he hisses, and it is the first time you’ve ever heard him direct any genuine anger at you.

It doesn’t half sting.

“Do what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“You don’t get to be mad when I give my attention to someone who actually wants it,” his voice is hushed, but his words rattle through you as if he had yelled them. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Guess what, I’m not yours.”

“That’s not fair”, you snap back, and then things are quickly escalating.

“Isn’t it?” he asks, rasping a hand over his stubble in distress. “I mean, come on. Shit. You know that I want more but I…” he exhales a disgruntled laugh. “You shoot me down, which is your prerogative, honestly, but you can’t have it both ways. You can’t knock me back all the time and then be pissed off when I look elsewhere.”

You meet his face, the planes of it shadowed and angled harshly with anger, suddenly so unfamiliar to you, and it causes your eyes to bloom with tears. You two look the opposite of Frankie and Mila; of a picture-perfect couple. But you’re not even a couple at all, are you?

You see him try. To blunt the emotion which is bubbling up. To soften. But he has uncorked something he now can’t put back in. “Fuck, I just wish that….” he pinches his lips together and shakes his head, planting his hands on his hips and looking at the floor. “If you don’t want me, just put me out of my fucking misery. Just say it. Just fucking tell me.”

Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces at the thought you make him miserable. At the way his voice breaks. At the way he thinks you don’t want him. Maybe you were wrong, thinking that you could be friends at all. Thinking that could be enough for him.

Your lower lip trembles, and your fingers clutch the edge of the blanket. “I… I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you that I don’t want you, Santi.”

You can’t because it isn’t true. It could not be further from the truth, in fact.

He puffs out air, an exasperated sound, his hand raising up to tangle in his grizzled curls. Raising his voice a little more. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me the other thing either?”

“I.. I..” You try, but no words will come. You simply shake your head, swallowing a sob, your eyes almost brimming over.

He nods. He nods, his mouth slanted down. “Great. Got it,” he huffs.

You hate this. You hate how much you’re hurting him.

“Santi,” you breathe weakly, but it is too weak to blunt the force of his emotion. To halt his trajectory, and so, resigned, he turns towards the bathroom, grabbing-up a fresh white towel from the counter. Before he closes the door, he turns to you once more, now speaking softly, his eyes as sad as yours. “You know,” he says, his index finger sawing back-and-forth over the stubble at his chin. “For the record, I wasn’t with anyone else. I can’t even fucking think about anyone else but you. I was late back to the room because I couldn’t face it.” His voice becomes small and pained. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to just curl up next to you and act like I don’t care.” His eyebrow ticks up, and he adds, with a final flourish. “Guess I should have taken a lesson from you.”

Oh, how it stings, pain flowering in your chest like a bruise, but you hold yourself together until he’s out of sight. Then, when he’s gone, you immediately cave in on yourself, falling on to your side and screwing your eyes shut, clamping your hand over your mouth so that he can’t hear you crying as wet tears spill onto your pillow.

When he comes back into the room, after a long shower, you simply screw your eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. You hear him sigh heavily, and mumble something to himself under his breath, before dragging a few pillows and a spare blanket down on to the floor.

A few more silent tears roll over the bridge of your nose.

You guess you wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him after all.

***********************

You wake panicked in the night, sitting bolt upright in the bed. A cold wash of sweat over your skin chills you, even though you feel like you’re burning-up.

Immediately, you reach for him, for Santi, calling his name even as your fear strangles the sound in your throat. Your heart is thudding, and your breaths are sawing in and out of you, but your grasping hands find nothing to your side but pillows and blanket.

Unfortunately, you are used to this occurrence, and you quickly realise it was “only” a nightmare. Still, the feelings and images it conjured linger in your body, and around you in the shifting, seemingly fluid shadows of the room.

With a release of tension, you whimper, leaning forward and cradling your head in your trembling hands, and you try to ground yourself. To steady your breath and your heartbeat, like you’ve practiced. As you do so, the shadows to your left shift and change, and, even in the pitch-black you can feel him, a safe and warm presence, instantly travelling to your side, his weight dipping the mattress. His soothing, sandy voice filtering through the shadows and cutting back the tendrils of your nightmare like a Disney prince hacking through cursed vines.

You vaguely remember that he’s mad at you - but you can’t help it. Can’t help asking. “Hold me?” you plead, desperately afraid that he won’t.

Still, without questions or hesitation, you feel the wall of remaining pillows coming down, the defences around you quite literally being dismantled – a figurative wall between you shifting away along with it. He shushes you, and you focus on his voice, until he is close enough that the scent of him wraps around you, before his arms follow closely after.

You reach for him in return. You reach for him in every way possible.

“It’s just a nightmare,” he soothes. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you,” and there is pain in his voice on your behalf, as if he tries to bear the burden of it for you.

“Closer,” you plead, and before you know it, he is shifting you on to your side, slotting his sturdy yet soft body around you, not caring that you feel clammy and hot against his bare skin. He simply loops his arms and draws your back, closer to his chest, becoming your big spoon.

He calms you, hands enveloping yours and bundling them against your chest, his nose nuzzling into your hair, and his deep steady breaths slowing your breathing as you let his calm and his rhythms overcome you. He holds you, until the feelings pass, not caring how long it takes – and with any anger from before apparently forgotten.

This pain is all too familiar to him, you know. It something that Santi understands. It is your own and it is not the same as his, true, but you know it is familiar enough that he will feel the ache of it echoing in his own chest. You know that he is accustomed enough to bearing his own pain, that when yours is too heavy to carry, he will help you hold it for a while. And so, he holds you, while you are a tender thing, bruised and afraid, and he keeps you safe; with all your walls down, all of your defences collapsed, he becomes your fortress.

You never thought that letting yourself be so vulnerable could allow you to feel quite as safe as this.

As you lie together, Santi continues to usher soft reassurances into your ear, his words like charms and incantations to ward off the ghosts which haunt you. And, after a series of slow, stretched moments, you become more settled, and Santi feels you relax against him.

After a few moments more, he eventually whispers a small question into your hair. In the dark, the question feels safe to come out, perhaps.

“Do you always call for me when you…?” he trails off, thinking better of it. “I’m sorry- forget it, you don’t have to answer that.”

You don’t. You know you don’t. You don’t even truthfully know the answer. It’s likely that you do call for him, though how would you know, when you’re usually alone? But, there is something else you can tell him, while it is safe to come out in the dark. Something you want to tell him, before you build your walls all the way back up.

“Santi,” you begin, timidly, and his fingers skim softly up and down your arms, encouraging you to go on. “I-I’ve been hurt before. And, I want to be with you. I want to let you in but… I’m. I’m not ready. I’m trying so hard but I… I can’t.”

There is a long beat, and you realise he has held in a breath only when he releases it all at once, fanning hot across the back of your neck.

You are afraid. Afraid of what he might say, in response – what he might feel, but you think, maybe, it might be something like relief? And, Santi squeezes you, just a little tighter. A little closer. “Don’t worry about that now, okay?” he soothes, his voice feather soft. “Just… know one thing, okay, Princesa? Whenever you are ready? I’m waiting.”

This time your heart fills with a different emotion, all the spaces in it flooded with contentment, Santi’s words followed by a perfect, happy silence.

A soft smile blooms on your face.

It was not a confession of waiting impatiently, you understand, but an invitation to take your time to arrive at him. He’s not trying to bring down your defences at all, is he? He’s waiting for you to open the door, and invite him in. He’s waiting until you are ready. He simply needed to know that you are on your way, even if your footsteps are getting you there slowly.

For now, though, the thought of it is too much. More than you’re ready for.

So, you simply let him hold you.

To disarm you further.

To walk yourself a little closer toward where you want to be. With him; by his side.

****************************************

In the morning, you wake up tangled around each other, Santi’s arm wrapped securely around your back and your head settled on his chest. He is still snoring lightly – cutely - when you awake, and so, as the night prior comes flooding back to you, you hastily try to extricate yourself from him; even if his bare skin feels so good against yours that you never want to move. You’re apparently not so subtle- or he’s a helluva light-sleeper – as, just when you pull away, Santi wakes up, quickly rushing to prove his innocence.

“You had a nightmare,” he croaks, still trying to peel his eyes open. “You asked me to- “.

“-I know. I remember,” you reassure, sitting up in bed, the blankets tugged to your chest. Santi shuffles, opting to assume the same position on his own side, mirroring you, rubbing his eyes.

You’re still not sure whether to apologise to him or thank him. Or maybe even to wait for an apology from him? Christ. Maybe all of those things or none of them, who even knows? You mentally spin a wheel and land on a casual “Uh. Thank you, for…. You know.”

“Anytime,” he says, turning his head to the side and looking at you earnestly. As if your bickering -your jealousy and his outburst- is all but forgotten. What’s more, you know that he means it.

Admiringly, your eyes wander over him, enjoying a side of him you’ve never quite seen before. Apparently, he’s even more handsome in the morning, with an even thicker, darkened brush of stubble, his grizzled curls dishevelled, and his swooping eyelids still heavy from sleep. Combined, it gives him a sultry, bedroom look. Feeling an involuntary rush of heat in the pit of you, your gaze drops to his corded neck, where, given the special occasion, he has substituted his dog tags for a silver chain, drawing your gaze down over his smooth, brown chest.

Your skin now cooling in the conditioned air of the room, you long for his body heat again, recalling how it felt to be held by him and wishing you had lingered a little longer while you could. Even with your interrupted sleep last night, you have somehow woken feeling refreshed, as though you had slept unreasonably deeply in his arms, reaching a whole new level of contentment - as though you just fit together, perhaps. As though it comes naturally for you to be held by him, and for him to hold you.

There is a silence and it isn’t awkward exactly; more… pregnant, with possibilities. Possibilities you see brewing with a gentle heat in his eyes. So, tearing yourself abruptly away from that line of thought, you lift your phone up from the nightstand, and note that there isn’t long before your alarms sound anyway.

Operation Wedding Day is go.

That should be enough of a distraction for you, shouldn’t it?

“You ready for this, Best Man?” you ask him, with a gentle quirk of your lips.

“Sure. Are you ready, Maid of Honour?”

Ready. Are you ready?

Thoughts of last night swirl in your head.

Well – as Santi flashes you a tentative, disarming smile, with hooded eyes, you certainly feel like you’re getting there. Like soon you could be ready.

“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Atta girl,” he encourages, folding his arms behind his head as you jump out of bed.

You suddenly don’t care that you’re in nothing but your underwear, as you stretch out your body and track towards the bathroom. “I’ll shower first?”

“We’re sharing a bed,” he teases. “Sure you don’t want to share a shower too?”

You scoff, flashing a mischievous smile right back at him. You’ve always had a soft spot for his flirting, but you feel like -after all that transpired last night- you truly see if for what it is now. You realise why it has never felt like he’s pressuring you - not once. He’s simply reminding you, that as soon as you call for him, he’ll be there. That he’s waiting, when you’re ready.

Reminding you, that as soon as your walls drop, he’ll be your fortress.

“I don’t think you’re gonna get quite that lucky this morning, Garcia.”

You do linger in the doorway, just a little longer than necessary though, so that he can get a better look at you. He’d never look without permission – he proved that yesterday, when you were in various states of disarray- but this time, sensing your invitation, his eyes graze over you slowly, keenly. So, when he strategically moves his hands from behind his head to hide the tenting covers, you don’t mind at all.

You smile devilishly as you slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You’re not sure if he will… take care of himself out in the room – how could you know? But, feeling inspired, you certainly do so in the shower, and it’s a pretty great wake-up call before you face the wedding day.

Maybe sharing a room isn’t so bad. Maybe you could even get used to it.

*********************************************

Frankie and Mila get hitched without a hitch.

Santi goes to the ends of the earth to make sure that Frankie has the best day possible- and at some points, he goes even further than that. His speech was moving and flawless, and pretty fucking funny; even if you are a little (or a lot) biased. Not a dry eye in the house, just as you predicted.

The man adores Frankie with his whole heart, and you could barely hold back the glow of admiration as you listened to him, feeling like it might burst from your chest like a beam of gold sunlight. You felt it especially strongly every time his eyes met yours during the course of the speech, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself stupid each time he did so. And, of course, you were overjoyed to see your best friend have the day of her dreams, with the man of her dreams. If you do say so yourself, you think your speech was pretty killer too.

Suffice to say, you ate until your belly was full, loved until your heart hurt, laughed until your sides ached, and danced until your feet ached.

Tonight, unlike last night, you and Santi retire to your shared room at the same time, your arm linked into his, and your shoes carried in your hand to spare your sore feet – there’s a reason you never normally wear shoes like this. Without your heels though, you keep tripping over the hem of your dress almost every few paces, causing you to giggle and Santi to steady you with a warm, rich chuckle, sometimes throwing you an extra hand to assist you.

You look over at him, furtively, as he recounts some of the more choice moments from the day, immensely enjoying the simple pleasure of hearing him talk and smile and laugh. Seeing him happy. Of course, enjoying how he looks too, you have to admit - even more handsome than he did yesterday (somehow) in midnight blue dress pants, and a white, crisp shirt, now tieless. He’s only grown sexier as the evening drew on too, now with a wide open-collar and rolled up sleeves to accommodate all of the dancing; or, at least, as much dancing as his knees could handle, until he’d simply opted to sit to the side and watch you boogie, his eyes apparently transfixed on you and only you - the advances of the other bridesmaids be damned.

There is something that hits different about the way he looked at you today. His admiration shining deeper than usual. Less like a casual lust, and more like something… serious. You’re not sure why you doubted it before, exactly. Why you have been so inordinately afraid that he might hurt you. You broadly figured him for a smash and dash type of man, which is fine, but you have every reason to believe that he wants more with you.

After all, Santi can be deeply and tenaciously loyal. He has dedicated himself to things deeply and unwaveringly several times over in his life. To his country, to his missions, to his morals, to his squad. And there’s something about the way he looked at you today, you think, that suggests he might dedicate himself to you with the same tenacity. Something far deeper than appreciating how you look in this bridesmaid dress (and oh boy do you look hot). It’s more like the way he looks at Frankie. A little different to that, obviously. But you’re realising he looks at you like he’d never let you down. Not even in the smallest of ways. Like he’d rather go to the ends of the earth -or beyond- than do that.

At least… you think so.

You are sure about one thing though. The way he looks at you? It’s thoroughly disarming.

And so, you arrive at your shared room, utterly wiped out from the day (and night), yet still somehow buzzing with an energy. A gentle suffusing heat under your skin as you watch Santi walk inside and kick off his shoes at the end of the bed, before turning back towards you.

You have entered a few paces behind him, after nearly tripping on your gown all over again by the door, but now, you are quite steady on your feet - aside from that slight, nervous tremble in your quaking legs as he looks at you like that. As Santi looks you up and down, eyes skimming over the contours of your dress and hence everywhere it hugs your figure. Evidently, he likes what he sees.

