#if they haven’t burned the world down by the time Leslie gets back it’s only because of the collective efforts of the batkids

[anonyunknownonearth]

pls read my tags <3

i need Dr. House to be Batman's temporary doctor for a month while Dr. Leslie Tompkins is recovering from some sort of rogue activity.

[kaemulti]

DC SUPERHERO GIRLS HEADCANNONS

i’m gonna start writing headcannons whenever i get sad/anxious for a number of different fandoms. it takes my mind off things, even if only for a little bit. this time it’s gonna be about dcshg 2019. i’m honestly obsessed with thinking about the mundane teenager things we don’t see in the show that all the superhero/villian kids go through so i wanted to write some stuff about that.

•karen is actually more popular than she realizes, people think she’s sweet even though they rarely see her/don’t have classes with her

•leslie and dorris are a thing to everyone BUT themselves; they hilariously don’t even realize they’ve basically been dating for years: carpooling together, hanging out before and after school, bullying kids like a tag team, skipping classes together, movie nights, shorting out the exercise machines at the mall to make that misogynistic jerk at the fitness store scared, buying their favorite snacks for each other without thinking much of it, etc.

•barbi not only hates diana with a burning passion but ALSO tatsu because both girls excel in both their academic and physical education classes, unintentionally surpassing barbie by a long shot whenever the opportunity presents itself

•jessica and hal hang out at sweet justice after their week day training classes and even invite barry when he has the day off

•kara is completely oblivious to the fact there are a bunch of girls crushing on her at school, she keeps wondering why they whisper about her and never make direct eye contact with her as she walks through the hallways. she only finds out what is actually going on when she opens her locker on valentine’s day and gets COVERED in cards. she doesn’t tell most of her friends about it (she knows they’ll just be annoying) but she does vaguely ask jess about how to write people back, turning them down nicely and whatnot, she’s not a monster for gods sake, she’s just not ready for a relationship.

•babs and diana like to study together the most even though barbra never really pays attention, she mostly talks about different batman articles and comics she read and new gadgets she’s created but diana doesn’t mind TOO much because she has an growing interest in modern day ‘world of man’ technology

•diana can NOT sing to save her life. the girls thought that having a karaoke night would be fun sure, but nothing would’ve prepared them for the laughing fits they had when diana started screeching into the mic. They also find out that Babs is always off pitch and Jessica refuses to sing in front of people. alternatively, however, zee, kara and karen (in that order) are the best singers in the group.

•zee keeps inviting kara to these crazy expensive-super long wait list restaurants even though she knows kara probably won’t eat any of the food. she doesn’t really know why she keeps doing it, especially after the whole giant tentacle incident, but she does know she enjoys kara’s funny comments and cute laugh enough to continue.

•when selina first saw diana she might of had a tiny sexuality crisis, no she won’t elaborate.

•tatsu helps garth work on his confidence and he helps her with her HUGE slight fear of open water. even though they don’t know the other is super, they still help each other as much as they can. tatsu will train garth to do some basic defense techniques against bullies and they’ll go swimming every other week, garth always making sure to keep as much water as he can away from tatsu’s eyes and nose.

•kara and barry like to race each other whenever they get a chance to go to the pier. kara always cheats so she never loses but barry doesn’t mind because he’s her friend and it makes them laugh.

•steve is actually really good at embroidery, his mom taught him when he was younger. he once made a wonder woman shirt for diana and when he gave it to her, she fainted.....twice.

•pam is allergic to three different types of flowers but she still nurtures them in her garden at home whenever she can. if her allergies get really bad though, she’ll ask jess to help her water them, ONLY because she needs to keep her precious flowers alive, NOT because she is actually jess’ friend...she thinks.

•the first time carol met barbie they both got into detention for loudly insulting each other’s fashion sense in the middle of math class. (they still haven’t apologized to each other so they keep acting like it didn’t happen because they both think they’re right)

•the first time harleen called pam “green bean”, pam blushed and giggled...like FULL blown diana talking to steve giggle. and then she pushed harleen off a bridge with a vine on accident. harleen thought it was the funniest thing ever and pam could only awkwardly apologize for almost killing her teammate

•oliver and zee tried to co-write a christmas play but they were so busy fighting each other on who had a better ending they didn’t actually order any props or costumes for it. leaving the main actress to perform in a pirate outfit.

•kara still hangs out with bizarro super girl every now and again and they take turns ranting about their idiot cousins, it’s all light hearted because kara still has some emotional stuff to work through.

•diana unintentionally starts a “who will come out next” contest when she asks the girls about same sex attraction. she had seen leslie and dorris making out in one of the locker rooms (yes they FINALLY got together together) and asked her friends what it meant. after a lot of confusion as kara stumbled over her explanation of the lgbtq+ community, she ends up coming out as a lesbian first, followed by babs, who is bisexual, karen, who is questioning but absolutely had a crush on kara before their food fight detention day, and zee who is trans. they end up going to metropolis pride two months after that.

•diana is still convinced there is an oracle at the pier so every other sunday the girls go so she can spend all of her money on “knowing the future”

•babs never really gets angry on the daily and the rest of the girls learn why when some jerk at sweet justice insults jess’ looks because she wouldn’t go out with him. barbra turned bright red as she let him have it, words coming out of her mouth faster than barry can make their ice cream (they didn’t think she had it in her). and if he he ended up glued to his bed the next day, well, jess will let batgirl get away with that one JUST this once. barbra will NEVER not stick up for her friends.

•kara and babs often have multiple sleepovers a week, harleen even joins them sometimes when kara doesn’t mind her LOUD presence.

•the girls never get mad at one another when someone breaks down or blows up after holding certain feelings in for too long. whether it’s kara ghosting them for days leading up to her mom’s birthday, diana overworking herself to the point of exhaustion when she gets homesick, karen refusing to go out to anywhere except for school and tough missions for weeks at a time because she thinks she doesn’t matter, zee reading too many spells at once and giving herself an awful migraine after messing up an easy one, jessica isolating herself at lunch so she can sit in the library alone and cry to herself quietly after a hard day of training, or babs not being her normal happy self after having a heated argument with harleen, there will ALWAYS be a shoulder to cry on when someone needs it. If that comes in the form a knock on kara’s door as her friends invite themselves in with her favorite foods and a mega ‘feel better soon’ music playlist in tow, an impromptu destress retreat that they force diana to go on where she is only allowed to use a weapon if there is a direct threat, making a giant list of all the things they love about karen and reading it to her from outside her window, someone closing zee’s spell book and holding her tightly as her eyes turn back to normal from flaring pink with anger, all the girls quietly sitting with jessica one by one in the library and gently holding her hand as she lets out what she can, or buying limited edition comics and leaving them as presents for babs in her section of the hideout, there is ALWAYS someone there to make it hurt a little less.

the end :))

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Softer Than Silence

Read here on AO3!

(Takes place right after this fic which I wrote like a year ago and only now got to making a sequel for whoops.)

Summary:

“Your larynx was severed. It was a pretty nasty injury and Leslie did everything she could, but your vocal cords...they weren’t salvageable. I’m...I’m so sorry, Tim.”

Tim lets that sink in. Severed larynx. Unsalvageable vocal cords.

Oh, god.

