#i feel like i need to qualify this and all future fics with the knowledge that i have never gotten drunk before

[quietwingsinthesky]

Prompt: Archangel Polycule getting drunk together for the first time

"What is she doing with its hands?" Gabriel's lost his grasp on pronouns. And on two different glasses.

"I… have no idea." Assuming Gabriel's talking about Lucifer, who's very bad at charades. What is he doing with his hands?

"Are you going to guess?" Michael asks, betraying he's been counting down the seconds of their turn for an eldest sibling team point.

"Hurricane?"

"What? Tax collectors!"

"How is-!" Gabriel shushes them, louder than they are, and crawls into their lap for good measure, hand on their mouth. Raphael harrumphs, pleading eyes at Michael to remove their brother. He ignores them.

[toomanybandstocare]

{Flickering Stars}

Program: Having grown close to the Marshal Commander after joining the civilian relief squad, you find yourselves at each other throats after a trap set by Separatists on Endor. Time ticks as the army pushes on through enemy territory, but almost everyone is more worried about you pulling away after Cody's fear getting the better of him with harsh words. When your life begins to flicker in front of his eyes, Cody does everything he can to save and with the hopes to tell you that he loves you. He'll stop at nothing to make sure your death isn't written in the stars rather than your love story.

Pairing: Pining! Cody x Pining, GN! Reader

Genre: Angst, Star Crossed Lovers (Kind Of)

Length: 5571w

Warnings: Couple of swears, Near death experience and injuries (not too descriptive), Medical references, Reader gets picked up and carried

Counselor Notes: I like emotional pain with my fics what can I say :) As much as I love my boys, I also love seeing them face heartbreak. Let me know if you want to be tagged in future Clone Wars works <3 Would love to chat with duderinos and share thoughts.

Camp Resolute Masterlist

Camper Tags: @staygoldwriting

After passing your engineering exams, you immediately enrolled in the civilian support squadron in the GAR. A strong sense of urgency drove you to learn skills and become an expert in a field that would aid the effort to end the war. During your assessment qualifiers, you proved your knowledge and quick thinking that impressed the squad’s officers. With some of the top marks in your enrollment class, you were immediately paired with the 212th legion and sent to the battle of Christophsis as a part of the emergency relief. Now having worked with the battalion so closely for more than a few cycles, you’ve been invited into their ranks as an honorary member. With all the laughs and helping hands from the troopers, there also comes the high expectations of their Marshal Commander.

When the battalion has the fleeting opportunity to relax either on the starship or planetside, you find yourself gravitating to Cody. His calm composure draws you in, and it washes you in a warm feeling of acceptance. He often brings you a cup of caf when your head is stuck in the engineer of a gunship. Most nights than not, you find yourself kicking at the commander’s shin guards to get him to leave his desk and go eat something. The pair of you have formed an inseparable connection where you both understand each other even without communicating with words to convey it.That, however, doesn’t stop him from treating you any different from those in his command when facing down Separatist droids. Cody’s voice cuts through the chaos of the battlefield to make sure you stay out of the concentrated heat of gunfire. You hold him in high esteem and respect, but there are times where you find yourself acting out of order when needed to survive. Similar enough to how you desperately try to avoid his rightfully upset reaction to your actions in a trap on the latest battle on Endor.

“Do you ever stop to think about how your actions affect all of us?” Cody spits out in frustration. Usually the ever collected and mindful commander, Cody’s normally warm eyes sit heavy on your hunched figure on the med cot. Still dressed in full body armor, he leans against one of the towering trees as he watches the medic carefully place bacta patches on your arms.

Aching and unable to sit up in attention from the dull weight of new bruises and a stinging gash, you curl into yourself. His words punch you in the gut with every syllable. The familiar memory of Cody’s disappointed look is imprinted on the back of your eyelids.

You bite your lip before breathing out, “I just thought -”.

“But that’s just it, isn’t it?,” Cody interrupts you and pushes off the tree. Twigs snap and mulch shuffles underneath his footfall as he stalks closer to you. “You didn’t think. I gave you direct orders to get out of there, and you didn’t listen. It’s my job to make sure that my men and the civilian relief squadron come back safe”. He emphasizes the difference between his battalion of soldiers and your civilian status.

His harsh words sting your waterline. Cody’s plastoid armor and Kix’s med uniform come in and out of view as you focus past them. The flickering embers of the night’s campfire disappear into the darkness. It’d be a relief to be able to join them and turn into dust rather than having to endure this conversation.

“You’re right, Commander,” you softly mumble. Your voice sounds watery and disconnected even to your own ears.

As Cody’s concerned eyes watch you further crawl into yourself, a shoulder shove breaks his gaze. His heart aches from the long term adrenaline rush of witnessing you put yourself in danger today while setting off a Separatists landmine when trying to disarm it. However, it comes to a stand still when he meets Kix's hard expression of warning. Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, Cody clears his throat and faces your shrinking form. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, “Just- just go to bed after you’ve been cleared. I need to get back to the command console, so I don’t have time to feed into your guilt tonight. What’s done is done, and we’ll just need to work past all this … and the clanker reinforcements”.

Your throat constricts as you raise your gaze to watch the bottom of his boots walk away from you.

“He’s,” Kix starts after a long pause, “just concerned for your safety. You gave us all a good scare today”. He tries to break the tense air with a light chuckle, and he offers you a sympathetic smile.

“I just wanted to help,” your hoarse voice whispers with the fire’s crackling. “Disarming a landmine is part of my job description and well within my skill set. It shouldn’t have been something to cause the Commander to reprimand me. Maybe because it went off. Certainly not because I was doing my job”. You have to push the words past the weight of today’s events lingering.

“You’re right, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting to help. Especially if it’s within your expertise,” Kix reassures you. He bites the inside of his cheek and thinks about his next words extremely carefully. It seems every clone and GAR official has taken an unofficial oath to tiptoe between your’s and Cody’s feelings for each other. Each swearing they won’t interfere, because everyone understands the severity of love during war.

Kix places a hand on your shoulder and shifts to make your gaze meeting his own. His understanding expression looks strained, but it still manages to send small waves of ease through you. His lips press into a tired smile, and he moves to start cleaning up the med station to move out in the morning. Kix calls over his shoulder, “Why don’t you take it easy tonight? Get some sleep and let tomorrow come as a fresh start. I’ll send a comm over to your squad leader to take you off move out prep to give yourself a break”.

“No, it’s okay. I can -”, your words fall off your tongue when Kix flashes you a stern look. You heave a sigh knowing his word is final. “Thanks,” you weakly smile at him and push off the cot.

Aware of your aching muscles, you start the small trek across camp. The majestic Endor forest envelopes everyone in a peaceful pocket of safety tucked away for the night. Hammocks stretch across the ancient trunks as laughter echoes from all sides and hushed conversations hum with the insects. Each battalion has their own sections, and you catch glimpses of small stacks of painted armor near the entrances. 

The only exception being the CO console in the center of basecamp. Three Jedi generals, Masters Kenobi, Skywalker, and Koon, huddle around the holotable with their respective commanding officers. Only the 501st’s Captain is missing from the meeting. Most likely seeing if Kix needs any assistance packing up, you assume.

“I’m afraid the effects of today’s trap are more concerning than we had initially feared,” General Koon explains. With a tap on the hologram, he reveals the flickering waves of red blips hovering in the surrounding area. An entire droid army waiting. Watching. Planning.

You pull your attention away from the group as nausea burns your stomach. With much effort you put one foot in front of the other and try to focus on how the mossy floor sinks underneath you. Just one step at a time, and you’ll make it to your hammock.

“Can I speak to you for a minute,” a voice calls out behind you. Footsteps unnoticed in your intense focus. A gloved hand carefully claspes an uninjured area of your arm to slowly ease you to a stop.

You keep your eyes cast down on the toadstools and forest floor, but blue scuffed armor plates and kama step into view. Two blasters strapped to the Captain’s gear belt.

“It’s not your fault,” Rex quietly states. His belief in you rings clear. “Cody,” Rex slows his speech and words his thoughts carefully, “can be a bit difficult and intense when it comes to the wellbeing of people involved in operations. He also doesn’t always remember that your training and strategy decisions come from a different perspective than our own”.

“Captain,” you sigh.

“Rex,” he pushes back. “We’re friends,” Rex’s voice was almost a desperate plea. “Don’t shut me, or any of us out, just because of our di’kut of a brother”. His heart hammers against his chest when his pathetic attempt at a joke is met with crickets.

“I get it. You don’t need to feel bad or worry about me,” your words sound like an automatic recording. Tugging your arm out of his grasp, you shoot him a strained smile. You don’t dare meet his gaze as he quickly tries to see your face. “I won’t fuck anything else up for you boys, and I’ll stay in my lane fixing your equipment mess at the end of the day. I know where my place is after today”. You bow your head quickly and rush off to the civilian relief section before Rex can respond.

As you near the camp, all eyes peer past the roaring campfire and watch you approach. Slate, a long time friend and member of your enrollment class, nods in the direction of what you can only assume is your home for the night. You flash your Twi’lek friend an appreciative look as you head straight to your hammock. Each step lighter than the last.

As you sit down on your makeshift bed, your eyes can’t help but search for gold painted armor at the CO console through the tree line openings. The hard expression of each man still focuses on the holotable. Cody shifts his weights from one foot to the other. A twitch of exhaustion or exasperation flickers across his face before he throws his head back slightly and presses his hands into his face. You’ve seen this gesture many times when the two of you were working on reports together late at night tucked away in the officer’s lounge. 

Just out of your view, a blue glove knocks into Cody’s shoulder. He quickly catches himself and looks like he’s about to have a go at the guilty party, but a smile slips onto his face. Chuckles shake Cody’s shoulder, and you watch as Rex easily pulls Cody back from his stormy emotions.

“Fuck,” you hiss. Sinking into the hammock’s hold, you bat away threatening tears as you stare up at the starry sky. Little blips twinkle before your tired eyes. All glowing in their own beautiful hues and brightness. They proudly write their stories for the galaxy’s celestial archive before they flicker one last time. Before they leave an empty void among their constellation collective. With a sigh, you close your eyes and hope drifting into slumber will ease the ache settling in your body and making home in your heart.

Just as quickly as the morning rays trickle through the treetops, the GAR packs up and moves out from basecamp. Only the sounds of animal calls and twigs snapping underfoot echo around you as the army pushes further into the forest. General Koon and the wolf pack lead the legions while General Skywalker and the 501st guard the back. General Kenobi and Commander Cody stick close to the middle of the formation with the relief squad and medic staff.

From where you sit atop the ray cannon, you overlook the entire army and watch the approaching paths for any disturbances. Cody’s constant hovering nearby and careful watch over your movements during load out sparked your nerves. The mechanical vibrations from the vehicle bounce through you and do nothing but add to the stinging anxiety nipping inside your skin. Looking down from your spot, you steal a glance at the commander.

Even though he’s so sure of his footing, Cody’s posture is locked stiff. His helmet constantly scans the area before turning upward just enough to catch sight of your figure.

“When do you reckon those clankers will pop out,” a low voice breathes against the shell of your ear.

You whip your head to see Slate next to you as he attempts to keep his wheezing laughter. “Not funny,” you hiss. As your heart races up your throat, a traitorous laugh escapes your lips.

“Got you to laugh a little though,” Slate points out with a flicker of glee in his eyes.

“Nearly made me jump off this thing,” you mutter and bump his shoulder.

Leaning close, Slate’s warm breath fans across your necks. He whispers, “And who would have been right there to catch you when you fall, hm?”

A flush washes over your, and you indulge yourself with the thought. How Cody would hold you close to him. How the steady rise and fall of his chest would feel against your own. His hands would hold you gently as Cody looks you over. Even with his helmet on, you could still imagine his gaze full of care. Your eyes flutter closed as every worry seeps away and you fall further into your daydream.

“Have you two forgotten that we are in the middle of enemy territory. Trying to move undetected,” Cody’s static voice shocks you awake.

Your body grows rigid as you peer down to meet his shielded gaze. Unfortunately, you could feel every ounce of disapproval through his visor.

“No, sir,” both you and Slate reaffirm.

“Sure have an interesting way of keeping quiet then,” Cody dryly mutters as he turns away.

Your stomach drops. When you redirect your gaze to the front of the army, the hair tingles at the back of your neck. Commander Wolffe raises his fist in the air and foot steps halt immediately. Only the machine’s hum can be heard in the clearing. The forest stands still. Silent.

“Here we go,” you faintly register General Skywalker’s voice.

A distant whirl fast approaches, and you watch with wide eyes as a small missile flies straight towards the legions. It cuts through the air with precision before landing just ahead of the group. Its impact rocks the ground with debris and smoke a few klicks ahead of everyone.

As the air begins to clear, your ears twitch at the forest’s sudden rustle. Scuffle and snapping surrounds the entire army deep within the forest line. You blink away the dust as you sight darts from a shrub to shaking branches above.

Only able to hear blood rushing to your ears, you find yourself looking to the man you’ve always admired. A man who you haven't gathered the courage to express your growing feelings towards. The very same man who, despite his training to stay alert and focused on possible threats during this type of situation, looks up at you

Cody’s heart pounds against his chest. He swears it’s trying to find its way home to you in fear of the worst to come. Unknowingly, he scuffles his foot closer to the ray cannon. He pushes his feet deeper into the ground, ready to jump into action. When the time comes, he needs to be able to get you out of harm's way. Should he just climb up now? He could easily grab you and run out of the battleground for cover.

You watch as Cody’s body freezes almost stuck in mid action. But the sound of a breakthrough pulls your attention away. An assassin droid rushes from the treeline and swings its blade down on the closest trooper. Clashing metal on plastoid triggers the forest to snap. Blasters sound off the cacophony as the cannon booms into action nearly jostling you off. Without hesitation or delay, the GAR jumps into action.

“Come on,” Slate hollers. His oil glove grabs the top of your arm and pulls you to the rooftop entrance to the canon.

“Get to cover. Now,” Cody shouts.

Tossing a look of worry over your shoulder, you watch as Cody fights off a different assassin droid. General Kenobi deflects targeted blaster rays, by his side.

“We don’t have time. He’ll be fine,” Slate pushes. His grasp firmly tugs at you. When you meet his gaze, Slate only shows calm determination.

“Right, let’s move,” you nod. Your voice wavers only slightly as you attempt to convey the same assuredness. All to mask over the flooding panic that fills you. Heart stabbing you with every beat as you pull away from Cody.

The two of you jump down the hatch and secure it before joining the clones at its control.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite mecha civvies,” Clash spares the two of you a glance over his seat. “Hang on. We’re in for a tough fight”.

Axel, the lead operator, adjusts the systems and makes the cannon lurch forward. As the vehicle moves forward and cuts through the battlefield, blaster rays ricochet off the outer hull. Faint shouts and screams from outside are muffled by the incoming comm static.

“We need you to clear a path through the approaching line and destroy as many of those droids as you can,” General Kenobi’s voice rings through the control room.

“If you get past that wave, try to make it to the missile launch,” General Skywalker grunts. Reverb from his lightsaber cracks with static and blaster impact snaps through the transmission. “That’s our only chance at pulling this off”.

“Copy that, sir,” Axel responds and flicks some of the switches on the control panels on the wall.

“Sending signal to move out of our way, now,” Clash pushes a button.

Both operators adjust their controls, and the cannon moves faster. Smoke blankets an ominous shadow over the front view. Only the vibrant light of blaster shots and swinging lightsabers cut through.

“If you turn on the floodlights, you’ll break through the cloud,” you explain as you lean forward between the two seats. “They’re also set to a frequency that’ll temporarily blind droid vision”.

“Knew you were our favorite civvie for a reason,” Clash teases. He flips the switch as Slate protests his jab, and you watch as the battlefield is blinded by bright light.

“What are you doing,” Cody exclaims breathlessly through your wrist comm.

“Following orders, Commander,” you calmly remind him. “I am capable of following my job every once and awhile”.

Broken snickers from the others in the vehicle fuel your confidence. However, the onslaught of blasters rain down on the cannon’s exterior makes you swallow a lump in your throat. Through the front viewport, you watch as the majority of firepower now targets you.

“I never doubted that,” Cody growls, “but this is too dangerous. You and Slate need to get out of there and let Clash and Axel handle this”. 

You bristle at his words. They ring eerily familiar from the previous night’s stab.

“And do what? Walk free in the midst  of enemy territory,” you snap back, throwing his own observation back at him.

“What, you don’t trust us to keep your precious cy’are safe?” Axel leans into your wrist comm’s range. He pulls back in laughter.

“I’m going to have to side with Axel on this, Commander. I’m offended by your lack of faith in us,” Clash jokes. “You’d think we’re a couple of shinies with how you’re talking about us”. 

Clash and Axel push the cannon further through enemy lines. Clanking metal clatters against its hull as it swings from side to side underneath you. The launch pad slowly comes closer into view.

“Don’t worry,” Axel reassures Cody. “We’re making good progress, sir. Target in sight, and we’ll be breaking for regroup before you even know it”.

“Maybe save your near death confession for another time, ori’vod,” Clash chuckles.

“Wait,” you start to question.

“Shebs’palons,” Cody shouts.

Both your words tumble together, but they’re cut off by the viewport shattering.

“Shit, stay back,” Clash yells. His words cut off by an assassin droid’s blade to his neck.

Slate immediately pulls out his blaster and shoots off a few rapid shots. He renders the droid useless. Slate pushes past you and moves the deceased clone out of the seat and the droid out the broken opening in the viewport. As he takes a hold of the controls, more blaster bolts descend upon the cannon. Their flashing energies scorch the inside control systems.

“What’s going on up there?” General Kenobi’s comm cuts in and through the cannon’s transmission.

You can’t pull your eyes away from the viewport as the missile launch rotates and locks onto the cannon.

“Clash is dead, sir,” Axel grunts. “Slate is on second. Front viewport compromised. Nearly to target”.

The launcher’s mechanisms click and grind at your approach. Almost like it’s snarling its teeth, readying to bite back.

“We can’t hold on much longer. Whatever you do -” General Skywalker’s voice fizzles.

All other noise falls mute to your ears. Only the hiss of ignition registers.

“Get down,” you scream.

“Cyar’ika”, Cody calls out in panic.

Blasting into the air, the missile hurdles head on towards the cannon. You pull yourself to look away from its fast approach and crouch behind Axel’s seat. The impact sends you flying into the back wall panels. Searing quick flashes of pain shoot through your body. When you pry your eyes open, black splotches block parts of your vision. A mute hum rings in your ears.

“Hey,” a far away voice calls out.

You push off the floor and ignore your body’s protests.

“Need you to -” the voice fizzles out.

Forcing your aching muscles, you return to the control seats. There, sitting in a pool of sickly sweet blood, Slate’s body slumps over the console. His eyes, void of any emotion, stare up at you.

“We don’t have time,” Axel’s panicked shouts cut through your hearing clearly, “I am so sorry for your loss, but I need you here”.

“Cyar’ika,” Cody’s voice barely comes through your comm, “Are you okay? Talk to me”.

“Alright. What’s the current status,” you inquire and clear your mind of all distractions as you pull your friend out of the way. With care, you place him beside your other fallen friend.

“Utter shit,” Axel hisses as he jostles the controls and checks the system sensors.

“Status,” Cody grunts in confusion. “Forget status. Get out of there, now”.

You sit at the second seat and jury the controls. Everything feels tight to the touch.

“Cannon controls are dead,” Axel declares. An understanding of the situation fills the atmosphere with a heavy decision to be made between the three of you.

“We’re just behind you,” Cody’s voice through in bits and pieces. “Get out and search for cover until we regroup”.

Scanning what’s left of the control panels, you refocus on the launcher. Your eyes quickly dissect its build as you’re just a few klicks away. “This,” you slowly break the anticipation, “should be just enough. Even at his speed”.

Your words hang in the air. Pulling a deep breath up and out your mouth, you face Axel with cool determination. He pulls off his helmet and shares a bittersweet expression of agreement.

“Just enough,” he weakly confirms and clears his throat. Axel nods his head to you and begins to adjust his station. “Let’s see what’s left of this old thing and if we can get some more power”. 

“What are you doing,” Cody bellows and grunts from your commlink. The background noise of the Separatist onslaught comes through and solidifies your resolve. “I gave you a direct order. Do not,” his panting catches on his words, “go through with this plan”.

Swallowing a threatening sob, you mirror Axel’s movements and adjust your controls accordingly. As you patch all remaining power on your side to the engine, your determined gaze locks onto the panicking droids by the launcher. Just a few more klicks.

“All systems powered,” you announce.

“Don’t,” Cody begs.

“Target in sight and locked onto,” Axel confirms.

“Just wait,” Cody yells.

You grip the controls tighter. Nerves swirl in your stomach, pleading with you to turn away, as you jostle closer to the launcher.

“Three,” Axel yells over warning signals beeping.

“Stand down, Axel,” Cody tries to take back command.

“Two,” you grit out.

The wave of blasters intensifies, and you feel each minor impact’s vibration land in your core. Through the haze, you can make out the model number on the launcher’s base plate.

“Please, cy’are,” Cody desperately pleads with you.

A final attempt to convince you to come home.

“One,” Axel shouts and jerks the controls forward.

You move the controls in sync and switch on the back up power.

The sudden acceleration pushes you further into your seat, and your heart hammers against your ribs. Tears freely flow from your lash line. Either from the lack of protection from the wind or an understanding of the consequences of your actions.

“Cody,” you breathe out.

The words die in your throat as collision shutters all around you. As your body’s thrown against the wall, you try to imagine how safe you felt curled into Cody’s side. The two of you are always by each other’s sides during breaks and evening watch. One night at the mission’s start, the pair of you sat at the camp’s main fire and pointed out constellations. Cody kept you close with an arm wrapped around you. His warmth rivaled the fire’s as it spread through you and sent your heart into a flurry.

As the cannon’s hull shudders and collapses from pressure, it sends you forward into the control console back into reality. In the midst of metal scraping and cramping, distant shouts and screams from outside the vehicle register in your mind. Too tired, your eyes flutter shut just as you could easily reach out and touch the missile loaded into the launcher with your hand. 

Please, Maker, just let Cody survive this. All of this: this battle, this war, losing his brothers, and letting me go.

The cannon catches and lurches forward further. Only all forces pivot the machine onto its front ledge and push it upward. Unable to move your body against the pressure crushing you onto the console, you reach towards Axel and grab his glove with a tight grip. Knots twist and turn in your stomach from the impending impact.

Gritting through the pain and pushing away the droid carcass, Cody’s sight locks onto the cannon as it begins rear into the air. All sense of control disappears from his mind as he pushes off the ground and races through the raging battle. Not bothering with his gun, Cody chokes on his breathing to get to you as soon as he can. His heart screaming for his other half as his lungs beg for relief.

“Cody,” General Kenobi calls from beside him, “You focus on evacuating the crew. Anakin and I will try to stop the cannon going topside and buy you some time”.

His chest burns with every step, but Cody only sucks in a breath as he launches himself at the side of the near vertical vehicle.

“Got your back, vod,” Rex’s voice rings through the helmet channels. “On the other side. I’ll get Axel”.

“I’m not going to let my cy’are die a hero,” Cody grits. He moves with precision and uses the ledges to creep towards the shattered window. 

“The only way that’ll ever happen,” he huffs and pulls himself into the hull, “is once my heart stops beating”.

The vehicle teeters as he stands above your body on the console. Lights flicker and illuminate the trickle of blood glistening next to your head.

“My loyalty may lie with the Republic,” Cody grunts and pulls you up to his chest. His words directed to your limp body in laying in his hands. “But my allegiance is with you. I will lay down my life for you if you give the command”.

Cody holds you close and moves with the vehicle’s slow shift in force. Now standing on the hull’s floor, he cradles your body and leans over the console to hand you to Kix. It’s actions like these that have him worried about both your lives. Without you by his side, his life will come to an end.

Quickly hopping out of the vehicle, Cody hurries to follow Kix over to the makeshift medical station. Already filled with many injured, some cots have sheets pulled over the lost lives. Before Cody can get too close to the station, an arm clamps down on his shoulders.

“Give them space to work,” Rex warns his brother. A low, rumbling threat lingers between the two.

“I need to be there. With -” Cody’s words rush out in a breathless flood.

“Cody,” Rex pulls him meet eye to eye. His collected, yet serious, expression eases some tension in Cody’s locked body. “Let Kix do his job. ‘Member what he always says?”

“‘I outrank all of you when it comes to someone’s life,’” Cody barely mumbles. A wave of dizziness sinks into him as the coursing adrenaline begins to melt away from his system. His breathing racks through his pained lungs as he attempts to recollect himself.

Rex smiles a little and opens his mouth, but shouts from the med station come out instead.

“We have a drop,” Kix calls out, “I need another pair of hands”.

Cody’s body jerks in Rex’s hold. His body moves to be by your side without thought, but Rex blocks him from stepping closer.

“Get out of my way,” Cody snaps. Anger boiling and seething as his breathing grows heavy again. His vision tunnels, only focused on your general direction, before his dark eyes lock onto Rex.

“Waxxer,” Rex shouts for back up.