“Wow,” he breathes, his brown eyes shining as if he’s looking at you for the first time that day, even if his gaze has barely left you all night. “I know it’s the bride’s day, but you look fuckin’ smokin’, sweetie.”

“You think so?” you ask humbly, suddenly feeling unreasonably shy. Flustered even.

“Yeah. I think so,” he nods, positively certain. “Shit, you’re so beautiful.”

You look at him. You look at him in a way which suggests an answer in your eyes instead of a question. A clear intention in your body, instead of uncertainty. But he doesn’t push you. He doesn’t assume. He doesn’t make a move. Instead, his mouth tugs up into a lopsided smile, offering you a lazy flash of teeth, and he shoves his thumbs into his belt loops.

“Well, we’re officially off the clock now, so I’m calling it. Well done, Maid of Honour. Think we nailed it? Made a pretty damn good team?”

A smile lights your face. You did. You flowed. You fit. It was easy.

Fuck. It feels so easy. Why had you ever thought this would be hard?

You nibble on your lip, eyeing him with intention, and a hard swallow trails down his throat in response.

“Off the clock, hmm?” you say breathily. “No more titles or duties? Huh. That’s a real shame.”

“How so?” he asks, his eyes devouring you alive, but his body fixed resolutely in place. Transfixed to the spot.

“Because it’s traditional for the Best Man to get with one of the bridesmaids, isn’t it?”

A slow, disbelieving smile inches over his face, and he looks at his feet, a little bashful. “Gross tradition. Kinda sexist,” he says, and your gaze fixates on his full, curving lips. On his hands, poised and broad at his belt.

“So, you don’t want to make out then?” you ask in your most sultry voice, mere breath.

The man huffs out a quick, broken exhale. “Fuck me. You know I do, sweetie. But only if you’re ready.”

Ready. Are you ready?

“Santiago,” you say, with conviction, your eyes dancing between his. “I’m ready.”

Santi searches your face one last time, just to be certain. He’s sure, of course – has been for a long time, but he needs to know that you truly want this. That you want this now. So, he looks at you, and he finds nothing but permission. Even so, after so long, he still can’t quite believe it. He would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe – or beyond – and, so dammit, he will ask you again.

“C-can I..” he begins, and his voice already sounds choked; hollowed out with need. “Fuck, Princesa, can I kiss you?”

Too long. Too long without moving. Without touching. Too long.

If you were suddenly ready, his kiss becomes even more suddenly overdue.

“You’d better,” you encourage, feeling like vapour. “Unless you want me to do it first.”

With permission granted, you expect him to be on you, with a surge. All at once. But Santi has been patiently waiting for you long enough. He can wait just a little longer, and, when he subtly tips his chin up, ever so slightly, and when he near growls “come here then, honey,” somehow, it is perfect. Somehow, it is a thousand times hotter that he makes you come to him.

You lift the hem of your dress, and you pad delicately towards him, feeling like you are wading through molten honey to get to him, the air thick and sweet.

“That’s it. Come here, baby,” he encourages, with a curl of his index finger beckoning you to him, his voice curling in the pit of you, making you feel weak in the best way possible. Making you feel spent before he’s even done so much as brush you with his hand or his lips.

You close the remaining distance with your steps, the anticipation too much, and your legs feeling so weak from the reckless lust and the light, liquid softness in his eyes. By this point, you are begging for his arms to reach out and clasp you- to hold you up; make you secure and safe in him. You are begging for his lips to sink down on to yours. But he makes you wait, through a few more slow, stretched moments. Makes you inch your mouth closer and closer until your lips are almost skimming his. He makes you wait until you are moaning his name into the air before he has even touched you.

“Santi.”

And, if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that when you call for him, he is always there to take care of you.

You know he will take care of you.

With that, his name a plea, he swoops his broad, large hand up until he is holding you, his fingers closing around your jaw and your throat, trailing down your neck. His touch is painfully gentle, but in a way that makes you want him to squeeze, a little harder. In a way that makes you push yourself ever so subtly into his hand. A way that draws a silken moan from deep in your chest, and Santi is moved to dip the pad of his thumb into your mouth, where it meets your wet and willing warmth. When your tongue skims him, humming as you taste his saltiness, that seems to be the final straw, a wrecked groan sounding from his throat, and finally he surges on to your lips, leading with his tongue, thrusting into your open mouth and drinking down every sound and moan he can draw from you, his stubble rough against you. You don’t care if he leaves you raw.

It’s tender, and it’s gentle, but Santi knows all about control, and you can tell he’s holding back. His hands are lethal, and he knows just how to kill you softly; but, you are certain, that if you want more of his power, he’ll give it to you. That he’ll take care of you however you like.

So, he kisses you more deeply, harder, and you go near limp against him until one of his arms wraps at the back of your head and one at the small of your back, making you feel a feeble thing, waning in his arms as his large hands support you. Except; you’re not feeble though. You’re not by a long shot, and you know exactly what you want.

“Santi,” you suspire, letting him walk you back against the wall, pressing his bulging arousal into you as more wrangled sounds and little grunts slip from his parted lips.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, already sounding wrecked for you.

“There’s only one shower. Wanna share?!”

Even as he releases an endlessly eager, disbelieving breath, his eyes keenly search your face, checking you are ready. He watches, enraptured, as your lips curl into a deliciously sinful smile.

“You know. We don’t have to rush this,” he insists, even as he shivers with need, closing his eyes and biting his lip when you angle your hips to brush the tenting bulge at his crotch, ever so fleetingly, his hips bucking into you immediately in pursuit of more pressure.

“I know,” you say coolly, your body an undercurrent of frenzy, but your mind calm and sure. You push him back, with your palms to his chest, making room for you to about-turn into the bathroom, shimmying off your dress as you go and letting it waft to the floor like a sigh. Looking at him over your shoulder, with lust-blown eyes, you leave Santi stood there, entirely dumbfounded, as you reveal all of yourself to him.

You retreat, but once the water is running you call out to him, wondering where he has got to. “Take a hint, Garcia. If you’re ready? I’m waiting.”

And, he doesn’t waste another second before joining you.

THE END

(BONUS: Outfit inspo, if you wanna imagine him in the suits a lil better 😉)

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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unwillingadventurer · 4 years ago

Note

Yo!!! I know you didn't reblog it, so ignore me if you don't wanna do it -- but for that tv/books/movies/fandoms ask game -- Doctor Who!!!

Ah thanks. Was gonna reblog it but then thought no one would ask so didn’t bother lol but will definitely answer :)

favourite female character- the wonderful Barbara Wright. We’ve both loved her for ten years and she just lights up the screen. She’s so clever and brave and kind and has her flaws. But she feels such a relatable real person who we loved following on her journey into space and wanting to get home again. Honourable mentions to: Vicki, Rose, Jo, Susan.

favourite male character- This won’t be a surprise to anyone but Ian Chesterton. From the moment we saw him we were like ‘oooh he’s interesting’ and then it was like ‘we love you so much’ pretty quickly. His humour, bravery, charm, knowledge etc. He and Barbara are just such good teachers and you wanted to go on the adventure with them. He didn’t need some great destiny, he was just ordinary and he and Barbara didn’t get on with the Doctor at first so there’s all this tension and hostility which then grew to respect and appreciation to eventually friendship. Honourable mentions: Steven and Graham and the First Doctor.

Favourite book/season/etc- Find it hard to pick one because we don’t generally pick fave TV stuff by seasons, but season 2 of Classic Who is where it really hit the heights for us and was so creative and amazing at that time. And with New Who we’re very fond of series 1. We often like near to the beginnings of things where everything is new and mysterious.

Favourite episode (if its a tv show)- Can’t just pick one. So we’ll pick a few that we both really enjoy watching together: The Romans, Dalek Invasion of Earth, The Chase, The Time Meddler, Vincent and the Doctor, Human Nature/Family of Blood, Midnight. So many.

Favourite cast member: Wonder who this could be? William Russell of course hehe. Love him as Ian and love watching any other TV/Film he’s in. He just seems such a lovely guy with so many interesting stories to tell. In general the Doctor Who cast seem to be lovely. We’ve met four of them and they were all so nice. Katy Manning was so kind and Peter Purves and Colin Baker were adorable.

Favourite ship: The good ship Barbarian or Ian/Barbara or whatever it is called. They bring out the best in each other and are so cute together. Watch the Romans and how can you not see it? Teasing, flirting, its all there. William Russell and Jacqueline Hill had such good chemistry. We got very addicted to them years ago and still love them. Couldn’t stop at their TV eps, had to devour all the books and audios too. And haven’t stopped writing fic for them in all this time.

Character we’d die defending: The First Doctor because he’s so misunderstood and sort of ignored. People tend to get an idea of what they think he is but its usually just one aspect of him and he gets a lot of labels that don’t even fit him at all. He is so much better than he is given credit for. And also Rose Tyler because although she is popular in many ways, some of the stuff we see written about her is often very derogatory in a way not used for other companions, about her intelligence, class, blonde hair etc.

Character we just can’t sympathize with: River Song. Don’t get her. Don’t relate or understand anything about her.

a character we grew to love: Steven Taylor. Well we always liked him but at first he got a little overshadowed by our love of Ian and Barbara and as many of his eps are missing, we got to them last. But then bam it hit us that we really loved him and suddenly we were posting all about him, writing loads of Steven fics, writing a whole fic series about that one time he met Christopher Marlowe in one of the novels. We kind of miss our Steven Taylor days.

Our anti otp- We don’t spend a lot of time thinking of anti ones but probably the Doctor/anybody. Just always prefer the friendships.

#ask

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mountain-ash-and-rusted-iron · 5 years ago

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this is an oc masterpost of all my haf-formed ocs languishing on pinterest with their messy aesthetics and unedited blurbs, in roughly chronological order of their creation, plus sorted by fandom. this post is only asoiaf, harry potter, hunger games, and riverdale, cos i have tooooooo many original characters otherwise and the post was getting incredibly long. (note that i love my ocs but these one’s are not polished or even the final versions of their characters, i just wanted to post them lol)

under a read more, if you’re on mobile start scrolling i guess, sorry,,,

Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire:

Laeya Targeryen: (child of Rhaella and Aerys Targaryen, born 280 AC - three years older than Danaerys)

Fearful of her impending marriage, Laeya is eleven when she takes her younger sister and flees across the sea to Dorne, hiding herself and Dany with dyed hair and badly controlled magic. As Leia and Dani Sand they learn to live normally. At 15 Leia joins the Royal Guard and secures Dany work as a tailor's apprentice. When she is 17, an assassin tries to kill her in front of the Dornish court and everything changes...

- so laeya straight up has magic, which im considering an extension of the dragon thing dany has - she can control flame and for the disguise uses her ‘inner fire’ to make her eyes white-blue like super hot flames, cos the purple eyes are super distinctive. and then she’s discovered and suddenly politics are happening. honestly she’s entirely a way for me to remove the child marriage bits of the targaryen storyline (stop marrying off your twelve-year-old baby sister viserys u asshole) - in terms of meta/basics, laeya doesn’t have a fc cos most of my early ocs don’t, and bcs i picture her as emilia clarke with faked dark hair and blue eyes lol

and a quick aesthetic below:

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Kyrra Snow: (child of Robert Baratheon and Maery Snow, birthdate ???)

Kyrra Snow is the eldest natural-born child of Robert Baratheon, current King of Westeros, and daughter of Maery Snow, a Southron (but Northern-born) merchant woman. After her mother realises Kyrra was growing up a little too much like her father in looks and needed to leave the far South before she caught the wrong sort of attention, Kyrra was sent off to travel with her aunt and cousins. She is 17 and heading further north, to Winter Town, when Jon Arryn dies.

- kyrra’s another child of everyone’s favourite asshole king, and she’s got a lot of people after her head, but she just wants to travel and continue her work as a simple peddler. (riiip poor girl) honestly she’s not that developed but yolo -

aes:

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Brynn Stark: (child of Catelyn and Eddard Stark, Robb’s twin sister)

Brynn believes in honour and family, and she is loyal to Winterfell and the North above all else. Likes - archery, embroidery and weaving. Betrothed to [some young Northern lord] to keep the bonds between the Norther families strong.

-i basically made brynn as a contrast to sansa’s pro-southnness and excessive femininity and arya’s anger and desire for swords (relatable mood tho lmao). so brynn is here to mediate, extoll the virtues of both needlework and weapons, make a decent marriage to someone she likes, if not loves, and hold down the fort in the North while shit gets increasingly messier in the South. and a possible faceclaim is Àstrid Bergès-Frisbey -

aes:

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Rosienne Lannister: (child of Joanna and Tywin Lannister, born 273 AC)

Rose is looked at by the realm with dismissal, a consolation prize for her father, a spare daughter only useful for matchmaking, but at least able-bodied and pretty, unlike her brother. After a long betrothal, Rose is married to Willas Tyrell at the age of eighteen, cementing her role as the next Lady of High Garden...

- Rosie/Rose is a bonus Lannister, bcs why not. likes cyvasse and the harp, soft and kind and maternal, powerful in her own way. originally she was from a minor divergence where joanna survives tyrion’s birth and goes on to have another kid, but not sure if i’ll keep that aspect, so for now she’s tyrion’s twin -

and her aes (yes that quote is cropped, no i don’t care rn):

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honourable mentions to my other got underdeveloped got/asoiaf ocs who need more effort before i post properly about them:

Tamlen Storm, a rookery apprentice (working for the Maester of House Tully, managing the ravens) who may or may not be a reincarnated si-oc trying to save westeros,

and an unnamed northern huntress who stumbled into the plot somehow and wants her normal life back (entirely inspired by Keira Knightley as Gwyn in Princess of Thieves, when she’s doing archery stuff and looking v butch).

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Harry Potter:

Taurus ‘Ara’ Lestrange: (child of Bellatrix and Roldolphous Lestrange, born 1978)

Raised by the Goblins after a legal mix-up following her parents' imprisonment in Azkaban, Taurus is good with a sword and aiming to be the next Minister of Magic. She attends Hogwarts with the other magical kids her age, under the fake identity Ara Burke, unknown cousin of a minor half-blood family. When the Potter brat’s drama starts destroying her change at an education just as her fourth year, her OWL prep year, begins, Ara intervenes.