Tim doesn’t know how much time has passed when he wakes up. He’s not even sure how he’s waking up. A slit throat in any universe should be a certain one-way ticket to the afterlife—don’t pass go, don’t collect two hundred dollars. Dead. Maybe Tim is dreaming. Or maybe he’s dying right now and this is just his brain flashing forward to the future he could have had, “Owl Creek Bridge”-style. His ears feel like they’re packed with pillows, but voices make their way through his warped awareness like pencils poking through aluminum foil. “I say we should draw straws.” “Really, Jay? That’s your suggestion?” “You got a better idea, Dickface?” Someone clicks their tongue. “You’re both cowards. Let me be the one to tell him and I’ll have it done in less than a minute.” “I can’t even tell you all of the reasons I’m not letting you do that.” “Yeah, kid, your bedside manner fucking sucks.” “It’s better than yours!” “Will you both shut up?” Tim would feign sleep and listen longer, but the drug-induced haze is fading faster than he can keep up with. His throat burns with a fiery vengeance, flames creeping up his windpipe. He shifts, a hand instinctively grappling for his throat. Someone stops him. “Tim? You awake?” He opens his eyes. Dick is beside him, lowering Tim’s wrist back to the bed. They’re in the medical area of the Batcave; he can tell by the dank air and a sliver of rock peeking through the gap in the curtain surrounding them. Jason and Damian stand off to the side, their expressions unreadable. Tim opens his mouth to ask them what happened, but before he can utter a vowel, Dick is squeezing his hand. “Don’t try to talk,” he says. Tim obediently settles back, wariness rising in his gut. He reaches up with the hand not in Dick’s grasp and discovers a thick bandage plastered over his neck. That can’t be good. “Do you remember what happened?” The man flicks Tim’s blood off of his sword. “I would love to continue this riveting visit of ours, but it seems like my mission is complete. Have a pleasant night, Mr. Drake.” Tim nods with a wince. “You were lucky,” Dick says. “Conner found you and brought you here just in time. You lost a lot of blood and Leslie had you in surgery for a while, but she was able to fix most of the damage.” Tim doesn’t miss the most, and Dick grimaces when he catches it as well. Tim arches one eyebrow—a clear, What aren’t you telling me? “Looks like that’s our cue to duck out,” Jason says. He grabs Damian by the shoulder and ignores the raccoon-like hands smacking him away. “Glad you didn’t die, Tim.” He ushers Damian out and they disappear, leaving Tim’s stomach curdling. He looks to Dick for an explanation. “There...there was a lot of damage, Tim. You’re lucky to be breathing right now.” That should be good, right? Tim is alive. There’s no tube in his neck so he can breathe on his own, and aside from some residual soreness under the buzz of the drugs, he feels fine. This is a monumental victory. So why does Dick look like he’s delivering a death sentence? Tim wants to ask, but he physically can’t do that. Dick doesn’t seem to be able to either. “Your larynx was severed. It was a pretty nasty injury and Leslie did everything she could, but your vocal cords...they weren’t salvageable. I’m...I’m so sorry, Tim.” Tim lets that sink in. Severed larynx. Unsalvageable vocal cords. Oh, god. The utter horror on Tim’s face must be unmistakable because Dick is rushing to comfort him. “It’s okay, Tim. You’re going to get through this.” But Dick’s voice is muffled by the ringing in Tim’s ears. He can’t lose his voice. He can’t. This isn’t happening. Tim scrambles to sit up, his breathing becoming ragged. He sucks in a deep breath, opens his mouth, and tries, tries to make a noise. Tries to make a single sound, but all that comes out is a rush of air. He’s shaking. He tries to speak, to yell, to scream, and there are tears running down his cheeks and his gasps are empty and his throat hurts but he doesn’t stop. Dick’s hand is on his back. “Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out.” Tim hates that he doesn’t even have the ability to argue, to tell Dick that there’s nothing to figure out. Tim can’t speak and meaningless encouragement isn’t going to change that. Nothing will change it. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s an adjustment, to say the least. The first day, Tim holds out a flicker of hope that this is all some dream and any minute he’ll wake up again in the med bay, throat repaired and vocal cords intact. He can’t believe this is happening to him. In his entire life Tim never once considered what it would be like to lose his voice, never prepared himself for the possibility. He’s watched Cass trudge through reading assignments from Barbara and struggle to find the right words in a conversation, but it never occurred to him just how much Tim relied on his ability to speak. He took it for granted. His first day out of the med bay he finds himself slipping up again and again, opening his mouth in response to a question only to remember that that’s no longer an option. He doesn’t know enough sign language to partake in a conversation, so he avoids them altogether. He hears Alfred humming along to an opera album down the hall and is filled with a vicious, panging envy. Never again will Tim hum, sing, laugh. It’s all gone. Everyone keeps giving him the same droll sermons. He’ll get through this. It could have been worse; he could be dead. Cass manages just fine with sign language, and Tim can too. He should count himself lucky that the damage wasn’t more severe. But is he lucky? Is he really? Tim has already lost so much: his parents, his friends, his Robin career, Bruce. And now his voice. Life just doesn’t know when to stop taking from him. Maybe it will never stop taking, not until he’s an empty husk. Conner left for Smallville just a few days after Tim awoke. He never said why, but Tim knows it’s because he feels guilty. Tim wants to reassure him that this isn’t his fault, that Tim would be dead if Conner hadn’t saved him, but it would take too long to write down. Bruce taught Tim basic ASL shortly after he began his Robin training, sticking to the most rudimentary of phrases that one would need for crime-fighting. Yes. No. Please. Thank you. Help. Safe. Danger. Steph offered to learn sign language with him and Alfred left a sneaky pile of ASL books on Tim’s desk, but he hasn’t touched them. He instead relies on a whiteboard and marker to communicate, rarely as he does. His search for Bruce has been put on hold, not of his own volition. He supposes it’s fair. After all, Tim can’t even order a hamburger anymore without the help of his whiteboard. Not that he leaves the manor much, anyway. The bandage on his neck draws too much unwanted attention. He’d hate to see what Gotham’s press would conspirize about a Wayne son with a mysteriously slit throat. Tim’s days are spent in his room, working on cases out of the action. That’s what he does now, sitting on his bed with his laptop, music blasting through his headphones. Dick pokes his head in without knocking. They still haven’t devised a system for that yet. “Hey, you got a second?” Tim flicks his fingers in Dick’s direction: his way of acknowledging people these days. He pauses his music. “Damian and I are heading out on patrol now.” Tim says nothing. Obviously. “Alfred told me you didn’t eat dinner. Or lunch. Or breakfast.” Tim rifles through the papers sprawled around his knees and holds up a crumpled pink post-it. Throat hurts. “That excuse again?” Tim shrugs. “Look, I know you’re frustrated, but what you’re doing isn’t healthy. You know that, right?” Tim twirls a finger in the air. Whoop-dee-doo. “That’s real mature.” Of all the things I have to worry about right now, I’d say maturity is pretty low on the list. Not that Tim says any of that. He doesn’t know the signs and he let his whiteboard fall off the bed somewhere to his left hours ago. He doesn’t bother reaching for it. Dick comes closer to the bed and stops. “Can I sit?” Tim shrugs and goes back to his laptop. Dick sits on the edge by Tim’s knee and reaches over to close the computer. Tim flips him one of the few ASL signs he does know. “You have a right to be angry about this, but you can’t project that anger onto us. Me, Damian, Alfred—we’re not the ones you’re mad at. And we all want to help you, but we can’t do that if you don’t let us. So start letting us.” Easy for him to say. But Tim knows he’s right, as infuriating as it is, which is the only reason he doesn’t turn his music back on and shut down for another week. Sighing, Tim opens the laptop. He pulls up a blank word document and types for a moment. He turns the computer around to show Dick. Speech for Neon Knights foundation in a couple days. Already written. Just need someone to deliver it. Dick nods, smiling. “Sure. I can take care of that. And it’s okay if you need more time to work through this, but I want you to remember that I’m here if you ever want to talk. Or, well—you know what I mean. Just remember you’re not alone in this.” Tim wishes he could tell Dick the truth. That Tim does appreciate everything he’s trying to do—really, he does. Tim doesn’t know where he’d even be if he didn’t have Dick by his side, making the world a brighter place just by existing in it with his endless patience and unfaltering optimism. If only he had the voice to tell him. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jason wouldn’t call himself a particularly caring individual. That sort of legacy is better left to the real heroes, like Bruce and Roy and Dick-fucking-Grayson. It’s for this reason that Jason didn’t stick around for a hot second when Tim got hurt, nor did he return for the aftermath. Tim is dealing with enough shit right now. He doesn’t need his asshole older brother getting involved and making him feel worse. Jason can’t imagine what it would be like to be in Tim’s situation. For starters, it would utterly butcher his knack for smartass remarks. Plus, there’s no finer euphoria than screaming obscenities at a blubbering criminal right before he puts a bullet through their skull. Losing his voice would be losing half of what makes him the Red Hood. Red Robin, on the other hand...he’s always been quiet. Not like Cass, but getting there. He relies on shadows and ninja-like swiftness to get the point across that this is goddamn Red Robin and you should be wetting your pants in his wake. But Jason’s smart enough to know that the silent schtick is done by choice. It’s a maneuver and a learned behavior rolled into one. He can only imagine how torturous it must be to be silenced by force—to be muzzled by something completely out of his control. (Fine, so Jason cares about the kid a little. Sue him.) He goes into the Batburger restaurant (Jesus shit, whoever came up with the idea of a Batman-themed restaurant should be shot in the head. Or maybe thrown a parade. He can’t decide) and scouts for black hair and pale skin. He spots Tim in a booth all the way at the back and heads over, sliding into the seat across from him. “Hey, kid.” Tim picks his head up from where he was engrossed in a game of Solitaire on his phone and gives a two-fingered salute. A notepad and Superman pen sit on the table in front of him. “Did you order yet?” Tim points to the scar on his neck and Jason mentally slaps himself in the forehead. “Right.” Tim picks up the pen and scribbles for a minute. “What,” Jason says, “no whiteboard today?” Tim turns the pad around to show Jason. Too bulky. People notice. Below that: Nuggets, fries & grape zesti. “Magic words?” Tim rolls his eyes. He tears out the page and bounces it off Jason’s forehead. However, he does lift his right hand and rotate it in front of his chest, palm flat: the ASL sign for “please.” Jason recognizes it from his minimal knowledge accumulated from Robin training and conversations with Cass. “Attaboy. For a minute there I was worried Alf failed in making a decent person out of you.” Tim sticks his tongue out, which makes Jason chuckle. He goes to the counter and relays Tim’s order, along with his own. While he waits he dares a look back and finds Tim back to staring down at his phone, shirt collar pulled as high as it’ll go. What must it be like, going from Gotham’s favorite billionaire playboy-in-training to a silent teenager who can’t go to a restaurant without people staring at the killer scar across his throat? Jason’s seen the gossip magazines. Some speculate a failed assassination, while others are sure it was a suicide attempt gone wrong. At least Jason’s scars can be covered by a t-shirt. Tim can’t hide his without a turtleneck, but it’s summer now. He’s forced to endure the speculated theories and pitiful glances, meanwhile Jason has the benefit of being legally dead on his side. He doesn’t have to worry about people remembering him. Losing one’s voice only months after losing his second father figure is tough shit for a seventeen-year-old. For anyone. He doesn’t know how Tim does it. Jason goes back to the table and finds Tim doodling a stick figure on the notepad. It’s got thick, narrowed eyebrows and pointed teeth. “That supposed to be me?” Tim’s mouth quirks. He fingerspells, Damian. His sleeve falls down an inch, exposing a med-alert bracelet. Alfred must have made him start wearing it. What with his asplenia and nasty habit of fainting in places when he forgets to eat, it makes sense that Tim would need it. If something were to happen, it’s not like he can inform paramedics of the deal. “You really captured the evil in his eyes.” Jason takes a bite of his cheeseburger while Tim busies himself with arranging his fries in size order, the little weirdo. “So how are things at home?” Good, Tim signs, his movements clunky and unpracticed. Dick… He frowns and scribbles on the pad. Helicopter parenting. “Same old, same old, right?” Tim levels an unimpressed look. “What? It can’t be that bad.” Benched indefinitely. It sucks. “Can you blame him? I wouldn’t want you in the field like this yet either.” Cass, Tim writes, and leaves it at that. “But she’s been functioning without speech for her whole life. She doesn’t need it to be understood. You’ve only been doing it for two weeks.” And a half, Tim writes. “You know what I mean. ‘s not like you can call for help if you get gutted in an alley.” Never thought I’d see the day when you’d take Dick’s side. “Yeah, well, sometimes the fucker has a point.” He takes a sip of his soda. “You know, I talked to Babs yesterday. Said she’s working on tech that’ll let you use morse code over the comms. If she finishes it on schedule, you can be back out there in less than a month.” Tim just nods, eyes dimmed. It’s weird seeing the kid so quiet. The real trick used to be getting Tim to shut up. He used to spend hours rambling on and on about whatever science kick he was on at the moment. For as quiet as Red Robin could be, Tim Drake never ran out of things to say. Jason misses it. He throws a sesame seed at Tim. “Hey. I’m trying to have a conversation here.” Tim makes a gesture that Jason doesn’t recognize. At Jay’s confused look, Tim writes on the notepad, Fuck off. “Cassie teach you that one?” Steph. Wanted to learn curse words first. “Of course you did. You know, you should hit up Jericho. He knows exactly what you’re going through, and I’m pretty sure he was able to teach Dick sign language in less than a year.” You’re the fifth person to say that. “I’m a fucking genius, we know this. But seriously. It might be useful to have someone in your corner who knows how to cope with this kind of thing.” I’m coping fine. “By listening to shitty emo music all day in your room? Yeah, because that’s super healthy.” Tim twiddles the pen between his fingers, glaring at Jason. Finally, he puts it to paper. I keep calling my cell phone to listen to the voicemail. Jason blinks. “Why?” Don’t want to forget what my voice sounds like. “You won’t.” Forgot my mom’s after a year. Starting to forget my dad’s. Tim pauses before adding, He yelled a lot though, so I think he’s got a lead. Jason has no fucking idea what to say to that, thanks for asking. He gives it a shot anyway. “Then...then I’ll remember it enough for the both of us. It's kind of hard to forget that annoying-ass nasally voice babbling about Star Wars for hours anyway.” Wow, thanks, Tim signs with an eye roll. No problem, Jason signs back. That makes Tim smile for the first time since Jason sat down. Maybe this kid will be all right, after all.