In a moment of opportunity, Cody breaks Rex’s hold and bolts. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. Need to get to you. Be by your side where I should have always been.

Almost to the med station, Cody makes out your arm hanging off one of the cots. Just a few more steps, and I’ll be with you, riduur.

Wind kissing his cheeks, it then swipes across Cody’s face as something impacts his side and knocks him onto the ground. Cody twists to try to balance himself, but another impact hits his back and holds him down on the mossy, forest floor.

“Sorry, vod,” Waxxer breathes heavily, “but you’ll understand later”.

“Get off me,” Cody’s hoarse voice pleads.

“Not yet,” Rex pushes back.

Grappled by his two closest brothers, Cody can only watch as medics flurry around your cot.

“We’re losing time,” Kix snaps. “Where’s the med-vac?”

Coddy shudders a breath as his concentrated gaze focuses on you. He wrestles against his brothers, trying to break free of their hold. “I will never,” he growls lowly, “ forgive either of you if I lay here and witness the death of the love of my life”.

“I know,” Rex softly admits. He watches as Kix’s team works quickly with injections and IV stands to do what they can to stabilize you. It doesn’t look good as Kix looks up to search for the approaching evac ships. The air gradually swirls and howls as the med-vacs hover nearby.

Making sure the medical team is accounted for and all patients have been loaded on, Rex nods to Waxxer. Both step away from Cody and let him run home free.

Cody doesn’t process anything in the time he recognizes being released and the time he finds himself jumping onto the ship’s loading floor. His body moves on instinct, and Cody gravitates to your cot. All air hardens in his lungs at the sight of the scattered wounds and bruises littered across your skin.

“I’m only letting you come, because I know you’ll only get yourself killed if you’re separated,” Kix slowly explains.

Cody sits on the nearest seat as he takes your hand in his own. Mindful of the IV, he rests in an uncomfortable position to hold you. If he ever needs to check, he can subtly slide two fingers to your pulse point. For his sake or if asked by the medical staff.

“What do I always say,” Kix asks. His voice mixed with seriousness and light teasing. He tries to ease the Commander’s worry while reminding him that Kix is in charge in this situation. Regardless of whether he's attending to a brother or lover.

“Kix,” Cody’s voice breaks, “I am not your commanding officer. I come before you as a man begging you to do everything you can his cy’are. Should you need anything, just give the command and I will follow your orders. If you ask me to collect a vial of blood from the Zillo beast, I will come back only once I have successfully collected it or not at all.There is nothing I won’t do to help save the light of my life. Even if it means leaving them in your care and temporarily stepping away from their side”.

Cody briefly pries his watery eyes from the strained rise and fall of your breathing to meet Kix’s concerned gaze.

“Please, vod,” Cody croaks. Tears sting his lash line as Kix’s expression melts from shock to sympathy. 

“Save my flickering star, so I can confess to my cyar’ika that they’re the love of my life”.

[lenathesingingcat]

For day 11 of @themiserablesmonth and the prompt “Wish”, here’s me projecting my own Tragic Backstory™️ and feeling better by doing so!

TW: discussion of an OC who killed themselves (off-page, nothing bad actually happens within the fic but it is talked about) and the effects that has on friends.

Wish You Could Be Here

Enjolras was often awake after midnight working on Les Amis’ activism, but what was unusual was for anyone he knew to be up at the same time, at least to his knowledge. That’s why the text confused him, but he read it through.

I miss you. I know you’ll never read this, but I wish I could talk to you, I wish I could see you again. I thought I’d got better, I’d stopped blaming myself for not messaging you enough, but then… I don’t know. I went to some karaoke place, and someone sung a song from a show you were in when we were little. When she sung the part about her child, about their bright, hopeful future, I just cried. Who knows what your future could have been… I just wish I could see you again, even just once.

Enjolras quickly texted back, This is my new number. I’m very sorry for your loss.

A new message arrived. I’m sorry. I never meant to disturb anyone, especially at this time of night, or, well, morning. Didn’t know this was anyone’s number, at least anymore.

It’s alright, I’m up late too, working. But it sounds like you need to talk to someone.

Maybe I do, but none of my friends even know about this. I’m not about to drag them into this now, when they all have bigger things to worry about.

Enjolras considered this, before replying, Well, how about me? I already know, and I could listen, or help you find someone more qualified than me. Your friends may have “bigger things to worry about”, but my priority is helping whoever needs it.

It was a few minutes before the person replied, and Enjolras started to worry, but then a reply came through. It isn’t really something I can express via text.

Then I’ll meet you. Do you know the Musain?

If you’re sure I won’t be bothering you was the reply, and this made Enjolras all the more sure.

I’m sure. Tomorrow, after lunch?

Don’t you mean today? was the reply, followed by, I’ll be there.

The next day, or the same day depending on how you look at it, Enjolras waited. To his surprise, Grantaire walked in. He probably shouldn’t have been too surprised, since all of Les Amis came here quite a lot, but he called him over.

Grantaire looked surprised too, but he sat down anyway. “Enjolras? What are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting for someone. I thought maybe if you don’t have anywhere to be, I could talk to you.”

“Actually, I am meeting someone here. Some random stranger who thinks they can solve all my problems. And before you try to tell me just how sketchy that sounds, I know, I’m still not sure if I’m about to get murdered. But then, that would solve my problems, wouldn’t it?” Grantaire tried to play it off as a joke, but Enjolras could see the sadness in his eyes.

And then it clicked.

“I can’t believe this! You were the one who texted me?”

“Impossible.” Grantaire seemed sure. “I have your number. I would have known I was talking to you.”

“I had to get a new number! Some people who are against our cause found out my number. I put all this on the groupchat for Les Amis, asking everyone to text my new number so I could add them to my phone, but…”

“That explains it. I’m not part of the group.”

Enjolras looked at him in surprise. “Why not? I sent you an invite to join…”

“Didn’t think it would make much difference. After all, I never contribute anything…”

“That’s not true, Grantaire. You point out how we could fail, and we use that to make our plans better. And… well, you make us happy. You make me happy. I know I’ve never expressed that before, but - ”

“And it seems pretty convenient that you suddenly express it when you find out that I need help! You think it’s your job to save everyone! But you can’t. I learned the hard way that some people can’t be saved from their own minds…”

“But most people can, and so we have to try. And you must understand. Look how much you’ve been hurt by what happened. Don’t do that to Les Amis.”

Grantaire looked at the floor for a moment. “I never thought of it that way…” he admitted. “Alright, I give in, if only for Les Amis, since you’re convinced I mean so much to them.” He laughed, then turned serious again. “Will you help me find help?”

“Of course.” Enjolras resisted the urge to pull Grantaire into a hug, to tell him the real reason why he needed Grantaire to stay. This wasn’t the time. If it went wrong between them now, that could make things much worse. So he would wait. And then he would be there.

[waywardimpalawriter]

Man out of time (Marcus Moreno x Female Reader)

Man out of time

Pairing:  Marcus Moreno x Female Reader

Characters: Marcus Moreno, Missy Moreno, Anita Moreno, mentions of Miracle Guy,  

Setting: few months after the end of We can be heroes 

Rating: PG-13 for now

Warnings: few curse words, angst mostly,

 Word count: 1,610

Summary: Simple, two syllable word Dictionary.com say’s it means easy to understand, deal with, use, etc. Marcus Moreno curses its existence, wishing his katana’s could cut through with a neat slice and bring back what he’s lost.   

Notes: Written for Writer Wednesday held by the marvelous @autumnleaves1991-blog​. I’ll admit I battled with this one for a good while and with the help of @icanbeyourjedi​ decided this would be my first Marcus Moreno fic. I do hope you all enjoy and as always much love to all my doves. 

“You promised remember?” Stubborn set to her small statue, arms across with a deep glare in those normally sweet brown eyes. “What happened to that promise dad?”

Looking to his mom for help but coming up empty as she just lifts her hands and shrugs with a small roll of her eyes before turning away to head back towards the kitchen. “Thanks mom,” slight sarcastic twist to the tone. Hand resting on popped out hip studying his daughter while searching for the right words to explain. “True it’s no emergency like two months ago Missy but the mission is simple enough I’ll be back home before the weekend.”

“Take me with you then,” brow lifting in challenge remind Marcus so much of her mother the memory picking his heart.

Pushing those thoughts aside, “I can’t you have school and training,” seeing her fixing to protest he holds up a hand to stall the flow of words. “Besides it’s too dangerous, this isn’t a typical mission the Heroics would go on.”

“So they push it on you, why?” Voice rising slightly with worry and a dash of fear for her father’s safety.

Running a hand through his hair tugging the dark strands lightly in frustration. “Things are…” always searching for the right words to explain, without giving too much away and keeping Missy in the dark to protect her. “Complicated Missy I have to lead by example you know that sweetheart. Please trust me when I say this isn’t something I want to do.”

“Then why…”

Sighing Marcus steps towards his daughter crouching down so their eye level, “Because I’m the only one qualified to take the mission.” Resting a fingerless gloved hand on her slim shoulder, “Simple in and out, take out the bad guy done,” offering her, his patented half smile. “Besides you’ve got your friends now and training you’ll never notice I’m gone.”

Expressive chocolate eyes roll but the smirk is all Moreno when they lock back with her father’s. Flinging herself into his arms, wrapping her own around his neck and hugging the life’s breath from his lungs. “You’re wrong dad I’ll miss you,” trying to keep the trembling from her voice. Tears pricking the back of her eyes, nose rubbing along the leather jacket he’s wearing. “Four day’s right? No longer?”

“No longer just four days sweetheart,” pulling back to smile at his daughter catching the fear in her glassy eyes. “I promise to be safe.”

“And come home right?” She adds still clinging to her father’s shoulders. Memories of watching the alien’s wrap their mechanical arms around and pull him into the ship still very fresh in her mind. Never wanting a repeat performance of those horrible three hours.

Nodding, “Yes ma’am and I expect you to mind your abuela, do your homework and train.” Ticking off each one while giving her a smile.

“Always dad,” eyes rolling again as she lets him go, standing to his full height now. “When do you leave?”

Smiling slipping to a frown, “Once I’m packed. Intel came in this afternoon and I’ve been briefed.”

“Ah so that’s why your wear this ridiculous get up and rode in on that obnoxious two wheeled death machine,” putting her own words into the conversation, Anita Moreno rejoined her son and granddaughter leaning heavily on her cain. “Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me Marcus Moreno you aren’t too old for me to whip,” banishing her walking stick towards him affectionately.

“Mom,” wanting too but doesn’t roll his eyes at her words, heart warmed by the undercurrent of worry he picks up despite her admonishment. Knowing much like Missy, she worried about his well being and the dangers lurking around each corner for the leader of the Heroics. “Neither of you need to worry, it’s a simple mission nothing I haven’t faced before.”

Boy had he been wrong about those last few words, cursing that two syllable word with every fiber in his being while trying to adjust to these strange surroundings. Floating car honking, racing pass Marcus standing stock still in the middles of what didn’t appear be to a street.

“Hey asshole move before you get flown over,” half hanging out the window with a middle finger salute aimed his way.

Itching to use his powers on the punk Marcus shakes his head stepping back and almost tripping over the cement curb.  Mesmerized by the sheer sights surrounding him. Blinking several times thinking he’s seeing things or at the very least Miracle Guy is playing some seriously messed up trick on him.

“Lost?” Soft feminine voice questions from behind him.

Turning slowly, weary of who’s standing at his back, “You could say that.”

“Marcus Moreno?” Gasp issues from her parted lips eyes shocked wide almost like seeing a ghost. “But… but your…”

Frowning unsure of this woman with how she’s acting at seeing him. “I’m what?”

“Dead…” her words echo around him like a thick fog.

Head shaking, reaching into his jeans pocket to pull the cell phone out cursing upon finding it’s out of juice. “The rumors of my demise are greatly exaggerated.” Trying to make light even as a stone starts to sink in his stomach. “Miracle Guy put you up to this? Has to be some kind of simulation testing me right?”

“No… no it’s,” bitting her lip, she takes a step forward pulling a thin clear plastic looking object from her pocket. “What year is it?”

“Why?” Looking between her face and the light up piece of tech in her hand, Marcus takes a step back. Only to be honked at by another flying car. “Tech guys stepped up their game this time around.”

“Because,” swallowing harshly, “your not in Kansas anymore Toto.” Trying and failing to give a half smile. Only to have it fall with he scowl Marcus sends her. “Answer the question first then I’ll explain.”

Sighing, running a shaky hand through his hair, dread filling his veins, “2021, March if I remember.”

“I”m sorry Dorothy but you’re wrong,” glancing down eyes focused on the thin piece of plastic in her grasp. Pulling up the calendar to show him the date. “It’s March 14, 2041 and you good sir have come back from the dead.”

Gapping like a fish out of water, Marcus can’t seem to string two words together till a bubble of laughter leaves his chest. Morphing into chuckles and finally a great big belly laugh which has him doubling over holding his stomach and slapping his knee. “It’s a joke right? Miracle Guy, Tech-No he’d be able to pull something like this off.”

Glancing up at her, seeing the weariness even a touch of fear painted in those deep eyes. Turning her phone back around to pull up the news report. Male voice echoing around the two of them only slightly drowned out by the busy city still churning.

“The search has been called off for Heroic’s leader Marcus Moreno as it entered the third week with no sign. Our hearts go out to the Moreno family hit by this tragedy. Leaving so many to wonder what exactly happened and how did his last mission go so wrong.”

Shaking his head, eyes blinking several times to clear the imagines of Missy and Anita crying in each others arms. Surrounded by the children of the Heroics and the hero’s themselves, each taking the news differently. Vision filled with Missy’s red rimmed, tear streaked face breaking his heart, legs giving out from under him and crumbing to his knees.

“I don’t… I just left… it’s been two hours,” words stuttering from his mouth trying to grasp exactly what happened.

Debating with herself whether to step forward for comfort or turn to leave. The former winning as she drops beside him, returning the phone to its pocket and carefully gathering this broken semi stranger into her arms. “I’m sorry, this wasn’t the intension we had. There’s,” swallowing hard when she feels him stiffen beside her. “A plan, we had a plan but it’s changed and now you’re stuck.”

Wide with anger and shock, Marcus’s deep chocolate eyes raise to look at her. “You did this?”

Gulping for air and words, “Not me solely no, I apologize truly this wasn’t… I mean,” fidgeting under the intense stare, bottom lip caught by her tongue and drug between pearly whites. “I’m sorry Marcus so sorry,” short sob leaving a dry throat.

“Sorry for what? For taking me away from my life, from my time period or from the little girl who needs her father? Because as I see it right now this is all manner of fucked up and your gonna do something about it. Fix this shit so I can get back to my daughter.” Seething with rage Marcus stands to his full impressive height. Reaching behind to pull both katana’s from there sheathes.

Staying on her knees head bowed, “I can’t that’s the trouble Marcus.” Looking up into his pain streaked furious chocolate eyes, flinching at the sneer that contorts his beloved features. “I’m mysorry darling truly,” words whispered and barely meeting his ears as she vanishes into the thin air.

Speechless, arms hanging at his sides, stuck by the realization of her words, the video, combine with the knowledge he’s lost twenty some years with Missy watching her grow-up. Emotions swirl like a thick fog in his mind consuming thoughts and making reactions none existence to the world around him. A world that’s left him behind, while he’s stuck in the past and facing an uncertain future as a man out of time.

[bubonickitten]

TMA fic: where there’s a will, we make a way

New chapter is up on AO3 here!

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Chapter 11 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 11: mild self-harm (brief instance of wrist banging/bruising to distract from intrusive thoughts; mention of scratching/skin picking); some Buried-related claustrophobic memories; mentions of Jon starving himself (wrt to consuming statements, but worth mentioning for anyone who needs content warnings related to eating disorders, restrictive diets, etc.; there will be more going forward of Jon being hungry and restricting himself, and I'll keep warning for it, especially in chapters where it features heavily). SPOILERS through S5.

Chapter 11: Reaching Out

The tunnels are as ominous as they’ve always been, but at this point, Jon just might be growing accustomed to them. The creeping fear he’s always felt down here has faded to the background – an ambient sense of dread. It's almost tolerable, or at least less oppressive than the omnipresent sense of being watched that he’s long since accepted as his normal.

Here, he can compose his letter to Martin without the risk of Jonah Seeing exactly what Jon’s eyes see.

After the Watcher’s Crown, Jonah did not Watch through Jon’s eyes anymore. Whether that was because Jon was stronger than Jonah at that point or because Jonah did not bother to try, Jon doesn’t Know. Once the ritual was completed, Jonah no longer had any stake in Jon’s trajectory, no need to monitor his progress or ensure his survival. Moreover, Jonah’s inflated ego never allowed for the possibility that Jon could pose a threat to his reign. His Archivist – his Archive – had no further interest to him except as a source of entertainment, and he didn’t need to See through Jon’s eyes in order to behold the show. He could See all of creation from the Panopticon.

Jon is stronger now than he was the last time he was here, but he’s still nowhere near as powerful as he was during the apocalypse. He’s tried to Know how he measures up against Jonah now, but the Beholding seems intent on withholding that knowledge from him. Last time he made an attempt, the Eye treated him to a litany of statistics about the interactions between the human body and the venom of various species of spider.

Sometimes Jon thinks that if the Beholding is sentient, it might just be the pettiest of the Dread Powers.

In any case, Jonah Magnus is still as much of a gnawing question mark as he’s always been. It’s safest to assume that he has the advantage until proven otherwise – and Jon will take the tunnels over Jonah’s voyeurism any day, no matter how harrowing they may be. Even if he has to be down here alone – which he is.

Georgie is with Melanie, and Jon is reluctant to ask Basira for any favors right now. He wonders again if this is how Martin felt, living in the Archives, spending sleepless nights with himself and the scratching of a pen as his only companions. Just like Jon, Martin was never very good company for himself, especially back then – and back now. He was primed for the Lonely long before he started working at the Institute.

Speaking of which…

Jon sighs, puts his pen down, and begins to read through what he’s written.

I’m sorry I left you.

…now I’m here, trying to explain things –

– had changed since he left –

– it seemed he was alone –

– as far as I could tell, all alone in the world, and rather unhappy about the fact.

I will admit to taking a dislike to the man when I first met him – but –

– I’d say that – was a foolish act of past me.

Jon is still worried about starting the letter like this, but this is a point in time not too far removed from his early mistreatment of Martin. Jon had made his apologies and explanations at length in his future, but this version of Martin hasn’t experienced that yet. Jon can’t just jump into showing affection before taking accountability for his past behavior – recent past, from the perspective of this timeline.

He can only hope that Martin will read through to the end, and that Jon’s intention – his sincerity – will be understood.

Soon I was giving my account as a full confession –

– trying my best to fit this into a relatively coherent narrative.

It’s plenty of things I’ve done I couldn’t explain to you. I mean, I’m constantly – looking back at my past self and thinking, what an idiot. How the hell could he have done such an obviously stupid thing? How was I surprised it went so badly? What a relief I’m now so much older and wiser.

I’ve never really been the social type – I’ve always just been happier alone. Well, maybe happier isn’t quite the right word. I did get a bit lonely sometimes. I’d hear laughter coming from other rooms in my building, or see a group of friends talking in the sun outside, and maybe I’d wish I had something like that, but it never really bothered me – I didn’t need another people and they certainly didn’t need me.

Jon looks down at the words with a dissatisfied scowl. Does this come off as too self-centered? As more as an excuse than an explanation? This would be so much easier if he could just say what he means. Then again, Jon’s always struggled with discussing emotional matters, hasn't he? He can’t blame it all on the Archive.

These thoughts, these feelings were always in my mind – until – I realized the deeper truth of it all.

I tried to put it into words, but without any real success. Even here, with the time to compose it properly, I’m not sure I’ve caught the essence of what I felt –

– I had a look through my library, and couldn’t find anything that matched it –

– those are musings for poets, among whom I do not number –

– it’s all very well to say ‘write down what you saw,’ but what if you don’t have the words?

I suppose I’ll just have to try.

I’ve always been more comfortable alone –

– had few friends – reluctant to make the sort of connections that might lead to –

– the prospect of being genuinely loved –

– fully and completely known –

– having people be genuinely lovely to me, I didn’t know what to do with those feelings –

– I could never bring myself to try. It felt more comfortable, more familiar, to be alone.

It is the fear of being watched, and judged, and having all your secrets known.

Ironic, in some ways –

– being what I am –

– an Archivist pleading for knowledge –

– to feed the sick voyeur that lurks in this place.

Eventually, I opened my eyes –

– feeling absurd about how terrified I was about being seen –

– kicking myself for having been so stupid –

– it wasn’t natural for people to live in isolation – we were creatures of community by nature.

Soon enough, I could no longer fool myself –

– the man I loved –

– who was by all accounts such a kind and gentle soul –

– when I – saw him standing there waiting for me – I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than in that moment.

He spoke words I thought existed only in my heart, and I loved him as the soil loves the rain –

– and it seemed he felt the same way –

– and together it seemed like we would get past our pain.

Everything about being with him felt so natural that when he told me he loved me, it only came as a surprise to realize that we hadn’t said it already.

…to say – “I love you” – honestly it’s one of the few decisions I’ve ever made that I completely understand.

It’s… woefully inadequate. Too devoid of context. Unlikely to reach Martin through the fog. But maybe it will be enough to at least convince him to talk to Jon. To keep the Lonely at bay, at least for now.

After leaving the hospital, the next thing that is properly clear in my mind is –

– I need him to be okay.

I couldn’t see him or hear him –

– I didn’t even get a chance to speak to him – asked what had happened, he was just gone. And I was alone again.

I wanted to say something reassuring, to reach out and let him know I was still there –

– I wanted to act, to help, to do something, but – I felt helpless to do anything but watch as events progressed.

I think he might be part of something really awful, and I don’t know how to make him see that – of course I did worry. I knew that, secretly, he was as well.

I know how that sounds – but – I ask you to read on.

For a split second, the memory of the ritual flits through his mind – Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading … – and Jon brings his wrist down on the side of his chair, hard. The pain jolts him out of the recollection and brings him back to the present. He watches halfheartedly as the discoloration fades before his eyes, frustration with his overreaction itching in the back of his mind. Stupid.

With a longsuffering sigh, he rereads the previous section again. The borrowed words sound patronizing, without the qualifying context he wishes he could provide more explicitly. He isn’t just nitpicking – it’s crucial that Martin knows that Jon isn’t underestimating him, despite a history of doing exactly that for far too long.

The first time around, he trusted Martin – more than he trusted anyone, including (perhaps especially) himself – and even knowing what he knows now, he doesn’t regret it. He heard the tapes.

“But if I could just explain,” Martin had said.

“And how do you think Jon’s going to react to that explanation, hm?” Peter had replied. “You think he’ll accept it calmly? Come through with a well-considered, rational response?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Or would he assume he knows better than you and do something rash?”

“I don’t like being manipulated.”

“That’s fair. But I’m not wrong.”

“No.”

In Jon’s original timeline, he had proven Peter wrong. He had trusted Martin, respected his boundaries, followed his lead. This time, though… Jon won’t be able to demonstrate that with non-interference, and not being able to use his own words doesn’t help him explain that this isn’t just another instance of Jon just assuming he knows better than everyone else, that he actually does have special knowledge, and – well, truthfulness aside, that sounds condescending, too, doesn’t it?

He doesn’t blame Martin for agreeing with Peter. For a significant portion of Jon’s life, it would have been a fair assessment. He didn’t trust people. He didn’t trust himself, either – not really – but at least he knew his own intentions. That bone-deep fear of being manipulated, of being rejected, of not having control… it never played well with the concept of trust.

And when they first started working together, Jon made no secret of his knee-jerk judgment of Martin as being incompetent, clumsy, and unreliable. In retrospect, he couldn’t have been more wrong – and he knows now that he was only seeing what he wanted to see, projecting his own insecurities and fear of failure onto Martin to distract from his own floundering.

After learning that Martin had lied on his CV, Jon readjusted his initial opinions. He was impressed. Martin was remarkably capable for someone with no prior qualifications, no experience, no degree. What he lacked in experience he more than made up for in effort. He was clever, and resolute, and dependable, and genuine, and… and god, wasn’t Jon a fool for taking so long to notice? And then for never saying as much until it was almost too late?

This version of Martin hasn’t heard that apology just yet – or the corollary apology for waiting so long to apologize. Georgie had told him years ago that he needed to use his words, that people needed to hear directly that they were acknowledged and appreciated. Jon himself struggled with reading between the lines. Just because he had low tolerance for receiving direct praise – despite craving it deeply – didn’t mean that other people had the same hangups.

He’s since taken that advice to heart, but he should have done sooner. Georgie had been right about a lot of things.

Jon did eventually say as much and more, during those brief few weeks they had in the safehouse. Peter hadn’t been all wrong when he questioned how much they really knew one another. Between Jon’s early irascibility and the distance he felt obligated to keep given their employee/boss relationship; between preventing apocalypses and being in such constant life-or-death peril that it started to feel normal, so normal that Jon didn’t know what to do with himself when he wasn’t being chased or held captive; between the coma, and descending into inhumanity, and the Lonely… they hadn’t had a chance to get to know each other outside of a crisis situation.