- im tangentially aware that as bellatrix’s kid she’s almost occupying the place of whats-her-name from the cursed child, but considering that i know nothing about the cursed child and don’t care about it anyway, i have elected to ignore this. her actual parent might turn out to be some smitten half-blood from a minor branch of the Greengrass family, or it might actually be Rodolphous, who knows. slightly inspired by the fic ‘Harry Crow’ (by robst on ff.net) where harry is raised by the goblins -

messy aes:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Valerian Potter: (child of Lily and James Potter, born 1980)

After the Potter twins’ parents are murdered by Voldemort, they’re dumped on the doorstep of Number 4, Privet Drive. Dealing with two traumatised magical orphans, Petunia and Vernon Dursley turn to violence and neglect to stay in control, acting far more harshly than expected. With the arrival of two Hogwarts letters, life gets complicated incredibly quickly. (Self-sufficient and scarred from abuse, Val and Harry are immediately Sorted into Slytherin).

- val’s fic is basically an angst fest, okay,,, -

aes:

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and shout-outs to: holly addison potter, a half-baked reincarnation si-oc (i love that concept a lot, can u tell) and my fav girl thea dursley, who already has her own fic and so isn’t getting a proper spot in this post

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The Hunger Games:

Asher: (District Two, age 18)

[rip no blurb for asher]

-asher is a career from two, who wins the 70th games. mostly im focusing on her recovery and how the games function in two, with training volunteers and mentoring and collecting sponsors, plus eventually the rebellion. lots of the D2 headcanon i have is inspired by @/lorata but i defintely made a distinct effort to have my own stuff, cos where’s the fun in plagiarism -

aes for Asher’s Games:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Rowan Everdeen: (District Twelve, age 19)

Rowan will do anything to protect her family. This extends to going to Head Peacekeeper Cray on a cold winters night, charging the most she can get for her virginity. It extends to Reaping Day, when she steps out in front of the crowd and says “I volunteer as tribute” in the steadiest voice she can muster. It extends to clawing her way out of the Arena, bloody and exhausted, with blades in her hands and violence kept tucked behind her teeth. It extends further, to a simple ‘Yes, President Snow’ when he coldly, carefully implies her family might meet with an accident if she doesn’t play the good little Victor (and fuck the people who pay the Capitol for her company). It extends to joining the Rebellion, to looking President Coin directly in the eye and agreeing to be a Mockingjay, a symbol for the people to rally around.

- another everdeen kiddo! as the big sister, rowan volunteers for prim, and goes through the Games - she’s a healer and a hunter, and a decent enough actor that she can manage interviews and a camera presence, unlike katniss. rowan also pairs well with a minor au i have, where the reapings are spaced out over a week and official training is a longer, giving the capitol a nice, long buildup to get excited and place bets, etc., and giving the poor, underfed tributes from the outer districts a better chance, which makes for more interesting television and better Games -

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Adrasteia Crane: (The Capitol, age 28) Unlike her big brother, Adrasteia doesn’t want to be a Gamemaker. Instead, she wants to create clothes, artwork, to enrapture the Capitol. She wants to be a Games stylist. After years of design school, of working her way up the ranks, first a PA’s assistant, and then fetching and carrying for Twelve’s prep team, and then eventually on a prep team for the dull tributes from Six, Adrasteia Crane finally has what she wants - the position of stylist for District Three’s male tribute in 74th Hunger Games.

- tbh adrasteia is only seneca crane’s sister because i couldn’t think of a suitable last name for her lmao. i think i’d actually prefer her to be unattached to any major canon players. however, his death is a good motivation for her to join the rebellion, so we’ll see. she’s got a bit of the capitol fashion thing going too, with soft pink hair and diamond-effect skin on her face and shoulders -

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also bonus hunger games content: another oc, Sarsaparilla Verran, from District Eleven, fifteen and alone when she goes into the Games. An orphan, her siblings lost to the Community Home system years ago, her relatives dead or uncaring. So, Rilla is a wee lonely bab tbh. she did not want this, unlike most of my other hg ocs, and she’s not excited for weeks of murder. she just wants her family back, but since that isn’t possible, she’ll build a new family instead. and uuhhhhh, spoiler alert, she dies before she can have this ://///

and my hunger games aus - a canon divergence where katniss joins the careers instead of peeta, her desire to go home to her family outweighing her reactive hate for the concept of training/volunteering to kill other teens, and a fem!Haymitch au where she’s a little wiser to the dark side of the capitol before she commits acts of rebellion (she still rebels anyway tho, just smarter).

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Riverdale:

Cat Cooper: (middle child of Alice and Hal Cooper) Cat Cooper (17) is the black sheep of the Cooper family. Her piercings, brightly dyed hair and connections to the Southside Serpents make her the odd one out among her sisters and constantly at odds with Alice Cooper. Cat’s life is occupied with her Serpent friends, work at a local coffee shop, and training - martial arts, supplemented with cross country, gymnastics and swimming. Until her older sister is shipped off to places unknown and her baby sister starts getting caught up in murder investigation with the absent Serpent heir...

- haven’t decided between Catelyn or Catherine for Cat’s full name lmao. she used to be Kit, actually, but I changed it cos i prefer Kit to solely be my divergent oc (kit serafim). Cat is an ADHD disaster who loves her sisters and her friends and wants to get the hell out of Riverdale on a sports scholarship (she does either boxing or karate mainly, need to figure that bit out) -

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Georgie Andrews: (child of Mary and Fred Andrews)

Georgie likes soft drinks, cheerleading, and hanging out with the Blossom twins and Polly Cooper, their closest friends and a welcome distraction from their own problems. After Polly and Jason vanish, Georgie’s support system is almost gone, and they has to deal with everything they’ve been bottling up, just in time for Fred Andrews to get shot.

- also just angst ngl. so georgie’s gender is basically ???, they enjoy cheerleading and not much else. they spend half their time dealing with depression, by trying to ignore stressful/hard topics and focus on the good side of everything. this isn’t a great long-term coping mechanism and has the fun side effect of pissing of the people around him when she seems unable to be serious or empathetic to someone else's pain (bcs she’s too busy deflecting for the sake of her own fragile mental health), so it gets fun when fred is shot and archie starts getting in too deep with the lodges -

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Sera Thornstone: (parents ???) Southside Serpent. Going to the Riverdale Community College and running errands for FP Jones. And secretly meeting up with her Ghoulie lover down by the Sweetwater where nobody goes.

- everything about sera is vague and undecided lmao. but she has a ghoulie gf/bf/nbf? and they’re hiding that they were down by the river on the 4th of july, cos a serpent is an immediate suspect. going to community college to work on getting general credits before saving up for fancy school for law or journalism. the aes isn’t entirely accurate cos sera’s built from the remains of another serpent oc who i scrapped (she does have a baseball bat tho) -

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and honourable mentions to jen johnson and octavia blossom-murphy, my other riverdale ocs who actually have content, plus an in-development unnamed oc who gets adopted from the soqm by the Muggs family and growsup with Ethel. and my riverdale role reversal au, which i will never write but have some nice aesthetics for under the tag wip: bughead role reversal au.

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all my mini-aesthetics here are unsourced images/from pinterest. any similarities to other people or characters, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

alrighty that’s it. now i have to tag this behemoth argh

#ocapp #ashandrustediron ocs #ashandrustediron edits #i say edits #i mean neatly cropped screenshots #lmao #fandom: harry potter #fandom: the hunger games #fandom: a song of ice and fire #fandom: game of thrones #fandom: riverdale #ashandrustrediron writes #time to tag the ocs who will actually get content later #oc: rosienne lannister #oc: tamlen storm #tam actually has a fic outline unlike most of these other westerosi ocs lol #oc: ara lestrange #oc: asher #no last name bcs volunteers from two don't have last names #they belong to the capitol and their district #<- fun fact about that fic i guess #oc: rowan everdeen #oc: adrasteia crane #none of the riverdale ocs will get a tag bcs i already have riverdale oc fic im working on #long post #long post cw #oh and some warnings for the stuff brushed upon in the blurbs i guess #gender dysphoria #violence #child marriage

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laufire · 6 years ago

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ENDGAME

Okay. I definitely won’t be able to sleep today, so I might as well pour out all my Endgame feelings right now.

First thing first, I was probably in the WORST POSSIBLE HEADSPACE to watch this film; national elections where fascists could take over Congress (spoiler alert, they didn’t. I literally just cried with relief for over ten minutes) AND being extremely concerned about characters you over-identify with on the same day, all after the worst year of your life, apparently don’t mix well. Who would have thunk.

(btw, I was spoiled as I was voting about That Very Big Thing; everyone who follows me probably can guess what I’m talking about. I almost threw hands tbh. Then almost cried over a dozen times on the way to the theatre because the stress of the day was killing me ugh).

All this to say, my head is a mess right now, I don’t even know if this post is going to make any sense, and I will probably take time to process certain things and have a definite opinion on them LOL. But well, here is now.

And err. Warning for a brief mention of suicide ideation?

(crossposted to dreamwidth, livejournal, and pillowfort)

TONY (& CO)

– In case it wasn’t obvious, the thing I was spoiled about? Yeah, it was Tony’s death. FML. I mean, even if I wasn’t spoiled, I would’ve seen it coming as soon as we saw him after the five years jump, lbr (happily off-screen married to Pepper? With an adorable daughter? Pepper resigned to the possibility of losing him instead of begging him to stay like in IW? And then the movie kept hammering it home LMAO; that and a lot of things for the mains that I kind of saw coming from less than a third into the movie, which IDK if it’s because I was particularly intuitive, or the foreshadowing was that heavy handed xD).

Obviously, I’m not rocking your world if I tell you I’m extremely heartbroken, I guess. Especially because, as I said, my emotions were already all over the place. And seeing a character I adore, and in who I project a lot of my issues on –including, yes, suicidal issues–, sacrifice their lives (no matter how poignant, and moving, and well-written it might be) was incredibly hard for me. So, yeah. I’m going to have to deal with that for a while I guess. Which I plan to do by writing a bunch of Fix-It and Not Actually Fix-It fics ASAP.

But. I mean, out of all the endings Tony could have, this was always my second choice for him. And he was grandiose in this film. He figured out time travel. He created a gauntlet capable of holding the Infinity stones. Beings far more powerful than him were trying to carry that gauntlet to the van and none of them thought to use it, but he did. He was completely vindicated. He is the Saviour of the Universe.

And he looked gorgeous the entire time, which is truly important for me.

– In all seriousness, the thing I take to heart the most is that

his legacy remains intact

, and it’s inspiring, and heroic, and poetic, and prosperous. Clearly, without him, my enthusiasm for the universe will never be the same, but one thing that worried me is that I wouldn’t want anything to do with Marvel for a while after this film, and that’s not how I’m feeling; I’m very much looking forward to further parallels and homages to him in my ever-growing list :P

Tho, honestly, I’m kind of side-eyeing myself for the fact that, the one time!!! I go and fall in love with a male lead character, he happens to be genuinely heroic and self-sacrificing, instead of just using those concepts as lip-service and getting to have his cake and eat it too LMAO. I mean, sure, given my reactions to those characters, the AeJons Snowrgaryens of the world, I wouldn’t have liked him so much if it was the case, but dammit. It’d be nice to experience that high sometime xD

– The Iron Fam is the best part of this movie for me. Tony’s relationship with Morgan was way too adorable to handle it; Pepper was enormous and so poised (and the scene where they circle around each other in their armors… poetic cinema); I didn’t get enough Iron Husbands to satiate me (Rhodey’s caress should have been skin to skin!), but I loved what we got; Happy is an assholes who made me cry ABOUT CHEESEBURGERS.

And let’s not talk about Peter, OMG. My heart. And Harley appeared to Tony’s funeral! Though, honestly, the person I missed the most there was Christine Everhart, who should have been there just on the basis that I like her (plus, ya know, IMO she was important to Tony’s origin dammit).

I’m going to consider Nebula an honorary member, tbh. Her scenes with Tony in space cut me deep; and she and Rhodey are buddies!

Natasha and Fury (I loved his appearance *sniffs*) are honorary members too, because fuck it. They both appeared first vis a vis Tony on his movies, and have two of my favourite relationships with him, and I say so.

– Related to that, one Failure™ of this movie, is not providing a Nat & Tony one-on-one scene. Seriously, I can’t believe they didn’t realize how necessary that was. But I ADORED the scene where they and Bruce are lying down bouncing ideas about the stones (it made me softly whisper “ot3” LOL); it was possibly the only “Avengers” moment that worked for me –other than Clintasha, but that’s on a different league tbh.

I wanted more Nebula & Tony scenes too; I would’ve loved to see Tony interact with Past!Nebula. Yes, realistically, he would probably had made her LOL, but. I needed it. it’s definitely on my to-write-list :P

– I wanted just some positive interaction between Carol & Tony to counteract Current Comics Bullshit and I got Carol rescuing him, smiling beatifically at him, and Tony basically saying she was Da Bomb and the Avengers should follow her lead instead of keep sucking xDD So that was nice.

– I loved the scene at the beginning where he fucking SNAPS, and goes for Steve’s throat. It was probably my favourite scene. It’s resolution with everyone’s reactions and after the flashforward kind of… totally sucked, but whatever. Still amazing.

– The only part of his storyline that I HATED, and I mean absolutely loathed, was his scene with Howard. Jesus Fucking Christ. They went with the most simplistic take they could have, didn’t they. I haven’t felt more insulted in the theatre in my entire life, and my family made me watch both Ocho apellidos movies with them, so Marvel? That’s a feat. The moment where he says his father hit him with a belt so we (Tony included) are supposed to think, well, at least Howard wasn’t physically violent with his son, hooray?

And I think we’re supposed to take his “wouldn’t want my son to turn like me” as motivation for Tony’s actions and like… newsflash, but Tony has “put the worlds’ needs over his own gain” since Iron Man. Fucking. One. It’s literally what he does in this film, because we’re shown that, despite having achieved his happy ending, he was still trying to figure out time travel even if it meant risking his future.

Seriously, if they wanted me to be moved, they should’ve used Maria. Or hell, Edwin Jarvis was right there. And if whitewashing of Howard’s abuse becomes one of those MCU things that ends up bleeding into the comics, I’m gonna riot. Ugh.

BTW, just thought about this. Has anyone confirmed what the H. of Morgan’s second name stands for? Because my immediate idea was that it was for Happy, but now the fear that it might relate to Howard has entered my brain and I need someone to drive it out.

OTHER FAVES :P

– I am a lot more heartbroken over Natasha’s death than I expected to be. I like her character on paper a lot, but sometimes the writing or the acting don’t agree with me; neither was the case in this movie. I thought she was incredible. I loved the scene where she’s leading the post-dusting council. So losing her in this movie, of all movies, really hurts. And I understand why people who love her would be unhappy, and even furious –to some extent, so am I, tbh; specially because I don’t think she was properly honoured by the other characters after the fact–, but I do think it was extremely fitting for her arc.

– I loved Nebula’s storyline; how she was able to form new relationships, and what I know will be enduring friendships. Her interactions with her younger self were fascinating too; I loved that she perfectly followed the time-travel mumbo-jumbo. And she was so adorable at the beginning. Her bond with Tony didn’t have as much screen time as I wish it had, but the rest of the movie really shows how much his kindness touched her, and I love it. I’m a bit sad she didn’t get to kill any Thanos, tho.