[queeniewriteshockey]

Stay The Night || Final|| Nolan Patrick + Reader

A/N: So, here it is. The very last part of this story. It’s been a long time in the making and I’m truly sorry for how long it took me to continue this story. I hope the ending lives up to expectations. I’m very pleased with the whole of this story. 

I want to thank every single person who liked, reblogged, commented, or messaged me about this story. Your words and your support have meant the world to me. 

Word Count: 4,182

--

Your body has never felt more burdensome than it does right now, sitting there held down under the weight of Nolan’s stare. Escape isn’t really an option, though you are contemplating how fast you can get out of there. The bathroom is a viable option. You know there is a window in there that you could maybe slip out of like something out of a movie. If you did that, though, people would figure out that there was an issue, and you’ve worked hard to keep that to yourself. Still, maybe.

You down the rest of your beer to give yourself time to collect your emotions, though you've had months to do this, years even, and somehow never truly learned how to do this. When you set the glass down, you affix a smile to your lips and lift yourself from the seat to greet Nolan the way you should have when he first said hi. Appearances were important when trying to pretend everything was okay. You couldn't let them see the cracks in your veneer.

He lets go of Leslie as you walk up to him, and he turns to welcome you. The hug is awkward as he wraps an arm around you and pulls you into the embrace. Your body is tense and protective, as though he’s somehow going to hurt you. It’s stupid because, of course, he won’t, but you’ve already been damaged by your own mind when it comes to him. His scent fills your nose for the smallest of seconds, and it’s like a shock goes through your system. Every single moment you’ve been through together plays in your mind’s eyes.

You’re five and playing tag in the backyard of your childhood home. You can hear his laugh.

You’re ten and holding onto him because he’s crying after he fell off his bike and scraped his knee.

You’re 14, and he’s holding you because you’re crying. He just got drafted. The tears are happy and sad at the same time. He's going to leave you.

You pull back from the hug, needing the space to breathe and get out of your head. It’s too much to think about; it hurts more than you want to admit. You’ve been in love with him for longer than you can even remember. You just want it to all go away.

“Are you okay?” Nolan asks. Of course, he recognized the internal struggle. You’re just thankful he can’t actually hear you screaming.

“Yeah,” you say, though it sounds shakier than assured. “I just… I missed you.” It comes out honest because it is, but you can’t meet his eyes when you say it. The truth is you did miss him. You missed him so much it hurt, but being around him hurt more. It was a constant sharp pain like a stitch in your side that never went away. When you were apart, that stitch dulled. It didn’t tear every time you breathed. Having him there in front of you was like slicing open a freshly stitched wound.

The smile you peep on his lips does nothing to dull the pain. If anything, you can feel the wound opening deeper. The infection you’d spent several months digging out was growing again. “Excuse me,” you say, “I need another drink.”

You excuse yourself from Nolan and Leslie and make your way to the bar. About halfway there, you beeline into the women’s restroom to see about that window. It’s warm in the bathroom, and it looks like the window is open. You could make it through if you tried. Did you want to try, though? You’d run away from him once. You'd gone across more states than you wanted to count and into another country to get away from him. What was one window between escape routes?

Climbing out the window is no easy feat, but the hardest part was landing on the ground outside. You’re lucky the sink was there to give you a boost up, but face-first through a window is never the right way to go. You weren’t nearly as smooth as actors in the movies, but you did it in one take, how many of them could say that? You get up from the pavement and dust yourself off, brushing rubble from your hands and the back of your pants.

“You know,” a voice says, making you scream, “I had a feeling you were avoiding me, but now I’m sure you are.”

You turn around and see Nolan standing there, his shoulder pressed against the outside of the building. He looks so calm while he’s looking at you with his intense blue eyes.

“Nolan,” you say, trying for the calm, 'you totally didn’t just catch me climbing out a window vibe,’ but failing.

“The thing is,” he says as he pushes off the wall and walks over to you, “I can’t figure out why. The last time I saw you, you were asleep in your car, in my carport. Did I do something?” The hurt you can see behind his eyes doesn't match the casual tone he spoke with, but you’d long ago stopped marveling at Nolan’s superpower. He could lock down his emotions so tightly that almost no one saw them unless they knew what to look for. You unfortunately, knew what to look for.  

“Nolan,” you say with a sigh, but you don’t know what else to say. How do you explain that the reason you left was that you loved him so much it hurt to see him happy? That was the epitome of selfishness, and you hated yourself for it. The hatred festered like a cancer, silently growing until it consumed you from the inside out, and you couldn’t take it any longer. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh, really? Because it looks like you just used that window to duck out of a bar. A bar you were excited to go to, judging by your Instagram. So… What changed?”

“Nothing,” you say, but you know he’s caught you dead to rights, and you don’t know how to get out of this. “Why are you out here? You’re supposed to be inside with Leslie.”

“So are you,” he says, not answering your question.

You want to scream at him. Why couldn’t he just leave it alone? Why couldn’t he just forget your friendship and let you move on? Why did he have to stand there with this hurt look in his eyes? And why, gods why, did he have to catch you climbing out the bathroom window of a dive bar? What are the odds of that?

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say in an irritated tone. You shoulder past him and keep going. You’re not going back inside; you’ve already made up your mind on that. Your evening is ruined, so you call it quits.