Jon didn’t even know himself anymore. He wondered if he ever had.

For the first time, they finally had the time and space to remedy that. Both of them were changed and would never be the same, but they had each other. They were both willing to put in the effort, to learn how to communicate and accommodate and navigate boundaries, despite neither having much experience with a healthy relationship. And for a little while, it had seemed that they could both learn how to be present in the world again – starting with their own microcosm, one day at a time, encouraging one another to be more patient and kind with themselves.

It wasn��t fair, how abruptly that hesitant, hopeful attempt was stolen from them. Jon didn’t feel like he deserved comfort and contentment – he still doesn’t – but Martin… Martin deserved – deserves – to be safe and cared for and loved. Martin deserves to be happy.

Jon desperately wants to help him See that.

Don’t… misunderstand me, please –

– I trusted his instincts almost as much as I trusted my own.

More than I trusted my own, Jon amends in his head – but the Archive isn’t cooperating.

But I knew that I – knew the future –

– the promise of secret knowledge, of seeing something that no one else was privy to –

– there was – a lot – we were missing.

Please. All I ask is that I be allowed –

– a chance to express myself –

– said something about knowledge being a good defense here –

– so here I am, pouring out my lunatic story on paper in the hopes that you might eventually read it.

Statement of Georgina Barker regarding –

– travel through time.

Jon still has to ask Georgie if she can explain the situation to Martin, but he doesn’t think she’ll mind. It won’t be as comprehensive as Jon wishes it could be – he still struggles with explaining the fine details of the apocalypse to the others given his current limitations – but he’s done his best, and he can trust Georgie to do the same.

Some fears can only be endured for so long. I remember every second of that fall. Like it was happening in slow motion. I was certain I was about to watch him fall like I had.

That knowledge I had gained – could finally be put to use.

I shall do my best to explain, and hope that any revelations contained here in me sway you from the path you have started upon.

I wanted to tell him to stop, to warn him – because I knew –

– the Extinction – while I have seen evidence of its influence in other powers –

– there was no sign of – imminent arrival – I resolved –

– its emergence as a true power of its own –

– wasn’t a threat.

Whatever he was planning –

– to try and rescue those trapped –

– trying to protect me –

– defending the world from the darkness…

…I know – to talk to other people about it –

– desperately wishing for another human being to talk to –

– to take too much comfort in – people – would go quite strongly against the spirit of the experiment – had to really feel alone. That at least didn’t take too long to set in.

All that remained was the fog – could wander there for years, and never meet another – utterly forsaken – there seemed to be no end to it.

But it didn’t need to be forever, did it?

“This too shall pass.”

I tried to explain but all I could manage to get through the shaking sobs was, “I love you.”

By then it looked like he was on the verge of tears,

Jon stops reading for a moment, realizing that, aptly enough, he’s on the verge of tears right now. He swallows them back and continues.

By then it looked like he was on the verge of tears, but I couldn’t leave it alone – just couldn’t let it go.

I have tried to write it down, to put it into terms and words you could understand. And now I stare at it and not a word of it is even enough to fully describe the fact that –

I cannot lose him.

I – cared deeply about his well-being.

I know he didn’t deserve what happened to him.

He deserved to –

– to be – beloved –

– cared for – trusted –

– being wanted and appreciated –

– being genuinely loved –

– no matter how wrong it might feel –

– when you’re at your lowest point, when you’re your most emotionally vulnerable.

I need him to be okay –

– and the world is so much better for –

– the easy, charming man I’d fall in love with –

– being in it.

Please. All I ask is that I be allowed to –

– talk to you, before it all comes to an end –

– and I swear to you that –

– if you decide to do it – if –

– you want to be alone – and –

– didn’t say much to me after that –

– I made sure to keep – distance.

There’s so much more Jon wishes he could say; so much that he wishes he could say in his own voice, rather than the stolen words of survivors recounting the most traumatic moments of their lives. It still feels perverse, to use their statements like this. It might not be as bad as feeding directly on a victim, but it still falls on a spectrum of appropriating the torment of others for his own use.

At the end of the day, it really doesn’t feel all that different from Jonah’s brand of dehumanization. It’s just one more way Jon is complicit in the evil that thrives in this place –

“Hey,” comes Georgie’s voice from just a few yards away. Jon startles, sending his pen clattering to the floor. He had been so lost in his own thoughts, he hadn’t even heard her descending the ladder. “Sorry,” she says with a wince. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Retrieving the fallen pen, Jon waves the apology off – it’s okay – and Georgie comes to sit next to him.

“Finished with your letter?”

“…I’m vague on the details,” he says. “I have to be.”

“Want me to take a look?”

Jon nods; he had been planning on asking her to read it through. Even if it was in his own words, he would likely run it by her. He trusts Georgie’s judgment regarding relationship matters far more than he trusts his own, and he knows she’ll be straightforward with him if he’s said something… well, stupid. He’s gotten better at communicating, but that doesn’t mean his tendency to put his foot in his mouth has disappeared entirely.

He jiggles his leg restlessly as she reads, increasingly self-conscious the longer the silence goes on. He resists scratching at his hands – Georgie is sure to reprimand him if he starts that up again. It isn’t that she has a problem with his fidgeting; she was actually one of the first people in his life to tolerate it. Encouraged it, even. She pointed out quite bluntly once that whenever Jon tried to force himself to sit still, his restless energy didn’t go away, it just came out as waspishness instead.

But she had a rule: no self-harm, no matter how mild. Personally, he didn’t categorize the scratching as self-harm, but she was firm about it. Lately, the scratching is limited mostly to his burned hand, and he’s tried explaining to her that it doesn’t even hurt – the scar tissue doesn’t register much sensation anymore – but she won’t hear it. For the past couple weeks, whenever she catches him at it, she gives him a look until he stops.

“I think it’s good,” Georgie says. “But…”

Jon tenses, but then he glimpses Georgie’s playful grin.

“It’s nothing bad! It’s just… well…”

He can hear the spark of mischief in her tone and somehow that makes him more apprehensive than the prospect of criticism.

“See, you say you’re not a poet,” she says, pointing at the letter, “but this part here…”

He spoke words I thought existed only in my heart, and I loved him as the soil loves the rain –

– and it seemed he felt the same way –

– and together it seemed like we would get past our pain.

“You go and use a sappy metaphor – and I know,” she says, seeing him ready to protest, “they’re not your words and you’re using what you have available.”

Yes, he wants to say, and my vast library comprised solely of people’s retellings of their supernatural trauma isn’t exactly forthcoming with declarations of love, Georgina.

“But,” she says, goading now, “then you go and rhyme the first and last lines.”

Jon squints at the letter, and…

Fuck. It does rhyme.

He moves to snatch the paper away and Georgie stands and holds it out of reach, dancing backwards.

“No, nope, absolutely not,” she says, laughing. “Jonathan Sims, I refuse to let you change it. You’re leaving it exactly as is.”

“…being used against me in a cruel joke,” he huffs, glowering at her – but her laugh has always been infectious, and he can’t fight it as his lips twitch into a smile.

She hands the letter back to him after a minute, still grinning when she takes her seat again.

“I’m teasing you. You can change it if you want, but I think it’s adorable and you should leave it. Besides, Martin’s a poet, isn’t he? He might get a kick out of it.”

Honestly, it doesn’t bother him enough to rewrite the entire thing. And if there’s a chance of it coaxing a smile out of Martin…

“On a more serious note – this part here, ‘statement of Georgina Barker’ – I’m assuming you want me to try to convince him that you actually are a time traveler here to stop the apocalypse?” Jon nods. “Probably easier than trying to write it all out. I don’t mind, but are you sure he’ll listen to me?”

Jon shrugs. He has the same worry, but…

“As for myself, I must cling to –”

“– that most insidious of emotions: hope.”

“Somehow both unexpectedly sappy and predictably ominous,” she replies, “but I’ll take it. Better than despair, anyway.”

Despite the light teasing, the smile she flashes is genuine. Fleeting, though, as she continues.

“Oh, and one more thing – that one bit, capital-E Extinction? One, don’t like the sound of that, and two – should I know what that is? Melanie hasn’t mentioned anything like that before.”

“I’m sorry – it won’t let me say the words,” Jon says with a frustrated sigh.

“Will Martin know what it means, though?” Jon nods. With any luck, Martin can be persuaded to fill the others in on it. “Good enough.”

She watches him for a few moments as he chews at his thumbnail, leg still shaking, staring at the floor.

“Something’s on your mind.”

Jon sighs and closes his eyes.

“I could feel hunger gnawing at me.”

“You still haven’t had a statement?” Georgie says, frowning at him.

“Something he could salvage from the whole situation,” he mutters, not looking up at her. “Just a way of getting some control over his life, you know?”

“Jon, you can’t just starve yourself –”

“Running was pointless,” he agrees sullenly. “To try to escape from my task would only serve to fulfill another. I finally understood what I needed to do –”

“– some hungers are too strong to be denied –”

“– you have to feed it – or it will feed on you.”

“So why haven’t you?”

“Even as I did so, in the back of my mind I hated myself –”

“– to feed the sick voyeur that lurks in this place.”

“I’m not saying you should… go hunting, or whatever you want to call it. This is an archive, there are plenty of statements lying around.”

“…you’ve got all this… all these people’s experiences listened to and filed away.”

“Right. They’re already given. They can’t be taken back. You’re not going out and hurting people, you’re just… reading what’s already here.”

She thinks he was just agreeing with her, he realizes – she didn’t comprehend his true meaning there. How could she have? He hasn’t properly explained to them that he is the Archive. He already Knows all of the statements housed here. Old statements were stale even when he hadn’t read them yet. Now, they’re even less fulfilling.

As a child, he hated reading anything that he felt like he had read before. It seems morbidly fitting that the Archivist in him is much the same way.

“Think of it like… like harm reduction,” Georgie is saying now. “From what I can gather, abstinence just isn’t an option for you, at least not right now. The next best thing is to meet yourself where you are. Even if you can’t stop, you can still take steps to minimize the harm – and that includes harm to yourself. Reading the statements that are already here – I think it’s justifiable, if the alternative is starving to death.”

“I am not sure how long this might continue for. Maybe years. Maybe forever.”

“Maybe. But right now, you need to take it one step at a time. You’re getting ready to hurl yourself into danger. You should be at full strength for that. If you aren’t going to sleep, you at least need to eat something.”

She has a point. There is one other concern, though.

“It seems I cannot avoid the ceaseless gaze of – Jonah –”

“– still there, still watching me –”

“– eyes were always focused on something, always watching. And – I always felt afraid –”

“– being under constant scrutiny and observation –”

“– it may be worth your while to keep an eye on the statements – in case he finds his way here –”

“– my mind has always been receptive to the thoughts that lurk in the written page –”

“– that throw out strange or sometimes even dangerous things –”

“– a simple ruse or deception –”

“– quietly waiting for you to lose your footing, to slip up and fall.”

“You’re afraid of getting tricked into reading the wrong statement again.”

Jon nods, not quite meeting her eye. All of the statements housed here are already catalogued in the Archive. He can recall them on his own word for word, if he concentrates. But something about that doesn’t feel right. Physically reading the statement, speaking it into the tape recorder… it’s like its own little ritual – like there’s an order of operations that has to be followed or it doesn’t count, somehow.

“…I outlined basic checks in due diligence –”

“– checking and double checking –”

“– before I finally felt safe enough –”

“– to read a statement – hitting record and speaking it aloud.”

“Well… we can probably vet them before giving them to you?”

“…they were also there as a backup in case something went horribly wrong – in case –”

“– it tried to read me back.”

“Okay,” she says after a moment’s consideration. “I’ll let Basira know.”

Her expression is concerned, but there’s something else underneath it. It doesn’t seem like judgment, or suspicion, or any of the other reactions he’s come to expect when discussing his reliance on the statements. It’s definitely not fear; this is Georgie. Pity, maybe?

Whatever it is, it makes him feel small and exposed and uncomfortably seen.

“Jon, look at me.” He does, with hesitation. “I know things are bad, and I’ll admit I was skeptical when you first said you wanted to change, but based on what I’ve seen over the past few months? I believe in you. It’s okay to have a little faith in yourself, too. I think you’ll need to, if you want to get through this.”

His gaze drifts to the floor, self-conscious.

“Anyway, it's probably best that Elias doesn’t see us pre-screening statements for you, right? Might make him suspicious. I can just gather a box of them and bring them down here. I’ll bring Basira with me, and we can explain the situation.” She stands and starts to walk toward the ladder, then stops abruptly. “Wait.”

She does a half-turn, not quite facing him, watching the floor pensively.

“I don’t know what I’m looking for. Is there something particular – like, do you have preferences, or – are there… nutritional requirements or something?” Jon can’t help it; he smiles at the absurdity of it all. “Do you need variety? Does a balanced diet even apply in this –”

Realizing he isn’t replying to any of her questions, she finally looks up, sees his amused smirk, and pauses mid-flustered gesture. He chuckles softly and shakes his head, mortified by the idea of cultivating a preference for statements as if choosing from a menu, but also just a bit shamefully, morbidly endeared at her thoughtfulness.

“Well, I don’t know!” she says indignantly, but she grins back. “Fine. I’ll grab a bunch at random then, and you can just deal. Ass.”

God, he missed this easy, playful banter even more than he had realized.

Jon watches as she climbs the ladder, preparing for the customary anxiety that tends to hit him whenever she leaves his presence – that conviction that it will be the last he sees of her.

When she pulls herself up through the trapdoor, though, he’s pleasantly surprised to note that the fear doesn’t come. He’s even more surprised that a half-hour later, when Georgie sends Basira with a box of statements but doesn’t accompany her, the fear still doesn’t overwhelm him. It shouldn’t be that surprising – he does trust Georgie – but intellectually understanding something isn’t the same as emotionally assimilating it. It seems that for once, his emotions have caught up with reality.

“Melanie needs company right now, so Georgie couldn’t come with. She didn't say exactly what you needed help with, but I think I have an idea.”

“…to keep an eye on the statements –”

“– they were also there as a backup in case something went horribly wrong.”

“Figured as much. Anyway, Georgie said she’ll come see you before she goes home today.” Basira drops the box on the floor in front of him. “I told her you probably wouldn’t want her present for the statements anyway. No need to expose more people to them if we can help it. I thought you’d agree.”

Jon nods, thankful that Basira is on the same page and he didn’t have to bother explaining it himself.

“So, any stand out to you?”

May as well get it over with, Jon thinks with a heavy sigh.

He leans over the box and sifts through them, eyes skimming over the case numbers until one catches his eye. CASE #0020312, the label reads. Figures, he thinks to himself with a grim, humorless smile, and he hands it over to Basira for her to inspect.

She skims through it quickly – she’s a fast reader, Jon notes – and at several points her eyebrows raise and furrow.

“Seems normal enough – for a statement, anyway,” she says, handing it back to him. Then, meeting his eyes: “A bit on the nose, though.” Jon shrugs. “You want me to stay while you read it, right? Go on, then.”

The tape recorder clicks on in his pocket, as if to voice its agreement. Jon removes it and takes a moment to glare at it before turning his eyes to the statement, clearing his throat, and beginning his monologue.

“Statement of Tova McHugh, regarding their string of near-death experiences. Original statement given December 3rd, 2002. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. Statement begins…”

The Coffin sits where Breekon dropped it, hungry and waiting. It’s the densest, most solid thing in the room, as if it has its own gravity, a sort of metaphysical black hole. It’s not as bad as the rift at Hill Top Road, but it has a similar feel to it: oppressive, wrong, its existence impossible but unavoidably present all the same.

Jon stands at the threshold, blocking the entrance, Basira and Georgie standing behind him.

“So this is it, then,” Georgie says. “You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

“…as you can imagine, getting out of there proved – difficult –”

“– but they did return.”

She still looks uncertain, watching the Coffin as if it might move on its own.

“…try to keep you far away –”

“– didn’t want a good look inside that room – stopped at the threshold –”

“– make it very little distance over the threshold before – swallowed –”

“– you must trust me on that and not come looking –”

“– supervise from a distance –”

“Jon,” Basira says, cutting him off, “we get it. It’s dangerous, stay away, et cetera. I can feel the compulsion from here; you really don’t need to tell me twice, let alone five times.”

Jon barely hears her, his mind already entirely occupied with what he’s about to do. He stands paralyzed, knees locked, hands trembling just slightly, pulse thundering in his throat. Already his breath feels constricted, and he hasn’t even opened the thing yet.

“Do you need more time?” Georgie asks gently.

Jon shuts his eyes, swallows around the lump in his throat, and shakes his head no. The longer he puts it off, the harder it will be to take the plunge. And Daisy has waited long enough.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Jon breathes out, opens his eyes, and turns to face her. She opens her arms slightly, offering an embrace – but he shakes his head, giving her an apologetic look. Pressure is usually good, grounding him, but right now – well, he’s about to have all of creation pressing in on him, and any reminder of that is only going to send him spiraling.

“Okay. You have everything you need?”

He nods, trying to project whatever thin veneer of confidence he can muster – more for himself than the others, really. He holds up the tape recorder with Daisy’s statement tape in it, then gestures vaguely at the tape recorders littering his desk.

“…like breadcrumbs taking us home. Home, in this case, was –”

“Martin,” Georgie says with a knowing smile. “I’ll make sure he gets your message – and yes,” she says, seeing him about to interject, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t read it outside the tunnels. And I’ll explain… the situation. Don’t worry about things over here. Just focus on what you need to do on your end.”

Jon nods again, clenching and unclenching his fist at his side, stuffing the tape recorder back into his pocket with the other hand.

Time to stop dithering, he tells himself firmly.

“Tell Daisy I –” Basira blurts out, then pauses, struggling for words. “Tell her…”

She breathes out a short exhale and looks up at Jon. He nods at her: I understand.

“Tell her I’m waiting.” She pauses, biting her lip. “And Jon?” He makes a questioning noise. “Come back safe,” she says, then turns on her heel and walks briskly away down the hall.

“We’ll see you home soon, Jon,” Georgie says. She pours every ounce of reassurance into it that she can manage, but he can feel that she’s still apprehensive. “Don’t get lost.”

“…I’d – get out of there as soon as possible,” he says, trying to mirror her composure.

“You’d better. I doubt I’ll be the only one cross with you if you stay away too long.”

The tape recorders fill the room with a low, static-leaden murmuring – dozens of overlapping tones, unbroken streams of phonemes rendered nearly incomprehensible, discrete parts unable to compete against the cacophony of the whole. Although it sounds like the background noise of a crowd to Jon, he Knows every word being said: a litany of horror and dread unspooling in the air around him.

He also Knows that they will continue running, replaying each statement on a loop until he returns, no batteries required.

A notebook sits on his desk, battered and careworn. It’s Martin’s, half-filled with poems and works-in-progress, many of them from the weeks he was living in the Archives. He left it here when he went to work for Peter. Whether it was meant as a deliberate symbolic gesture – leaving the past behind him, sacrificing this sentimental part of himself in order to become what Peter’s plan required him to be – or was simply an oversight after months of having no time or mind for writing, Jon still doesn’t Know. He never asked. In the future, after Martin started writing again, Jon felt it was best not to reopen old wounds for the sake of satiating his own curiosity.

If only he could have learned that lesson earlier in life.

Jon has never been a fan of poetry. It’s never really resonated with him; he’s never understood it, and he… doesn’t have much patience for things he cannot understand. But then, Martin went to work for Peter Lukas – and the last time Jon was here, he had burned every other bridge between himself and humanity.

When he was a child, he had convinced himself that he didn’t need friends, didn’t need affection. He found human connection in books, and he told himself that it was enough. It wasn’t, in retrospect: he entered adolescence and then adulthood with stunted social skills, and practicing didn't seem worth the risk of failure. Between that and being the Archivist, it was no wonder he had chased everyone away.

By the time he woke up from his first coma, he knew that books would be no replacement for actual companionship, but he thought it might at least take the edge off, like it used to when he was a child. It backfired terribly. He would always Know how the story ended before even finishing the first chapter, and it would demolish any motivation to continue reading. It wasn’t just that his reading habits now tend to be as particular as they were when he was young, having little patience for anything that felt like he had read it before. It was that he couldn’t have a moment of peace from the knowledge of what he had become.

One day he stumbled across Martin’s notebook in Document Storage, along with some spoken word recordings that Martin had made while living in the Archives. At first, Jon didn’t know what the tapes were, and listening to any tapes that turned up had long since become automatic for him. Once he realized what was on them, he probably should have stopped, but he listened to every second of that handful of tapes, over and over and over again. He felt guilty – he had already violated Martin’s privacy once before, when he was deep in the throes of paranoia – but he justified it to himself because he… well, he'd needed to hear Martin’s voice.

The poetry was… well, Jon still didn’t get it, not really. But he found himself liking it anyway, because it was Martin’s voice and Martin’s words and Martin’s story, and Jon didn’t have to understand it for it to have meaning and value and warmth. He should have been content with the tapes, but he kept stealing glances at the notebook, itching to open it and start reading. Part of it was that simple curiosity that was always leading him astray, but for once, that wasn’t the loudest part of him.

It wasn’t a need to Know. It was a need for closeness.

So, he pushed that guilty voice in his head aside and… he read. Unlike the fiction stories he had been trying to lose himself in, he never once Knew anything about a poem before he finished reading it. He rarely Knew anything about it even after reading it, and then rereading it, and then rereading it again. For the first time in his life, not having answers was… refreshing. Freeing, even.

It didn’t take long for Jon to memorize every word, cover to cover – and he never grew bored of them, despite their familiarity.

Gingerly, almost reverently, Jon turns the pages. There are a handful of poems in here about him, and even now, indelibly etched into his memory, reading them on the page still makes him feel seen in a way that is all at once terrifying and comforting. Affecting, certainly, but in a way he could appreciate, once he gave it a chance.

You’re stalling, Jon tells himself, closing the notebook and placing one last tape on top of it.

He closes his eyes and forces himself to take several deep breaths – it’s the last chance he’ll have for the next few days – and he checks his pocket for the tape recorder with Daisy’s statement in it. Pointless, really; he already Knows it’s there, same as it was the last dozen times he checked.

Swallowing hard, he finally turns to look at the Coffin. The moment he lays eyes on it, the static rises in his mind.

Oh, shut up, Jon thinks tiredly. The Dread Powers are like cats yowling at overflowing food bowls, insisting that they haven’t had supper yet. At least cats are endearing. The Fears are noisy and intrusive with none of the charm. You’re all so goddamn needy, you know that?

The Coffin carries on, and Jon rolls his eyes. Wrapping himself in annoyance does little to drown out the fear, but it offers a slight buffer. He’ll take it.

You’re still stalling, he reprimands himself.

With trembling hands he picks up the key, fits it into the lock… and he opens the lid. It lifts easily with only a slight creak, no heft or resistance to it: it wants to be opened, like so many of the other hungry doors lurking around this world, bear traps and snares and spiderwebs all lying in wait for somebody foolish and curious enough to ignore all the alarm bells for just one… peek… inside.

Knock-knock, comes the intrusive thought.

Shut up, Jon shoots back.

The tape recorder clicks on, whirring impatiently in his pocket, as if to urge him onward.

You too, he snaps – but as much as his knee-jerk impulse is to be contrary, he has put this off long enough.

Jon steels himself, takes one last deep breath – savoring fresh air, full lungs, airways clear of dirt and grime and debris – and he begins his descent.

Martin is in Peter’s office, tending to some tedious administrative tasks. His brain feels fuzzy, thoughts sluggish and stunted from the lack of stimulation. The tick-tock of the wall clock drones on and on. He’s considered removing the batteries, but it’s the only company he’s had in days. Complete silence might be worse. Besides, the longer he sits here, the less and less the noise scrapes against the edges of his consciousness – and even when it does penetrate the fog filling his head, he can’t bring himself to care.

If Peter intends for the monotony to highlight his isolation and desensitize him to the absence of… well, everything, it’s working.

Then, between one moment and the next, there’s a shift. It crashes into him, tears through the quiet, and the world around him comes rushing back in, a sharp and blinding and cacophonous flood of sensory input.

There’s a palpable void where one shouldn’t be, and he knows with certainty that it’s distinct from the general sense of absence that he’s grown accustomed to over the past few months. The Lonely feels soft, quiet, gentle – natural, like a cocoon tailored specifically for him. This feels like a knife to the gut, a gaping wound, alarm bells screaming in his mind that something is wrong, wrong, wrong –

“Something’s happened,” he says to himself. He flinches at the sound. It’s jarring, hearing his own voice, raspy as it is with disuse.

Before he even realizes that he’s moving, he’s out of the office and hurrying down the hallway, not bothering to close the door behind him.

“Jon,” he whispers with a passion and urgency that feels alien to him now, thoughts no longer muffled and detached. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he does: Jon’s done something drastic, and given his track record, it can’t be good.

The only thought running through his mind is Jon, playing on a loop like a stuck tape; like the nervous stammering of the person he used to be, intimidated by and enamored with the man in equal measure; like a – like a prayer: Jon.

Martin picks up his pace, making a beeline for the Archives.

End Notes:

The Buried, Round Two: BEGIN.