– Okay, putting him in the “faves” section doesn’t exactly feel right, but whatever: I maintain that Thanos is a great villain. I don’t know what people that say otherwise are thinking. He’s the perfect foil for so many characters, and he is genuinely villainous; he is so delusional and self-righteous (seriously, his “solution” for the Snap 2.0 was… o.0) his plans feel sincerely menacing. He perfectly spells out his own doom; narratively speaking? He’s a joy of a villain to me. And I loved how he reacted to the information about the future; specifically, that upon learning about Nebula’s “betrayal”, his tactic was SOFTENING towards past!Nebula to make her even more eager to please him.

– Carol didn’t have much screen time, but I liked what she got (like, nothing too deep, but I didn’t expect much). I liked the Carol/Rhodey nod, even if I’m not sure how I feel about the ship in this incarnation. I wanted to hear something about Maria, but welp.

And on a shallow note, I kind of love that fandom absolutely freaked out about her wearing lipstick on a scene (while praising the “~natural no-make-up make up, effortlessly feminine without looking like you’re actually trying” look that she sported on CM, and disregarding that while yes, it was a troubling look that fitted a pattern across movies, A4 was made first so it was hardly a “betrayal” of the semi-grunge style), for the movie to go and give her the butchest look she’s ever gonna get on film lmao (and I will be pleasantly surprised if they’d keep a look like this for a movie where she’s the lead and not a supporting character, tbh).

– Sam and Bucky were So Soft™ with each other OMG. If their show doesn’t have at least ONE episode centred on them going undercover as a married couple, I’ll write it myself, because they are perfect for it (especially if you add some of the early banter/antagonism).

Btw, Sam getting the shield? The only good part of that mess at the end LMAO.

– I have mixed feelings for the Alt!Gamora development. I just… really loved the GOTG-IW versions of her character and her ship, and she’s gone and just… :( And that type of pseudo-amnesia/relationship do-over thing can be so badly written sometimes… But she’s back, and if done right, the role-reversal between her and Nebula could be gr10 for GOTG 3. We’ll see.

THE BAD™

– I know if I walked up right now to the Russos, and asked them why they hate Thor so much, they wouldn’t even understand the question. They would say, but we love Thor?? He’s such a fun character?? Or some version of the sort. They can fool themselves, but not me. You don’t do this to a character for whom you feel a modicum of respect, IMO.

Like, the fat-phobic jokes? The way they dealt with his substance abuse? How his arc about stepping up and assuming responsibilities ended by… him throwing away his responsibilities. Losing his hammer was a turning point for him to relearn the lessons about value and worthiness and power he’d been taught, and then… this movie. I couldn’t even fully enjoy his scenes with Frigga because I was so appalled by it all.

His only great scene, IMO, was how horrified and out of it he sounded after killing Thanos. I really felt that.

I didn’t even enjoy that he passed his power to Valkyrie because… unlike with Sam, that basically came out of nowhere. If they at least had given them ONE more scene at the beginning; seriously, it writes itself: just put her in the room when Bruce and Rocket are trying to convince him to go with them, and have her being the one that does it. Make her help him the way HE helped HER in Ragnarok; show her trying to help him and getting angry and frustrated. IDK, something.

And I know I’m probably alone in this because everyone around me practically creamed their pants when it happened but… having Steve control Mjolnir felt like adding insult to injury. Not just lifting it (which I would’ve been annoyed by too, given that they rewrote the new Asgardian mythology just to have this scene lol), but commanding it as only Thor did. Just. How much more are you going to take from Thor, people.

I want to make it clear that my problem is with the execution, not with Thor going through this; that, written differently, with more care, I could have loved.

– I’ve always been conflicted with MCU Steve. I loved the Captain America old comics I read as a child, and 616 Steve was A Hero. So I wanted to love MCU Steve just as much but… it often felt that he just didn’t measure up.

Well, conflict over. I don’t like the guy. Reading Man Out of Time just a few months ago probably isn’t helping (and yeah, that’s not a fair comparison, but it illustrates why I look at 616 Steve, and I adore him, and then I turn to MCU Steve and just… this guy is not worth my time).

I couldn’t even enjoy the ship, because my feelings for it come solely from my love for Peggy, and she didn’t even get to say a word? Add to that the fact that an endless loop of “OMG HE MADE OUT WITH YOUR NIECE. NOW HIS NIECE. RUN” was going through my head the entire time (the fact that Sharon was absent from the funeral when EVC acted in half of the MCU Russos films is hilarious in light of this xDD).

MISC

– I really enjoyed some of the heist shenanigans. Especially Tony’s plan for a distraction being GIVING HIS PAST SELF A HEART ATTACK. How extra and edgy can my man be xD Tony and Scott are A Duo.

– I was thinking that Alt!Loki might make an appearance in GOTG3 if Thor is really a part of it, and how that might mix, but then a friend reminded me about his show, so I guess that’s where they’re going? IDK, The Avengers’ Loki is probably the one I liked the least out of all his appearances, so unless I hear something really good about it, I’m not picking it up.

– IDK if it’s because I was desensitized, but the white suits and Clint’s hairdo didn’t look as ugly on the final product?

– So THAT was the gay character Feige went on about. I knew he was going to be an unnamed nobody with less than five lines LMAO. Stop being cowards and give us Danbeau and WinterFalcon.

– I was very touched about Ned and Peter’s hug (MY BBYS), but isn’t Ned supposed to be five years older? AKA out of high school? I mean, he looked like he had missed Peter, not like he had disappeared with him too? And the entire class is going on a trip in FFH? Is it because of nostalgia/a friends thing? Were all of them dusted? Because poor teacher then xDD

– I think a lot of emotional threads were unceremoniously dropped, but other than the ones I’ve mentioned, I’m more indifferent towards their recipients so… eh. A great example is the fact that Bruce’s conflicting journey with Hulk was solved off-screen LMAO. Some of the humour felt extra-cringy too tbh.

– I have Tony-related fanart as my lock screen, my computer background, and my phone background. I get teary eyed with just looking at them. I should think of changing them, but I wont xD

– I know I’m forgetting things but whatevs, I can talk about them later.

#tony stark #mcu #marvel #iron family #thor odinson #nebula #natasha romanoff #thanos #winterfalcon #and other stuff but i'd be here all day #marvel (movies)#gamora #avengers (movies)#avengers: endgame #endgame spoilers #my thoughts #talking to the void #marvel thoughts

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maya-tl · 6 years ago

Text

Slice of Life

Author's Note: This fic is inspired by @altruistic-skittles and their Slice of Life Sanders Sides AU, which can be found here. All worldbuilding credit goes to them, I only stitched the ideas together in writing.

Author's Note #2: Due to Tumblr restrictions, the story has been split into three chapters. Next chapter will be posted on Sunday.

Language warning: There's swearing, but it's only a small part of the chapter.

Link to my Ao3 profile will be at the end! Tag list will be in the replies! Enioy!

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

"Roman."

Virgil can hear Patton enthusiastically greeting their neighbour outside, and then Thomas' equally enthusiastic response carries into the house through the wide open front door.

"Get your things, we're going to be late."

He picks up one of the pillows on the couch, brows knitting together tighter when he doesn't find what he's looking for, and he runs another hand through his hair, further messing up the strands that he had tried to brush down earlier. Logan doesn't even acknowledge him from where he's sitting, same book still in his lap.

"We're driving the boss, pops. It's literally impossible for me to be late." his son is in the corner of the room, cooing at the tiny bird perched onto his finger while the other, larger one stares at him from the back of the armchair with what could only be described as contempt.

Much to the despair of both himself and his youngest, Roman had persuaded Patton on the very day they moved into buying him not one, but two pets, albeit on the promise that he would be the one to take care of them.

Of all the things he could have gotten, his eldest had to choose birds.

Virgil would sooner swear off coffee altogether than admit that the feathered troublemakers have actually grown on him.

"Okay, I'm going to be late, which means I'll have to work late, which dad won't be happy about and you know that if he's upset we're all going to be upset." his fidgeting is probably giving off bad vibes, because Baby Blue lets out a particularly pitiful chirp and flies over to proceed making a nest out of his hair, like it does to anyone who ever seems even remotely down.

Baby Blue. Because 'the birds in Snow White totally count shut up Logan'.

"And here I was hoping I could actually turn up to work looking normal for once." he sighs, while Roman pouts like a kicked puppy.

"Guys, Thomas is waiting for you outside!" Patton lets them know as he peeks out from behind the door, eyes darting immediately to his husband's head.

Baby Blue tweets and makes itself more comfortable. Virgil snorts and cracks a smile, trying not to flinch when Patton squeals, taking a picture with the flash on; he's probably running late anyway, might as well indulge.

"Ugh, fine, have it your way." Roman relents, arms crossed and pout firmly in place. "But Zazu will be jealous if I don't give him a proper goodbye!"

Zazu. Because 'I know a macaw is not the same as a hornbill shut up and let me live Logan'.

Zazu, who Virgil is sure would have raised his eyebrows in the most condescending way possible if birds had eyebrows, glides over to the couch, perches himself on Logan's shoulder and pick at his feathers, as if Roman weren't even in the room. His eldest splutters indignantly, and a twitch of the lips is the only sign his youngest gives of finding it amusing.

Virgil doesn't think Zazu is actually capable of showing any emotion other than indifference—he's not even sure if that is an emotion—but the bird tolerates Logan the most and it drives Roman up a wall.

"Roman." Virgil says, handing the tiny blue bird to Patton, who's making eyes at it like it's the cutest thing he's ever seen next to maybe that dog down the street. "Things. Car. Now."

Roman huffs, marching out the room like he's been told to do the impossible, and if he wasn't his kid Virgil would have called him a childish brat the moment he opened his mouth. Spoiled too, because Patton does spoil him and he seems to think himself a prince thanks to it.

Luckily he loves his kids, even if they sometimes drive him up a wall.

"You were looking for something, dad?" Logan's voice pulls him out of his thoughts. His eyes haven't moved from his book and he sounds about as bored as Zazu looks.

"Oh, right." he snaps his fingers, remembering that he was supposed to be scanning the room. "Have you seen my keys?"

***

Thomas very nearly drops his phone and falls over when a tiny bird flies into his face with a trill that sounds suspiciously like a greeting. He chuckles, and he could swear the little thing actually smiles back.

"Aww, aren't you the cutest!" he holds out his finger and is surprised when it lands on it as if it's the most natural thing ever.

"Oh, it likes you! Roman's the only one who's got it to do that so far!"

He turns to Patton, who's wearing one of those smiles that bring out the green in his eyes. There's no shortage of those, that man is such a bright ray of sunlight it's a wonder Thomas didn't go blind when he showed up on his doorstep with a grin and a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the day the family moved in.

"Really? Well, then I'm honoured."

The bird twitters, looking straight at him, like Thomas is expected to tweet back. No wonder Roman talks like he's in a Disney movie—Thomas waved at him from the window once when he saw him picking up the mail and got 'greetings and fair morning, neighbour!' in return.

Honestly, he loves that kid, Roman often reminds him of himself. If he were to shave off about twelve years they would be almost the same person.

Patton nods proudly, as if he's reading his mind. He didn't say that out loud, did he?

"I usually hold it like this." he cups his palms together and the bird instantly glides into his hands, nestling into the warmth. It's the most precious thing Thomas has seen all month, next to maybe that cute dog down the street. "Sometimes it sits on the spine of the book Logan's reading and tries to read with him, it's adorable!"

Thomas laughs, running a finger over its tiny back, and they both practically swoon when it tilts its head back and happily receives all the affection.

"What about Virgil? Do they get along?"

It was the middle of the day the first time Thomas met Virgil, but Virgil looked as if he'd only been awake for about half an hour and had loathed getting out of bed so much that he had to drink five cups of coffee, straight black, just to be able to stand on his own two feet.

Thomas had swallowed his words and the encounter had been beyond awkward; the only consolation was that Virgil had looked just as uncomfortable.

Patton's entire face softens at the question, and it's safe to say Thomas would sooner give up pizza for a week before he told Patton that his husband doesn't seem like the friendliest person.

"He acts all grumpy about it, but he loves them really." he runs his fingers over its wings and the bird definitely smiles. "He joked about getting a haircut because apparently his hair is perfect nest material, isn't that right, Blue?"

He coos at the little bundle of feathers, and Blue has the gal to be so adorable as to look sheepish. Thomas blinks more times than is necessary and thinks that maybe he's been watching too much Disney.

"Nest...?" Patton pulls out his phone, unlocks the screen and shows him a picture. "Oh my goodness that's so cute!!"

Roman suddenly comes stumbling out the front door with two dress bags in one hand and a stack of papers in the other, a backpack hanging from the crook of his elbow and a pen tucked behind his ear. "Good afternoon, Mr. Sanders!! I hope the day finds you in good grace?"

"You know, you don't have to call me that, Roman." Thomas replies while Blue flutters over and tries, to no avail, to help the poor kid.

"Pfshhfpff!" Thomas avoids mentioning that his vacuum cleaner made that noise once. "Nonsense! Manners are underrated!!"

"You need help, Ro?" Patton asks, taking the bags before his son can answer and folding them neatly.

Thomas seizes that moment to ask Roman about the papers, because he doesn't remember the script he gave them having that many pages, and Virgil shows up just as Roman is struggling to explain to him why he deemed it necessary to make some improvements to the dialogue without sounding like he's insulting his writing skills.

It's not very successful.

Virgil puts one foot on the doormat, pauses and then swears, very loudly, throwing both of his hands up.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?"

It's a warm outside for an autumn day, with beautiful weather, barely a trace of clouds in the sky. Virgil's car is still in the driveway, all black and shiny except for a few rainbow stickers plastered on the doors, but only half of it is shadowed by the leaves of the tree in the front yard.

Which means the other half has been sitting in direct sunlight the entire day.

Which explains the giant python currently lounging on the roof of the car, sunbathing like there's no tomorrow and looking extremely bored.

Roman takes one look at the car, shrieks and jumps back about two whole feet, startling both Thomas and the bird, while Virgil promptly loses every ounce of chill he may have possessed in his body.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE—I'M SO FUCKING DONE WITH THIS BULLSHIT!!" he gestures so wildly at the snake that it's a wonder his hands don't spontaneously combust. "CAN I HAVE JUST ONE FUCKING DAY WHERE EVERYTHING GOES RIGHT?!?"

Patton sighs, crosses his arms and mutters 'language' in a defeated voice, before leaning into Thomas' space. "Has it been there the entire time?"

"I think so, yeah." Thomas shrugs, like he's just having a casual conversation about politics with his friendly next door neighbour while his husband initiates a one-man shouting match with a snake; the usual. "I mean, it was already there when I got here."