“Well,” he says, his voice loud enough for you to hear (which in and of itself was a feat considering who was talking), “I do. What did I do to make you hate me?”

The pleading in his voice forces you to stop in your tracks. You sign softly, eyes closing to block out the sudden rush of emotions that twisted your gut. Why couldn’t it be straightforward with him? Why was nothing ever simple with him? “I don’t hate you, Nolan,” You say honestly, “I love you.”

The moment the words are out of your mouth, terror takes over your body, controlling your actions. Your heart beats so fast you’re almost sure you’re going to pass out, or worse. Your legs feel like jelly holding you up. Fear claws at your throat, making breathing hard, and all you can think about, the only rational thought you have in your head is “go,” so you do. You run. Away from him. Away from your words. As fast as you can for as long as you can. You don’t try to explain yourself, you just run.

Running is easier when the person you’re running away from isn’t yourself, though. Nolan doesn't follow you, but you didn’t think he would. Your life isn’t a movie. He isn't going to stop you and confess his love for you. You never expected that in the first place. It was why you left after all.

Your running doesn't take you home, as you expected. Your feet have a mind of their own while you struggle internally with bitter hate and disgust. It burns its way through you like acid eating away at healed wounds and leaving necrotic tissue in its wake. When you finally let yourself stop running, it isn't because you were safe or free, it's because the air your lungs so badly need seems out of reach. You pause, hands on your thighs, and head between your knees, trying to pull in little gasps of air. Is it from running or the panic attack you are sure you are having?

It takes you a moment to catch your breath, but by that time, you’ve allowed yourself to sit for a moment and collect your thoughts. The weight of everything sits on your shoulders, and you rest your head in your hands. You can’t face him again. You can’t handle the rejection that’ll come when you see him again. Maybe coming back to Winnipeg was a bad idea. Perhaps you should have just gone somewhere else. Somewhere where running into Nolan wasn’t a possibility.

Time passes like grains of sand slipping through your fingers. You sit on the curb of the sidewalk, watching the number of cars that pass you by becoming less and less. It’s the only passage of time you have to go by. You haven’t looked at your phone since you left the bar, and you had no desire to look now. You were sure you’d have a few messages and missed calls from Leslie. Maybe something from Nolan. But maybe not. Which would be worse? You don’t want to find out.

Sitting in the growing dark with your thoughts serves no real purpose, it’s not like you can hate yourself any more than you already do. You’ve exhausted your ability to berate yourself. The only thing left now is pure exhaustion covered in a blanket of cold despair. The numbness will follow, once the weight of everything becomes too much for you to carry. You can't keep sitting on the curb, looking like a homeless waif wandering the streets.

As you pull yourself to your feet, you debate whether you want to reach into your back pocket and pull out your phone for a ride or if you're going just to walk home. You’re not exactly sure how far away you are from your apartment, which, ultimately, is the deciding factor. You swipe the phone open, ignoring any and all notifications you have in favor of pulling open the rideshare app. It’s such a simple process you barely think about it when you’re done requesting the ride and sliding the phone back into your pocket.

The wait for the ride feels like an eternity. Now that you’ve chosen to go home all you want in a hot bath, your PJs, and maybe a cute sad movie, you can cry your eyes out to while lying in bed. You’re practically dreaming about it by the time your ride pulls up, and you get in. It's like a song that you can’t get out of your mind. The idea rolls over and over, tripping over a few bumps when you get hung up on the evening events, but for the most part, it remains intact.

The drive is relaxing. For the first time since Nolan walked through the door of the bar, you feel like you can breathe and maybe not let every single thought or feeling crush you. Your driver fills the silence with useless chatter, and you meet it with your own. It was part of their job, after all. It didn’t hurt to be polite to the person driving you home, so the small talk occupies your time just as much as the thought of getting home and locking the world away.

When they pull up to your building, you thank your driver and make sure to leave them a decent tip and a five-star review in the app as you walk up the stairs to your second-floor apartment. Your nose is stuck in the phone, of course, which means you don't notice until it's too late that the stoop of your residence is being occupied by a rather large and distressed looking hockey player. He really was massive, especially when he was sprawled out on the floor, legs wide and impassable.

Your feet hit the landing just as you realize that he’s there. It’s almost automatic now to turn and go the other way, regardless of the fact that the door behind him was yours. You had a moment of hope that he hadn’t even realized you were there, but the moment you turned, you heard him move.

“Y/N, wait,” he says quickly as you head back down the stairs this time to your car. You had gone to the bar with Leslie, after all. There had been no point in taking two vehicles. A hand touches your arm, and you freeze a few steps down. You don’t have it in you to look at him, but you aren't about to fight to get free of his hold on the stairs. “I really need you to stop running away from me,” he says quietly.

It’s that statement that forces you to look at him. You fear what you’ll see when you finally do, but his face is guarded. More guarded than you’ve ever seen it. His expression isn’t one you can read, and his eyes, the windows into his mind and soul give nothing away. He's hiding from you. That thought alone makes you want to cry. That thought alone is proof enough that you've ruined everything.

“What are you doing here?” You ask. Your voice feels dry and empty; all the fire and fight has left you. You don’t even have in you to care anymore; it's already over. Maybe he’ll let you down quick and easy, and you can finally move on with your life. Nolan’s never been a vindictive or mean person. Not to you, anyway. Sure, you’ve seen him be mean on the ice or to people he doesn’t like, but he’s not cruel.

“Leslie told me when you lived,” he says with a shrug. He drops his hold on you, which wasn’t all that strong in the first place and sticks his hands in his pocket.

“Remind me to kill her later,” you mutter, more to yourself than to Nolan. “Why are you here?” You ask because really that was what you wanted to know.

“To talk.”

You almost smile. Almost. A sharp bark of a laugh comes out instead. Nolan, talking. That was rich. “Do you know how to do that?”

“Do you?” He counters.

The press of your lips and the furrow of your brows are the only answer he really needs. The truth is; lately, you’ve forgotten how to talk to people. You don’t know how to communicate anymore. You’ve lost touch with not just yourself, but everyone around you.

“You seem better at running than I remember and worse at communicating. That’s my schtick, not yours.”

“Whatever,” you say with a huff. You don’t really have a choice but to turn around and walk back up the stairs. You push past him and over to your door. The key slides into the lock and the click tells you you’re home. If only you were actually comforted by that. You drop the keys and your phone into the bowl by the front door, kick off your shoes and walk through the door, leaving it open for Nolan.

He doesn’t follow.

“Are you coming in or are you going to stand out there looking like a moron? I realize it’s your natural look, but you’re letting the air out.”

You don’t need to look over your shoulder to see if he came in. The click of the door shutting is answer enough. The silence that settles between the two of you feels thick, suffocating, and awkward. You’re not a fan of the distance between the two of you. You want both more and less, but you have no one to thank for the awkwardness but yourself.

“You wanted to talk,” you remind him. You busy yourself in the kitchen, digging through a cupboard to find your rum and a shot glass. The rejection is coming; you already know that. It would be nice to dull the pain, at least. Take the edge off, perhaps.

“Uh," he says. Nolan James Patrick, ever the eloquent speaker. “Yeah, uh, yeah, I did.”

“Ah!” you say to yourself as you find what you’re looking for. The glass clinks on the countertop so that you can unscrew the cap and pour yourself a drink. You step out of the kitchen, drink in one hand, bottle in the other and tip the glass toward Nolan, “Well, then, start talking.” You knock the glass back and down the rum in one swallow. No one has ever accused you of having healthy coping mechanisms.

“I-” he hesitates. Words were never his strong suit. It’s almost sad how bad he is when it comes to talking about things, especially when they make him uncomfortable.

“You… What, Nolan?” Are you being mean to him? Maybe a little. It feels nice being the one to have the upper hand for a moment, even if you know what he’s going to say before he says it. You go to pour yourself another drink, but the bottle is snatched from your hand. "I was gonna drink that," you say though you don't need to.

He sets it down on a coffee table after he walks around the couch. “I don’t know how to do this.” The honesty in his voice and his statement makes your face fall. You don’t want to see him struggling with anything, and you know it's because he doesn’t want to hurt you.

You follow him into the little living room, a sigh on your lips at his words. “You don’t have to do anything, Nolan. It’s okay.” It wasn’t, but you didn’t need him to know that. The knife that sits between your rib cage has been there long enough to barely recognize the sharp pain from it sliding deeper. “I understand.”

His face scrunches, and he shakes his head. “No, Y/N, you don’t.” That statement confuses you, but you’re not really sure how to react, so you stand there, quietly waiting for him to explain. “I didn’t know, okay? If I’d known…”

“Please, just. Drop it. Please. It’s fine. We don’t need to do this.” You don’t need to hear him say it. Honestly, you’re good with this right here because you’re pretty sure your imagination is worse than anything he could say, and you don’t need to add that on top of everything you can think up. You just want it to be over. You just want to walk away in peace and put him in the past.

“Y/N…” He steps closer to you, his hand reaching for you.