I might not have much free time to write this weekend, so the next chapter probably won't be ready until next weekend at least. It will have some Martin POV though, FINALLY. This story hasn't had enough Martin screentime yet and that is entirely a hell of my own making, but I WILL remedy it. Also: ACTUAL DAISY CONTENT SOON, I SWEAR.

Citations for Jon's letter to Martin are as follows: MAG 040; 112/007/029/102; 007/150; 020/019; 150; 013; 135; 048/144/007/021; 021; 013/002/032/147/153/013; 161/091/101/089/135; 048/028/067/013; 143/150/008/013; 135/048/009; 013; 150; 013/117; 085/052; 063/124; 123; 011; 123/133; 070/154/123; 133/019/036/011; 094/088; 075; 135; 127; 124/157/050/157/130; 143/107/012/056; 122/012/057; 013; 145/121; 150; 042; 042; 032; 037/136/110; 152/008/101/153/032/129/153; 117/155/013/155; 133/112/152/154/013/051/049.

Citations for Jon's dialogue are as follows, broken down by section: Section 1: MAG 064; 019; 138/139; 019; 058; 148; 121/014/089; 066/135; 043; 096; 138/060/154/060/113/017/005/116/121; 054/022/054/147; 057/091; 155. Section 2: 150/096; 095/006/023/157/139; 125; 047. Section 3: None. Section 4: None.

The cited dialogue between Peter and Martin is from MAG 126. And it probably goes without saying but the Jonah/Elias statement quote is from MAG 160.

As always, you can also just ask if you want to know where a particular line comes from. c:

[neverneverlouisland]

summer love [l.t]

fandom one direction/louis tomlinson

pairing louis x reader

word count 2811

summary reader is a teacher in Australia is also a mentor and counselor at the school’s summer camp. her second summer there, a new teacher is hired and the two are drawn to each other. the seasonal months roll by and at the annual end-of-camp party, they realize their time is running out.

warning(s) none

a/n any extra characters mentioned by name will play a bigger role in future fics

-

If there was one thing they were sure of, it was that their lives changed after meeting.

For the past three years, she’d been a teacher at a school down in Australia. While it was thousands of miles from home, it was an opportunity that both allowed her to see more of the world and gave her hands on experience handling kids in a high activity location. She wanted to be a traveling teacher. It sounded a bit unusual, and she had instances of needing to prove that it was a legitimate career choice, but if she could bring knowledge and joy to such small kids while being able to see the international sights, that was all that mattered. After graduating college with a bachelor’s degree, she decided to take a couple of years off to get experience doing what she wanted to do for her long term job.

With the amount of money saved up, she managed to get temporary substitute and teaching assistant positions on other parts of the globe. After some hopping around that first year, she found that the city of Melbourne was where she needed to be. The sights from the plane’s view her first time flying over captured and ensnared her, so much so that all she wanted to do was explore instead of going to the meeting about the teaching job.

When that first summer in the Southern Hemisphere came to, she was offered a summer job as a counselor at the camp the school hosted every year. It was a program that cost families money when it came to transportation; all the kids and their chaperones would fly over to Cairns, Queensland in order for everyone to stage their tents and settle themselves in the camping grounds of Daintree National Park. She remembered being awestruck by the stretch of winding rivers, long, sandy beaches and forestry that went on for miles. Going along the trails that lead to the tops of the rainforest with her group was one of her favorite activities, and the admiration for it only grew when a man from England made his way over just a few months later.

Having just graduated from his own degree program, he fished for the perfect place where he could both enjoy his surroundings and be able to educate children in the best way he knew how. Being accepted into the program was a sight for sore eyes - all he could do the day he received the email was stare blankly at the worded screen in surprise. He was fresh out of university, so he was sure someone more qualified would have been given the job over him. Still, nothing was able to beat the excitement he felt about working abroad, and he was ecstatic to what the future there would hold.

What he didn’t expect was to meet an American who was so passionate about her work and ensuring the happiness of others that she ended up pulling him in.

When he first arrived, she was set as the tour guide. It was a whole week of showing him around the site, leading the hikes and co-planning the lessons and activities they would be doing with the children each day. There was zero judgement on her end when she learned that he didn’t have much experience in the field prior to the work that was done during his years of schooling. “If you love what you do and you’re good at it, that’s all that matters,” she said, and those words stuck with him for the rest of that night.

The time flew quickly, and he found himself falling for her more each day.

He lived for the hour-long sessions where both of their groups would be sharing a class or going down the trails towards the waterfalls buried within Daintree Rainforest. The heartfelt talks, encouraging compliments and bonding over their goals and love for the children they watched over would play in his mind like a movie each night following the one he realized his feelings.

Summer nights passed by in a blur of smiles and laughter, each moment spent with everyone was only leading up to the bittersweet moment of the end. For most of the kids and faculty, they attended or worked at the very elementary school that hosted the camp. This year, however, the addition of himself never came with a warning label. He was only hired for the summer position. It was a seasonal position that - while he thoroughly enjoyed to his heart’s content - was only meant to be a learning experience. He never expected to become so endeared by her. To become attached and obtain something so pure it would take months or years to be rid of.

Every second counted today, and each one flipped through his thoughts as he made his way to the program director’s cabin after being called down. The sky was getting darker by the minute, the crescent moon already a faded image in the changing atmosphere and the rolling clouds blending in with time.

He passed by the one she shared with the girls of her faction. The door was ajar and music could be heard from inside, along with small, extra voices belting out lyrics to a song by an American band he didn’t know the name of. The curtains of the two front windows were drawn back to have a light filter into the room, and with that he could see her almost perfectly. Seeing her dance around the confined space with the little ones was a sight for his bright eyes. It didn’t even occur that he hadn’t moved from his place until she spotted him a moment later, brows furrowed as she moved went to poke her head out of the open door. “Did you want to join us?”

“What?” He blinked, the realization hitting him once he took a look around and saw no one else in his vicinity. “Oh- no, thank you. I mean, I’d love to but I’ve been called to see the director.”

She smiled at him, suppressing a giggle at the dumbfounded expression on his face. “Alright, well-”

“Louis- there you are!” A raspy voice called out. The younger man turned his head to find said teacher walking out of the main cabin of the grounds, walking over to him as soon as their attention was on one another. Louis stayed as much in his spot as possible, wanting to continue the conversation with her even if it was only a distraction to what he actually had to do. The elder of the two counselors reached them in two minutes, a light smile on his face as he greeted the girl before addressing the one he was looking for. “Are you ready to talk about what we discussed?”

“Yeah, I am.” He responded, nodding his head to return the smile with his own.

“Great! Let’s be off, then. We don’t want to linger and miss the start of the closing campfire.”

“Right. That would just be tragic, wouldn’t it?” He questioned sarcastically, issuing a form of a laugh out of not only his superior but her, as well.

When he went to excuse himself, she was already shaking her head. “It’s fine. I was kind of keeping you from your meeting,” she laughed out, making his heart sing.

He gave her a sheepish smile and went on his way, calling behind his back to ensure that they would just see each other later in the evening. She waited until the men were out of earshot to show any hidden emotion, letting out a sigh as she sat on the tiny porch attached to the set of three steps. She folded her arms over her legs, letting the music from inside fill her with joyous warmth as the children continued to sing along as loudly as they could.

There was plenty to say when it came to the British addition to the mentors, and yet she could never say them when she was in his presence. It felt straight out of a romantic comedy - the way she found heart tumbling and stomach fluttering when he was mentioned or near. Even with all the time they spent together once she was assigned his tour guide, she never once thought the first person she would truly fall for would be someone she wouldn’t be seeing nine months out of the year. Though long distance was an option if it all worked the way she wished, those were always hard to maintain. She could only imagine how tough it would be to keep one between countries afloat. The head counselor calling him down for a talk made her even more nerve racked. He was originally hired for a seasonal position, meaning he would only be in Australia from the first day of camp to the last. What if that offer was being revoked? Or he changed his mind and decided this location wasn’t for him, so he went to look for one that suited him better? He was amazing with the kids here and they all loved him to pieces. 

“Miss Y/N? Are you done dancing?”

The counselor turned her attention to the small girl exiting the cabin, a smile on her face. “For now, yeah. I’m just thinking. You can go back and play with the others if you want.”

Now, while she always insisted that she didn’t have any favorites in the sizable group that dragged her around, she most certainly had a soft spot for this one. Evelyn was part of a newer academic program at the school - one that gave foster parents the opportunity to send the less fortunate children towards the best education that was offered in Queensland. It was a random selection each year for the past three years but she was one of the kids that got accepted, and deserving of it.

The attention she paid to what went on around her and others always left the twenty-six year old astounded, even more so once the eleven year old took a seat beside her. “Are you sad that Mister Louis is leaving?”

“What? How did you know he was leaving?” She glanced over to find wide, green eyes looking up at her innocently. The way someone so young could ask such a question without knowing what meaning could lay behind it was beyond her.

She shrugged her small shoulders, “I heard you talking last night.” She began wiggling her feet around on the wooden step, looking down upon them with a tilted head. There was a pregnant pause between the two of them as they watched the rest of the campers and mentors walk around with plentiful arms to decorate the area for the night. The notes and competitive singing were still finding their way out the jarred doorway and into the open air of the camp. “I don’t want him to go. He’s really fun to play with, and he always finds extra snacks when we go to the beach.”

“I think those are actually meant for him,” Y/N chided, making the little girl giggle. A large smile graced both their features, although hers was more loose. They enjoyed all the time the groups had together throughout the twenty one weeks, yet she never fully took the kids into consideration. She wasn’t the only who would think about him or recall all the silly moments they’d had visiting the sandy shores, rainforest or waterfall sanctuaries. The more she thought about it, the more she reached the epiphany that life had a way of doing things. “I don’t want him to go, either.”

-

It was lively.

Since there were so many new recruits who joined the program this year, it was decided that the ending event would be done down on the beach. The volleyball nets were set up on opposite sides of where everything was set up, fairy lights decorating them both in erratic fashion. The sun was already set, showcasing a few dozen stars and the moon that finished its game of hide and seek to display itself for the night. There was one table farthest from the beach that held all the food, snacks and gift bags put together by the team for the young ones to enjoy on the way home.

They stood a distance away from each other while Louis talked to some of the higher ups and she hosted a game for anyone that was primary age by the edge of the moving sea. He watched from his peripheral as the large band of small members spun and danced circles around the other counselor with sparklers in their hands, the joy on her face making a mark in his memory.

“I’m sorry, will you excuse me?” He pardoned himself with a quick nod and wave, making a beeline for the only person he really wanted to speak with before his departure. His speed could only increase so much while crossing to the other side in the uneven sand, his arms nearly brushing the sparks from the thin sticks being waved in the air.

“Louis!!” She spotted him when he was a mere three feet away, the grin on her face growing even wider if it was possible. Right when he reached the edge of the wide circle of little dancers, a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him through an opening.

“I’m not that good of a dancer.”

“That’s okay - neither am I.” She gave him a close-eyed smile, her dark/light eyes meeting his baby blue ones. “I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you,” She went on, placing a hand on the back of her neck sheepishly, “but for the moment I’m kind of stuck here.”

His head tilted as he gazed upon the soft expression on her face and twinkle in her gaze every time she made eye contact with one of the many children surrounding them. He gave her a gesture that reassured her he was going to listen to what she had to say, however his thoughts on the fact were delayed. Should he ask her what she wanted to discuss or should he tell her his news first? He wasn’t sure what the priority should have been if he did the latter, a debate in his head making an appearance. There wasn’t much to lose no matter how he chose to approach everything; there were only a thin multitude of ways this night could end. He only hoped that he made a choice that impacted both their lives in a positive light.

Her lips parted before closing, the anxiety of the situation beginning to get to her. How much was there to lose on her end if this didn’t go the way she hoped? Would they stay friends or would it become too much or too awkward for either of them and they would gradually stop communicating? There was only one way to find out, yet it was also the only thing holding her back from actually telling him.

The pair examined the other’s features closely and as discreetly as possible while being so close. Neither knew how to act or bring it up - it started to look as if the only option was direct with a bit of faith and confidence on the side. With the children around and the other counselors lost in their own worlds of conversation, he almost hesitated to do what he decided upon. Still, being able to analyze and take a guess on the way she was acting made him believe there was a good chance. As she opened her mouth once more and took in an anxious breath, he took the open opportunity to lean in for a quick peck, wanting to express everything without displaying too much in front of the kids.

Her eyes widened. Silence ensnared the shared bubble.

He looked on in worry, the event processing in her mind. After what felt like an hour passed by, she looked up at him with a grateful smile. The confidence that was temporarily slipping away made a reappearance, relishing in what had just occurred. “It’s only been three months, but is it too early to say I love you?”

He was able to put on an act almost instantly, stroking his chin in pretend thought, “I’d say give it another year or two and come back to me.” She nudged his arm with her elbow, giving him a small grin that eased his fretfulness immediately. The gentle laugh that resonated from him made the butterflies in her stomach rampage; her heart feeling as if it was beating miles a minute.

“I love you, too.” He finally countered, giving her a more lingering kiss, earning them hues of youthful disgust that only caused more laughter to ensue.

[walkingshcdow-a]

Longtime follower, big time fan! I love your writing and I wanted to know what you would suggest or have any tips or recommend about how to start writing a book? I want to (and have a bit of an idea) but I don't know where to begin?? Thank you!!

I want to start this ask, first with thanks and then with a disclaimer. Firstly, thank you so much for following me and for reading/enjoying my stuff! I really appreciate it and it makes me feel very warm-and-fuzzy to know that someone on the other end of the internet reached out to me and thought highly enough of my writing to ask for advice. Secondly, I am a writing teacher. I teach high school creative writing and have degrees in English and Secondary English Education. I have written numerous short stories and one day hope to get a PhD in English or an MFA in creative writing. On the one hand, I am Supremely Qualified to answer your question. On the other, I’m... not. I am not a published author (yet) and most of my writing energy goes towards roleplay and fanfiction. The longest finished work I’ve created as an adult is my “Wooden Overcoats” fanfiction “The Greatest Undertaking”, which doesn’t “officially” crack novel length (50,000 words, give or take). When you say you seek advice on writing advice, I’m going to tell you something I’d never tell my students: you don’t have to take my advice. If something else works better for you (this part I do usually tell them), do that. I am not and no writer is the font of all writing knowledge. Anyone who says they are is trying to sell you something, usually, a book on how to write, written by an author you’ve never read or heard of. 

Okay, now that that’s out of the way... let’s talk about what helps me in hopes that some of it helps you!

Don’t be afraid to start. People will make you feel like your idea isn’t worth pursuing. Most of them are doing it on accident and would be horrified to know that their thoughtless comments are holding you back. For years, I did not write characters who had parents because when I was eleven, my mom read a fanfiction I wrote and the main character was critical of her parents and my mom asked me, “Is this how you feel?” If a circumstance hit too close to home, I didn’t write it even if my mom wasn’t going to read it. Thankfully, I’m past that. People won’t be the only thing that will hold you back. Time, fear of failure, impostor syndrome... all sorts of insidious things will give you excuses not to start. Do not let them win. 

Some form of pre-planning is extremely useful! It’s not necessary. Most of my short stories have never been outlined. I just sit at the keyboard and type until I have a short story and then I edit later. But for my longer stories, I find an outline keeps me organized and on track. Currently, I’m writing a story called “Catch and Release”. “Catch and Release” has two separate outlines (I kept the original, even though I scrapped at least half of it), both about five pages long. The outlines, for me, include character summaries (who is this character, what did they do in the last story- “The Greatest Undertaking” - that is relevant, what is their goal now, how do they perceive themselves/others, how do others perceive them, what other details are important), and chapter summaries with bullet-point lists of what plot points and emotional beats need to happen in each chapter. I did this in Google Docs because it means I can access it anywhere (and often do) and so I can use the strikethrough function to cross off plot points and emotional beats I’ve hit in writing. This keeps me on track when I take breaks from writing. I haven’t worked on the writing since a little over a week ago, since real life has picked up. I opened Chapter Nine the other day and was like, “Why did I start with Sid Marlowe?” I checked my outline and remembered exactly where I left off. It’s nice. I wasn’t as thorough with “The Greatest Undertaking” and there was a point where I took a month-long hiatus from working on it (I was teaching remotely from a different city because of the pandemic) and when I picked up “The Greatest Undertaking”, I thought to myself “What would have made writing easier for me?” Your outline doesn’t have to be as detailed as mine. It could be more detailed. Just create a guidebook for yourself in case you get stuck or have to take a break from your work. 

Speaking of preplanning... Brainstorm! Keep a list of your ideas for future fics/stories/etc. Write little plot summaries to refer to later. I like to you the “[Somebody] wanted [goal], but [obstacle], so [climax], then [ending].” model when I’m too busy to write a detailed summary. I’d also recommend looking at and utilizing traditional outlines, like Freytag’s pyramid or the “four-act structure” a professor suggested to me at a Shakespeare conference if you want to push back against traditional storytelling that allows for a longer focus on the resolution/consequences as the characters establish a new normal. Something. Anything to make you know what ideas you have and what shape they might take. Pictures can be helpful!

Even though preplanning is useful, don’t get married to your outline. If you love your outline too much, you might spend all your time working on it instead of the story or you might not give yourself the flexibility you need and deserve to write the story of your dreams. I realized when I was writing “Catch and Release” that I needed the latitude to add in a scene between Chapman and Calliope and to have Chapman and Antigone interact at least once in the series, since they didn’t in “The Greatest Undertaking”. I was able to edit the outline easily enough to add a whole chapter (Chapter Nine, which I’m working on). I might have to add up to three more chapters to hit all of my bullet points and I know my ending has changed from the first outline. That’s okay! As long as I keep writing and preserve the emotional beats, I’ll be content. Some people would hate this edit-as-you-go approach and insist upon sticking to the outline. If that works for you, great. But I’m not going to commit myself to subplots that don’t serve the narrative. 

Decide if you’re a plot-driven or character-driven writer (or, rather, if your piece is plot-driven or character-driven). I’ve put so much emphasis on outlining plot in this thing because I’m character-driven. I am constantly thinking about “but why are they like that?” and “What motivates character X? What is their payoff if they act?” I think in terms of character relationships. This is great! Super helpful! But when it comes to getting my characters do things... I need to outline a plot otherwise they will sit around and talk about their feelings for 30,000 words and nothing will happen. I compensate by making sure my characters have goals outside their intimate relationships, other interests/hobbies/struggles, and lots of things to do. In “Catch and Release”, I had to think of an event that would allow my characters to act out their feelings, rather than think about them privately. If you’re more plot-driven, you will need to make character outlines to keep track of why your characters are doing things that they do and to keep them somewhat consistent in how they behave. People in real life are sometimes inconsistent. In fiction, readers are more likely to notice “out of character” behavior... especially if it isn’t tied to an important motivator. You might need to make character arcs instead of a plot event list. And that’s okay! Do what you need to do to make sure that whether you’re plot- or character-driven, the two tie nicely together. 

Practice writing and read a lot. There are two ways to become a better writer. The first is my favorite: write a lot. In between short story projects and novella/novel-length fics, I write my RP characters here. I experiment with style and voice and character development here all the time. This is my “take a break from writing” writing corner, lol. It’s made me a lot better and the partners with whom I write make me better. It keeps me in continual practice with both story craft and mechanics. The second way to improve as a writer is to read a lot. I’m going to say something my colleagues would probably hate: watching TV and listening to podcasts counts as reading, too. Study how the author or writers craft the book/episode/movie you’re consuming. Look at the dialogue and plot structure. Imitate the parts you like, mix and match pieces of media, use one author’s style to tackle another’s subject material. Decide what you think is good writing and what you think isn’t. I’m having my students do an activity from the book called “No Plot? No Problem!” by Chris Baty, the founder of National Novel Writing Month. It asks writers to list all their favorite tropes, conventions, stylistic choices, etc. and all their least favorites and then to only include things they listed as favorites and to avoid writing about things they hate. Writing is a self-betterment activity, but you don’t get better by punishing yourself. You want to enjoy writing, right? Don’t “write what you know”. Write what you know, what you love, and what you want to know more about! Imitating writers you admire is a good thing for both original and fanfiction. Practice, practice, practice!

Set goals for yourself. I have an app called Habitica to help with my to-do lists. I have three things that are writing-related on it right now: “Respond to writing prompt” (habit), “Work on creative project” (daily), and “Finish Catch and Release” (singular event). On Habitica, you rank the level of ease for each thing. “Respond to writing prompt” is “easy”. It can be a prompt here, working on a chapter of “Catch and Release”, or doing a separate writing prompt. “Work on creative project” is “medium” and can be any of the above... plus outlining or another artistic expression, because sometimes I forget to branch out. I can’t check “Catch and Release” off my list until I finish the actual story and that’s ranked as “difficult”. I get a different amount of points for doing the things I need to do and I lose points for not doing them. I also (unofficially) have a goal that all of my chapters must be between 2000 and 5000 words. There’s no formal system for that one. Either way, these keep me motivated to keep writing. Find a system of accountability for yourself. Some people do well if they reward themselves (I don’t. There’s nothing I want enough to work for except things that have intrinsic rewards, like... I get to keep my job if I do my job. Telling me that is more motivating than telling me I’ll get ice cream for finishing my lesson plans. I can get ice cream even if I don’t. I’m an adult with a modest amount of disposable income or I’ll decide I don’t want ice cream. The only times I’ve done this self-denial tactic and seen results I also dehydrated and deprived myself of sleep. I do not recommend that in the slightest). Others thrive on working competitively against friends, the clock, or themselves. Still others accomplish their goals only by having external people hold them accountable. I will admit: I sometimes need a shove from a friend which is why...

Enlist friends to get opinions from. I have the world’s best group chat on Discord. All three of them are writing partners here and familiar with my fandom (”Wooden Overcoats” in this instance; though at least two of them are familiar with “Phantom of the Opera”/Susan Kay’s “Phantom” and I’ve forced the whole group to know about my original characters). Each of them has a different perspective so I can ask their thoughts and brainstorm with them, throw ideas at them, etc. or just ask them to make sure I’m writing once a week or so. I have other friends who know nothing about my fandom or my stories but who are willing to listen objectively to look for plot holes. And then I have friends who are content to know I’m writing and never ask for more info. Writing is such a solitary activity that it’s important to find support and community where you can! 

Believe in yourself. You can have all the support in the world, but you have to remind yourself that your story is worth telling and that no one can tell it quite like you can. Get writing!

I wish you the absolute best of luck on your writing endeavors! If you ever want to talk or follow up, I’d love to hear how it’s going! Take care!

[lovehoperomance]

Confessions Of A Fic Writer

Hey guys, I’m taking a break from editing my latest Larry fic (MrsStylinson on ao3) and I need a distraction so I decided to conduct my own interview...of myself. But it’s basically a quiz and anyone can reblog and use :) Tag your fave authors if you wish.

1. Fandom(s)/Main ships(s). 1D. Larry. I have others but this is the only one I feel compelled to write about.

2. Favourite trope. It’s probably a tie between enemies to lovers and friends to lovers. So I guess that probably means my true favourite is slow burn!

3. Favourite fic idea that you’re yet to write. Mongrels to Men. Sort of like ladette to lady or ladettes to ladies or whatever it's called. So like Louis would be a promiscuous party boy type with like substandard manners. And for whatever reason his mum signs him up and Harry is like his mentor and has to teach him to be all posh and stately and Louis just makes fun of him and ends up teaching Harry to loosen up. And it involves some kind of makeover scene/bit

4. Favourite one of your fics. This is also tough because I’m so critical and I hate everything I write hahah. But maybe my Bridget Jones’ Diary AU? You Drive Me Crazy (But It Feels Alright). I feel like that one had a more fleshed out voice. The characters were well formed (possibly because of all the help I had from the original). My drunk in love fic comes close and I have a lot of love for two of my WIP’s when I don’t think about the lack of attention they’ve garnered but yeah, basically I hate everything.

4. Favourite fic by someone else/Fave author. I am making this so tough on myself because I have so many favourites. @cherrystreet’s bachelor fic (This Wicked Game) is a huge one. I never get sick of it. I love @all-these-larrythings (reaverview dreamer on ao3) and the medium fics by deathchamber on ao3. There’s so many more: (whoknows on ao3 whose tumblr I found but can’t manage to link or @louiswolves: grapenight on ao3 whose fic featuring a cat is an absolute must.) But I digress.

5. The first fic I ever read: I don’t remember this. I think it was a supernatural one and I wasn’t too keen but after being introduced to a YouTube compilation of Larry, I read a fic where Louis played soccer and Harry was a popstar and Louis proposes at a game at the end (I cannot find the name of it. I don’t know if it’s been deleted or if I’m an idiot because I’m pretty sure it’s a hugely popular fic.) I remember bawling my eyes out and after that, I never really went back to het romance. Not long after I started writing myself.

6. If someone could write YOU your dream fic, what would it be? I think it would definitely be a slow burn (surprise) with plenty of angst, plenty of fluff and plenty of smut towards the end. I would LOVE to read another bachelor fic but I just love really specific ones, maybe cause it’s something I struggle to write. I love fics based on movies or a really particular area of knowledge.