"It looks really tame, for a snake... oh, like a puppy!!" considering Patton's eyes light up like beacons Thomas safely assumes it's the first time he's made that comparison. "Do you think it'll come if I call it??"

"No, I don't think so. I tried that a while back and it didn't work, pretty sure Mr. Slimy Boi doesn't train his snakes." he says, as Patton giggles behind his hand at the silly nickname.

He honestly can't remember where he got it from—he said it once in front of Logan and received a whole lecture about how snake scales are just smooth and they don't secrete slime—but it's stuck with him since childhood.

At some point Thomas forgot the guy's actual name so, he officially became Mr. Slimy Boi to him and everyone who was unfortunate enough to ask him who the unsettling man was and how many snakes is he hiding in that house and why is he wearing a bowler hat that's so weird.

He may be all about loving thy neighbour but he really didn't have it in him to argue with Virgil when he claimed they have a cryptid living next to them.

Thomas has lived here his entire life and could swear that man looks exactly the same as he did twenty something years ago.

"I'm also pretty sure he wouldn't listen to you anyway, that slippery old bastard. I accidentally kicked my favourite football over the fence once and it came out of nowhere and just... ate it. And refused to spit it out."

"Huh." Patton says, brows furrowing in thought. "How long ago was that?"

"Uh..." Thomas drags the syllable, scratching the back of his head. "I... don't remember? It could have been a different snake that just looked exactly like it, actually... how long do snakes live?"

"Morelia Amethistina, commonly known as the amethystine python." Logan, who probably heard his brother's manly scream of terror, declares as he pokes his head out the doorway. "In captivity they tend to have an average lifespan of fifteen to twenty years, but if provided with ideal conditions they could live to about twenty five."

"Aww, thanks Lolo!" Patton clasps his hands tohether and grins at his youngest with so much pride that Logan actually ducks his head, presumably to hide a blush.

"Oh my God, Pat, don't encourage him." Virgil pinches the bridge of his nose and the python, who has ignored every single word to come out of Virgil's mouth so far, looks awfully smug. "Soon he'll want to do studies on it or something and a pet snake is where I draw the line. And we're not going any closer to that house than is necessary either!"

Roman makes a vague noise somewhere between agreement and disgust. "Dad, it's staring at me with its creepy snake face and I don't like it, make it go away!!"

"And how, pray tell, do you propose I do that??"

"Poke it with a stick, throw it over the fence, I don't know, you're supposed to be the adult here!!"

Virgil takes a deep breath and analyses the nest of pure muscle engulfing half of his car for a solid ten seconds. "Lo, how much does this thing weigh?"

"About ninety pounds on average..." the boy adjusts his glasses and squints. "But this one seems to be quite a large breed, so I would place it around one hundred and twenty four."

"Yeah," Virgil says, hands on his hips, "not happening."

"Um, excuse me?" Thomas is staring at his phone, finger raised to get everyone's attention. "I hate to interrupt and I don't wanna seem ungrateful, but we're running a little bit late?? The rest of the group's already there."

Roman lets out a distressed whine, the kind that would end an argument with Patton immediately and earn him multiple of whatever it is he was asking for.

Exhibit A: if Virgil hadn't put his foot down at two birds his son would have turned their entire house into an animal shelter and Patton wouldn't have done a single thing about it.

And they just moved.

"Virgil, sweetheart, maybe it'll move if you ask nicely?" Patton walks up to his husband and puts a hand on his shoulder, and Virgil visibly leans his entire weight into the touch.

Thomas doesn't know them enough to judge yet, but he gets the impression that Virgil is a completely different person with Patton around.

"Perhaps Roman should attempt to talk to it, since he so vehemently believes that Disney princes are real." Logan suggest in his driest voice, which isn't too many tones away from his regular voice.

Roman twists his head around so violently Thomas swears he heard a snap.

"DID YOU JUST BESMIRCH THE NAME OF DISNEY?!?!"

"Now kiddos, what did I say about playing nice—"

"You mean the company tasked with creating fictional characters? I sincerely hope you know the definition of that word, Roman."

"HOW DARE YOU, YOU HEATHEN!!"

"Ro, calm down now—"

"You take creative writing, surely you must have the vocabulary."

"YOU ARE NO BROTHER OF MINE!!!"

Thomas takes turns to stare, first at Patton, who's trying to talk his kids out of getting into a fight, then at Virgil, who looks like he's praying to every God from every religion to take pity on him and end his suffering, and then at the python, who calmly slithers off the car, over to the yard next door and into the house through an open window.

Blue lands on his hand, next to his phone, and watches the screen as Thomas enters the group chat and writes a message announcing that they're going to be late.

Or, well, later than they already are.

***

My Ao3 profile.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #anxiety sanders #morality sanders #creativity sanders #logic sanders #deceit sanders #remy sanders #emile picani #romantic moxiety #platonic lamp #familial lamp #slice of life au #swearing

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rubyredsparks · 6 years ago

Text

Falling in Love Again and Again

Pairing: Logince, (mentioned Moxiety)

Warnings: Slight self-deprecation, one (1) curse word

Word Count: 1,526

Summary: Logan was nervous minutes before his wedding. This was something he had been waiting for since he and Roman had started dating. But why was he so scared?

Here’s the AO3 link

Logan was pacing back and forth, his hands mussing up his hair and sticking out of place from its usual proper quiff.

Step. Step. Step. Mess up hair. Step. Step. Step. Mess up hair. Step. Step. Step.

He paused from his pattern, stopping in front of the room’s mirror, anxiously adjusting his red tie.

“Are you done?” a dry voice asked from behind him. Logan made eye contact with Virgil through the mirror.

“I apologize if my panic is a nuisance to you,” Logan apologized unnecessarily. “However, I have due reason for it.”

Virgil sighed, rolling his eyes and standing up. He planted firm hands on Logan’s shoulders, looking at the both of them in the mirror, a head taller than Logan.

Blue eyes met green, and Virgil said definitely, “Logan, you don’t need to keep freaking out. Roman accepted your proposal, the two of you are stupidly in love, like so much. Seriously, I’ve gagged from all your P.D.A. You don’t need to keep pacing and doubting yourself.”

“But perhaps he was mistaken in accepting my proposal?” Logan asked, an imperceptible tremble in his voice. “I can understand why he would be, the differences we have, how many times we disagree-”

Virgil clamped a hand over his mouth, and Logan looked into his annoyed and fond green eyes. “Logan, stop doing this. You’ll worry yourself to death, and I’m talking from experience. Remember when I was worrying about Patton over the same thing?”

A flash of amusement appeared in Logan’s blue eyes as he smiled fondly. Virgil let go, and he reminisced, “Of course, you called me up at two in the morning, panicked over the wedding. I had to drive across town and take you to I.H.O.P. and pancakes before you calmed down.”

Virgil quirked a small, embarrassed smile, “And what did you say to me then?”

Logan sighed, “He chose you over all the others in the world. That means that there is something in you that he sees, even if you don’t see it yourself, that is worthy of love. No matter how many scenarios you make up, no matter how scared you are, you can’t deny the fact that he loves you.”

Virgil nodded, “Don’t you think the same? Roman went above and beyond when he proposed to you. You were gushing about it for weeks, which you don’t do often.”

“Yes, but-” Virgil cut Logan off again with a stern stare.

“Stop. You did all this work for the wedding, and Roman is out there waiting right now for you. Do you know how many times he’s called me, screaming about how you’re gonna be his husband and he’s gonna be yours?”

“I-” Logan deflated, “you are correct. Of course you are, thank you, Virgil.”

Virgil ruffled his hair, effectively messing it up again, “Of course, nerd. Now c’mon, we need to fix your hair before Patton comes back. There’s, like, ten minutes before you have to walk down the aisle.”

“What?!” Logan screeched, desperately trying to fix his hair, “Why did you not stop me before?”

Virgil laughed fondly, “Let me help!”

Logan fidgeted with his tie, straightening it and smoothing out his suit. Virgil nudged him lightly with his shoulder, giving him an encouraging look before taking his seat.

He took a deep breath and made his way down the aisle. The first few chords of the Wedding March started to play as he took his first step.

Everyone stood up, and Logan was unnerved slightly by the stares but he looked forward. And his breath was caught in his throat.

Roman was wearing a long sleeves sheer lace wedding dress with an a-line. He was beaming behind his veil, holding his bouquet of red roses. His heels made him even taller than Logan, something he slightly resented but the beauty that was Roman held him back.

The music stopped, and Logan met with Roman on the altar, standing on his left. They turned to the officiator, Remy, who was grinning widely from ear to ear.

The crowd sat down, and Remy prepared his speech, “We are gathered here today….”

Logan was staring into Roman’s earnest brown eyes, entranced by the fierce love in them. He felt something touch his hand, and he snuck a glance down. Roman was trying to hold his hand. Biting back a broader smile, Logan took Roman’s hand, heart pounding.

“Now, Roman, Logan, you said that you have your own vows…?” Remy prompted.

The two visibly shook out of their love trance and blushed, embarrassed. The crowd chuckled, and Logan coughed, “Yes, um, shall I?”

Roman nodded, a broad smile on his face, and Logan felt himself melting. “Roman, when we met years ago, I thought you were insufferable. You were always singing songs at the top of your lungs, handing out nicknames and did not know what personal space seemed to mean. However, as the years passed, I saw a different side to you that I did not realize you had upon first meeting.

“Once I had been overwhelmed with a personal situation, and you had burst into my room, unannounced and singing. Naturally, I had my guard up and prepared to defend myself against ridicule. However, you stopped upon seeing my disheveled state, sat down next to me and started talking about the most ludicrous subject you could, with a hand on mine. You did not ask questions, you did not poke or prod. You just… distracted me and gave me comfort and space. That was the time I started to fall in love with you.”

There were tears and a sappy smile on Roman’s face, his makeup running slightly. Logan unpocketed a makeup wipe, wiping away the runny makeup.

“Always prepared, aren’t you, my dearest?” Roman whispered with a smile.

“Of course,” Logan smirked, and stuffed the wipe away.

“I was there to witness every major event in your life, and I am honoured,” Logan said fiercely, “to be here next to you. I fall in love with you every single passing moment of our lives, and I vow to always be there for you, through all your ups and downs, to give you the space that you need and the comfort that you need. There's a place I've always wanted to see, and I want to see it with you. I want to be there with you every step of the way, Roman, on our way to happiness.”

“Your way of words was always something to rival mine, mi alma,” Roman breathed, moved by the earnestness in Logan’s eyes and words.

Logan gave a nod of acknowledgement, a smile on his face.

“Logan, when I met you, I wasn’t sure what to think of you. You seemed to be stiff and unmoving, but then… then I found you tending to that sick kitten Patton had brought in. You were so tender as you cared for her, giving her the right amount of milk, wrapping her up in warm blankets. There was a soft look in your eyes, something I had never seen before, and then I saw it in everything you did.”

Roman took a deep breath, heart stuttering at the awed look in Logan’s blue eyes, “You had catalogued every tic and mannerism of our friends, so that you knew how to respond if they were in a bad situation. You had learned how to comfort and help when I was… not at my greatest. You helped those that were in need, and I saw you for you. Not that robot you tried to portray yourself as, and I fall in love with you every single time I breathe. It’s the little things I fall in love with again and again. Because as much as you are your brains, your heart is so full of love, and I am so, so grateful that I’m one of them.”

Logan was crying silently, a hand covering his smile and mouth. Roman smiled at him gently, cupping his face and wiping away the tears, “I vow to always be there for you, to give you the support when you need it, to love you for who you are and that I won’t always steal your Crofters.”

“They’re mine for a reason, you asshole,” Logan croaked out with a teary grin.

Roman smirked, “And I just vowed not to always steal them.”

Logan hiccoughed a laugh before tangling his hands into Roman’s hair, pulling him down for a heated kiss, and Roman dropped his bouquet at the suddenness, responding quickly in kind.

“Whoa, whoa! Babes, that’s my job!” Remy protested.

He sighed when they didn’t stop, kiss getting more intimate, “By the power vested in me by the Internet and Emile, I now pronounce you husband and husband, I guess. Take the fun out of it, why don’t you.”

The happy couple pulled away, breaths laboured but with giant grins on their faces.

Logan cupped Roman’s face, “May I, husband?”

Roman smirked, giddy, “You may, husband.”

And Logan swept Roman off his feet into a dip, kissing him deeply for the first time as husband and husband.

A/N: So this was sitting in my docs for a while, and it was for a fic exchange but I never got the chance to post it. SO here it is! Thanks for reading!

@sanders-sides-thuri

#logince #my writing #moxiety

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vankoya · 7 years ago

Note

uhm, not trying to sound rude here but if you’re not writing for us (which is understandable) or not for an audience (this isn’t), why do you even post it on Tumblr? Like, i don‘t get it, sorry. but you’ve had previous blogs and you already know how huge the audience is for your writings, and almost everyone in this fanfiction community is kind of ‚responsible‘ to make it enjoyable for the reader, if you get what i mean. if you’re doing this as a hobby and merely for you, i don’t get the 1/2

concept of publishing your stories onto a social media website. when every single constructive criticism is only answered with „This is a hobby. I am doing this for me.“ It is hard as a reader to get on your level and kind of find a connection. Especially the use of tags somehow shows that people want to gain an audience, it’s most likely not to categories the stories. as i’ve mentioned, i’m not trying to attack you. maybe i’m too dumb to get it. 2/2

All of my previous messages have been responded to rather sporadically and while I was busy, so they are somewhat all over the place. Now that I am sitting down and able to properly focus, I will try to clear up my perspective on this as eloquently as possible. Please read this in a calm tone, because I am not angry.

Long before I was even writing fan fiction, I was posting short stories and small pieces of writing to a personal Tumblr blog (completely unrelated to any fandom). Despite that a handful of my real-life friends were capable of seeing and reading those posts, since they were following that blog, I was writing/posting them for myself. I was never crafting them to suit somebody else. To me, that was generally the primary use of a blog; to document parts of your life, your thoughts, your creativity and hobbies. So the reason I started posting my fan fiction to Tumblr was because that was what felt natural to me, after having been posting my other stories to that personal blog for about three years. During those three years, I was not writing my stories down in a journal. I was writing them in a Tumblr text post and archiving them in an online journal; that blog. I hope that addresses why I began posting my stories here.

As for your: “Almost everyone in this fan fiction community is kind of ‘responsible’ to make it enjoyable for the reader,” comment, I guess I must be the percentage that is not completely the case. I genuinely think that is kind of... silly and borderline entitled. I have never read any fics on here with the thought: “I hope this is enjoyable for me, because it is fan fiction and so the writer has written this specifically for me,” in mind. I think I do somewhat get your intentions, if you are meaning it is because the majority of fics posted by the community are in second person perspective and/or reader-insert. Which is still, you know, not a good enough reason to say it is therefore the writer’s ultimate responsibility to make it enjoyable for the reader. I feel like most fic writers would not react nicely if you said that to them.