This time you do twist to keep away from him. You don’t need his comfort. “It’s fine, Nolan. It’s better this way, anyway. You didn’t need to come over. I’m sorry I ruined your night.”

“You didn’t… I’m confused.” His hand scratched absentmindedly at the back of his head, and he kicks lightly at the ground, toeing the edge where area rug meets floor with his sock. You hadn’t even noticed that he’d taken his shoes off.

“You’re overthinking this,” you tell him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to let me down gently or anything. We can just -”

“Shut up!” The force of Nolan’s outburst makes you step back for a moment, eyes going wide. He doesn’t typically talk to you like that. “I’m trying to tell you that I feel the same way. For you. Would you just let me say it? Fuck!”

“You… What?” You blink, shock etching your features. There are no thoughts in your head when he finally says what he came there to say. It’s like you’ve logged off. Your ability to process words and feelings all just stopped. The air feels heavy, and you feel dizzy. This isn’t what you were expecting. Of course, it wasn’t.

“This is why you left Philly, isn’t it?” He asks as he steps forward. His hand reaches for your elbow, but you’re too shocked to decide whether you want to pull away or step closer. What you do is wrap your hand around his forearm. At least if your legs give out, he’ll be able to stop you from falling. “Isn’t it?” He asks again.

You nod because you can’t exactly deny it. It’s pretty clear that was why you left. “I just… I needed a place to stay the night, but you and Jacquie were there and I just.. You were happy. It was easier to just leave for good.” There was so much more to it, but you didn’t need to explain that. It was best left unsaid.

He scoffs. “Not really. I don’t think Jacquie actually liked me. Just the idea of me.” You wished that came as a surprise, but you’d seen it a lot in the few short months you’d spend around the Flyers. There were a lot of fake people only looking to capitalize on the name of the players and the team.

“We didn’t last much after you left. She didn’t like all the energy and time I spent worrying about you.” He tugs on your hair and smiles when you roll your eyes.

“You were worried about me?” You ask. You try not to sound pleased, but the little blush that works up your cheeks gives you away.

“My best friend vanishes and refuses to take my calls? Hell yeah, I was worried. When I heard that you were okay and spending time with our friends," he pauses and shrugs, "I figured I did something wrong.” His voice isn't as nonplus as he wants. The little lilt of hurt paints the words.

“No!” You tighten your grip on his arm and pull him closer. “No, you did nothing wrong. I’m sorry I made you think that. I just. I’m an idiot.”

Nolan laughs, and it’s possibly the best sound you’ve ever heard. You’ve missed that sound. His tongue peaks between his teeth; it's a sight that makes your heart skip a bit. You can’t help but match his smile; it’s innocent and sweet and real. It’s unguarded. It’s Nolan like no one else gets to see him.

“Yeah, you are,” he says while he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him.

Your smile slips a little, but it's not in a bad way. You’re shocked more than anything, to find yourself pressed against him. His fingers ghost through your hair, tucking it behind your ear before his thumb traces the line of your jaw.

His touches send a shiver down your spine, causing goosebumps to spring up.  The mood between the two of you shifts almost instantly from light and joking to thick and heavy. Breathing is hard, but it’s a different kind of suffocation. It's the kind that comes with hope and anticipation. It's the kind that settles before a first kiss.

His eyes meet yours before they flick to your lips, the bottom on is caught between your teeth. His thumb tugs lightly on your chin, forcing your lip to come free from your teeth. Even though you see it coming, it doesn’t change the shock or the thrill that runs through you when his lips finally touch yours, and you’re allowed to get lost in him. It’s better than the dream ever could have been. He’s warm and strong and firm. He tastes like alcohol and hope, whatever that means.

Your fingers card through his hair as you lift up onto your tiptoes to give yourself more leverage and possibly not break his back. You don’t want to let go, so you don’t. You deepen the kiss, taking a little of the control from him and testing the water. You’ve imagined kissing him for so long, but it falls short when compared to the real thing. You want to commit this to memory before you have to pull away for a pesky little thing like breathing.

Nolan rests his forehead on yours when he breaks the kiss, a soft smile dancing on his lips. “Can I stay the night?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You can stay forever if you want.” You tell him. It's a bit of a joke because you know he can't, but your heart is light, and you can't help but be happy.

“Forever sounds good.”

[dukethomas]

Summary: In a world where Batman never returned and his family scattered, the We Are Robin movement has grown and become the city’s new protectors. Now older, they have a conversation around a kitchen counter.

Written for @duketectivecomics​’ Duke Week, Day Three, We Are Robin! This was actually the first fic finished because I love them so much.

(note: someone please stop me from making a whole au series set here. i’m really about to do it. (i’m lying i already made the series.) also, i realize i’m shit at describing what people look like, so the picture below is the cast of characters, barring the huge, absolutely massive blonde guy. that’s troy.)

(left to right: isabella “izzy” ortiz, troy walker, duke thomas, andre “dre” cipriani, daxton “dax” chill, riko sheridan)

-

When you lead a movement of maybe a hundred-fifty kids, you learn to never get used to silence. 

Tap, tap, tap. 

Duke walks into the kitchen, seeing Riko fiddling with a pencil, tapping it on the marble counter, and staring out through the window above the sink. The sun lowers in the sky, amber light washing over everyone.

The silence is eerie, what with everyone waiting to make the first move. He remembers his first night as a Robin, his first night wearing the red jacket when they seemed to be constantly bickering. 

Years of this changes people. 

He raises his eyebrows and plops down in a chair. “How are y’all doing?” he asks, not quietly, but only just loud enough to cut through the tension. 

Izzy grunts softly, her eyes drooping after a late night. Stakeout, probably. Duke tries to keep track of everything that the Robins do, but it covers a much wider scope than it did when he was sixteen. 

He notes her bloodshot eyes and jokingly wonders to himself if the red in them could be counted as Robin colors. The police have taken people in for less.

“The new recruits are learning fast,” Riko tells him, still tapping the pencil, dark eyes wandering. “There’s one—Carrie Kelley—I think she can be promoted to one of the squads in a few weeks. The others will take time.”

“That’s good,” Duke replies, “but you know that’s not what I meant. How are you guys? Answer me honestly.”

Dre snorts. “Since when have you?” He cocks his head towards the stack of textbooks on the counter, a gleaming Robin pin placed on top. A lock of brown hair falls in his face, the rest loosely pulled into a ponytail not unlike Duke’s own (whereas Izzy and Riko cut theirs short for convenience and personal style, which Duke always finds amusing).

Duke shrugs. “Fair enough. But I feel like we haven’t been talking enough recently. We should go out, have some fun. Relax,” he adds as an afterthought. “We can leave Gotham to someone else for one day. I know Terry can handle my business.”

“We’re running low on grapplers,” interjects Dax, covering a yawn with his hand. “I was planning to stay at the workshop tomorrow and fix the broken ones.”

“Harper can handle it,” Izzy says, glancing over to Duke. He lets a smile creep onto his face as he thinks of Harper and her azure-haired brilliance. She never became a Robin, but she’s somehow always there when they need her. She packs a mean punch underneath her friendly mechanic persona. 

He always got the impression she lost something, when they talk about Robin business in front of her and she gets this wistful look in her eye. But they all lost something, hadn’t they? Years ago, when Batman and his allies skipped town. 

Bruce Wayne died a little after that, in what the papers called a noble sacrifice. Duke remembers Wayne trying to talk to Mister Bloom, talk him out of attacking the whole city. He supposes Wayne was trying to prove something to himself, and obviously, it didn’t work.

Duke kept his mouth shut when his fellow Robins suspected if the events were connected, and they figured it out themselves in due time. 

The city only grew worse after that. And maybe, if they had a Nightwing, a Red Robin, maybe even the tiny newest iteration of Robin, a Black Bat, a Spoiler, a Batman, maybe they could have survived. Maybe they could have thrived.

But they didn’t. So they all had to make do. 

It almost seemed like a blessing when his foster parents were killed in Mister Bloom’s siege on the city—not that any deaths of innocents, no matter how unlikeable, are acceptable, but because Duke got lost in the system, with Leslie Thompkins busy mourning the death of the man who used to be her ward, and he could devote all of his attention to the Robin movement.

“Okay!” Duke says with a grin. “Let’s do it. We need something like this.”

He’s about to start listing off ideas for something they could do tomorrow, when Dax interrupts, quiet and steely. “Do you ever regret doing this?” he asks with a graveness unlike him. “All of this. Because it was one thing when we were in high school and we took on odd jobs, but now we’re—” He swallows uncomfortably. “This is our responsibility. We haven’t been children since we joined. And I wouldn’t trade you guys for the world, and I’m not unhappy with the situation, I just wonder, sometimes. If our lives were different.”

“No,” Riko responds immediately, coals burning in her voice. “We have a purpose. And it’s this. And even if we didn’t, I will never regret helping.”

Duke couldn’t have said it better himself, but he continues it anyways. “We all made a choice to be in this line of work. We chose to help people instead of standing by, and we chose to try to save this hellhole instead of abandoning it. And I think,” he says, “that even though it’s rough sometimes, we get rewarded. Rainbows after the rain. I mean, look at how many Robins are with us. We inspire that kind of hope. So no, I don’t regret it.”