7. If you had to sum up your writing style in three words, what would they be? Descriptive. Emotional. Angsty. Is that the same as emotional? Okay. Descriptive, emotional and....poetic. It was really hard to come up with positive ones tbh.

8. What is your favourite thing about being a fic writer? The appreciation from my readers. When someone lets me know that something I wrote connected with them or made them smile, I feel like I have a very special power that not everyone has.

9. What is your least favourite thing about being a fic writer? The pressure. The insecurity. The hours spent working without pay hahah. Just kidding. I do enjoy it and I’m not skilled enough to get paid for it anyway.

10. If you could give any advice to your past self or to people thinking of trying out fic writing, what would it be? Well I’m not really qualified but i’m interviewing myself as if I were a success so, to my past self, I would say...stop trying to find a million different ways to say blue or green eyes. (I’m still guilty of this but I’m getting better.) Edit more and use flowery language less. Find active verbs and metaphors instead of more adjectives and adverbs. Remember to show not tell!! To other future writers, I’d say remember to write what you love, not what you think other people will love. This is how the best stuff comes out. If other people don’t like it, remember that writing, like art, thrives on your sole purpose/happiness and wastes away when you’re dissastisfied. Also, inspiration is endless! I often get writer’s block but I’m slowly learning to look for cues in new places.

11. What inspires you to write? And what other forms or genres do you write in? I’m inspired to write by the complexity of human emotion and human struggle. Having suffered from some illness or another, be it physical or mental, since I was a young teen, I am always conscious of our ability to survive and for me, there is no greater way to honour my own survival than to follow my passion and write romance. I mostly write romance but I have dabbled in thrillers and dirty realism. I also write in the form of poetry and short opinion pieces aka rants.

12. Why do you think fanfiction has become such a phenomenon?

think it’s because we live in an age of information overload where we’re always able to get our hands on more of the things we love. However, when it comes to characters, those die with the final line in a novel or the final line in a television series. Fanfiction resurrects them. As for fics based on real people, I think it’s just a form of escapsim. Sometimes you see two people who seem like they’d be absolutely perfect together and the fantasy is more enjoyable than the reality.

[godknowsrmt]

Future Management - Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

A/N: English is not my first language! I’m sorry for any mistakes. I’ve read so many Queen fics it’s unreal. I just had to try it myself. Please give me feedback, I would like to make a longer series out of this. Future Management is one of my favorites and it fits the plot too (also Roger looks freakin’ gorgeous in the RockPop video of 1981). This could also be Ben Hardy as Roger.

Warnings: cursing (also smut in later chapters)

Word count: around 1.5 k

Plot: Shortly after Freddie joins “Smile“ and re-names the band „Queen“, the gigs are getting bigger, the masses are screaming louder and the record label is getting uncomfortably clingy. Therefore a qualified manager is needed. Considering her graduation in management, reader might be really useful for the rockstars to-be. Luckily she is an old friend of Brian and might just find herself in the job of her dreams. Only if there wouldn’t be a certain blonde letting her question everything - especially her morals.

Tags: @perriwiinkle

-

„We can’t do this on our own anymore!“, Brian leans back in his chair ruffling his locks. Freddie raises a brow, watching Pete, a guy from the record label, hotly debating with Roger.

„These never ending fights with the label are tiring us out.“ Brian states, while Freddie remains silent taking in the view of Roger starting to throw sheets of lyrics at Pete. „It’s not the sound of Queen if the label wants to blemish every song we write!“ Roger spits, prompting Pete to flinch.

„Maybe we should do something.“ John suggests, not bothering to detach his gaze from the bass, playing a random melody out of increasing boredom.

„And what would that be darling? Producing songs with no label at all? That’s ridiculous.“, Freddie laughs.

„How about a manager?“ Brian proposes. 

John stops playing and stares at Brian while Roger enters the room fuming with rage. „We need someone to handle the business we have no clue of. Record label guys for example“, he explains pointing at Roger who starts walking towards the couch.

„This stupid twat has no fucking clue what he’s talking about. Can we just throw him out the window or somethin’?“ Roger whines and takes a seat next to Freddie.

„Brian just talked about getting a manager. What do you think about that?“, Freddie spoke.

„Well, then at least someone else had to deal with this leech and we could make music in peace.“ Roger says gesturing to Pete, who is engaged in a serious talk with another guy from the label.

„Any suggestions on who is qualified for this?“ John asks. „Personally I don’t know any managing agencies.“ he adds. Brian gets up from his chair remembering a certain friend of his with a degree in the exact thing they are searching for.

„I might just know the perfect person for this job.“ Smiling he leaves the room while leaving the others guessing.

-

„You would be perfect. I trust you. You’re witty, funny, diplomatic and most of all loyal. You could keep us in check. You know us.“ For a solid half hour Brian tried to talk you into accepting his job offer. Sitting in a small café on the university campus you take a sip of your Latté. Never had you expected something like this, when Brian called you the other night, asking if you’d like to meet up.

„That’s really sweet of you Brian, but I just finished education, I don’t know if I’m ready for such a responsible position. Also, would the four of you even obey my instructions?“

Brian draws circles in his English Breakfast tea, looking rather disappointed.

„Listen Y/N, I know you can do it. You have to start somewhere, why not help out a friend and gain some experience. It’s a win-win situation! You’ll know how to handle us, you’ve handled me for such a long time now.“ He beams and you couldn’t deny he had a point. Managing Queen? A bright, rising star in rockstar heaven? What if you messed up? You could never forgive yourself if you would harm your friends dream.

Your relationship with John, Freddie and Roger limits to a tiny amount of time whenever you spent time with Brian. Being a band, they just happened to be there too. You got along, but you never gave a thought about meeting them outside of your rather coincidental encounters. But you had to confess, the boys were indeed entertaining you with their permanent bickering. Maybe you would be quite good at keeping them in line.

„What if I mess something up and somehow destroy the bands success. Or worse, I make a mistake and don’t drive you to success at all.“ You tell him your worries hoping he would understand your fears.

Brian snickers. „Oh love, you couldn’t do anything like this. Just give it a try. If you hate it that much I’ll search for someone else to manage us. Deal?“ He holds out his hand for you to shake.

The pressure on your chest releasing a bit, you thought about it for a few seconds. Impatiently Brian taps his finger on the table, his silver rings making clap noises. Sighing you reach out your hand. In fact, you have to find a job sooner or later and you got nothing to lose, right?

„Deal. But just on a trial.“, you say shaking his hand.

„For now.“, he smirks.

-

You saw them perform before. Of course, since Brian is a good friend of yours. But watching them, knowing they are your band in one way or another, makes it somewhat… different.

Your gaze lingers on the four men, taking in every detail of their magical performance. The way they play their instruments has you melting under their melody. Never had you heard anything like it.

You close your eyes and hum along to the sound of “Killer Queen“ forgetting your surroundings completely.

When the song ended, you realize how hyped the audience is. People screaming and whistling. Girls throwing their tops on stage. When a girl with incredibly long red hair screams „Roger we love you!“ your attention is drawn to the blonde behind the drum set. He just gives her a wink causing a strange feeling to erupt in your stomach. You had to admit he does look annoyingly handsome.

Tearing your stare away from Roger you realize the redhead handing a note to the security guard next to the stage before she floats back to her friends. Since the gig is going to end soon anyway, you head into the backstage area waiting for the boys to come join you.

While waiting you talk to Melissa, one of the interns at Queens record label, asking her about the issues with Pete Dawson.

„It’s just the classic disagreements. Mr. Dawson wants this, Mr. Mercury wants that, it’s a never ending circle of nerve-wrecking arguments.“, Melissa sighs.

„Well, from now on I wanna be informed about everything going on with the label. As Queens manager I am the communicational intersection between Mr. Dawson and my boys. Nothing’s going to happen without my knowledge anymore, alright.“ Your tone is serious as you enlighten Melissa about certain changes and your plans for the future.

„I see. You’re gonna be very good at it.“, she says winking at you.

„Good at what?“

„Being a boss ass manager, not taking any of the labels shit.“,  Melissa laughs and you join her. Maybe this whole manager thing is actually a great idea. It definitely is fun to kick some asses now and then.

-

„How did you like it.“ A sweaty Brian grins widely and chugs a bottle of water when entering the backstage area. You stand up from the couch making your way over to him.

„You were amazing! All of you!“ You state watching John, Freddie and Roger coming through the door as well.

„Thank you love, glad you liked it. You’re kind of our mother from now on.“, Freddie smirks causing you to blush. „Mother? I’m younger than all of you.“, you laugh while taking a bottle of vodka mixing it with some orange juice.

„Thanks for trusting me with this.“, you say, bringing the cup to your mouth. „Ah, thank you dearly.“ Roger takes the drink out of your hand with a smug expression on his face. He downs all of it immediately and all you could do is stare at him in disbelief.

„Hey!“, you complain after a few seconds, but Roger already steps out of the room explaining himself with an „Sorry, can’t be late to my rendezvous in the bathroom.“

You thought back to the girl handing a note to the security guard. Well played, that certainly is a way to get Roger Taylor to notice you.

Anger bubbling inside of you, you turn around mixing another drink for yourself. How dare he? You are his bands manager from now on, not some random girl lingering around.

A lesson concerning “respect towards your management“ is what this drummer needs badly. In your head, you try to come up with ideas, to show Roger who the boss really is.

-

This is my first fic EVER! I never liked anything or anyone enough to actually WRITE A FIC for them. Come get me demons, I’m all yours.

I can’t wait to continue this story, but I’d love to hear some feedback first so I know I’m not falling on deaf ears. Have a lovely day y’all!

-A.R.

[babblingblondegenius]

Future Ficlet: All You Need is Love...and Coffee

Wow, tonight’s episode was brutal.  Between the painful Olicity separation in present time and the lack of Olicity in the dark future of the flash-forwards, we aren’t seeing any of the happy right now.  There seems to be no hope. Our heroes’ sacrifices were all in vain.  Basically, everything sucks.

As kismet would have it, a couple of weeks ago, I shared a fun little head canon with @allimariexf and @hope-for-olicity and they both encouraged me to ‘write the thing.’  I’ve had a terrible case of writer’s block for quite some time (meaning I have a gazillion story ideas and a ton of WIPs that are unfinished).  I expected this one to end up dormant in my drafts as well.  But after tonight’s episode, I felt the need to finish it because we (and Olicity, of course) deserve a little hope and happy.  Set two years in the future, the premise of this little fluffy ficlet is that Felicity needs an assistant but she has particular criteria ;)  

This should have been the easy part.  

After months of enticing investors, obtaining the proper licenses and permits, all the legal mumbo jumbo, and locating the perfect office space, hiring an executive assistant is going to be the breaking point where she finally loses her sanity.  

Which completely defeats the purpose of trying to find someone to help her in the first place.

She has been doing fine on her own, thriving actually, since she decided it was time to recommence building a tech company from the ground up, sans Curtis this time.   This venture, for better or worse, will be all hers.  Her vision.  Her name. Her legacy.

Despite her initial apprehension at that thought, she has a clarity and confidence in her mission and goals that has propelled her forward at a pace she couldn’t have imagined.  So far, choosing which of her many prototypes she wanted to launch first has been her biggest challenge.

Until now.  

She had narrowed down the stack of over 100 applications to the eight most qualified for the position, and began the interview process at 7:00 this morning.  

The first one had been punctual, neat, and lacking any sort of personality whatsoever.  

The second one arrived twenty minutes late and then interrupted Felicity mid-interview to take a non-emergency personal call on her cell phone.

The third one tapped her super long artificial nails on the edge of Felicity’s desk the entire time and included ‘loud typer’ when asked how her current co-workers would describe her.

The fourth one was a chaotic whirlwind who overshared details of his personal life on every single question.

Maybe he just had too much caffeine in his system. Or maybe she doesn’t have enough.

Coffee.  She needs coffee.  Her next interviewee isn’t scheduled to come in for another hour, so she takes the reprieve to just lay her head down on her desk for a moment in order to gather up the energy she needs to make the trek down the block for her caffeine fix.

“One vanilla soy latte, extra sugar, extra cinnamon, extra whip cream.”  

Oh yes.  That’s exactly what she wants.  Why she is thinking it in Oliver’s voice, she doesn’t know.  Her coffee daydream is so vivid, she can even smell the soothing notes of vanilla with hints of sweet cinnamon spice wafting through the air. Mmmmmmmm.

“Felicity….honey, are you okay?”  Oliver’s voice again.  She slowly lifts her head and sees her husband standing on the other side of her desk, holding a large cup emblazoned with the logo of her favorite java joint and her name scrawled across it in black marker.

“I am now,” she practically purrs as he hands over her treasured treat.  After taking a deep inhale and a long swallow, she blissfully smiles at him.  “It’s perfect.  You’re perfect.”  Suddenly jumping up out of her chair, she shares the revelation brought on by the jolt of caffeine in her system. “Oh!  I have a great idea!  You should apply to be my EA.”  

Oliver chuffs out a laugh.  “Because I brought you coffee?  Your standards must be pretty low.”  

“Worried you couldn’t cut it, Mr. Queen?” she asks, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

“I think my time served as Mayor proves otherwise,” he retorts with an air of gravitas but mimics her gesture, silently letting her know that he enjoys her teasing him and is willing to play along.  

She shakes her head.  “Nope, not helpful.  You couldn’t even get me a break on my taxes when you were the mayor.  What are your current qualifications?”

He ponders the inquiry for a moment before responding proudly, “I’m the head chef at Chez Queen.”

She rolls her eyes at Oliver’s corny moniker for their kitchen but gives him an encouraging smile.  “Oh yeah, I’ve eaten there a few times.  The food is magnificent.  But do you have any business experience?”

His expression goes from proud to smug.  “As a matter of fact, I do.  I was formerly the CEO of Queen Consolidated.”

She takes another swig of coffee and checks an incoming text on her cell phone before reminding him, “I happen to have first-hand knowledge you wouldn’t have made it a week without your super smart and highly efficient EA.”   

“That’s true,” he concedes with a grin, “though on the downside, she only brought me coffee one time.  One”, he repeats, taking her coffee and phone and setting them off to the side. Placing his palms flat on the edge of her desk, he leans in closer, a visible twinkle in his vivid blue eyes.   “I think she actually broke our coffeemaker.  Violently,” he teases in a conspiratorial whisper.

Mirroring her husband, she leans in over the desk until their noses are almost touching.  “A little violence doesn’t scare you, does it, Mr. Queen?”  She allows her gaze to run down the length of his torso, visibly appreciating the definition of his biceps that his jacket cannot conceal. “You look like you could handle yourself just fine.”

“I like to stay in shape.”  He feigns modesty but she knows her husband and can recognize that look in his eyes. “Some cardio, free weights, martial arts, salmon ladder…”

“That’s so hot” she blurts out, temporarily slipping out of character as her brain produces an amazing visual of sweaty and shirtless Oliver making his way up the salmon ladder.  Will there ever be a day when that doesn’t turn her on?  Probably not, and judging from the self-satisfied smirk on his face, he mentioned it on purpose just to get that very reaction out of her.   Determined to get back on track, she rephrases, “I mean, that sounds interesting.”  She decides a change of topic would be helpful to give her an advantage in their little game.  “Computer skills?”

She immediately regrets that question when Oliver gives her a feral smile that makes her weak in the knees.  Lowering his voice to the same octave he uses when he is dressed in green leather, he divulges, “I’ve hacked a federal prison network.”

Guh, game over.  In all her years with Oliver, that is the sexiest thing he has ever said. She quickly makes her way around the desk and invades his personal space. “Seems like you’re a man of many talents,” she coos appreciatively, latching onto his arm and nuzzling her face into the sleeve of his jacket to breathe in the scent that is uniquely Oliver.

“My wife taught me a thing or two,” he boasts, turning so they are face-to-face and he can wrap his arms around her.  

Her hands instinctively move from his arm to his chest, resting over his heart.  “She must be an amazing woman.”

Oliver nods in agreement, his nose nuzzling hers. “She is.  She’s the best.”

“I know you’re just saying that to get husband points and its working,” she acknowledges affectionately, her hand caressing the stubble on his jaw.   He tilts his head into her palm like a contented cat and she takes the opportunity to kiss him like she wanted to since she saw him in front of her desk, whether it was five minutes ago with coffee or nine years ago with a bullet-ridden laptop.  

Oliver moans and deepens the kiss, the fervent strokes of his tongue making her long for more.  “Okay, you’re hired,” she pants, breaking the kiss when her need for air temporarily overcomes her need for Oliver.  “Smoak Tech is a start-up so your health care package consists of me patching you up if you are injured and I’m sure we can work out some type of compensation for your time and skills,” provocatively shifting her body against his and feeling his obvious interest through his jeans and her skirt.  Two soft kisses and one firm rotation of his hips later, she is internally debating the sturdiness of her desk and whether they have time for her to show him exactly what she means by ‘compensation’ before her next appointment shows up.

“That’s a very tempting offer, Ms. Smoak” he murmurs into her hair as his hand travels down her back and immediately finds its usual place on the curve of her shapely ass, pulling her impossibly closer, “but I’m afraid my current employer really needs me right now and I just can’t bear to leave her,” his free hand gesturing to the stroller where their daughter slumbers peacefully.

Felicity sighs, pure happiness filling her heart and clearing her mind as she rests her head on her husband’s chest to gaze lovingly at the chubby-cheeked, perfect amalgamation of her and Oliver they brought into the world just four short months ago.   “Sounds like she has you wrapped around her little finger.”  

Oliver rests his chin on the top of her head and she can hear the love and contentment in his voice when he whispers in her hair, “From the very first moment I met her.  She takes after her mother that way.”

A/N:  Thank you for reading!  I hope this helped to soothe the sting of all the angst.  Queen family feels FTW.  William was not in this fic because at that time of day, he should be in school and also I didn’t want to traumatize him any further with Olicity’s blatant flirty flirt.  The poor kid has seen enough already lol.  

Huge thanks and virtual hugs to @allimariexf and @hope-for-olicity for all the fun conversations and being all around wonderful :)

Oliver’s ‘current employer’ ;)

[babywarg]

ironstrange multipart fic: Settling for a Miracle [2/?]

Chapter Summary: Stephen finds it difficult to readjust to life in New York. While at a crossroads, he has a heart-to-heart talk with a young neighbor named Peter.

Notes: OK, I've decided to make Stephen neighbors with May and Peter Parker. Since Spider-Man: Homecoming never said when Peter's Uncle Ben died (did he even die??), I'm placing it at 2014, two years before Civil War and when Tony Stark gave 14-year-old Peter his first functional Spidey suit.

And no, this 12-year-old Peter doesn't have his powers yet. But he has been living with his Aunt May and Uncle Ben for a while.

Originally on AO3.

***

Coming home to his new ("new" was a relative word - the building was old, with cracks and leaks in likely places) apartment in Queens continued to be a weird experience for Stephen.

He had to build up his personal finances from zero, and considering his credit history, it was understandable that reputable financial institutions were not jumping at the first chance to lend to him again.

But with the help of good friends like Christine Palmer and...Christine Palmer, he was able to find an affordable place not too far from his hospital in Manhattan, and easily settle in.

Still, it was weird. At first, he thought it was because he was used to luxury - his new flat was less than half the size of his old Midtown one, and with considerably fewer things.

Then he realized: it was because he had gotten used to living in the most austere conditions. The first few nights, he found the mattress Christine had helped him purchase too soft; he slept on the floor.

Two years away from urban life had changed him. Life in the city seemed too fast, too chaotic, too reliant on stuff.

It wasn't like sliding back into an old role at all, as he'd expected - it was more like trying to fit into a role that had become way too small.

Fortunately, he had amiable neighbors, at least. On his first night there, a woman living across the hall who introduced herself as May came by with pastries she'd baked herself (they were...not the best, but not inedible, and he wasn't exactly in a position to refuse free food), and he labeled her instantly in his mind as "the sad-eyed woman who laughed a lot."

During special occasions, May would come by again with baked goods, or else send her nephew Peter, a fast-talking, anxious preteen who never called her "Aunt" and seemed to mirror some of her sadness, but had trouble meeting Stephen's gaze.

Stephen recognized the preteen's avoidance - it was a mixture of grief and guilt. But guilt for what?

Peter was the one who'd casually let slip that May's husband Ben had died recently, from a bullet fired by a mugger at close range. But Stephen didn’t ask for more details. He kept his distance. He felt like there was much in his head that needed sorting out, before he could let other people in.

It would have been easier if adjusting to Stephen's new-old life was simply about relocating, and being around more stuff than he felt he actually needed.

But it wasn't.

 ***

 "Stephen." Christine laid a hand on his arm.

That was the only time he took his hands off the patient's chest.

For the first time, he began to hear the long, uninterrupted whine of the flatlined ECG. It was the only sound in the room, apart from his own heart pounding in his ears, his own ragged breathing.

He looked down at his scarred hands: so strong now, so steady - and so useless.

The other nurses and doctors in the room were staring expectantly at him. Stephen stepped back from the table, from the corpse he had been trying to revive. Without a word, he turned and left the operating theatre, leaving Christine to call time of death.

 ***

 He took too long washing his hands, and Christine caught up with him.

She started washing her hands in silence in the sink beside his.

He finished, and dried off, but realized he didn't have the strength to leave. He stood, waiting for her to acknowledge his weakness and speak first.

So she did.

"How is it that you've been a doctor," she softly began, "a surgeon, for this long, and you still haven't gotten used to losing people under your care?"

Christine spoke without judgment. This was what he had always treasured about her, though he was not always able to recognize it in a timely manner.

"I spent a good part of my career avoiding the slightest chance of losing people under my care," he answered back in a whisper. "Perfect record, remember?"

"Yes, your precious record," she sighed. It was not a pleasant memory, for either of them. "But Stephen...did that really cushion you from death? It was all around you, all the time. We talked about it in bed."

"And that’s one more item to add to the long list of things I haven't apologized for." Stephen muttered remorsefully. "There were times we talked when it was extremely likely that I wasn't...really...listening." He looked away from her. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well," she said, one corner of her lips raised. "I just thought that, even if you didn't listen to me or talked about it, it still got to you."

It should have, shouldn't it? Life and death came hand in hand for doctors. Death was inevitable, but it was still the enemy. That came with the oath; that was the deal.

"We fight death," Christine clarified for him. "We fight losing battles, sometimes. But what's important is, we fight." She faced him squarely, laid her hands lightly on his shoulders. "We're the last string keeping people bound to their lives on this earth. But sometimes, even we have to let go."

He shook his head. "You don't understand, Christine..."

He shouldn't have said that. As soon as he did, he wanted to take it back. He shut his eyes tight and swallowed the rest of his words:

I have power over death. I could save lives, if that was what I wanted. I don't have to let go of the lives on my table.

All I have to let go of is my hands.

Stephen was quite sure no other surgeon had this much on their conscience. It was bad enough for some surgeons to deal with run-of-the-mill messiah complexes, but his own complex just had to have that little something extra.

But Christine didn't need to hear that.

No one did.

It was a bargain only he had to live with.

"What don't I understand, Stephen?" Christine asked.

Stephen had a few seconds to come up with an answer that would draw Christine away from the truth, while not being strictly untrue.

He came up with this:

"I left and came back a different man. I thought working in the ER would help me adjust to the changes. But I don't think I'm even a surgeon anymore. I...I don't know what I am."

Christine wrapped her arms around him. He let her. He would be lying to himself if he ever thought Christine's friendly affections were not helpful him in any way. They were. Always, and greatly.

She hugged him often - and if he was going to be honest with himself: each time she did, it flooded him with warmth that he didn't feel he deserved.

"Maybe you should step away," she suggested. "Just for a little while. Maybe two years was too little time. Maybe it wasn't enough that you got your hands back."

"But what do I do?" he asked her miserably, as he returned her embrace. "Where do I go? I can't go back to Kathmandu. I've done all I could do there."

That wasn't true. He'd left Kathmandu without having learned much. Perhaps, if he'd stayed longer in Kamar-Taj, he might have learned about more useful things - such as ways to see into the future. Into many possible futures - his own and others'.

But he'd already said his goodbyes, and going back was likely to give rise to more questions than answers.

Asking a wise, dear and loyal friend what to do was the next best recourse.

"You told me Tony Stark made you an offer," Christine said. "Don't you want to give it a shot?"

"Tony Stark makes many offers, to many people, in a single day," Stephen said acidly. "If I accept, what would that make me? A notch in his bedpost?"

Even as he said it, Stephen noted how petty it made him sound. The knee-jerk egotism turned his stomach.

"Don't be crass," Christine sniffed. "Stephen, listen...if what he's offering ends up being what you need...what's wrong with taking it?"

Hearing it from her made a difference. She was unfailingly practical when the situation warranted it.

"It's not about not being special at all," Christine clarified, "it's about being the only one qualified to do the work. If I heard you right, Stark said that much, and I think you should give that some weight."

The words resonated with Stephen. There had been a time when he cherished the knowledge that he was the only one in the world with a brain and hands like his - in fact, it had been the sole foundation of his self-worth.

He didn't like thinking of himself as a hero, but thinking of himself as an expert without peer?

That was familiar.

"And if you really don't want to work with Tony Stark," Christine ventured, "you could always teach?"