Bottom line is that we do not owe such responsibility or enjoyment to anyone. We are just real people with real lives who are writing fics because we love writing, and we wish to share that fun with the rest of you.

Continuing on, this is a hobby, and I am doing this for me. When I say that I am writing for myself, I mean that I am writing fics for my own fun, and to work on my writing style. If I was writing for others, I would have requests open and be tailoring everything I write to the precise desires of those who are so insistent on me better suiting it to them. When I say that I am writing as a hobby, I mean that I am writing fics in the precise same way that I wrote those short stories for my personal blog all those years ago. When I answered an ask with: “I am not here to accumulate readers or notes,” I meant that having readers is a freaking wonderful bonus, but I could delete my blog right now, start on a clean slate, and be just as happy. When I also answered that ask with: “I am not here to cater to any particular audience outside of myself,” I meant that I am not here to alter my writing style so that it better suits a particular age group, reading level, etc.

So yes, I am answering constructive criticism with such responses because 1. I am doing a double-major at my university for creative/professional writing, where I already receive a ton of constructive criticism from my tutors and peers, and 2. I consider this space as a free one where I write how I want, what I want, and as nothing more than a hobby. But the main issue with the “constructive” criticism I have received lately (save for the one about run-on sentences) is that none of it is necessarily constructive. The thing with constructive criticism is that it is not only meant to help you improve, but it is supposed to inspire you to do so. It provides you with new ideas and methods to orchestrate into your work, whilst simultaneously giving you the creative drive to pursue them. And I can tell you for sure, being told that I am trying to “pull off an ‘I am an author’ concept” is certainly not inspiring.

In regards to audience, what I am trying to say is that it was never my intention to have one. I am very clearly presenting my stories to an audience now. But I did not start posting my fics on my first fic blog, sugasmut, with the thought: “I hope somebody reads this,” because I never had that kind of thought when I was posting short stories on my personal blog. Though once I slowly started to gain a reader-base, I realised that hey, people actually enjoy my writing. From there, I never expected fic writing to become such a big part of my life, nor for this many people to join me in that. So yes, while my initial intentions of posting my writing on here remain to be true (a fun hobby that focuses on developing my style), I am now happily sharing that with the incredible readers who have become interested in my writings along the way.

Anyway, here is the core of this massive rant in a neat summary:

I started posting my fics on here due to force of habit from when I posted non-fandom short stories on a personal blog, back when I was a teenager; I never thought I would gain an audience, nor did I aim for that

I am writing for myself and as a hobby; by that, I mean I am writing for my own improvement and for my own personal enjoyment/fun (not the literal: “I am only writing for me and only I am allowed to read it!!”)

Although I am posting such stories online as a hobby, it is not a call for constructive criticism; I receive enough professional constructive criticism in my course that I am actively applying to my style

“Almost everyone in this fan fiction community is kind of ‘responsible’ to make it enjoyable for the reader,” is highly incorrect, please do not think like that

I love and adore my readers beyond comprehension, and I am truly honoured that they enjoy my writings, I respect them with my whole heart

#rantvory #I hope this clears things up #blabvory

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habibialkaysani · 7 years ago

Text

The Break of Dawn (Sara-centric; T)

Ships: Sara/Zari, Sara & Zari, Zari/Amaya (mentioned), Rip/Sara (mentioned), Oliver/Sara (mentioned), Sara/Kendra (mentioned), Nyssa/Sara (mentioned), Zari & Ray (mentioned)

Summary: Set post 3x05. Sara's training in the cargo bay when Zari comes in. They talk soulmates, siblings and resurrection.

A/N: Shoutout to Sophia and Ell for reading this through for me. This fic is a kind of sequel to supplication, which is a Zari/Amaya fic, but hopefully this fic stands alone okay.

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

The early morning has always been Sara’s favourite time of day.

Granted, time is different and kind of weird when they’re in the time stream, and it’s not like the view is the same as when it’s dawn on earth in real time - but none of that really matters. There’s nothing like the stillness of everyone sleeping, when Sara finally has a bit of solitude, for her to train, try and focus, gather some of her thoughts - and right now she has a lot to think about.

After all, Rip is (was?) her friend. And she’s just ratted him out to the Time Bureau, of all people, and now he is God knows where at the Bureau’s mercy. If they have any.

But, she thinks as she loses her focus for a second and manages to drop her bo-staff (she picks it up, growling with anger), that was right after he betrayed them - when he betrayed her. And after everything they’ve been through, too.

Her thoughts are interrupted, though, when she hears the soft thud of footsteps and the doors slide open. Instinctively, Sara whips her bo-staff in the direction of newcomer, and her eyes widen when she realises it’s Zari and Sara’s still managed to poke her in the shoulder.

Even as she recoils slightly, Zari looks… different. Her eyes are softer, and the yellow blanket draped around her and her hair loose and her slippers peeping out from under pyjamas give her this air of - vulnerability, almost. It catches Sara by surprise, to the point that her heart skips a beat.

Then the moment passes, thankfully, and she hastily moves her bo-staff away while pushing her hair away from her face.

“Sorry,” Sara says. “I - didn’t think anyone else was up. You managed to catch fajr, huh?”

Zari raises her eyebrows. “How did you -”

“I spent some time in Morocco with my girlfriend a few years back. She told me more about the religion, the culture. Besides, it’s kinda hard to forget the sound of the call to prayer.”

Yet for some reason Zari’s face falls. “I wouldn't know. I've never really heard the adhaan before. Like - my dad would do it, on occasion, in the house, and then my brother did sometimes, and there were videos that I managed to find on the Dark Web, but I've never heard it in a mosque for myself.”

“I'm sorry,” Sara says softly. “I… didn't realise.”

Zari shrugs. “‘S’okay. You can't miss what you never had, right?”

“Right.” Sara gestures towards the edge of the bay where Zari can sit, and she does so and Sara follows suit.

“So, uh, what's your excuse for being up this early, Captain?” Zari asks.

Sara chuckles. “I once told a… friend of mine that a warrior trains every day. Would be kind of hypocritical of me not to honour that.”

“You miss her,” Zari says flatly, and it's not a question. “Whoever she was.”

“I miss a lot of people,” says Sara, and despite herself a kind-of smile spreads on her lips. “And her name is Kendra.”

And Sara can see as Zari’s brow furrows as she connects the dots.

“You mean… Ray’s ex, Kendra?”

“Ray told you about her, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess once you bond with the eight-year-old version of a guy, you're kinda stuck with him. And, uh, he talks a lot.”

Sara laughs. “Yeah, no kidding.”

“He had the same look that you do, you know.”

“What look?” Sara says, folding her arms and trying to put on a brave face.

But of course Zari sees through that mask in an instant. “That look that tells me she was more than just a friend to you.”

“You ever liked a girl like that before?” The question is out of Sara’s mouth before she can stop herself, and the moment she says it she regrets it, even before she catches the look on Zari’s face.

“Maybe,” she says. “When I was a teenager, there was… someone. My best friend, actually. But, uh, she never knew. And neither did I half the time, to be honest.”

And at this Sara sighs. “Yeah, it always sucks falling for someone you can't have.” Suddenly it's all too much for her, and Sara jumps to her feet, picking up the bo-staff on the floor, and starts training again, whipping it at an imaginary target and then twirling it with her hands.

“That thing’s pretty badass,” Zari says, and Sara can't help but grin at how she seems a bit reluctant to admit that.

“Want me to show you how to use it?” Sara offers.

Naturally a proper smile breaks out on Zari’s lips at that. “Uh, yeah, go on, then.” She gets to her feet, blanket falling off her shoulders.

“Okay, so you gotta start with a strong foundation. Feet apart, both hands on the staff.” She waits, and Zari does as she's told, grasping the bo-staff and centring her feet. Sara reaches out, moves Zari’s hand a few inches so they're more evenly spaced. “And then it's all about the wrist movement, all right? You've gotta move your feet at the same time, kind of like a dance. Like this, yeah?”

And, hands closing around her wrists, Sara shows Zari what she means, helping her, until she's pivoted and is pointing the staff in the opposite direction. Then Sara moves away, and Zari manages to twirl the staff in her hands a few times on her own.

“So is this what you do when you're angry?” Zari says, spinning on the spot and aiming the bo-staff in Sara's direction. Instinctively Sara's hand goes out to block her and snatch the staff out of Zari’s hand. “You dance with a stick?”

Sara laughs as she walks a few paces away from her, breaking it in half and throwing one to Zari. “It's called a bo-staff. And who said anything about me being angry?”

“I did, just now,” Zari says pointedly. “You just booted the British guy who's in love with you off the ship -”

“Rip is not in love with me,” Sara says hotly. Then she realises she's getting a little worked up, and she says in a calmer tone, “And I did what was best for the team after our former captain made some shitty decisions.”

“Yeah, but I can tell he was also your friend. And you calling the Time Bureau on him wasn't something you were able to do easily.”

Sara sighs. “And here I was thinking I was getting better at the whole subtlety thing.”

Zari shakes her head. “Nope. You're not that hard to read. And, I mean, as far as coping mechanisms go, training at dawn isn't the worst. Even if you are alone.”

“Well, I guess I’m not anymore. Alone, I mean.” And she pauses for a second, takes a deep breath, before she says, “I’m with you.”

“That doesn’t sound cheesy at all,” Zari says, but it’s with a smile. It fades a little, though, as she aims her half at the bo-staff at Sara’s shoulder and manages to get her, to both their surprise. “Sorry. Uh, earlier… before the mission, you mentioned you lost your sister. I’m sorry.”

Sara nods in acknowledgement, and she sits down on the edge of the cargo bay again. “Me too,” she says with a sigh. “You know, at first, it was really hard, because all I could think about was how many times I had let her down in the past. Disappointed her. Betrayed her.”

“How do you mean?” Zari asks, sitting next to her. Sara shivers involuntarily, and Zari picks up her blanket and offers it to Sara. Sara takes it, puts it around them both.

“I mean I slept with her boyfriend behind her back,” Sara says in a hollow voice. “Repeatedly. And then she thought I was dead for six years and when I came back I got back together with him.”

Zari’s eyes widen.

“The same guy?”

“The same guy,” Sara says grimly.

“Wow. That’s - some heavy shit right there.”

Sara chuckles lightly. “Yeah, no kidding. But we, uh, worked things out.”

“Wow. I mean, I’m glad you worked things out, but...”

“Yeah, Laurel’s always been a pretty forgiving person. And when we kind of reconnected, after all that crap went down, I - was reminded of why, growing up, she had always taken care of me.”

Zari sighs. “Yeah. That’s what big sisters are for.”

“Hey,” Sara says softly, “I’m sure you were a great big sister.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Family always is,” says Sara. “And, look, Zari, I’m sorry. I… know you want to save your brother. And I wish you could. But I don’t make the rules.”

But Zari shakes her head. “I didn’t think you seemed like the one to follow them either.”

“I know. But then a friend of mine broke them. In a big way. And it had a lot of consequences that I saw with my own eyes. It’s shitty, I know. Trust me.” She hesitates, then, wondering if she should share this with Zari - when she hasn’t shared it with anyone on the ship, not even Amaya or Jax. “And, you know, maybe someday, if… when we defeat this Mallus guy, I might look for a way to bring Laurel back.”

“But you just said - time travel has rules and you gotta follow them,” Zari says, looking nonplussed.

Sara nods. “Yeah. But there are other ways to resurrect people. And Laurel - she's strong. Good. She deserves to have a full life.”

“You talk about her like -”

“- she's still alive?” Sara says, and somehow she manages to muster a smile. “I mean, she is, to me.”

“You mean, in your heart, or whatever?”

And Zari sounds so sceptical that Sara bursts out laughing as she gets out from under Zari’s blanket and to her feet. Zari watches, folding her arms and raising her eyebrows in question.

“Sorry, just - I think if you knew her… you would probably get along.”

“Why is that?”

“Same sense of humour, for starters. And in answer to your question… I didn't mean that, but that doesn't make it any less true. I actually meant - where we are, right now, in the time stream, we're not in any particular moment in time. So it doesn't mean the same thing.”

“I figured maybe you're in denial,” Zari says quietly, not looking Sara in the eyes as she gets to her feet too. “God knows, I would understand that.”

And Sara probably shouldn't, not when her feelings are all over the place and she can't tell exactly what is tugging at her heartstrings right now - if it's grief or anger or pain or something else that even in her head she dares not name. But nevertheless she reaches out and squeezes Zari’s hand. It's warm, and after a moment Zari squeezes back. “Maybe I am. But I'm just saying, Zari - maybe someday, we can do something. For your brother. Just… not today.”

Zari nods, and Sara lets go, wishing she could will away the sudden thudding of her heartbeat. “I appreciate that, Sara. And, uh, back in 2042… my friends called me Zee.”

Sara smiles, now, and the tightness she was starting to feel in her throat dissipates, to her relief, and her pulse slows a little.

“Can I ask you something?” Zari says.

“Sure.”

“Is Amaya okay? Because I - we were supposed to watch a movie last night, and we were talking and then suddenly she just freaked out and left.”

“What were you talking about?” Sara asks, careful to keep her tone light.

“She just asked me if I ever killed anyone when I stole stuff. I said no, and I asked her the same thing, if she had, and she kind of -”

“I think you should ask Amaya about this,” Sara interrupts.

“If she has killed anyone, I'm not exactly going to judge her. Or anyone on this ship. Except to say you're all a bunch of losers,” Zari adds affectionately, “but, like, you guys already knew that. And, anyway, Amaya is…”

“Different?”

Zari nods. “I don't know why. I don't know what it is with us. But it's like - something’s drawing me to her. And even when I try to pull away I just get closer.”

“I had one of those. No matter what happened, no matter what time I was in, I always ended up finding him in the end.”

“I didn't mean it like that with Amaya,” Zari says quickly.

Chuckling, Sara says, “Yeah, I know. It's not like that with us either. Not for a long time, anyway. But, uh, he did kind of save my soul. Literally.”

“So, what, my soul needs saving, now?”

“Not yours. Amaya's. And that, Zee, is all I have to say to you on the matter.”

Wrapping her blanket more firmly around her, Zari sighs. “Fine. Go ahead and be all weird and cryptic.” She pauses, considers for a second, then says, “You wanna go have an early breakfast?”

Sara grins. “Lead the way.”