Dax’s face freezes in tightly knit anxiety, and he swallows hard. “Thought you’d say that. That’s who you are, Duke. You and Riko and Dre. You don’t hesitate, you just jump right into it.”

Duke opens his mouth to fire back, that he hesitated once and it cost him his parents, he hesitated again and it cost them Troy Walker, and by the third time he hesitated, there were countless people Mister Bloom killed that could have survived instead, but Izzy beats him to it.

“And what am I?” she teases, her tired eyes twinkling. “Chopped liver?”

And with that, one Izzy Ortiz sparks movement where everyone had stilled. 

“You and I,” Dax declares, after a moment of hesitation, with a weary levity, “are the most important part of this team. Impulse control.”

Izzy hides her laugh in a fist, a habit created in the first year they’d been friends. Duke doesn’t flinch at laughter as much anymore, only certain intonations, but the habits remain. “I’ll show you impulse control,” she mutters. “I’m going to launch myself into the harbor.”

(Despite this, there’s a truth to Dax’s statement. Duke can’t count how many times Izzy has stopped him from walking into a wall after a few all-nighters. Metaphorically and literally.)

“Please don’t,” Duke pleads, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Because then I’m going to be compelled to do it with you. To save you if you drown, of course.

Dre slams his hands down on the table. “Bet!” he announces. “Bet neither of you are willing to do it from sixty feet up.” 

Duke scrambles to his feet as Izzy jolts up in her seat. “Bet!” they both chime at the same time, mock-glaring at each other.

“I’ll be the referee!” Riko blows on a whistle she wears on her nearly all the time now, which is mostly used for training purposes. Sometimes used for nefarious purposes, like being able to declare herself referee. 

Dax stares at them and a fond grin pulls at the side of his face. He sighs. “Okay, you guys have sold me. I’m in. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Duke agrees, nodding. 

He catches Dax’s gaze, then Izzy’s, then Riko’s, then Dre’s. They may be in charge of protecting the city, it may be their purpose and their responsibility, but a thread connects them beyond that. It’s their easy banter and tense shoulders dropping in each other’s presence, in the apartment they share even if they barely see each other, the way they can fight side by side and never have to say a word.

(Years of this changes people, but some things, Duke knows in his bones, will never change.)

((And as it turns out, he and Riko didn’t say everything they didn’t regret about this gig. He still stands by that speech, though, it’s a damn good one.))

-

Read and comment on AO3!

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Burn; Current!Roger Taylor x reader

*Author’s note*

In light of Hamilton coming out on Disney+ today (watched it earlier this afternoon and WAS BLOWN AWAY!!!!!) I wanted to post this for awhile but never had the time nor did I think I was going to but I then thought screw it I'll post it in light of Hamilton. So this fanfic goes around "That would be enough" (If you haven't read that story GO READ THAT CAUSE SPOILERS!!!) but this time it's in YOUR POV. Plus this song had some heavy inspiration for a sequel-ish part of that fic. So I hope you all enjoy it and have a safe and happy 4th of July to my fellow American readers :)

You can read pt.1 here -------> READ ME

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@platawnic

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@queensdivas

@geek-and-proud

@kairosfreddie

@queendeakyy

_____________________________________________________________

I sat there in the pub trying to enjoy our victory at the Grammy’s with my Hamilton fam, but what Roger had told me just clouded my mind and it was all I could think about.  He was my dad. All this time I really did have a father, a freakin Rockstar legend no doubt.  The man I had come to idolize out of all the four members of my favorite rock band was none other than my dad.

What if he was lying? Maybe he know about this all along? Maybe he kicked my mother aside as soon as she told him? So many questions were buzzing through my mind.  So many what if’s and maybes that I almost was about to just start bawling right there in the club.

“(Y/n)? You okay?” I felt a hand at my shoulder and when I turned around there stood Lin.  His brown eyes filled with concern.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure? You looked really out of it for a second there.” Said Renée.

“I’ll bet she’s still just star struck from having to sing alongside her favorite rock group. Am I right?” Daveed teased as he wrapped an arm around me and poked my cheek teasingly.

“Yeah how did it feel to be up there with Queen themselves (n/n)? You’ve always raved on about how you wished to perform alongside them.” Leslie said.

“Oh it was—amazing.” I trailed off. “Excuse me.” I removed Daveed’s arm from my shoulders and walked out ot eh club to try and get some air.

Once outside I was automatically hit with the cool winter LA air.  I took a left to the side of the club and leaned up against the wall trying to compose myself.  Of course I wasn’t gonna tell the guys what Roger just told me, no. This was my mess and they don’t deserve this gossip, but I’ve got to see whether Roger Taylor was either playing me for a fool or if in fact he really is my—father.

In the weeks that went by after the award season was done, I called up my mom’s brother and sister, my uncle Bobby and aunt Jodie to finally see just what the truth was.  I first arrived at my aunt Jodie’s home down in Sioux Falls and knocked on the door. The door opened after about five seconds and there stood my aunt Jodie, sheriff of the Sioux Falls police force.

“Hey, there’s my Tony award winning niece.”

“Aunt Jodie you know I didn’t win the award.”

“I don’t care you were denied that award. I’ve heard the album and I saw the show the day it came to Broadway and you were sensational!” I smiled and thanked her with a hug. “Come in, I was just making some coffee before I headed out to start my shift.”

“Oh well if you’re too busy we can talk later.” I said as I was gestured inside.

“Nonsense, besides I’m the sheriff I can come in whenever I want.” She bragged.  I shook my head playfully at her as she went into the kitchen and got the coffee poured out.  “So, you said over the phone that you wanted to talk about your mom, right?”

“In a way.” I said as I took one of the coffee mugs she soon came in with.  She and I sat down in the dining room and she said.

“Okay. What’s going on?”

“Look I’m just gonna cut to the chase. Is Roger Taylor my father?” her eyes widened and she gulped noticeably.

“Wow. That is cutting to the chase.”

“Aunt Jodie please. I’ve—been literally freaking out about this ever since he told me after the Grammy’s……”

“Wait, wait, whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on. You mean you actually met him?”

“Is it true?!” I demanded.  Aunt Jodie set her mug down and sighed heavily.

“God (m/n) you should’ve told her the truth.” She muttered into her hands as she buried her face into them.

“So it is true? Roger Taylor really is my dad?” she turned to me with solemn eyes and took my hand in hers.

“Your mom and Roger were a couple. And they seemed really happy with each other, even from being across the world from each other most days until one day she did move to London with him. God I could’ve sworn they would’ve been married by the end of the year. But you mom showed up at my apartment one night, drenched in the storm that was here that night with a heartbroken expression.”

“So—did he…..dump her? Break her heart?” I snapped lowly.

“Truth be told, your mom left him.” I looked at her in shock. “Yeah. It was also when she told me that she was pregnant. With you. Roger’s child.” She said as she stroked my cheek.  I turned away from her and I said as I stared at my mug of coffee.

“Why the hell would she lie to me all these years?”

“Believe me sweetie. Your uncle Bobby and I tried to convince your mom to tell you the truth. Especially once you heard your first Queen song. And—” But before she could finish her statement, her phone rang.  She picked it up and answered in a firm tone, “Sheriff Jodie……yeah. Okay. Alright I’ll be there soon.” She hung up and sighed heavily. “Sorry sweetie, the team needs me to do a press interview and it can’t wait any longer.”

“I understand.” I said solemnly.

“Here.” She spoke after a moment of silence.  She went over to the living room where she kept all her books and reached the very top of it and pulled out a scrapbook.  “Take this.” She handed it to me.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Your mom got into scrapbooking while she was up there. It—has all the pictures of her and Roger together. She told me to hide this shortly after you were born, but I think now since you know the truth, you should take it.” She held it out to me and I took it.  “You know, if you don’t wanna wait for me. You can see your uncle Bobby. He might have some things to tell you.”

“Wait, uncle Bobby knows about this too?!” I said aghast.  “Did the entire family know about this too? Did grandma and grandpa know about this too?”

“No. Just Bobby and I as her siblings. In fact your grandfather tried to keep your mom away from Roger when they started seeing each other. Said that he was no good for her.” With that she forced herself to leave the house so that she could meet for that press interview.

“Mom—why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?” I sighed as I left aunt Jodie’s place and headed 30 miles north to meet my uncle Bobby over at his place.

I arrived at his home/garage shop and we were both sitting down in the kitchen. He was currently eating a steak and potatoes and he even asked if I wanted anything but I told him I didn’t have the appetite to eat.  I then explained to him everything that I had found out and it was then he gently lowered his fork filled with mashed potatoes and he said grimly.

“So you met your old man?”

“Got to perform with him actually. I know you really don’t do award shows except for the CMA’s but yeah. I performed alongside Queen and Adam Lambert at the Grammys back in February.”

“And he told you that he was your father?”