Stephen grunted.

"Me, with young people?" he scoffed. "It's not enough that I can't save lives, I have to ruin them, too?"

A small chuckle escaped Christine. She kissed him on the cheek.

"How would you know you ruin lives?" she challenged him. "Have you actually tried?"

 ***

 That night, Stephen had energy to spare, so he took the stairs to the seventh floor, where his apartment was.

He came across young Peter Parker at the stairwell.

The brown-haired boy wasn't exactly in the way. He was sitting on the steps and leaning against the wall, looking haunted and tired. He cast a brief, blank gaze toward Stephen, then went back to sulking about something.

Stephen could have walked past him. He'd never really been the kind to stop and ask what was wrong. If the child had had a physical injury, then sure, he could've done something.

None of his training, in medical school or in Kamar-Taj, covered dealing with a situation like this.

He really should have kept on walking.

But he didn't.

"Peter?" He stopped at the landing, where he stood almost at eye level with the child. "What are you doing down here? Is anything wrong?"

Peter still wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Hey, Dr. Strange," he greeted weakly. He quickly wiped his face with his hands, as if that would make him stop looking so worn-out instantly. "Nothing's wrong. I just can’t sleep, so I stepped out for a bit of fresh air. It's nice and cool out here."

It was cool, but it was also downright chilly. Not exactly the healthiest time for delicate-looking young people to be out. Not to mention, a closed stairwell wasn't exactly the best place to get "fresh air."

"It's late. Won't May get worried?"

"Oh," Peter mumbled, "I snuck out. Please don't tell her you saw me. I'll be back upstairs soon, I promise."

Stephen could have left it at that. But he didn't do that, either.

He quietly sat beside the boy, depositing the paper bag of groceries he was carrying onto his lap. He rummaged around in it for ready-made food that they could share.

It didn't take long for him to find one. "Sandwich?"

It was a good thing he usually bought two sandwiches in the evening, when he caught the deli still open and pricing its breads half-off - one was for eating at breakfast. But this was a special case, and he didn't spare a moment to mourn not having anything ready to eat in the morning.

Peter hesitated, but took what was being offered.

"Thanks, doc. Is this number five, from across the street?"

"Yep. Got 'em just before closing."

"My Uncle Ben loves these." Peter caught himself. "...Loved these. I mean."

There was a long pause as Peter collected himself. When he finally took a bite of the sandwich in his hands, it seemed to Stephen that he was just doing it to be polite.

"You must miss him," Stephen remarked.

Peter sighed around the mouthful of bread he was slowly chewing.

"Not as much as May does."

"Still." Stephen prepared to take a bite out of his own sandwich. He didn't want to let the boy eat alone. "May isn't the only one dealing with his loss."

Peter didn't answer this. But when he opened his mouth again to speak, he talked about how much his uncle liked the deli across the street, and how he liked his sandwiches - with pickles. Lots of pickles.

Stephen answered that he wasn't a big fan of pickles, but he did like it when sandwiches were squished as flat as they could go.

That made Peter smile. "You too, huh?"

That smile seemed to have opened the floodgates. Peter talked about food, about his aunt's cooking, how his uncle always prepared their meals and made sure there was something in the fridge for Peter, a "growing boy," to eat as soon as he got home from school...

Somehow all the talking led to his parents - how Peter barely remembered them, and how Ben and May stood for the only parents he ever really knew. And how he was afraid he didn't have the strength his aunt needed, now that his uncle was gone, and all they had to rely on was each other.

He never told his uncle Ben he loved him. They just didn’t have that kind of relationship, you know. May says it to both of them all the time, and they both get to say it back to her easily, it’s just...

Suddenly, Stephen understood the guilt he’d seen on Peter’s face the first time they met.

There was so much he hadn’t said.

Peter wanted to cry. Stephen knew that from the way the boy’s voice shook, the way he trembled sometimes. But there was a lot of pride in Peter Parker, a sort of pride Stephen recognized in himself.

He needed to prove to others that he was strong and grown-up. That he could carry the grief and the memories and the responsibilities he was suddenly saddled with.

Stephen remembered the deaths he himself had lived through, how he had never cried at any of them. And he wasn't about to force Peter to cry, even if perhaps that was what the boy needed.

He just let Peter talk until he had nothing left to say - and that turned out to be long after both their sandwiches were gone.

That was enough for them. It had to be.

And when he was all talked out, Peter heaved a long sigh, sat up, and mustered another smile.

"Thanks for sitting out here with me, Dr. Strange," he said quietly. "Means a lot, you know?"

"Of course, Peter," he answered. "Just remember, if you or your aunt need anything, I'm right across the hall."

...Why did he say that?

So much for keeping his distance.

As soon as he did, he wanted to regret it.

He imagined Peter and/or May knocking on his door at odd hours of the night, with some excuse or another to hang with him.

But he found, to his surprise, that he didn't regret it as much as he did. Neither did he fear the prospect of receiving them at odd hours.

"That means a lot, too," Peter said. He looked like he was about to say more, but he clamped his lips shut and got to his feet.

Stephen walked the boy back to his flat, where he soundlessly let himself in. With a final word for Peter to get a good night's sleep, Stephen turned and walked back to his own apartment.

He put away his groceries, washed up and went to bed, knowing what he needed to do first thing in the morning.

 ***

 "Mister Stark."

"Doctor Strange," said the man on the other end of the line. "I thought I asked you to call me 'Tony.' I'm going to start calling you 'Stephen' after this, because you told me to do so and unlike some people, I know how to follow instructions."

Stephen had to smile at this.

"You'll need to understand that following instructions isn't my forte," he warned. "If you don't know that yet, it's going to be a sore point for us, going forward."

"Does that mean you're on board?"

Stephen paused. "I’ll no longer be on call at my hospital, but I won't be able to report to you seven days a week. I don’t plan to completely let go of my practice."

"Not a problem," Tony Stark assured him. "It’ll probably just take us longer than we expected to finish, but we'll go by your timetable."

Tony was really good at making Stephen feel like he was in control of the operation he was being asked to lead. Stephen was smart enough to know that this was probably not the case, but he also had to admit: he appreciated the ego-stroking.

"You don't have to worry about transportation, either. The lab is actually in Midtown, near your hospital. We can even set you up with a new place around there, if you like."

Stephen blinked.

"I'm sorry - a new place?"

"One more suited to an expert of your stature. Rent-free, of course." Tony said all this with ease, as if it had all been taken care of already - primped and gift-wrapped. All Stephen had to do was accept it. "You'll be central to the project, doc, and I want you to feel like it. No more one-bedroom on the seventh floor of a 20-year-old building in Queens. Only the best for the best."

Stephen didn’t bother asking how Tony knew where he lived. Tony, with his unlimited corporate resources, probably even knew all about Stephen’s money woes - but he decided not to focus on that.

He focused instead on the offer; it was a hell of a lure. Better living conditions - rent-free, no less - might bring him closer to the person he used to be, before leaving for Kamar-Taj. Perhaps it would even help him settle into old patterns.

However, that also meant being beholden to Tony Stark and his handouts. It would be restricting his freedom - trapping himself in material things all over again.

"I'll have to pass," he easily said. "It's a very generous offer, Tony. But I'm fine where I am."

He could hear the shrug on the other end of the line. "Suit yourself. All that matters to me, Stephen, is that you're comfortable while failing to follow instructions. Without you, the project can’t even leave the ground."

The only one qualified to do the work, Christine had said. Maybe this was his place in the world, after all.

"No need to worry about my comfort, Tony." It was Stephen's turn to sound reassuring in this transaction. "Just give me the freedom to do my thing. You're in good hands."

[dabblinginmarvel]

When We First Met (Part 2)

Request: "After spending a night with the girl of his dreams only to become just friends, a man gets the opportunity to travel through time and alter that night over and over again until he gets everything perfect." I just thought I'd like to request something like that with reader and Steve during the first Avengers movie? Like When We First Met, Steve Rogers AU kind of thing.

Plot: Steve tries his luck over and over again to win the reader’s heart, despite living the same day over and over again.

A/N: Based on “When We First Met” on Netflix. Totally an AU, let’s not even pretend this goes along with canon.

Warnings: None in this part.

Word Count Total: 986

Long Imagine #23

Title: When We First Met

Part 2

“Dir-Director Fury?” she asked, a little frightened, but she attempted to cover it up with confusion.

He stood up. “Cut the crap.”

The hand behind her back pressed a button on a remote. He let the agents come in, all dressed like they were about to fight a crowd. He also let them direct him to Director Fury. There was no fighting this. Besides, if it was all a dream, it didn’t matter. And even if it did, he had already changed the progression.

Nick leaned back in his black leather chair and laced his fingers together behind his desk. “Well Captain Rogers, we certainly have a conundrum here. Care to explain how you knew my name?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

He took a deep breath. “Time travel.”

Nick began to laugh. “I think you’re a little confused. You may have heard it in your sleep.”

“I’m serious. I know what happens two years from now. I’ve been sent back in time.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, then I have no reason to believe you aren’t delusional from being asleep for seventy years.”

Steve sighed, giving in and trying to get out of the building as he remembered he was supposed to run into Sharon later that day. “Okay, maybe all of it is true and I had a very weird dream.”

“Alright, see, that wasn’t so hard. Let’s get you settled into a new year.” He stood up and Steve did, too.

“What do I need to know?”

As Nick filled Steve in on what he needed to know and Steve pretended to not know it, Steve tried to figure out what had happened. Did the grief put him out or did he really time travel?

“My best agent, Sharon Carter, will be happy to show you what you need to know.” Director Fury cut into Steve’s thoughts. His heart began to thud.

“Carter?”

They stopped and Nick apologized. “Peggy’s niece.”

“I see.”

“If it will be a problem -”

“No, I’m sure it will be fine.”

“Okay, then I will introduce you both.”

Steve followed Director Fury out of the meeting room, down a couple hallways, and to a room filled with agents keeping an eye on different crowd survey technology.

Sharon stood up from her desk as soon as the two men entered the room and made her way over to them.

“It’s nice to meet you, Captain Rogers.” She held out her hand. He shook it and tried to convince his heart to calm down. Steve understood now that while Maria was actually the most qualified, she oversaw so many projects that she was not available. Steve was glad Sharon was on the list. He may never have met her if not for that.

“And you, Agent Carter,” he caught himself in time to not make things awkward.

She just smiled. “I’ll be with you in a moment. I have one thing finishing up on my computer.” She looked up, catching her words. “Oh, sorry, a computer is -”

“A device that holds more data than it probably should.”

She looked surprised, as that was exactly what she was about to say. “Um, yeah. Right.”

Fury gave them a suspicious look, then left them.

Steve internally chastised himself. He was going to get himself in trouble. “It was just a guess, sorry.”

She brushed it off. “That’s fine, I was told you’re a fast learner.”

What he felt he really needed to learn was about what kind of guy he should be to catch her attention.

“Could you direct me to the bathroom?”

“Certainly. Down the hall and to the left. Do you need someone to show you?”

He chuckled. “No, I’ve got it.”

After making his stop, he pulled an agent to the side, a nerdy-looking guy with curly brown hair.

“What do you know about Agent Sharon Carter?”

He shrugged. “Not much.”

“Well, what kind of guy do you think Sharon is looking for?”

“Captain Rogers, I-I don’t know her very well. Maybe a stud?”

“A stud?”

“Yeah, or a greaser? Someone like that?”

“Okay, thanks.” He walked back into the office.

After Steve and Sharon chatted for a little bit longer about how life had progressed, he couldn’t restrain himself anymore from hiding his knowledge about the future.

“I feel obligated to ask, are you sure keeping the Tesseract active is the best idea?”

She spun around. “How did you know that?”

He swallowed thickly. “Uh, I heard people in the hallway talking about it.”

“No one is supposed to know, yet. How did you know?”

“I don’t know.”

“Steve, I need to know. This is a serious breach in security.”

“I said I don’t know!”

Sharon slammed her hand on a button on the desk and shouted to security.

Not again, Steve thought and barreled past them, out the doorway, and down the hall. He raced for the exit, knocking you down accidentally along with many other agents who weren’t fast enough t get out of his way. He launched himself out the front door and down the street, running between cars and through red lights. He had to undo this. How that photobooth worked, he didn’t know, but he had to restart it again.

He kept on, the serum keeping him well ahead of the game so he could make it to the bar three miles away in under ten minutes. He popped in, said nothing, and slid into the open photobooth. He scrounged around and realized he didn’t have a quarter on him. He cursed to himself. Then, he stuck his head out, hissed to the nearest person that he needed a quarter and accepted with a smile the one from them.

“I need to do this over again, that way I’m not such an idiot.”

The next thing he knew, he was waking up to the baseball game again.

- - -

When We First Met Masterlist: @breezy1415, @fuckthatfeeling, @lovely-geek

Masterlist

Permanent Tag List (please alert me if you change your username, want to be tagged for only one character, or if you want to be untagged): @abbybills22, @coffeebooksandfandom, @cxptain-americaa, @dreamer821, @everything-but-the-not-natural, @elxrini, @estelgilvala, @fangirling-equestrian, @feelmyroarrrr, @hellomissmabel, @httpmcrvel, @iamwarrenspeace, @kudosia, @m4df4n, @marrvelle-fics, @mindlessnerd89, @ms-cellanies, @mylittlefandomfanfictions, @space-helen, @susiejustsusie, @tea-with-loki, @thisismysecrethappyplace, @wkndfrvr, @wxnchestervevo (tag list is open!!)

Strikethroughs are blogs I can’t tag.

Reminder, if your name is not linked and you are not getting notifications you have been tagged, please refer to this guide here: https://dabblinginmarvel.tumblr.com/post/168371559776/strikethroughs-i-cant-tag

[birbs-in-space]

mashup meme, 54 and 97, newmann?

hi thank you i owe you my life

54 secret relationship, 97 time travel

ok so this is more than a little funny because i’ve actually written out the basic framework for a time travel newmann fic but i didn’t think that it would work here so i made a new au (mistake, i love worldbuilding too much), took a lot of liberties with ‘secret relationship’, and also i briefly forgot that uprising happened so this is just post pr1

------

Newt wakes up to an empty bed which--disappointing--but he’s not too concerned because it usually just means that Hermann’s had some idea that he wanted to get down and he couldn’t do it from bed. Newt gets it because he does the same, except he usually accidentally elbows Hermann awake in the process of wrestling himself out of bed. He straightens his undershirt, finds a presentable enough pair of sweatpants, and makes his way down to the lab.

The door’s askew when he gets there, and he’s about to barge in and announce his presence when he hears Hermann’s worried voice, quiet and frantic.

“I need more time.”

What? That doesn’t make sense. If anything, they’ve got all the time in the world. Post-Pitfall funding will get them through at least the next five years. There are no impending due dates hanging over their heads, no Kaiju knocking at their door. It’s the first time in nearly thirteen years that they’ve actually had all this time.

Newt edges into the lab, careful not to jar the door or knock anything over. He’s not keen on eavesdropping, but, now that he’s here and curious, he’s not entirely sure what to do.

Hermann’s alone, sitting at his desk with his face towards the chalkboards. There’s blue light reflected onto his face. If Newt had to guess, Hermann’s probably talking to someone on his phone or maybe his laptop.

“No,” Hermann says. “No, I am not compromised. I merely need more time to ensure that the future here is secure. No, Ma’am.”

Newt edges his way across the lab to his own table.

“No, I have no personal attachments. Forgive me, but you know my record--” Hermann stops talking abruptly, his mouth snapping shut and his face grim. “Understood,” he says after a moment. “Five days? Understood.”

The blue light fades and Hermann sags in his chair. It grows so quiet in the lab that Newt can hear the tick of an old analog clock. Newt had forgotten that they’d had one of those.

“Newton,” Hermann says and then looks over his shoulder to make eye contact. “I know you’re there. If you could please come over here.”

Newt jolts and takes a few breaths to calm his nerves. “Coming!” he says, his voice squeaking a bit.

“It’s unfortunate that you had to hear some of that,” Hermann says, “but I suppose it is for the best.” He takes ahold of one of Newton’s hands and holds it tightly. He looks absolutely shattered. “I haven’t told you everything about myself.”

“Is this a Terminator kind of thing?” Newt jokes before he can stop himself.

Hermann blinks, apparently thrown. “I--no, I don’t believe so. Provided, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“A cyborg goes back in time and tries to kill this dude’s mom whose kid’s--the dude--he’s gonna stop this robot uprising.”

“Not quite like that,” Hermann says.

Not quite? What does that even mean? Is Hermann a robot? That doesn’t make any sense because then the drift wouldn’t have worked and-- Newt forces himself to stay quiet despite the hundreds of questions building up in his mind and attempts to school his face into a neutral expression. He’s pretty sure he’s not doing it right, if Hermann’s pitying face is anything to go by.

“I am from a different timeline, technically,” Hermann says, “and I was sent here with a mission, but that mission doesn’t involve killing anyone.” He hesitates, then amends, “Except for the Kaijus, though I suppose I am only indirectly involved in that.”

Ugh, Kaijus. Wait, no. No, Hermann just told him that he’s a time traveller and maybe some kind of secret agent? It sounds like some kind of science fiction story. “You’re from a different timeline?” Newt fights to keep his voice down. “How come I didn’t see it in the drift?”

Technically those memories are not connected to this body?” Hermann suggests but his tone of voice says question more than statement. Newt’s confusion must show on his face, because Hermann is quick to explain. “I was sent here as energy, but I was born here. Safety precautions dictate that energy is the only thing that can leave the base, though mass can enter.”

“Dude,” Newt says, “that’s wicked sick.”

“Wicked sick?” Hermann asks. “Is that supposed a good or a bad thing?”

“Oh a good thing for sure, dude,” Newt says, “it means that you’re the coolest.” The clarification doesn’t seem to do much for Hermann’s confusion, but he does look incrementally more relieved. Good. “Wow, this is nuts. Anyways, what’s up with the five more days thing?”

Hermann flinches. “That’s my deadline to return, to leave here,” he says. His grip tightens on Newt’s hand. “To leave you. My mission here is technically complete, so my supervisors have deemed it necessary for me to travel back.”

Oh, fuck, that’s bad. “Right, nope, not gonna happen,” Newt places his free hand over Hermann’s. “It took us ten entire years to admit that we love each other, and I’m not about to go giving up on us so easily.” He leans forward to kiss him but then reassesses. It doesn’t really look like what Hermann needs right now.

“It’s not so easy to disobey,” Hermann says gently. “They can recall me at any time, and doing so forcefully leaves the body behind.”

Newt winces. “That doesn’t sound good,” he says.

“It’s a rather painful process.” Hermann agrees.

“I guess that rules that one out,” Newt says. It’s all coming on so fast. He’s still struggling to grasp everything that’s Hermann’s told him so far. Part of him can’t help but wonder if Hermann’s leading him on, but he doesn’t listen to it. Hermann’s never ever been that guy. “What was that thing about attachments, by the way?”

Hermann sighs. “Technically, I, or rather we, my fellow agents and I, are forbidden from forming personal relationships, except for those necessary for the completion of the mission.”

A quick flash of doubt washes over his mind concerning the veracity of his and Hermann’s relationship, but Hermann continues before it can sink its claws in.

“I have known my fellow agents to engage in such behavior from time to time, given that it never interfered with the mission. With you, I have failed utterly and completely.” He pulls a hand free but places it right on top of Newt’s. “I love and care for you deeply, and I do not wish to leave you in any capacity.”

“I love you too, Hermann,” Newt says, leaning over to pull Hermann is his arms. They stay like that, comfortable, until it starts to feel too much like Newt’s trying to memorize what this feels like, and he doesn’t want to deal with what that implies.

Newt pulls back a bit so he can look at Hermann’s face. “I take it that when you’re compromised, it doesn’t mean they just terminate your contract and you can stay here.”

“When you’re compromised,” Hermann says with a grimace, “you are forcefully recalled and then you are killed.”

“Oh fuck,” Newt says.

-----

“Hey,” Newt says, “so why can’t you just stay here longer and then time and space travel back to whenever they want you to be back.”

“Safety precautions prevent incoming time travel. It’s mostly to ensure that base or the organization is never sabotaged, but it means that all active assets, myself included, are tied to a linear timeline relative to the process of time at the base,” Hermann explains.

“Huh,” Newt says, trying to process what Hermann just said. “I think that could be more clearly phrased.”

“It means regardless of what I do, time will always pass in the base the same it does for me. For instance, if I was capable of travel to, say 1920, and I spent 5 hours there and then returned to here the second that I left, one second will have passed for you, but five hours will have passed for both me and the base,” Hermann says.

“That’s stupid,” Newt replies.

Hermann, to Newt’s utter surprise, laughs hard. “It is unfortunate,” he says when he is able, “yes.”

“We’ll figure this out,” Newt vows.

------

“What if I went with you?” Newt asks over lunch. He ignores it when Hermann steals his last orange slice.

“Hm?”

“To the base,” Newt says, “or whatever you call it.”

Hermann swallows his food. “I, ah. I'm not qualified to register you as anything less than a prisoner. If you are not properly tagged, the transportation process will kill you.”

“Yikes.” Newt chews on some kind of fibrous vegetable. It’s getting stuck between his teeth. “But if you did register me as a prisoner, at least we'd be in proximity to each other, right?”

“No,” Hermann says. “Except in the rarest circumstances, prisoners face either solitary confinement or death.”

“That's more than a little horrifying,” Newt says. “That happens to all of the prisoners?”

“We only arrest people for the most egregious crimes, Newton,” Hermann says

Newt gulps. “Alright, let's rule that one out.”

------

“An appeal,” Hermann says on the fourth night, nearing the final day. “If a knowledgeable but unattached third party makes an appeal to the base, I may be granted permanent posting here, until the death of this body.”

Newt’s half asleep when Hermann starts talking, but he’s flailing upwards by the end of it, trying as hard as he can to listen.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he says, his voice nearly cracking. “Why didn’t you mention this sooner!?”

“I had forgotten it existed!” Hermann replies. His hands are on Newt’s arms, clinging tight. “It’s been over 3000 years since the last appeal, and that was in the middle of a cold war.”

Newt can’t think of any cold wars happening on Earth three millennia ago which must mean...oh shit, good aliens. Wait, does that mean Hermann’s an alien? Maybe not physically, but like-- There isn’t any time to process this information, though, because there’s an actual, solid chance that Hermann might not have to leave, and that’s not something he can just get distracted from.

“So all I gotta do is convince a bunch of people that you’re absolutely necessary for the continued safety of this world,” Newt says, trying to slow his heart rate. This is definitely something he can do. Everything’s going to be okay.

“You must also convince them that we are nothing more than colleagues. Friendship still is even too close of a personal connection,” Hermann says.

“It’s okay,” Newt says. He’s looking hard down at the bed. “If it means that you can stay here, I’m pretty sure I can lie.” He laughs, somewhat hysterically. “I mean I got six PhDs, right? You can’t defend that many theses without a bit of bullshitting.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Hermann says, loosening his grip on Newt’s arms. He sounds impossibly fond.

Newton wants to cry with relief.

------

Newt makes the call at seven in the morning. Hermann hands him a small device, tells him which buttons to press, and then clears out of the lab.

His heart rate skyrockets when he hears the dial tone. It’s surreal. Why is there a fucking dial tone of all things?

But then the call picks up and Newt has to straighten out his face and pretend like his heart isn’t going a hundred miles a minute.

The video projection is heavily obscured, as Hermann said it would be, but the voice comes through surprisingly clear.

“This is an appeal statement for the asset currently named ‘Hermann Gottlieb’. Please confirm or deny.”

Newt takes a breath. He can do this. “Confirm.”

“Please begin statement,” the voice says.

“My name is Dr. Newton Geiszler. I am a scientist with the PPDC and a colleague of Dr. Gottlieb. I primarily research Kaiju biology. Dr. Hermann Gottlieb has saved countless lives through his contributions to the PPDC program,” Newt says. “I have worked in proximity to him for the past ten years, so I may be the most qualified to report on him.”

Does that sound distant enough? Damn, he really should have practiced this more.

“He helped lay the groundwork for Jaeger programming, helping give us--humanity--a fighting chance. When he moved on to research the Breach, he built a predictive model that helped us locate and time future attacks, allowing us to greatly reduce our response time.”

It sounds too much like a resume. Newt flinches, probably something the camera picked up. He’s never won an argument this way, just stating all the facts.

“The war is not over. While the Breach may be closed, I do not believe that the Precursors will stop their attack on Earth. We may only be familiar with a fraction of their technology, but we know they created the Breach, and it’s only a matter of time before they create another one.”

He doesn’t know it for sure, but he believes it with all of his heart. Some mornings he wakes up completely convinced that a breach is going to tear open at any second and Kaiju are going to come spilling through. There’s always a chance it’s not his fear but rather Hermann’s leaking through the ghost drift. If that’s the case, though, then Newton has way more to be terrified about. Hermann is scientific, pragmatic. If he holds these convictions this strongly, then it’s almost guaranteed to happen.

“Dr. Gottlieb and I, we were the last of the research department to remain. We likely would have lost the w--I would have died--were it not for him.”