Tagging: @legendsoftomorrowfans @umadeabear @samaritanpoledancing @melodiesgrant @zaritomaz @riverspendragon @alesvegan @purple451pastry @kirsty585 @yellow-canary @artemisthevalkyrie @stungunmilly2 @way2manyotps @belladonnatroy

#tomance #sara lance #zari tomaz #sara x zari #zari x sara #lot fic #legends of tomorrow #fanfic #mine #my fic #missing scene

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beautifulramblingbrains · 7 years ago

Text

Bound By Honour - Chapter 5

Pairing: Eric/OC *Sarah* Fandom: Divergent/Insurgent Rating: M - Some very expressive content within the depths of this post.

Eric has the best hand in all the factions, but can’t seem to get to grips with his life as a parent to two grown Dauntless members. The honour is passed to Sarah as she battles with the woes of an unruly daughter and a wayward son. Balanced with a intricate web of personal struggles and outsiders, can they stop their family from falling apart?

A/N: I’m sorry for the delay. Some of you may well know that I’ve been distracted, and I will be taking a lengthy break from writing fanfiction. I have some things I want to do for myself and I feel I’m ready and it’s about time. I will still be around to chat etc, just not participating in uploading fics, at least until my current muse ends anyway. Thank you for reading and supporting me for so long.

Tags: @singingpeople@equalstrashflavoredtrash@pathybo@beltz2016 @ariwolff14@lostinthebeans@kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995@jojuarez26 @tigpooh67@mom2reesie@lilu46 @murmelinchen @lauraaan182

“And how’s school, Eliza?” Sarah asks over a stew Mary had made earlier that day. She wasn’t meant to stay for so long but it just ended up being that way with Mary telling her that Eliza would be home from school soon. She had felt obliged to stay, seeing as her husband Mark was also away during the weeks now because of her own son.

Eliza was a pretty brunette with long brown ringlets loosely falling by her ears. Her mannerisms were faultless as she sat straight, holding a spoon that seemed too large for her hands. Mary wasn’t forceful with correcting sloppy behavior, Eliza had seemingly picked up her mother’s ways through instinct. It was nothing like how they were brought up. It felt calm and peaceful, an easy home to belong to. In fact, it wasn’t even like Sarah’s home, because of the constant play on parenting and Eric’s obnoxious ways.

“I love school, Auntie Sarah.” Her voice is so small and quaint. It makes her think of April and how different she is to her cousin. April has never been quaint or delicate, the quirks of her father had taken her genes and entrapped them. Though April didn’t have height on her side, her attitude carried her much further. If only she could learn how to embrace it.

“I also remember someone who loved school,” Sarah says, hinting to Mary who grins quickly at her. “You remind me of her so much.”

“Is that my mommy?” The little girl questions, tilting her head shyly while they watch her.

“Yes.”

With a small giggle, they grow quiet, finishing their food. Sarah politely props her spoon in the bowl and sighs. “Thank you for dinner. It’s nice not having to make it myself. It tastes better.” It was also earlier than she was used to. Most nights, Sarah’s family were never really ready to sit down to eat until well after eight.

“We should do this more often…” A wry smile forms on Mary’s face. “I also like the fact that the leftovers get delivered by Eliza to Mother.”

“I still haven’t been to see her.” Sarah feels guilty, but not that much. She hadn’t been in the mood to visit Meredith; it would be question upon question, insulting Eric to the tenth degree, and moaning that April and Jack never visit

“That woman is as hard as nails, she isn’t going anywhere anytime soon…” Mary strokes her daughter's hair. “Why don’t you take the bowls out to the kitchen for me? Then when you’re finished, go up to your room and sort your things out for tomorrow.”

Eliza swings her legs down from the long bench and walks over to Sarah on the other side of the table, hugging her quickly. “Good night!” Then she gathers the bowls and heads for the kitchen.

“She’s growing so quickly,” Sarah comments, staring off after her. When Mary doesn’t reply, she frowns over to her. “What?”

“What’s going on? I know you. I know that look. I know the tone. I know the heaviness.”

“Work’s been a little strange. I’m working with Erudite and the new… maybe new Leader.” Sarah fidgets, leaning her arm on the table. “He’s not what I expected. I feel out of my depth and intimidated, I suppose. What’s also strange is that Eric seems to have every confidence in me. I thought at first that he just did it as a way to swindle Erudite while he was busy patching up Candor. I showed him some other information about another major problem, a serious problem, and he hasn’t mentioned it. Maybe I’m just overthinking… I seem to be doing that a lot lately.”

“Overthinking what?” Mary asks, watching Sarah’s eyes remain on the table.

“Everything…” Eliza reappears and they wait until she vanishes upstairs. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course! You can tell me anything. Do you want a drink or something, though? A hot drink?”

Sarah looks out to the sun setting. “No, it’s getting late. I can’t have another relapse of last time.”

Mary scoffs. “Go hard or go home Sarah.”

“You’re not funny.” But she does laugh a little. “I’ll just come out and say it… Blake is being suggestive.”

“And Blake is who again?”

“He’s Blake Hammond, the guy from Erudite that I’m working with. It may just be me, but I feel his persona towards me is mixed. It’s like… it’s like I can’t work him out.”

“So, you mean like, flirting, or...?”

“Sort of. His words are all work related. But it’s the way he expresses himself - his actions.”

“Mommy! I can’t find any hair ties!” Eliza shouts down the stairs, sounding like she was about to descend any minute.

Mary snaps her head over her shoulder. “Honey, just wait two minutes!” Her eyes flicker over Sarah for a moment before she gestures for her to continue. “And?”

“Well, that’s it.” But she begins blushing. “He kissed my cheek after I accepted his work proposal. And he touches my hands a lot,” she rushes, realizing how immature it sounded. “I can’t explain.”

“Have you given him any reason?”

“Nothing at all.” She shrugs, frowning for a moment and then her eyes widen at Mary. “He must be half my age. He knows I’m married.” Sarah bites her lip still under her sister's scrutiny. “Eric doesn’t know any of this. And I can’t tell him. How could I possibly? It sounds preposterous just telling you.”

“I could have guessed that. But to me, it doesn't sound like anything to be worried about. Maybe that’s just what he’s like.” Mary smiles, trying to comfort her older sister. “It may be a big thing to you because you’ve always had Eric breathing down your neck, let alone the chance to interact with, I’m guessing, single and successful men.”

“I have an active social life, Mary. I’m not locked away.” Sarah rolls her eyes. “There is something off with his behavior,” she stresses.

“He hasn’t technically done anything. And as you say, he’s all words, about work from what I’m understanding.”

“It’s his disclosure.”

“Do you... like him?”

It takes Sarah by surprise, scrunching up her nose, she exclaims, “Oh gosh, no!”

“If it happens again, maybe then you should say something.” Mary smiles at her. “Everything is okay with you and Eric, though?”

Sarah thinks about the extra effort Eric has put in lately, especially when he had taken it upon himself to help April the other night. “We are more than fine,” she reassures her sister. She pauses for a moment, wiping a crumb from the table. “Can we keep this between us? I just needed to get that off my chest. And it’s not particularly something I can approach Eric with.”

“You don’t even have to ask. A problem shared is a problem halved. You sure you don’t want anything?”

Sarah stands up, straightening her skirt. “No, I’m going to make a move. It’s getting dark. And I think Eliza is waiting for you.” She finds her boots by the door, slipping her feet inside, and then pulls on her long cloak, shrouding her head with the hood while her sister watches with clasped hands. “If you hear anything from Mark about Jack, let me know as soon as you can.”

“All I know is that signal is bad and they are extremely busy. I barely hear from Mark as much as I’d like,” Mary lies. But it’s for the sake of Sarah’s state of mind, so that can’t be a bad thing…

They hug quickly, and as Sarah steps onto the graveled path, she waves over her shoulder, the light from inside dying with the door closing.

It’s colder than she had realized, the night sky clear and freckled with masses of stars, the moon bright overhead and appearing as if it leads the way home. Of course, Abnegation is like a ghost town, the opposite of Sarah’s Dauntless lifestyle. Most of the people here would be dining with their families and tucked up by nine, not long after their children’s heads had hit the pillow.

Sarah knew this route like the back of her hands. It took her through a patch of abandoned buildings and old streets. She admired the way nature had tried to claim back some of the carnage left behind; growing through the brickwork and sprouting in the cracks in the sidewalk. She even thought the space between Abnegation and Dauntless was like a different solitary world. It was usually the place where the bulk of her thoughts were left to run wild and the only witness of her dreaming was the sun or moon itself. The old buildings were like long forgotten whispers of the past, only still present to be remembered for what was - like gravestones, sad but beautiful.

But something has Sarah peer over her shoulder. Not once had she ever feared walking the short track home, but like the connection she processed when people's moods changed, the same feeling slipped down the back of her neck unexpectedly.

She increases her pace a little more, no longer able to wander in her thoughts - when she hears a sharp scrape behind her. She gasps, having heard it so evidently, twirling round to… nothing. Staying completely still, though her breath left raggedly through her open mouth no matter how hard she tried to control it, the old street remained silent.

After the initial fear, her anxiety creeps in. “Get yourself together, Sarah…” she whispers to herself. “This is stupid.” Turning and heading back towards Dauntless once again, every piece of her skin is on alert. The urge to run ahead screamed in her thighs, but her mind kept her locked with indecisions and uncertainty of why she actually should if there was nothing physically there.

She doesn’t need to be convinced further when the sound of rocks scatter behind her. She grabs the front of her skirt and sprints without looking back. Turning a corner, she pushes herself up against the cover of a building. What sounded like debris is now large striding footsteps, approaching closer and closer. Peering down the dark street to her right, a path set away from her destination, she doesn’t know where it leads, or at least can’t remember precisely in this moment as adrenaline pumped through her veins and blocked her thoughts. Her fingers grip into the concrete behind her and she prays the person will pass without noticing her. The fight or flight instinct was a terribly blurry line between possible stupidity; standing up to whoever was coming behind her, or maybe a chance of escaping and unknowing.

She decides to face her fears, stepping out determinedly, though shaken and comes face to face with… Thomas. She doesn’t hesitate and throws herself into her younger brother’s arms.

“What are you doing?” he questions while chuckling as if she was insane for embracing him so tightly.

“You frightened me!” She whacks his back for good measure.

“I’m sorry. I just saw Mare and she said you’d just left and I didn’t want to miss you.” She still doesn’t let go. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine now.” Standing back she wipes her nose, beginning to smile as the threatening feeling evaporated. She even laughs. “God, I feel so stupid.”

“I’m not surprised. You looked it.” She whacks him playfully on the arm. “What are you so afraid of?”

“I thought I was being followed or… I don’t know!” Putting a hand to her hip, she breathes deeply. “Can you walk me home?”

“I would be delighted.” Enthusiastically, he guides her hand to the crook of his arm and covers it with his own. Sarah feels safe like this. Her once small and young brother; the one she used to protect from all the happenings of the past, now a strong man she could rely on who had changed roles with her. How things had changed. But his next words make her blood run cold. “I only saw you step around the corner, thank god I did, as I don’t think I would have spotted you.”

Sarah quickly calculates the time between when she had stopped and gazed down the path, back towards Abnegation. She swallows dryly. “Just now?”

“I sprinted the whole way. I got my daily dose of exercise.” He continues talking aimlessly, and Sarah peers back behind her, Thomas dragging her forward. What was that?

Sarah opens the door to the apartment and Eric is sitting at the dining table. He’s passive when he sees her, appearing as if he has been waiting. There is no work in front of him and his phone is under one of his hands. “You do realize you have a phone, right?” he asks sarcastically. But she ignores him, unwrapping herself from her long cloak and kicking her boots off.

Eric stands up and rounds the table, waiting a few feet from her.

“April?” Sarah questions.

He shakes his head before replying, “Nightshift.” She doesn’t miss the cocky lift in his lip from his own doing. “Double shift, too.” He seems proud of his own trifling.

Sarah pulls out her hair, unbuttoning the top buttons of her dress. She kicks her boots to one side, rolling down her stockings and lifts her dress over her head in one fluid motion. Standing still, Eric inclines his chin, another way of asking what she was up to.

For the final revelation, she unclips her bra, dropping it to the ground. That’s where Eric’s eyes flick to and then back to her face. “Well, this is a surprise.”

“Stop talking,” she says tremulously. Her last garment is her underwear, flung carelessly without breaking his eye contact. “Take your clothes off.”

Eric stares blankly at her for a moment. Ever so slightly his eyes narrow, his hands reaching up to undo his uniform. His jaw is set as he strips away his top layers, revealing a solid body etched with tattoos and specific marks gained from his line of work. As he breathes, his muscles flex under his skin as if in anticipation of her next move. And he takes a wide, confident stance under her perusal.

When she doesn’t move, he goes for his belt, but that is when she steps forward. “Wait.” She pads over, instantly caught by the close heat of him towering over her, a nervous shake tinging her fingertips. Unclipping his belt, she slides it from the loops of his pants. “Keep this.”

It’s an unusual request that throws him. In his pause, she unbuttons his pants, sliding them down his legs, then straightens, allowing him to remove them.

And then she offers her wrists to him with a mild blush on her cheeks.

“I don’t know what’s happening right now. But I’m not going to question it.” His voice is steady, pulling his belt tight over her desired destination. Tugging on the strap, she tags him along with her and he holds onto the belt until they reach the bedroom. Wrapping the loose leather a few times to secure her, he already knows what she wants.

Eric pushes her onto her front, moving up quickly behind her, and Sarah pants in anticipation. Rubbing the tip of his cock slowly over her clit, he nudges forwards to feel her center when he passes, easing his way in.

Sarah gathers the sheets into her fists, just as he charges forwards. She whimpers semi-consciously, arching her back, trying to spur him on, listening to the raggedness of his breath as the slow strokes are abandoned for hard thrusts; Eric’s control and awareness slipping. Sharp jolts knock her stability, constantly squirming to readjust as his grip tightens on her hips.

“Harder,” spills from her lips. But it’s not what she wants. Eric does what she says, a grunt escaping from his effort. “Harder, Eric. Harder.” Sarah was coaxing him, coaxing him to understand. “Harder!” When his palm connects with her thigh, half playfully, half in frustration it seems, she entices him further. “Yes, like that.” She turns around only to make eye contact, to tell him it was okay. “Again!”

The sound as his palm meets her skin, echoes in the air and she mewls, enjoying the sting. “Again!” And he does so on command. She can feel her body tightening, along with the build-up of guilt and stress she felt and pushed away on a daily basis; it all beginning to unravel. It gets to a point she doesn’t even comprehend what’s she’s saying, murmuring the same word over and over.

It’s only when Eric stops, she glances over her shoulder, irritated and unsatisfied. He’s sweating, panting, rubbing at his temples. “Eric… what-”

“I’ve come, Sarah.” His tone is something she’s barely ever heard before. He’s disappointed.