“Yeah. Aunt Jodie gave me mom’s scrapbook. Would’ve told me more but she had to do a press junket or something like that.”

“Always busy that little sister of mine.” He sighed solemnly. “Listen sweetheart; when your mom first started seeing Roger I knew a bit of his playboy rep. Then again what rockstar back then didn’t have one? I just told her to be careful. Sure I wasn’t all that thrilled with her dating a Brit but I couldn’t stop her. But when Jodie called and told me that she had come back home pregnant with you, I wanted to drag her ass back there and have her tell Roger what had happened.”

“So she left—because of me?”

“Of course not sweetie. Her reason was because of the fact that Queen was finally rising to the heights they had dreamed of. She—she was honestly scared of what Roger would say if she told him. Jodie and I tried to convince her but you know your mama. Stubborn as an ox. Much like yourself.”

He stood up and went to open a drawer and pulled out a small rusted box.  He set it down before me and he told me.

“While your mom could never physically tell you the truth, she tried to see if she could write you a letter. She wrote one every year on your birthday, but could never find the heart to give them to you. She also even wrote some letters to Roger.”

“Let me guess, and she entrusted you with this like she did with aunt Jodie for the scrapbook.”

“There’s also this.” He left and grabbed an envelope from the kitchen cabinet where he would usually keep bills at.  “This…..was the letter she wrote on her deathbed. She entrusted me to give this to you when you were ready. Well, guess now’s a good time as any.” He handed me the envelope and I held that along with touching the lid of the box to reveal hundreds maybe thousands of letters.

I tried to keep the tears at bay from the hurt I was feeling in my chest.  Uncle Bobby was silence for a moment before he said to me.

“Take your time when you read these letters.”

After a couple of months of finally going through all the letter my mum tried to write to both Roger and myself throughout the years, and finally able to see every single picture of her and Roger together I was numb.

I was the only one left up on stage since everyone decided to go out to eat for their lunch break before tomorrow tonight’s performance which would in fact be Lin’s last performance with us on stage.  I took out one specific letter that was actually written just a few days before my mom finally died of cancer, the letter that she was actually able to finish completely with supposedly the right words she needed to tell me.

I had read this letter so many times that I could recite it almost as easy as my lines and the songs from Hamilton.  I sat down at the edge of the stage and looked down at it before taking out my phone and went through my rehearsal track and found the instrumental version of Burn.

Much like I had done once before when I was betrayed by my ex-fiancé at the time I was to star in the show when it first came to Broadway, I sung Burn aloud to myself filling each verse with as much emotion and betrayal I was feeling inside.

However unlike before, I couldn’t help myself but mix up some words to what I would normally sing on stage.

Play video

*Me*

I saved every letter you wrote to us From the moment I read them I knew you were his He said you were his Which makes me his

Do you know what aunt Jodie said, When we saw your first record arrive? You said, be careful with that one, love He will do what it takes to survive

You and your words flooded my senses Your sentences left me defenseless You built me palaces out of paragraphs You built cathedrals

I'm re-reading the letters you wrote to me I'm searching and scanning for answers in every line For some kind of sign And when you were mine The world seemed to burn. Burn.

You published your works to the world You told me of How you brought my mom into your bed In clearing your name You have ruined my life

Do you know what uncle Bobby said When he heard what you'd done? He said, she’s partnered with an Icarus He has flown too close to the sun

You and your words obsessed with your legacy Your sentences border on senseless And you are paranoid in every paragraph How they perceive you You, you, you!

I'm erasing you both from the narrative Let everyone wonder how (Y/n) reacted When you both broke her heart You have torn it all apart I'm watching it burn Watching it burn

The world has no right to my heart The world has no place in your bed They don't get to know what I said I'm burning the memories Burning the letters that

Might have redeemed you both

You forfeit all rights to my heart You forfeit the place in his bed You'll sleep in your office instead With only the memories of when you were mine

I hope you both

Burn

“I haven’t heard you sing that song with that much emotion since your ex fiancé cheated on you.” I turned around and there stood Lin.  He took off his newsies hat and said. “You sure you don’t wanna tell me what’s going on? We’re all worried about you.”

“Just—some personal family drama Lin. You wouldn’t understand.” I said as I sat back down at the edge of the stage.

“I may not get it. But I am willing to lend an ear, if you’d like.” He said as he came up and sat down close to me.  His shoulder brushing against mine as his legs mimicked the same way mine were swinging.

“Why do you always have to make me succumb to your charms Lin Manuel Miranda?” he shrugged while giving me the puppy dog eyes.  I looked down at my letter before handing it over to him. “You can read it out loud if you’d like.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s better than just you reading in silence. My thoughts will just attack me if there’s silence.” He took the letter from my hand and proceeded to read it.

“‘My darling (y/n). I’ve written this letter over a thousand times in both versions. I could never find the right words to say but with my time coming to an end, you deserve to know the truth. You know how you’ve always loved the songs from Queen? Well, it would seem fate has decided to let you hear them for you see your father is known other than the drummer of Queen.’ Whaaaat?”

“I know. In fact Roger Taylor himself told me he was my father right after the Grammy’s. That’s why I was late to celebration. I didn’t want to believe him, thinking he was a senile old man trying to mess with me. But—hehe turns out he wasn’t. I’ve got pictures from my mom’s scrapbook that she made while she was in London of her and Roger together. All domestic like or her being in the studio with them. And then my uncle shows me some of the many letters she’s tried to write not only to me but to Roger himself about this whole shitshow. So yeah Roger Taylor’s my long lost baby daddy. Surprise!”

“My god.” Lin said after a long pause. “No wonder you’ve been out of sorts lately. I can’t blame you.”

“I’m so confused Lin.”

“About what exactly?”

“Everything. My mom lied to me for so long. Not only to me but apparently to Roger as well cause my aunt Jodie said he never knew. But then again I feel this—utter hatred for Roger because he could’ve told me sooner the moment he found out. Or maybe it would’ve been better had he never told me at all. I mean—I never knew I had a dad. I always believe he never cared about me or my mom, or died of a drug overdose or whatever. It feels like—my whole life has been nothing but one big lie. My entire family knew this secret and yet I find out now almost 30 years later that my father is Roger Fucking Taylor. My idol and favorite member of my most favorite rock band!”

“That is seriously a lot to take in. I mean—if I were in your place I’d be reacting the same way. Lost, betrayed, confused, heartbroken.”

“I just—why would she lie to me? I thought we told each other everything, and she goes and hides for all my life of who my real father was.” I sighed heavily. “You know; I used to always come up with the worst scenarios of why I never had a father. It’s all ranged from the basic ‘you get rid of the baby or I’m leaving you’ scenario. To overdosing or whatever. Or just dying of cancer or some shit like that. But no he’s been living his life as a Rock god. I mean—I should hate him but……he never knew. But then he did, how?”

“Well from what I can tell, and from the pictures you’ve shown me of your mom, you both look similar in a way. But your actions is what really makes you like your mom. I’ve seen all the plays she’s been in as a dancer or ensemble and you have that same fire as she did on the stage. It’s like—you both were made for it.”

“But I guess I get it from both of them.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Still I—I feel so angry with her for lying to me.”

“And it’s okay to be angry. And like you said, Roger didn’t know either. He was kept in the dark about it just as much as you were. But maybe when you got to know them along with Adam it might’ve brought some memories back.” He scooted closer to me and allowed me to rest my head on his shoulder.

“What do I do now?” I asked defeated.

“Well there is one option, but you’re not gonna like it.” We looked at each other and I said.

“You’re right I don’t.”

“But you’ve got to. (Y/n). you can be angry about this but don’t stay mad about it forever. Remember he didn’t know either. It’s not like he packed up and took off. Just tell him how you really feel. I’m not saying you have to accept him and call him dad as soon as you see him. Just—tell him you want to take things slow. Maybe go out for coffee or well tea since he’s British.” I softly laughed at that last remark. “Now there’s that fabulous smile my Eliza is known for.”

“Nice touch calling me my character’s name.”

“I know my Eliza like I know myself.” He shrugged.

“You know that’s Renée’s line right?”

“Yeah I know. Remember I wrote the script.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. C’mon Alexander, I’m hungry and we’ve got an until rehearsal.”

“Sure thing, let us spread our wings and fly away.”

“Okay now you’re just showing off.” I playfully shoved him as we left the theatre and went to go get lunch.

After another couple months, which made it four months since Roger Taylor told me the truth, I found myself in London to where I had told Roger and discussed with him with what I was feeling.  He said he was willing to go at whatever speed I needed in order to process this whole thing.

One day after seeing them perform at MSG, Roger and I were sitting together at Central Park right by the Balto statue having a cup of coffee together.

“So what’s new with you my dear?”

“Well…..I’ve been giving this some thought. And—I think it’s time I announced my leaving of Broadway’s Hamilton. Maybe even leaving Broadway all together.”

“Really? What made you decide that?”

“Well. Truthfully I’ve been thinking about……moving to London.” He turned to look at me and I turned to face him.  “Now before you say anything I know I should be thinking about this but I have. My aunt and uncle don’t even live remotely close to me so there’s nothing really tying me to New York. And also, I was—hoping that now that Queen’s done with touring for now, maybe you and I could……spend more time together.”