Oh, shit. Those were the bad words. He has to fix this, quickly, quickly--

“What I mean to say, is that if the Kaiju come back, and Hermann isn’t here, we will all die, because it was just he and me at the end of it all, because the other researchers left, that’s how I know so strongly that he is needed here. He is smart, he is loyal, he doesn’t give up in the face of adversity.”

Yeah, that’s not helping either. Time to no romo this shit hard because it turns out he is really bad at this no attachments thing.

“Maybe if we’re lucky, we can scrape by without him, but to lose that many people, that much progress, we would never recover. Dr. Gottlieb is a respected colleague, and we all rely greatly on his future contributions here.”

Newt can’t tell if he said the right words or the wrong words at all because the next words from the voice are completely unrelated. “Explain knowledge of Precursor technology.”

“I, uh, I drifted with a Kaiju in a last ditch attempt to end the war,” Newt says hesitantly. He leaves Hermann out of it, just in case they know what the other effects of drifting are. “Alongside extensive study of Kaiju remains.”

The voice coughs, completely breaking character. “I’m sorry, you what? Could you repeat that, please?”

“I drifted with a Kaiju?”

“Acknowledged,” the voice says, sounding bewildered. “Please elaborate on personal relationship with Gottlieb.”

“He’s a colleague,” Newt says. The less the better, right?

“Elaborate.”

Okay, maybe not. “I have worked alongside but not in with him for many years. We share the same goals, but we are extremely dissimilar, which has led our relationship to be defined, at least on my part, as grudging respect? I have never been able to get particularly close to him, as he is extremely private. I realized this early on in our working relationship and felt no inclination to press the issue. I never felt a need for his friendship. I’m surprised we’ve worked together this long, honestly. We are colleagues, nothing more.”

It hurts to say, but it flows so much easier than everything he was stumbling over before. Years and years of practice or firing insults back at Hermann whenever Hermann took offense at his clothing or his taste in music or his inability to properly follow procedure to the dot, it’s almost muscle memory.

Whatever it reveals, it seems to be enough for them to make a decision because the voice says, “Statement complete. Decision will be reached in five minutes. Prepare for reply,” and the call disconnects.

Newt takes a deep breath and stands abruptly, running for the lab door. Hermann is waiting on the other side.

“I have no idea how I did,” Newt says.

Hermann doesn’t reply with words, instead choosing to kiss Newt like he’s dying and he needs to be certain that the last air he’ll ever breathe will be Newt’s.

“I think they’re going to be calling back soon,” Newt says when he’s finally freed.

Hermann freezes and accepts the device from Newt. “I’m supposed to accept this alone.”

“Good luck,” Newt says and gives Hermann one last peck on the lips before Hermann disappears into the lab and the doors close after him.

-----

After what seems like an eternity, the lab doors open, and Hermann walks through, joy radiating off him in waves.

“They called you an idiot,” he says, though Newt’s pretty sure that’s not what he means.

“What?” Newt asks.

“For drifting with a Kaiju,” Hermann says. “They called you an idiot.”

“That’s fair,” Newt says. The last bit gets muffled as Hermann envelops him with a hug.

“I don’t have to leave,” Hermann whispers. “I don’t have to leave.”

“That’s good,” Newt says. “Thank fuck.”

Hermann laughs.

[chikabiddy]

Day 5

A little late with this one, too. Sorry! Here is my contribution to LV AU Week Day 5 (Alternate Time Period). 

I saw there were past fics already, so I went future. Enjoy Detective Mars and Lieutenant Echolls in the future!

ao3 link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14017353

Beep… Beep… the incessant noise of her alarm pulled her from dreamless sleep. Veronica rubbed grogginess form her eyes and double tapped her wrist. A holographic projection of the alarm shone in front of her: ‘urgent request re: high command. presence requested at Neptune command center immediately. please respond’

Veronica tapped back her acknowledgement and jumped out of bed. The command center had used her services before, but a request like this was unusual and more than a little exciting. Sergeant First Class Lamb, the Commanding Officer of the Neptune command center, had not been coy in his dislike of her and she was quite interested to see what prompted this summons. A light twinge in her stomach reminded her such a situation had to be dire, motivating her to throw her nearest body suit on and rush from her apartment.

It was just past 4 am, and the air was already buzzing with the beginnings of a new day. Those without the ease of wealth, Veronica included, trudged through the dark underbelly of the city to use the public transportation tubes. The rich did what history knew they would and took to the skies; pooling their combined wealth they slipped the surly bonds of earth to the tops of the towers. Anyone who lived below level 50 was considered gutter trash, and the higher you lived the greater your status. You know how it goes.

Making her way into the tubes, Veronica found the private line going direct to the command center. She held her wrist, hoping Lamb had processed the special request which would give her access to this line. A green light signaled her approval; she slipped into the chamber, settling into the single seat and strapping up the harness. Her singular comfort was the tubes for the command center were kept pristine and updated, so while the ride would be as uncomfortable as every at least it would be safe. A soft, chirpy voice welcomed her by name and announced the destination and imminent departure and Veronica jammed closed her eyes. She’d always hated traveling by tube. The chamber jerked into motion, a similar feel to that of an elevator but with much greater power and speed. Veronica dug her fingers into her arms and took deep, calming breaths. The tubes were a nasty was to travel, but they were fast, and the chamber soon came to a halt.

“We’ve arrived at your destination,” declared the chirpy voice. “Please exit the chamber and ensure you have all your personal belongings with you.”

Veronica unbuckled her harness and used to the sides of the chamber to balance herself as she rose to her feet; shaky legs were a common after effect of tube travel.

“I bet Commander Lamb never has to take the tubes,” Veronica grumbled.

Once she was certain her legs would hold her, she moved form the chamber and into the travel bay of the command center. High command had summoned her, so she was not surprised when a fidgety man with an outdated mustache came up to her immediately requesting she follow him.

“Sergeant Sacks.” He held out a hand in introduction. “You’re to follow me, Ms. Mars.”

“I prefer Detective. I didn’t spend years in training for nothing, after all.”

“The command doesn’t recognize the private sector Ms. Mars,” he offered in explanation, but softened it with an apologetic smile.

Veronica understood, he was telling her there was a company line to follow and that was the best she would get. With a curt nod she followed a step behind the Sergeant mulling over the development. Generally, those she’d worked with before had no problem addressing her as a detective, but she’d never worked in an official capacity. Usually she’d solve the cases privately and deliver the solid case file to the right department in the command, and therefore she hadn’t been in a situation where the party line had to be stated. It grated at her that the command thought she was good enough to bring in for this emergency, but not good enough to give her credit for the work she did to become a qualified detective. But the command was run by the highest bidder, and the private sector was free to investigate how they liked. Obviously, that didn’t set to well with the ruling class.

Shaking off her frustration, Veronica squared her shoulders and prepared for a fight. If they wanted her help, they would have to make some concessions. Addressing her appropriately would be the first one. Sergeant Sacks stopped near a room Veronica had never seen before, turning toward her.

“The Council of High Command is through here.” His face was grave, lips pulled down lightly at the corners. She looked at him, he seemed to want to say more. He opened his mouth, then closed it with a shake of his head and scanned his wrist. The door slid up and the Sergeant nodded toward the opening. “After you, Ms. Mars.”

She walked confidently into the room and stopped short. Momentarily, her eyes widened, and she had to stifle and exclamation of surprise before she regained her stoic composure. There were no other people in the room, rather 7 vaguely transparent holograms. Directly in front of her on the ground was a lighted circle. She knew enough about modern technology to know that was a hologram circle. Moving forward, she planted herself in the center and faced the holographic images of the Council. One of the images stepped forward.

“Ms. Mars –” he began. Veronica held up a hand and cut him off.

“Let me stop you right there.” She clasped her hands behind her back, rolling her shoulders. “You summoned me here, so let’s be clear. If you want my involvement, which you clearly do, you’ll respect my rank. It’s Detective Mars, or I walk right back out that door. It’s a mutual respect thing, you understand.”

The holograms were silent, casting glances between one another, before focus returned to her. She knew they were trying to gauge how serious she was, and apparently, they decided.

“Detective Mars,” he began again, disdain apparent in how he pronounced her rank. “A situation has developed inside command which, unfortunately, requires outside assistance.”

Veronica remained silent, studying each hologram to determine just with whom she was working. ‘Council’ was all well and good, but she wanted names and associations. Not vague references to shadowy powers. The corner of her mouth dipped down as she realized only one member of the council held any military rank: a General and Army if she wasn’t mistaken. That meant the rest of the Council was made of civilians, and that was an unwelcome revelation to Veronica. She focused back on the words the first hologram was speaking.

“One of our pilots has gone missing. His location and mission were both highly secret, meaning either he took off voluntarily or we are compromised. Either way is problematic, but on the chance he did not choose to leave we cannot have the investigation done by anyone in command. Given your history with detective work, the Council has decided to hire you on a temporary basis. We guarantee your compensation will be satisfactory, but your discretion is required should you accept.”

Another hologram spoke up, a tall woman with a bird-like face. “You can understand the potential consequence of the command center being compromised. It is essential knowledge of this investigation does not get out.”

Veronica could imagine the panic and hysteria in the lower 50 levels if the absolute authority of the command center came into question. As much as she detested the power structure in Neptune, the ensuing chaos would be worse. She nodded her understanding.

“I’ll need to bring my people in; one for sure and two others depending how the investigation develops. I don’t want that to be a concern later on should it become necessary.”

“You agree to investigate?” the first man said, more surprised than Veronica would have supposed considering they requested her.

“Of course, she agrees,” the woman snapped. “She understands what is at stake here.”

“I have other conditions,” Veronica added. They needed to understand who they were working with as well as she understood the situation.

“As do we,” the woman replied.

The door behind Veronica opened and she turned her head to see the face of a man she never thought she’d see again. His eyes met hers and she could see her own confusion reflected there. Veronica faced toward the holograms again, hoping they hadn’t noticed her discomfort.

“This is Lieutenant Echolls, brought in from another command center.” The first man gestured toward the door. “He will be your liaison with us and assist you with the investigation in any way necessary. All the information you need, he can provide.”

“If there’s nothing else, we have other important matters to attend to,” said the woman.

“Actually, there is.” Veronica wasn’t going to let them have the last word. “I don’t work with people I don’t know. I want the names of everyone on the Council. Once I know who I am working with I will let Lieutenant Echolls know whether I will take your case or not.”

“Ms… Detective Mars, I’m sure you can understand why we require anon–”

Veronica felt almost giddy at the chance to interrupt again. “It’s non-negotiable. I’ll let you talk among yourselves. Decide just how serious you are about getting this case solved and have Lieutenant Echolls here find me when you do.”

She spun on her heel and walked through the door, not sparing a glance for Lieutenant Echolls as she did. Once they caved, Logan (Lieutenant Echolls now) would find her and they could talk in relative privacy. Until then, she was grateful for the chance to process seeing Logan again after all this time. Hopefully she’d be more composed when he located her.

Sergeant Sacks was outside the door, hovering awkwardly, and Veronica requested he lead her to a waiting area. She settled into one of the uncomfortably designed chairs, closing her eyes and letting her mind wander. The last time she’d seen Logan… well he’d thrown the son of a prominent ruling family across the courtyard for distributing a sex tape of her. Finding out just how he’d gotten his hands on that holograph had done a lot of damage, to everyone she cared about, so she took off. Left behind everything until she got what she needed to and came back to bring the whole family to their knees. By that time, though, Logan was long gone, and she resisted the urge to track him down. Mostly.

She researched enough to make sure she wasn’t too late, that he hadn’t ended up dead at the hands of the Sorokins, but she really did try to respect his privacy beyond that point. Discovering he went military was not terribly surprising given his wealth. His rank, however, was a surprise. Generally, anyone with money can buy straight in general or admiral rank and skip the grunt work. She wanted nothing more than to ask why he hadn’t done the same, but she wasn’t sure it was her place anymore. It had been almost 10 years, after all.

“Veronica.”

She still got butterflies when he said her name. That was a fun revelation. Popping her eyes open she regarded him warily, unsure of her footing. She decided to go with levity and cracked her lips into a grin.

“That’s Detective Mars, to you.”

His lips twitched up and she saw the laugh in his eyes. “We’ve decided to be formal this time, I take it?”

“Formality means I’m taking this seriously, Lieutenant. Isn’t that what the Council wants?”

He regarded her hard for a moment, as if reading her intent, and Veronica wasn’t quite sure what he saw.

“They decided to give you their names. I’m sure you expected they would.”

It seemed he decided to take the situation seriously; what that meant she couldn’t guess. So, she just nodded, telling him what he already knew without needing to speak. The longer she looked at him the more she keenly felt just how much she missed him, and she didn’t trust her tongue not to betray that knowledge.

“I’ve missed you.”

Her eyes widened in shock and she was pretty sure her heart stopped beating. Maybe he wasn’t taking the situation too seriously after all. It took a second for her lungs to remember how to work again and she realized he was staring at her expectantly. It had been a second too long apparently.

“I’ve missed you too,” she breathed out.

His relief was evident and the hard lines on his face softened ever so slightly.

“You aren’t wrong. The Council wants this to be entirely formal. I propose, then, that you and I wrap up quickly here and go somewhere for drinks. It’s hard to catch up with the watchful eyes of the Council expecting us to stay on topic.”

“Let’s get started then. Getting treated to after work drinks is what makes all this worth it.”

“Who said I was treating?”

“Your bank account.”

Logan laughed his delightful full belly laugh and Veronica melted a little. This was going to be a very interesting case.

[pastelbatfandoms]

Harry & Renee West Wells Tarot Readings

For My OC,Joe West’s Adopted daughter, and Harrison ‘Harry’ Wells.  >>My ‘Wells of Hearts’ Fic Masterlist. <<

...1.........

..4..2....3..5...

......6....7.....

......8.10.9.....

 First Meeting Spread

1. Overall environment/tone of 1st meeting. - 9 of Wands R 

2. My first impressions of him- Amaterasu (Shadow)

3. His first impressions of you- Lugh (Shadow)

4. What I like about him- The Muses (Inspiration)

5. What he likes about me- Thoth (Shadow)

6. My dislikes of him- Brigid (Shadow)

7. His dislikes of me- Green Man (Shadow)

8. How I will feel at the end of 1st meeting- Baba Yaga (Authenticity)

9. How he will feel at the end of 1st meeting- Hermes (Shadow)

10. What relationship will become/tone that 1st meeting set for relationship- Justice (Balance)

 Relationship Spread

********7***********8********

****1***2***3***4***5***6****

********9***********10*******

********11**********12*******

********13****15****14*******

 1) What you (Renee) are bringing into the relationship- 4 of Wands (Security, Commitment, happiness, Marriage) 

2) Where you are now, in relation to the other person- 10 of Wands (This probably has to do with when Harry tried to “out think The Thinker” using his helmet and ended up losing his intelligence which he kept a secret from Renee.) 

3) What you are hoping to get from the relationship- 7 of Swords R (Free from secrets and negativity)

4) What the other person (Harry) is bringing into their relationship with you- 8 of Wands R (Obstacles, frustration, within himself,but yet wanting to hold onto the relationship.) 

5) What they are getting out of it- The Hierophant R (Freedom, “ The reversed Hierophant encourages you to examine ‘the way we do things around here’ and ask yourself whether it aligns with your values. “ Yeah this definitely feels like the season with The Thinker.)

6) What they are hoping to achieve/experience with you- Page of Pentacles R (Again him trying and failing with the intelligence booster. Needing help but not asking for it,needs to be more open minded and learn from his mistakes.) 

7) How you see the other person- Knight of Pentacles R (Workaholic,needs to go out every once in awhile,wants them to be a team in more then just relationship wise. Be more spontaneous.)

8) How they see you- Strength R (Confident and an inner strength and self worth that even she doesn’t see.) 

9) How you saw him/her when you first met- The World (Highly intelligent,confiedent,wise,reliable,full of life experience,A teacher or mentor figure.)

10) How the other person saw you on your first meeting- Fool R (Immature,sad,negative.) Told you they weren’t great first meeting. But Harry was also negative att too over Zoom kidnapping his daughter,and Renee was still getting over losing Thawne and then joining her The Rogues as a villian.)

11) Your own anxieties/unconscious fears- Justice R (Feeling overly shameful from what she did as Obsidian Storm with The Rogues, being too hard on herself, also may hold onto some prejudice or fears towards Harry because he looks like EoWells.) 

12) The other person's anxieties/unconscious fears- Ace of Wands R (Feeling stuck,un motivated and frustrated over delays in helping Jesse I assume.)

13) External influences upon you- The Emperor (Tradition also has it that the father figure in his upright aspect,  will selflessly give of his life for his family who will automatically run to him when in danger or peril. He will offer himself up in their stead or put himself in the firing line to protect one of his own.  He will shield his family from upsetting and worrying issues and deal with unsavory tasks during times of trauma and strife.  He must protect the family at all costs.  As a result, The Emperor demands certain privileges, status, respect and attention.  The Emperor has the responsibility of maintaining order in life, protecting and defending his realm, kith and kin, upholding the laws of the land and maintaining social stability. 

On the surface The Emperor appears quite unapproachable and a force to be reckoned with.  He doesn’t soften much inside. However, he is known to be fair and just, and many can benefit from the advice he has to offer.- If that isn’t Joe West! Who is her adoptive father and did not trust Harry in the beginning.) 

14) External influences upon the other person- The Magician ( He is behind every invention and scientific discovery.  His knowledge is vast. He has travelled the world over and over and is an expert on each land and culture. In his negative or reversed aspect he can abuse his great intelligence and gifts by becoming the trickster, or con man. Instead of upholding the law, he can break or bend it.  His may use his brilliant mind to invent weapons of mass destruction and his scientific discoveries may cause more harm than good.  Such intelligence and power in the wrong hands make the reversed or negative Magician highly dangerous.  In this state he believes the Power comes from him and not through him. - That HAS to be Thawne. I mean he did create the negative speed force.) 

15) Where the relationship will go- Death with 8 of pentacles & queen of swords (Unfornutaly Death is literal in this case... A deeply committed, stable relationship after all is said an done, financially secure but needs to work on balancing work and love. With the Queen of Swords  She does seek love but can sometimes prefer a meeting of the minds rather than a meeting of the bodies.  She is affectionate in her own way, but not in a mushy manner and certainly not in public.  She prefers a no-nonsense type of relationship based on mutual interests and intellectual equality. 

She needs a man whose intelligence and knowledge fascinates and inspires her; a man who is highly qualified and knows what he is talking about.  A man she can learn much from and who will provide a constant stream of intellectual stimulation and in-depth conversation. -Sounds like Harry will be perfect!)

Numerology Number: 2 (A choice between two alternatives or dualities. (So Earth 1 and 2 or Harry and Thawne,or another Wells,or maybe choosing between herself and her “Villainess alter ego”?) 

 Possibilities Spread (Future Story)

..................8.............

..................7.............

.....6-C1.............6-C1...

4-C1...5-C1.....5-C2...4-C2

...................3....................

.....1-C1.............1-C2...

 This spread is a double spread. It is where each will take you next in your book. Each side will be for the character you designate it for. Myself, I would use the left for the female and the right for the male. 

1-C1. Significator Card for Character One (C1)- The Star With 2 of wands R

1-C2. Significator Card for Character Two (C2)- The 10 of Pentacles With The Chariot R

3. Situation: This card will reveal the situation they are about to face.- Ace of Pentacles With The Devil R

4. Character's outer response to situation. This is how they seem to feel about it.- Renee-The Empress With The 9 of swords R & Harry- Queen of Cups with 5 of Cups R. (Upset and scared at first but then embraces her destiny and prepares to fight. Queen of Cups reminds me of Caitlin yet the 5 of cups deals with loss and grief...I really hope she doesn't die! Either that or Harry sees aspects of Caitlin in Renee and has to comes to terms with the fact he may never see her physically again. )

5. Character's inner response to situation. This is how they feel about it or how it makes them feel. -Renee- Page of swords With 4 of Wands & Harry- The Tower R With Knight of wands.  (To think before she speaks,has a tendency to say whatever's on her mind,back up her feelings,Fight injustice (which makes sense given she's a Vigilante) a time of contend mess will come after the battle,a time to take a break and appreciate the moment of stability after the upheaval. While Harry is picking up the peices and trying to rebuild not only there relationship but there home as well,Wants to be more adventurous and travel (or could indicate his traveling from one Earth to the next) is still a leader and has big plans for rebuilding his business.)

6. Character's response to the other character's outer response. How does his reaction affect her? How does hers affect him? Harry's Reaction- Wheel of Fortune with The page of cups R. Renee's reaction- 2 of cups with 6 of cups R.

7. Where does this move the plot?- Strength and 8 of cups R

8. Situation: This card will reveal the situation they are about to face. (if you want to use this to plot the book out, you simply repeat the layout.)"- Temperance with King of Pentacles.

 Potentional Relationship Spread: 

As you can see there are two sides - One for you and one for the other person in the relationship.

 ....You.........Them....

....Side..........Side.....

*******1********

***2*******6****

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

***3*******7****

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

***4*******8****

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

***5*******9****

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

*******10*******

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

*******11*******

 Placements:

1. Where is the relationship at the moment - 8 of Pentacles (Strong, committed, faithful and loyal. But also need to work on those workaholic tendencies ahem..Harry. )

Your Side: Renee

2. Clarity - What is the seekers current outlook/status/feelings concerning the relationship.- The Fool & White Buffalo Maiden (Shadow) (Optimism, Clarity & Hope. Taking their relationship to the next level.) 

3. What does the seeker need to take into consideration concerning the relationship - regarding the other person.- King of Wands & Rihannon (Self Trust) (Make sure that communication, trust and respect are a focal point and not just the romance.) 

4. What does the seeker need or desire now.- The World & Baba Yaga (Shadow) (Fulfillment, balance and unison) 

5. Best Near Future Action advice at this time.- 5 of Swords & Bridgid (Shadow) ( Disagreements and separation- Renee does leave Harry to go back to Earth 1 when she thinks he had changed too much and they had grown apart-  On another level, the gloating main Figure in this card could be responsible for breaking up or interfering in your relationship.  This is the archetypal third person in a relationship who sets out to turn one against the other and then collect the spoils or a spiteful person who is jealous and envious of your happiness. - Alright well turns out that was Eobard’s fault by using Nora to push them away from one another when they were dealing with The Thinker. 

Path Number: 3 (Will she embrace her duty or fight it? Conflicting ideals or wordly concerns)

Their Side: Harry

2. Clarity - the other persons current outlook/status/feelings about the relationship.- 2 of Wands & Ull (Shadow) ( being impulsive,not in a good way,wanting to be with them but not at the same time,miscommunication, detached.)

7.What does the other person need to take into consideration about the relationship.- 5 of Cups R & Au Puch (Light) (A positive outlook,to forgive and forget,put the past behind them, reconciliation.) 

8. What does the other person need or desire now.- The Chariot & Apollo (Inguiry) ( Reconcilliation, to use his reasoning and logic to calmly look at the situation and fix it, keeping his emotions under control)

9. Near Future Action/s of the person.- 8 of Cups & Helios (Shadow) (Well this got sad...Although I know the outcome and it gets good again for awhile) 

Path Number: 4 (Logical reasoning,new ideas,Organized)

10. Relationship Near Future Outcome.- Wheel of Fortune 

11. Clarifying card: Conclusion. - 9 of Cups (See they get back together. Harry welcomes Renee back with open arms.   Along with romance, mutual respect and communication, regular physical contact with your partner will seal the bond on a strong relationship. )

The 11th card can be used to contain one further question on the situation, and can reamin as an 'Open Question' card from the seeker.

Numerology Number: 8 (balance,unity,renewed energy)

 Possibilities Spread (For middle of story)

-----------8------------

----7-----------7------

4---6-- 5---4---6---5

--2---3-------2---3---

----1-----------1-------

 HER HIM

I lay the female out on the left hand side and the male out on the right side to equate the polarity of energy and the receptivity of the feminine energy and the projectivity of the masculine energy.

This spread is a double spread. Both sides are read the same way. The eighth card is for both. It is where each will take you next in your book. You can use it or not use it as you see fit.

1. Possible next move- Renee- 2 of Wands R & Ix Chel (Release).  While The Upright Two of Wands can suggest the sudden departure of someone, when it Reverses there may be the sudden arrival of someone, especially from overseas. (or another Earth...) They may turn up out of the blue causing a great surprise to all. -I wonder who that could be! “Renee West meet Dr. Harrison Wells,from  Earth 2.” 

Harry-Ace of Wands & Thor (Shadow)  New experiences – Forcing you out of the comfort zone where you may have stayed too long.  Travel/A change of scenery – Moving out of your territory to explore new worlds and life. You are prepared to physically relocate or travel. Your own world has begun to close in around you. (Remember this reading is Season 2 Harry.)  The Ace of Wands often appears when you are making a stand or asserting yourself. This sometimes takes a lot of courage. Depending on its position in your spread, it could be highlighting the need to make a stand if you have been fearful or afraid to express yourself. You are being asked not to hold back in this instant. This does not mean you go in all guns blazing either. Just show your strength, declare your stance on the matter and fight for what you believe in. (Dealing with Zoom and getting his daughter back.)  The situation might be calling on you to be direct and candid in your dealings with people. You will gain more respect if you are honest and straightforward from the outset. (Telling Team Flash the truth about “working with” Zoom.) MAKE YOUR MOVE.  In a relationship reading, The Ace of Wands would suggest the physical start of a new relationship or someone met while travelling or connected to travel. (Renee...) 