Lost for words, she awkwardly rolls over to face him in the transcending silence. “What? You mean…”

“You made me come. The way you were talking. What you were saying.” His face is pained, almost disgusted with himself. “Why do you want me to hurt you?”

Did she say that? “I… I…” It’s a fiery burn of embarrassment and loathing for herself that forces its way to the surface of her cheeks. “That’s not…”

“You made me take you like a whore!” Eric explodes, beginning to pace, constantly rubbing his face. “You’re my wife!”

“Exactly!” she retorts. “I am your wife. I… I…” She obviously wanted this, but not with this outcome. She hadn’t thought of the consequences of her over-exhilarant actions. “I am not a whore, Eric!”

“Then don’t make me fuck you like one!”

Sarah’s mouth drops open. Ultimately, she had caused this; she had done this. Eric had his kinks and they were never exactly conventional with their lovemaking but he was always in control. She had taken it to another level, something he wasn’t happy with. In her shame, she pulls the sheet up to cover herself.

Without another word, Eric heads for the door. “Wait! Where… where are you going?” Could she fix this? She could try if she could only talk to him for a moment. But deep down she knew he couldn’t, not in this raging state he was in.

“I can’t even look at you right now.” Eric slams the bedroom door shut. Sitting in the silence of their bedroom, Sarah doesn’t move; she doesn’t cry, doesn’t wallow in her own pity. What she felt, she deserved, and she embraced it.

Jack’s busy staring up at the ceiling. The pain is manageable, causing his mind to be restless. Most of the night he had all the time to think, which he usually wished for. But right now it was too much. Too quiet.

Hearing the door open to his small room, he glances over slowly to Chip smiling. “Came to see the patient. The others sent their regards,” he explains, his eyes traveling to Jack’s arm supported up to his chest to help aid his shoulder. “It suits you.”

Jack scoffs, sitting himself up further. “I’m done with this place.”

Chip strolls more into the room and touches the array of different wildflowers beside Jack’s bed. “Interesting… I would be more surprised if we hadn’t have gone on our woodwalk. I take you for a nature guy now.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Day off.” Chip shrugs, taking a seat on the spare chair next to his bed. “Kind of missed my grumpy friend.”

“You should be with the others.” Jack’s voice is husky, low, almost sounding defeated.

“The others are all doing boring shit or sleeping. Plus, half are still working. I’m just lucky I was picked first. They get the day off tomorrow.” They stare at each other too long until Jack looks away. “And I’m not going anywhere before you say it.”

“Why do you bother?”

In confusion, his friend’s face scrunches up. “What?”

“Why are you here? Why do you bother?” he repeats, sharper than before.

“I can see past the evasive front you put on. It’s getting rather boring now, Jacko Smacko.” Chip pushes from the bed to tilt in his chair. He seems to remember something and pulls out a notepad and pen and begins scribbling. “Jenny asked about you.”

“Great.” He rolls his eyes, his voice laden with sarcasm. “...I’ve been thinking about her the whole time I’ve been in here.”

“What have you been thinking about?” Chip mumbles and Jack looks over to his friend’s tongue sticking out the further he gets into whatever he’s scribbling. He doesn’t acknowledge him, or the fact his question is heavily prying as per usual.

“Honestly?” he asks after a moment. “I’ve been thinking about capping the dick who shot me.”

Rotating the notepad to a weird angle, his friend's voice is almost absent when he says, “You’re going to have an awesome scar.”

“I keep thinking…” He feels himself becoming irritable and hot, letting his head fall back onto the pillows propping him up. “...About my mom.”

Chip pauses now. “I don’t know whether to ask as you told me not to talk about your mom-”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jack interrupts him and sighs. “I just keep thinking about her. I think about April too.”

“No offense, but I’ve never liked April. She’s such a bit-” He looks up at Jack and licks his lips. “…She’s a horrible person, man.” Chip looks down to his notebook. “She tipped a drink purposefully over me once in the Pit. We were in initiation together. She branded me a loser and…” He touches his hair, messing the top of his dark, sandy locks; a thing Jack noticed he did when Chip got nervous. “...She made my life practically hell. Typical class A bully.” He snorts to himself and begins scribbling quicker than before.

It shouldn’t be Jack’s burden to carry the guilt of what April’s done in the past, but he can’t help it. “Mate, you are not the only one. She’s my sister and at times I find it hard to like her.”

“She turned that entire class against me and ever since I’ve been trying to win back people’s respect because of her. She wasn’t that bad with anyone else. I was the only one. Do you have any idea what that is like?”

“I’m sorry.”

Chip inhales sharply, meeting Jack’s gaze, and this time neither breaks it. Obviously, an apology on April’s behalf was not what he was expecting. A smile reflects on both their faces slowly, and Chip turns the notebook to show him. “I’m a little rusty. Not my typical notepad either, it’s a bit small. And ignore the page lines, that’s-”

“You drew me?”

“I like to draw emotions… expressions. It just so happens you have so many of them.”

Cautiously Jack studies him. He’d never met anyone so persistent and open by Dauntless standards.

“You’re even doing it now,” Chip mentions with a smile and points at his friend to emphasize his point.

“Habit,” he mumbles quickly and looks down at his free hand.

“Shall I get coffee?” Chip asks, a coarseness to his voice as he drags himself out of the chair.

“Definitely,” Jack replies and watches Chip leave the room. A heavy feeling of confusion washes over him as he glances at the notepad left open on the chair next to him.

Sarah decides to have lunch back at the apartment with the pitiful hope Eric would come back to find her. He hasn’t. She’s aware of the sound of April banging around in her bedroom getting ready for the day after her night shift.

She sips a coffee, something Eric had got her accustomed to years ago as April makes an appearance, almost dashing by. “Hi, April,” Sarah says with a smile, putting down her coffee cup.

“Oh, hey mom,” she chirps back with a head of bouncing waves. Her eyes land on Sarah’s cup and she comes directly over and snatches it up, sipping it. Sarah was used to it by now.

“I like your hair.”

Vainly, April pulls on a strand. “Thanks! I thought it may be a bit much… You don’t think so, right?” Expectantly, she looks at her.

“I’ve always said you should leave it natural.” Sarah gets the vibe she is about to leave at any minute. “How was work last night?”

“Long, boring, irritating. The usual.”

“Will you sit with me for a minute?” April seems surprised, biting her lip, but does so anyway.

“Where’s dad?”

“I… I don’t know.” Sarah scoffs sadly, peering down to the table.

“You’re not going to cry or anything, are you?” April rolls her eyes. “You know I’m not good with that stuff.”

“No, no! I’m fine. Turn around and let me see the back,” she motions to her hair. April does so, her frame slender and petite from this angle and Sarah revels in the slight attention she has from her daughter, scrunching the ends. “You know, my little sister Elizabeth, Lizzie, your aunty, had very curly hair. I think you two would have gotten on really well, she was... something. You share a lot with your dad, but with her too.”

“Nobody really speaks about her,” April says quietly. “Mary gets all teary whenever she thinks about it or if it’s mentioned.”

“It’s... a hard subject.” Sarah tilts her head, still tending to her daughter's hair.

“What happened? I mean, I know it was an accident…”

Sarah has always avoided the facts as the children were always too young, but she couldn't find fault in the open truth anymore. “We were too late.” She stops, and April turns to face her questioningly. “Me and Mary went to find her after she ran away. The stupid girl wanted to be with the factionless. She couldn’t stand living with Grandma and Grandpa anymore. We found her, but it was too late.”

“Was dad there?”

“He has always been there.” It’s one thing she couldn’t fault him on. Still to this day, she couldn’t work out if Eric saved her that day; stopping her from devotedly crossing the train track to get to Lizzie.

“Is that what happens when people die? They just get forgotten?”

“It’s not that we have forgotten her. She was so full of life, she wouldn’t want us moping around.”

April’s blue eyes narrow. “That’s where you and me are different, mom. When I die, I hope people can’t live without me.”

“Don’t say such a thing! I couldn’t live without you. And I’m sure your father would have the same reply.” April shakes her head, looking out towards the door. “April,” Sarah says sharply. “It’s not forgetting about someone, it’s genuinely just time. It never stops. It never ceases.” She grabs her hand and holds it. “I wanted to keep you small forever, but without time, you wouldn’t have turned into the young and beautiful woman you are today.”

“Forced compliments make me cringe.”

“I’m serious. No matter what, you will always be my little girl. Can’t you see that?”

“This is a real nice mother-daughter moment, mom, but I’m going to be late for work.”

Sarah holds her hand tighter. “Please don’t shut me out anymore. I need you just as much as you need me.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you didn’t need Meredith. So, how could you possibly know about how much we need each other if you hardly had a mother yourself?”

“She’s the exception, not the rule.”

“You’re just like dad, rules to suit yourself - like Jack, for instance. Don’t try and fool me, I know you wish it was me out there and not him. It’s written all over your face, day in and day out.”

Sarah snaps her hand away as if she had been burnt. “How dare you say that!”

“But it’s true!” April stands up, knocking the table. “And you sitting here feeling sorry for yourself, I guess that you and dad have had another row. The quicker he sees you for what you are, an Abnegation, the better. You’ve changed him. I hear all these great stories of this incredible Leader and I never get to see any of it! Why are you forcing yourselves to click with each other? You don’t match!” This was something April had kept submerged and she really couldn’t have picked a more harrowing time to vent them. They were her most inner thoughts and opinions on Sarah’s situation - and it was crushing. More so, because she couldn’t grasp what love is; what it took for them to finally find each other for who they were, sounding like the many bitter people who put themselves in the way of their relationship before. She didn’t see her; her mother, a person willing to see past any front April tried to depict. A friend; Sarah spent so many nights praying to be. All she ever saw was gray. “...And when he divorces you-”

Sarah is possessed with such an awful hurt which unpredictably drags itself to the surface, that she stands up and slaps April’s face with force, just as the front door clicks and Eric steps into the room. Whether his face was like thunder before, she doesn’t know.

April lurches towards Sarah threateningly and Sarah loses her nerve, cringing back.

“April!” Eric bellows. The young girl pants in anger, a red swelling on her cheek from her mother’s hand, the payment of her awful words, and storms past him while all he does is watch.

“I… I didn’t mean to do that…” Sarah runs a hand through her hair, pushing flyaways back in place. “You didn’t hear what she was saying…”

“Have you gone mad? Have you lost your mind? I come back to talk, at the very least, and see you taking a swipe at April now?”

“She was saying hateful things. She loathes the very ground I walk on over something I can’t control. You know what she is like!”

“Oh yeah, I know. But I also thought I knew you.” Eric wipes at his mouth quickly, an irritable fashion he usually did before he exploded. “If you want to take your anger out on someone, take it out on me, not our daughter.”

“You’re defending her?” Sarah says exasperatedly, throwing her arms up. “No… no… Of course you are. I’m stupid to think otherwise.”

“You’re acting pretty fucking stupid right now.”

“I wonder why!” Nothing short of hysterical was the only thing Sarah could begin to describe her tone of voice.

“That’s a question I keeping asking myself!” He steps forward and Sarah’s arm shoots out to stop him.

“She wants you to divorce me!”

“Oh, she does? Is that what you think I’m going to do? If you do, you don’t know me very well either. I took my vows seriously, Sarah.” He proceeds to approach cautiously all while she stands numbly with her outburst, hand to her forehead. “Do you want me to?”

She looks up at him. “No, of course not...”

“At least we’ve got that settled. You’re listening to a lonely girl’s cry for help with a plate load of shit waiting for you back at the office. If it’s too much, just say so.” The head tilt with his reply is a test. She’d seen it so many times now. She knew he had expectations of her and she didn’t want to fail him. He looked completely fresh in his uniform, down to his spotless boots. And she felt sweaty and disheveled, her nerves trip-wiring while he always managed to make it seem effortless.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers defeatedly.

“What for?” His voice is low, not threatening anymore, almost comforting.

“I’m not strong. I’m not like you.” It started to give her a sense of why Eric was how he is. Until put into a similar position, she couldn't fathom her mind being drafted into different sections. She’d always been primed with tasks that were never too much of a responsibility. Yes, she sounded for the council in Abnegation on other topics people relied on, but never to this difficulty of Erudite. With the added effects of April and Jack, it was a recipe for personal and professional disaster. “I try, I really do.”

“Sarah...” As always, he lets his fingers tuck her hair away, gently tilting her face up to him. “I’ve always wanted you for who you are.” He shrugs. “Maybe, at first, I couldn’t quite get that. But I see it now. And always have since. I don’t want you to be like me, sweetheart.”

“But I’m not weak,” she stresses.

“No. You certainly aren’t.” He scoffs, his hands leisurely enveloping her waist. “Who else could stand me for nearly eighteen years? If anything, I feel kind of lucky.”

“Last night-” she rushes to say but he interrupts her.

“Forget about last night.” He dismisses it with a wave of his hand and swiftly cradles her head, pulling her forward, his lips in her hair, he lets her rest in the crook of his neck. “Forget about it. And forget about April too, she’ll get over it. Plus, I have something to show you.” She pulls back to the picturesque sight that is his smirk.

Eric had guided her to the Leader’s suite and covered her eyes as the elevator appeared on their floor. He walks her slowly as she grips his wrists, anxious and a little excited about what was in store that was so top secret that he couldn’t just say.

“You’re scaring me a bit,” she comments, her hands gripping his wrists tighter while she is constantly driven forward by his chest hitting her back.

“That’s alright,” he whispers close to her ear. “Being scared makes you hold me closer.” He pushes up purposefully from behind. “And it reminds me of a time, years ago, down in the dark of the basement when we were trying to find those shitty panels.” His hands tighten on her skin as he mumbles, “Your wide eyes, open mouth, that quivering break in your voice.”

“There was no way, at the time, that you were thinking that.” She scoffs and laughs at how she remembers Eric back in the day. “You were stomping your feet, and you were mad that you had to go and fix the problem yourself.”

“How do you know exactly what I was thinking?” He bites at her neck suggestively, and as she flinches to stop him, he keeps his hands steady over her eyes. “No looking.”

“I remember thinking, ‘what would he do if I reached out and touched him’, as we were descending the steps. I was truly frightened then. I couldn’t see my own feet.”

“Honestly, I was hoping you would.”

Sarah beams, biting her lip to control herself as they swayed to a stop, the familiar waves of heat beginning to tighten pleasantly in the pit of her stomach. “Can I open them now?”

“Hold on.” It sounds like a door clicking open and Eric flicking on a light. A strong smell of fresh paint and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on entranced her senses in a rush. It made it almost impossible to wait any longer, Eric was really drawing this out, until he says, “Okay, you can look now.”

Sarah opens her eyes and gasps.

#bound by honour #chapter 5 #eric coulter #eric divergent fanfiction #divergent #insurgent #beautifulramblingbrains #eric and sarah #jai courtney #fanfiction #fanfic #third installment #continuation

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