2. How her own decision affects her- 3 of Cups & Yemaya (Shadow). (His decision affects her) Knight of Pentacles. (Letting go of her fears and living life,girls night out, The Three of Cups often turns up in readings at Christmas and holiday time. (So we know when this happens,S2 E9)  If there has been a separation or falling out between partners the Three of Cups can symbolize a happy re-union. (Could mean Leonard Snart but their reunion would just be platonic,maybe flirty) 

He may spend quite a bit of time getting to know your personality from a distance. He likes to be sure about who he is getting involved with. It is quite likely this Knight will approach his love interest on a friendship basis initially. He might be part of a circle of friends or work together.  (If this isn’t them! Also this sounds like something Harry would do.)  His impression of you will build over time.  Only then will it slowly dawn on him that he is drawn to you. From there his interest ignites. He will begin to see you in a new light and subtly pay better attention. At this stage, he will have learned quite a lot about you; your personality, intellect, your values, your ambition and personal goals, your work ethic, your personal style, your behavior, humor and attitude to life. He will likely have some knowledge of your background too. Although You may feel he has no interest in you at all at first and that you’re wasting your time. Don’t give up on this Knight too soon as he is not being rude, just moving at a different speed to other Knights you may have encountered in the past. Patience is required. This Knight is worth waiting for so give him a chance to come round.

3. How it affects him.- 4 of swords & Mithra (Sacrifice) (her decision affects him) 5 of swords (Mentally stressed and overwhelmed by a particular situation (Zoom) Needing to heal from a broken relationship or loss of a loved one. (His Wife :’( ) Making to many sacrifices. 

Letting go and speaking up,not letting the past control how he feels towards Renee,but choosing his words carefully around her,something he normally doesn’t do.) 

4. What makes her do this- The Tower & Amaterasu (Shadow) (in regards to Harry) Five of wands (When everything falls apart she must build herself up.) 

In a Relationship spread the Five of Wands indicates a fiery relationship. Both partners are kept on their toes with great competitiveness within the relationship. This couple has few commonalities. They may live separate lives, each with their own friends and interests.  This does not mean the relationship is bad or wrong for the Wands people depicted in this card cherish their freedom and individuality. Arguments could turn into make up sex or sex together for the first time,after a heated debate or different view points. 

5. What makes him do this- Strength R & Osiris (Renewel) (in regards to her) The Emperor R (His own inner strength and stubbornness.) In regards to Renee ( When it comes to relationships, The Emperor Reversed needs a strong woman to look after him and in a relationship it will certainly be his partner who wears the pants. On the outside it may look like he is in charge but this will most certainly not be the case. This also could be because he is caught off guard and ashamed over what he had to do to save his Daughter.) 

6. Why does this happen? Renee- 10 of Swords & The Muses Harry- 7 of Swords & Apollo (Involves Reverse Flash and Zoom so I don’t think I need to rehash the same things lol) 

7. Outcome for this possibility- Renee-The Moon R & Baba Yaga (Authenticity) 

The Moon Reversed acknowledges your fears about setting out on a new journey in your life.  She reminds you that it is very necessary that you make this journey now regardless of how afraid you might feel.  Your future lies elsewhere so you should try to put the past behind you and move on.

The Moon Reversed can suggest that you are not tuning into your intuition.  You may be blocking messages coming through from within preferring to use your logic instead to sort your problems. (Hmm that could be because she is literally blocking her powers.)  

Harry- Temperence & Nuada (Perfection) 

Teaching or learning and a strong card for travel. Success will be achieved by maintaining a strong sense of purpose and approaching the situation in a balanced manner. You must always keep your eye on the bigger picture and not be lured into actions that are counterproductive to your spiritual growth and personal development. It is a time to be very aware of what you have just gone through and why. 

There is often a strong spiritual connection or karmic link between partners when Temperance appears in a relationship reading.  You may be old souls re-uniting, or have strong bonds from previous lifetimes.  (Or Doppelgangers of past loves...) 

8. Clarification Card. Renee-Bridgid (Healing) Harry- Odin-(Guidance) Both- Page of Pentacles.

Then again he will choose a partner who will be happy to support him or work alongside him during his climb to success. His partner, may also be making their own individual climb to the top which will again yield excellent results. “We’re a team,right?” The Page of Pentacles will seek long-term security in a relationship from a young age. The Page of Pentacles often meets his ideal partner at an early stage, and more than likely through college or work because that is where he or she spends most of their time. 

Numerology Number- 3 (Completion, making way for the new,destiny. 

[bunnybbomb]

Trying to Tie Loose Ends (Catharsis Continuation): Chapter 2: The First Oracle Knight

SUMMARY: With visions of his future descendants in mind, Brivere enlists Prince Sidon to help him persuade the Zora royal council to agree to an unprecedented request. The outcome of this request results in the need for a new First Knight.

(A fanfic for the Sidlink fanfic Coma Baby by @banishfics or @banishedone, a continuation of the other one I made called Catharsis)

This is a fanfiction for a fanfiction called Coma Baby by BanishedOne on AO3, and a continuation of the other one I wrote called Catharsis. If you like a grumpy Link and really well developed, deep characters and an amazing take on the political structure of the Zora Domain, then definitely check out Coma Baby! It’s a long read and still going on, but the writing and descriptions are superb and it just means more great content. This fic in particular is focused on my favorite character in the series, the OC Brivere. You don’t need to read the whole series to get what’s going on in this fic though, since a lot is explained in here.

I post memes and fics for Coma Baby on my tumblr, you can chat with me any time about anything! I also post all chapters on my AO3 account BunnyBob!

Huge thank you to my amazing beta reader Alina! Her tumblr and ff.net is @ipromiseitsnotanobsession. She actually does editing shit for a living and she is the one that makes sure these things aren’t trash, so

Disclaimer: In no way does this have any true ties or canon to Coma Baby unless stated otherwise. It’s really just an indulgence AU to feed my obsession for Brivere drama.

           Brivere stood behind his prince, head bowed down, with his hands balanced the on the hilt of a silverscale longsword, its sharp point digging into the marble floor of the council hall. He usually didn’t use such an outdated posture in these meetings, but Prince Sidon had advised him to appeal to the older Zora council in order to gain a little of their favor.

           Although the two of them had put a lot of thought and research into their proposition, the knowledge that Brivere could either secure or lose his request with even the smallest action kept him on edge. Luckily, he was used to suppressing such worries, and so no one was able to catch onto the pit of anxiety that gnawed at his stomach. The only noticeable trait that gave his true feelings away was how tightly he was clutching onto his longsword.

           After everyone had properly bowed to King Dorephan and settled in, Prince Sidon gave Brivere the nod to raise his head and stand up straight with his hands folded behind his back. He did so after gracefully twirling his sword around himself, snapping it into the weapon strap that was wrapped around one shoulder and looped across his broad chest. The longsword was completely still, hanging off of his back. This earned him a couple of pleased nods from the council members and apostles.

           “First Knight Brivere,” King Dorephan boomed. “it has come to our attention that you and my son have a request of us.”

           Brivere nodded politely. “Yes, your majesty. While I am very aware that the positions we currently have in our government are traditionally passed down from our great ancestors, I find it necessary to add a new role into our roster.”

           The golden knight didn’t need his future ability to predict the mutters and head shakes that immediately came after his demand. Nonetheless, it still upset him that his suggestion was already being shot down before he was even able to properly explain himself.

           King Dorephan hummed thoughtfully. “What makes you believe so, Brivere?”

           “As you all know, I have recently awakened my ability to see the future, which is similar to my father’s.” The council nodded, recalling the event from a few days ago. “With this, it is clear that this power is passed through blood, generation to generation. I believe it is a blessing from Hylia herself, wanting to continue her protection of our people with this gift. As a result, I would like to create the position of Oracle Knight, name courtesy of Prince Sidon.” The prince grinned at this, remembering how the two of them had playfully fought over what to call their joint creation for days in the royal records hall.

           “And just what would the purpose of this position be, First Knight?” Muzu asked.

           “It is similar to the First Knight position, but it has the additional responsibility of using the ability to see the future to properly advise and protect the royal family. It will be passed down generation by generation, to whichever of my descendants receives this power.”

           At this, one particularly displeased council member scoffed. “We cannot defy Zora traditions! We have kept and maintained our current position roster since the beginning of our race, only picking those who are qualified.”

           Prince Sidon was now the one to speak up, eager to show off how prepared the two of them were. “Actually, that is not entirely correct. If you examine these positions,” he said, holding up a scroll from the royal records hall, pointing a claw at several sections, “they have only been added within the past few centuries, when they became necessary. I would be glad to give you this scroll to examine, but rest assured that Brivere and I have already confirmed its legitimacy.”

           “Even so, we cannot let the position only be passed down by blood! The only one that follows that ritual is the role of the king!” Muzu hissed. “Do you intend to create this position just to usurp power from the royal family?!”

           At this, Brivere shook his head. “That is far from my intention. I only ask that the position of Oracle Knight be passed down my bloodline because that is the only way the power to see the future will flow, and that quality is necessary for this new title. If it pleases the council, you may take away as much power or pay from this status as you like, but all I ask is that you keep its duty to protect the royal family.”

           The council listened, seemingly more content with that compromise. King Dorephan let the words sink in before he broke the silence. “I believe that is all the questions we have, unless anyone else is unsatisfied.” The other members shook their heads. Brivere slowly became nervous, as the council members all suddenly wore the same emotionless mask that he had. It was impossible to tell what conclusion they had come to. “In that case, you may make a closing statement before you and my son must leave for us to deliberate and come to our answer.”

           Brivere nodded, quietly clearing his throat as he stepped forward. His eyes softly gazed around, trying to make direct contact with each individual council member and apostle. “I know that tradition is important, and I would never disrespect our culture and proud history. That is why I propose that we start this new custom, not starting with me, but with my late father Prion.”

The council broke out into a wave of confused murmurs as King Dorephan raised his brow. “My father used his abilities to protect and advise the king in order to help our kingdom prosper. I simply wish to pick up where he left off and protect Prince Sidon. With this, we can start a new tradition where my descendants will dedicate themselves to the royal family. I wish to create this position not to gain more power or status, but merely to pledge my bloodline’s loyalty to the royal line from now on. Whatever your decision, I am thankful for your consideration.”

           With this, Prince Sidon and his First Knight Brivere bowed respectfully before turning to leave the chamber.

;

           “How do you think it went?” Brivere asked as he and his prince strolled down one of the palace’s many halls.

           “To be quite frank, it is difficult to tell. They all looked about as indifferent as you usually do.” Sidon teased, trying to ease his knight’s tension. His attempt failed, as Brivere looked up at him with a rare worried look in his eyes, clearly wanting to ask something. “And no, I did not use my abilities to read their emotions. You know that I never use them without the person’s clear consent unless it is an emergency.”

           Brivere nodded sheepishly, ashamed that the prince had caught onto his curiosity. “I apologize, my lord, it was improper of me to expect such a thing from you. I am just thankful that you helped me with the research and construction of my argument. This never would have happened without your assistance.” Sidon chuckled at his knight’s modesty. The two of them stopped in front of one of the windows, quietly enjoying the sight of their beloved Domain sprawled out before them.

           Turning to face the golden Zora, Sidon let a genuine smile stretch across his pale face. “No matter the outcome, I do not regret supporting the Oracle Knight. But are you absolutely certain that your bloodline will not feel chained to and resent the title?”

           “I have already told you of the visions that I had.” Brivere said softly, not looking away from the window. “Although, I did not mention them during the hearing because I worried that the council may think that I was making them up for my own benefit. But as long as you believe me, I am confident in my decision.”

           Sidon nodded and turned back to gaze at the citizens walking around, enjoying the sunny weather. “Could you tell them to me again?” he asked gently.

           Brivere slightly bobbed his head up and down before closing his eyes, basking in the sunlight. “I saw myself training a young girl who looked so similar to me. She always followed around a young man who looked so similar to you. This girl could predict the future, and she used this gift to protect and serve the young man. They went everywhere together, maintaining an admirably strong bond no matter how terrible the war or how great the distance. Then, the girl was training a little boy who looked more like her, but I could still see myself in him, and he followed around another little boy who looked so much like you that it hurt.”

           “I watched the same cycle repeat through generations and generations of our bloodline, the powerful bond between our families never breaking. It was obvious that my descendants didn’t despise their role. Instead, they were completely honored to have the chance to protect the person they loved for the rest of their lives. And in each of them, I saw our Domain finally at peace, continuing to thrive under your family’s rule.”

           The two of them leaned against the window sill in silence, enjoying the thought of their descendants thriving within their beloved kingdom. Brivere only opened his eyes when he felt Sidon’s strong arm rope around his waist. “And did you happen to see if my future children were also yours?” the prince teased.

           Brivere flushed, quickly looking around to see if anyone else was nearby. The two of them and the Hylian Champion had been in an open relationship with each other for a while now. He and Link weren’t dating, a fact that bothered Brivere for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, but were rather just friends that happened to be in love with the same prince. However, their polyamorous relationship was unheard of in Zora culture, who mated with only one person for the rest of their lives, always with a strong soul-bond. Anything else was taboo. Brivere knew this well, considering what happened with his late mother.

            As a result, they decided to keep the whole thing secret for now since all of them held such high and public positions. And even though the Hylian Champion was off fighting the Calamity, the other two Zoras decided to keep their own bond a secret, not wanting to expose themselves without him.  

            But Sidon would always tease the golden knight, saying that if he and Link developed into something more then he would easily approve. Brivere would always ignore it in turn. There’s no way he could date a man he used to despise; their current friendship is nothing short of a miracle.

            So there was no reason to push or hope for anything more and possibly ruin that.

            Finding no one, Brivere eased up slightly and leaned against Sidon’s chest, angling his tail so that it wouldn’t be squished in-between them. “Admittedly, I couldn’t tell. I was more focused on watching the actions of our children rather than their actual relation to each other.” The prince hummed in response, leaning his head on top of Brivere’s as they continued to gaze at the scenery outside of the window. Neither of them had any idea of how much time had passed when they heard a guard calling their names. They quickly pulled apart from each other as he came around the corner, announcing that the council had reached their decision.

           Thanking him, both Zoras ran over to the council’s chamber, stopping out of sight of the entranceway to catch their breaths and recompose themselves. Sidon was the first to straighten up, giving his knight a reassuring squeeze on the arm before turning to face the entranceway. Swallowing the anxiety that crept up his throat, Brivere followed his prince into the chamber.

           When the two of them had fully entered, the council and apostles present hushed their conversations to watch the Prince and his Knight position themselves in front of the king. Brivere whipped out his sword, going back into the same position as the beginning of the last meeting. He held his head down and gripped onto the weapon until Sidon gave him the same nod, and then he spun the sword around again until it hung off of his back, buckled into the weapon strap. Although the council had already come to their decision and no amount of theatrics could change it now, Brivere figured that he may as well give them a show they wouldn’t forget.

           “First Knight Brivere and my beloved son Prince Sidon.” King Dorephan said in a proud voice. “The council has agreed to create the new position and title of the Oracle Knight.”

           Years of maintaining a stone-cold mask of indifference was the only thing that saved Brivere’s dignity in that moment. If it hadn’t been for his aquired muscle memory in keeping a tough, indifferent appearance, he would have jumped around and shouted with joy. One quick moment of eye contact with Prince Sidon made it easy to tell that the prince wanted to do the same, but he was much less skilled at hiding it. The wide smile that stretched across his face completely gave him away.

           “However, in exchange, the Oracle Knight will have a few differences from the First Knight, in order to balance out the power and maintain the tradition of First Knight.” Brivere nodded hesitantly. Fair enough. “The First Knight will continue to be the captain of the knights, but the Oracle Knight will not. Rather, they will solely be the personal knight and advisor of their designated member of the royal line. Both knights will report to their ruler, but neither will have any formal control over the other. Each will be considered to be the same in terms of status and equal in their importance. Does this satisfy the two of you?”

           They bowed in unison and said “Yes, your majesty.” Brivere then stepped forward and knelt before the council members. “I am extremely grateful to all of you for your approval. I promise that I and my future descendants will never come to make any of you regret this decision.”

           “We will be holding you to that,” King Dorephan chuckled. “However, there is more to our decision. In order for us to establish this new title, we have one more addition to the role of the Oracle Knight.” Brivere and Sidon glanced up, unable to keep the confusion off of their faces.

           “We will explain more in a moment, but the two of you should prepare yourselves to speak in front of the whole Domain.”

;

           An announcement was made that the Prince would be giving an important speech that pertained to everyone, even the Undercity dwellers, and so every Zora in the Domain was crammed together in the large streets near the palace. That is to say that the upper class sat in more comfortable viewing areas while the Undercity Zora tried not to touch them. The streets were alive with the sounds of conversation and rumors, all of the Zora wondering what the announcement would be about. They all prayed that it wasn’t a worrying declaration of something catastrophic happening again in the Domain, such as another Water Blight spreading around.

           Their patience finally paid off when the prince came into view on one of the balconies with his First Knight right beside him, as usual. As expected, complete chaos broke out at the site of their beloved Prince, the women shrieking at his handsome appearance and the Undercity Zora hollering in appreciation of his inclusive policies on class equality. The prince rode out the excitement, showing off a wide smile as he waved to the crowd. His First Knight next to him was wearing an unfamiliar but fancy choker that covered all of his upper chest and neck, but no one was paying attention to the reserved golden Zora in favor of the more popular Prince Sidon.

           Eventually the prince had to hold up his hand, waiting for the excited crowd to calm down before he spoke. “Zora of the Domain!” he bellowed, making sure each word could be heard by every individual. “I must thank you all for coming on such short notice. The announcement that I will make was the result of a decision made by the council just a few moments ago, and it was important for us to get this information out as soon as possible.”

           Prince Sidon paused. “In short, I am in need of a new First Knight.”

           A collective gasp washed over the crowd as everyone gawked at the former First Knight who was still standing next to the prince with a blank face. Waves of rumors and conversation soon drowned out the shock as every Zora in attendance speculated how the First Knight had gotten himself removed from his position. Those in the crowd who had always ridiculed and despised Brivere grinned smugly as they watched him continue to stand there with his usual emotionally-devoid stare. They were pleased to imagine how much he was actually squirming under that cold mask of his.

           Everyone silenced when the prince raised his hand again. “Just as before, I am making the position open to everyone within the Domain, no matter their bloodline or class. We will decide this with the same tournament system, which will start in a few months. For those who wish to participate, you will need to register in the Basilica within the next few weeks and undergo a mental and physical examination before gaining approval to compete. I wish the best of luck to all of you.”

           The crowd cheered, Undercity Zora in particular, and Prince Sidon waited until the noise calmed before he continued. “With that being said, I am proud to ask all of you to pay attention to my new Oracle Knight, Brivere.”

           The cheers quickly stopped as the crowd stared in confusion as the prince stepped aside and gestured for the golden Zora to take his place. Oracle Knight? Every Zora was required to learn about the different positions and statuses available within their government, and they had definitely never heard of that one before.

           They all finally noticed the very flashy choker that covered most of Brivere’s upper body, and each Zora turned to each other to ask if anyone knew which position it signified. It was definitely fancier than the Prince’s, but there was no way that the former First Knight would suddenly have more status than him. When he opened his mouth, the crowd was almost silent, wanting to hang onto every word that he said, searching for answers.

           “First off, I must apologize for the misleading way that my lord introduced me.” Brivere said, shooting a pointed glance to Prince Sidon who just smiled back sheepishly. “I was not removed from my position for any misdeeds on my part. Rather, I have just been appointed to the status of Oracle Knight. It is alright if none of you know of it, because it was created just moments ago by the royal council through my request. Put simply, in this new position, I will advise and protect the royal family, Prince Sidon in particular, with my ability to see the future.”

           The crowd gawked at the Oracle Knight, the streets full of shouts of denial and shock. There was only one Zora that everyone knew of that had had that very same power, and that man was dead.

Brivere knew that he didn’t have as much respect built up as Prince Sidon, so he just waited for the crowd to quiet down. It took a while, since everyone was busy trying to wrap their tails around his words, but eventually they calmed down enough for his voice to be heard again.

           “Some of you in the crowd are aware of the controversy that has surrounded my lineage ever since my birth. However, I am not here to discuss that or to explain every single rumor to all of you. To make a long story short, I have been confirmed to be the son of Prion, and this choker is the same that he wore.”

           To an outsider, one would have thought that the Calamity had struck the Zora Domain once more. The streets shook in complete chaos as everyone began shouting and clamoring for answers. Those who had never known Brivere were completely blindsided by the fact that the late First Knight Prion, a decorated war hero that they all celebrated even to this day, had had a hidden son for so long. And those who did know Brivere either felt embarrassment for being wrong or felt nothing but rage and disbelief.

           Several guards had to be dispatched in order to hold back the wild crowd. Prince Sidon threw his arms around as he shouted for everyone to calm down while Brivere reflexively held a battle stance in front of the prince, trying to hold him back from the chaos. The mayhem below nearly drowned out the approaching footsteps of King Dorephan as he walked to the balcony.

           “Silence!” the king bellowed, his voice nearly knocking over every Zora in attendance. Instantly, the streets were quiet once more, almost as if the Calamity had killed them all in a heartbeat. “While the shock of these new decisions and discoveries are natural, it is no excuse to treat our speaker with such disrespect. We will release more detailed information about everything later but, for now, I swear to you, my beloved citizens, that we are absolutely certain that Brivere is the son of Prion.”

           The crowd let his words sink in, only somewhat satisfied. King Dorephan let out a huff, turning to Brivere who had somehow went through all of the chaos with a straight face. “Please continue, Oracle Knight.”

           Brivere nodded and walked back out to the front of the balcony. “I did not come here solely to speak of my new position or to confirm my parentage.” he began. “I must also talk of the additional position that the council has attached to mine: the Holy Knight. It is simply a personal knight and assistant to the Oracle Knight.”

           “Similar to the First Knight, the position will be open to everyone, regardless of class or family name. Unlike Prince Sidon’s tournament, however, the winner will not be decided solely on raw strength alone.” Brivere explained. “A series of trials will he held to test for intelligence and a sharp mind. The final stage will be different, but its content will not be revealed until ten people remain. Those who wish to participate will gather in the records hall at dawn 3 months from today.”

           “I advise anyone who considers joining to study as much as you can, particularly government politics, but unfortunately, I cannot give any other advice than that.” With this, Brivere bowed. “Thank you all for your time.”

           He was about to turn to retreat back into the palace, but he hesitated, clearly sensing something. His body visibly locked up for a moment before he spoke again. “I am aware that many of you may be wondering why we are bothering to hold these trials and tournaments if I could just use my ability to already select the winners.” Everyone in the crowd stared back, dumbfounded.

           Brivere quickly tried to explain himself. “Admittedly, I just had a short vision of many of you asking me that very question or disregarding the competitions altogether. However, I encourage you all to try. The future is always subject to change based on your actions, so do not believe that you have no chance. You will only fail if you do not try.”

           At this, Brivere paused, and suddenly his golden eyes shifted off to the side. It was clear that he was staring at someone in particular. “Good luck to all of you,” he blurted out, shifting his gaze back before the crowd could determine who he was looking at. “I look forward to working with the winner.” With this, he quickly turned to go back to Prince Sidon’s side, and the two of them followed behind King Dorephan to disappear back into the palace.

;

           With the announcements finished, the crowd began to disperse, loudly talking amongst themselves about the shocking news of not only the discovery of Prion’s lost son but also the rare addition of two new titles. Undercity Zora were absolutely ecstatic, boasting about how they were going to prepare for Prince Sidon’s tournament or the Oracle Knight’s trials as they swam back down to their homes. Uppercity Zora complained about the Undercity Zora’s excitement, confident that none of them would win against the elite class. But no matter where they were from, gossip began to flow between every Zora about the day’s new discoveries.

           Estuu watched it all from the tall rock that he was perched on. He had been listening to the announcements from this height, wanting to avoid getting smothered in the rambunctious crowd that had filled out the streets earlier.

           Admittedly, when everyone had burst into complete havoc at the announcement of Brivere being Prion’s son, Estuu had had a bit of a meltdown. He had covered his ears and whined, his tail wildly smacking against his back. King Dorephan’s loud voice had almost sent him over the edge, but his older brother’s familiar tone had brought him back.

           Estuu didn’t quite understand why his brother had looked at him like that around the end of his speech. Part of him knew that it was because the overprotective Zora was worried about him, but the other part argued that there was something else in his older brother’s gaze. But Estuu quickly shook the strange feeling off, knowing that he had something else more pressing to attend to.

           When the crowd had mostly disappeared, save for the usual residents who lingered in the streets to talk to their neighbors, Estuu carefully climbed down from the rock with his one functioning hand. He quickly scurried through the streets towards the library.

            If he made it in time, he could still rent out enough books to study for the Holy Knight trials.