“I would like that very much.” He said with a warm smile. “I just hope you aren’t doing all this just for my sake. Like I told you before, I’m willing to go at your own pace.”

“And I thank you for that Roger. Truly I do. But…..I gotta stop giving into this anger that’s been festering up inside of me. After all you didn’t know about my mom being pregnant when she left you. And—I guess I just need some time away from home.”

“If you need a place to stay until you get on your feet. Or for even longer than that I will not say no to it. You can stay with Sarina and I. We’ve got more than enough rooms.”

“Thanks……..dad.” he looked at me surprised and he said.

“You—you actually called me…..”

“I figured it was about time I did so. I—hope I didn’t make things….”

“No, no, no, no, no not at all love.” He hesitantly reached up towards my face before he finally placed it up against my cheek.  I closed my eyes and leaned into his palm. “God. You’re—the perfect mixture of both your mother and myself.”

“You know, Daveed always teased me about just how much I looked like you when you were in drag for the I want to break free music video.” He laughed.

“Oh god that was a fun day on set. Probably one of my favorite videos to shoot.” I smiled softly at him and leaned up against his shoulder and said.

“Do you think they would’ve liked me? John and Freddie I mean.” I felt Roger sigh heavily and he said as I felt his arms wrap around me.

“There’s no doubt in my mind Freddie would’ve tried to spoil you. And John, I’d bet he’d be trying to turn you against me.” I softly chuckled and embraced my dad and nuzzled my head into his shoulder.

The two of us hugging each other finally sitting together as a real father and daughter.

[adariasakura]

Here are just a couple of incredible things about the Hamilton musical now on Disney+:

The EMOTION. The ACTING. The FACES. All the NUANCES.

how Hamilton looks at Eliza right as he leaves before “History Has It’s Eyes on You.”

King George. Everything about him. Just...everything about him. He was LIVING for the drama. “The Reynold’s Pamphlet” was such an exciting time for him. He was so happy. While I was not necessarily happy at that moment, I couldn’t help the spark of joy I felt when I saw him hopping around the stage with glee as Hamilton’s life fell apart. Ah, comic relief at its finest.

The PURENESS of Anthony Ramos as Laurens and Philip. The way you could SEE Hamilton (Lin Manuel-Miranda) in him during “Blow Us All Away.”

Laurens’ Interlude. God, it hurt so bad. Hamilton’s face as Eliza reads the letter, as she tells him its not from Laurens, but from his father? The way Laurens is singing out his passions and his dreams and his hopes feet from Hamilton, the way Hamilton looked as he realized those dreams had died with Laurens. The way he pulled himself together much too quickly for it to be genuine, how he just walked away from Eliza and said that he had so much work to do.

LESLIE ODOM JR. IN “WAIT FOR IT” OML MUST I SAY MORE? HONESTLY HIM IN THE ENTIRE THING, HE DESERVED THAT TONY

The way Eliza looks at Hamilton at the end of “Helpless”... there is just so much LOVE in her eyes and acceptance of him, of who he is and of what he lacks. And just the way she always repeats how she doesn’t need money, or a legacy. Eliza burning the letters, the raw emotion in her voice as she screams out how the world has no right to her heart, to them. And don’t get me STARTED on the way she ran in during “Stay Alive Reprise,” or the way she held Philip as he died, or the way she screamed when he finally did. And in “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story,” just watching her sing about everything she did, and the way she got so quiet and soft and proud about the orphanage...and then the way she just melted when she saw Hamilton...I believe she is underrated.

“IT’S QUIET UPTOWN.” HAMILTON’S EMOTION. THE WAY HE LEADS ELIZA “AROUND TOWN,” THE WAY YOU CAN SEE THE MOMENT HE BREAKS WHEN ELIZA GRABS HIS HAND AND FINALLY REPLIES WITH “IT’S QUIET UPTOWN” AND THEY SING “FORGIVENESS” BEHIND THEM AND HE JUST BREAKS DOWN. HE WASNT THE ONLY ONE SOBBING I’LL TELL YOU THAT MUCH.

Daveed Diggs. Hilarious. Amazing. So much fabulous attitude. Incredible.

Angelica is such a badass, but her moments of vulnerability are just as amazing. “Satisfied” was everything I hoped it would be, and more. What a powerful woman — actress and the real thing.

The bullet that narrowly flies over Hamilton’s head as he unknowlingly sits over his letters during “Stay Alive” (I think that’s right). So symbolic. So COOL. Who THINKS OF THESE THINGS???

How Hamilton (Lin) continuously mocks other characters. The way he’ll change the tone of his voice and stomp around and make them look like fools. He is just so hilariously petty and childish and knows EXACTLY how to press other people’s buttons (in the best way) and I was LIVING for it.

“Your Obedient Servant.” Basically, “I hate you, go die, love your obedient servant, A. Burr/Ham.” Beautiful.

The CHOREOGRAPHY OF “The Room Where It Happens.” Study it. Worship it.

The scene during Hamilton + Burr’s duel right before they pulled the triggers, as Hamilton considered his death. As he considered his legacy, as he saw all the people he’d lost, as he saw Eliza, and as he let her go, wishing for her to have more time than him. Promising he’d see her on the other side. His last words as he raised the gun, the sheer emotion in his voice and on his face as he said, “Raise a glass to freedom.” What INCREDIBLE writing, stage directing, music, lighting, EVERYTHING. Truly indescribable.

The finale. Everything about it. And I know I already talked about this, but when Eliza and Hamilton are reunited? Now that hits. The way George Washington stepped back in shame when Eliza boldly and proudly proclaimed how she spoke out against slavery? Eliza’s gasp of elation at the very end right before the lights go out, when she’s finally reunited with everyone she’s ever loved, as she knows she did it. She told his story. She used her time in the way he would have. And now, she could rest knowing that.

Thomas Jefferson just shaking his head no over and over when Madison tells him to try to get Hamilton’s endorsement. Exquisite.

“Dear Theodosia.” You could see it in their eyes. Hear it in their voices. It just made Philip’s death all the more crushing.

George Washington and Hamilton’s relationship. QUALITY. “One Last Time.” Q U A L I T Y.

Honestly I know I am missing so much, but there is no need to fret because I will be watching this again tomorrow and then daily for a while (as you do). I am going to pick up so much more and y’all get to hear more about just how incredible Hamilton is. Without a doubt the best thing I’ve ever seen. If you haven’t listened/watched, please please do so. It’ll change your life.

[spideesenses]

For I Have Sinned [1] → Peter Parker

pairing: fratboy!peter x reader

warnings: there’s no smut (yet) but the fic is 18+. uhhh, peter has a thing for innocence.

prompt: peter came home for the holidays and much to his dismay, you were the new girl next door.

Winter break was quite a long time from when the school year started, at least that’s how it felt for Aunt May. She missed the brunette boy so much, the house was so quiet without him. He called now and then, keeping her company when she missed him. She didn’t expect to not see him as often, despite living on campus. Peter was at an Ivy League college, she knew he’d be a busy bee. Columbia University was twenty minutes away from Midtown, she just wanted to see him more.

“Oh, Peter, I’m so glad to see you!” May squeezed him in her arms. A chuckle came from the brunette as he hugged her back.

“Hey Aunt May, I’ve missed you too.”

“Come on, settle in!” she exclaimed, tugging him through the door.

His room was exactly how he left it, except maybe it felt a little more fresh and by the looks of it, May had lit a candle a few times, maybe to fill a void? The Star Wars posters that lined his walls made him smile. He hadn’t grown out of it, but it made him laugh to see how much he’d matured. May knocked on his door before poking her head in.

“The neighbors are joining us for dinner tonight. I’m making Pad Thai.” she smiled.

“Ms. Dabney’s coming over?” Peter questioned. He and May hated her. She was a mean old lady who always judged stuck her nose in their business. “And since when did you cook?”

“No, no, Ms. Dabney moved out around the time college started. We’ve new neighbors, there’s a girl probably your age. She’s cute too.” May wagged her eyebrows at the boy, who rolled his eyes. “I started taking cooking classes with my free time.”

“That’s good,” he commented. “How do you like the cooking classes?” He listened as May chatted to him about her daily routine now that he was gone and he talked about his, all while she helped him hang up his clothes. If figured if he was gonna be home for a week and a half, he might as well use the closet.

“So about the girl next door...” May rose her eyebrows.

“May, please do not try to set me up with girls,” Peter frowned. In Aunt May’s mind, Peter hasn’t dated since Liz Allen, who left Peter heartbroken. Which was almost the truth. What she didn’t know was that, Peter was flirting with almost every girl on campus. Being in a fraternity changed you, it gave him power and attention. He was a chick magnet and he kind of liked it, not being tied down to anyone.

“She’s a sweet girl, I think you’d get along with her!” May defended her statement. “Okay fine. But have an open mind about the family next door. Leslie, that’s the mother, was actually the one who got me into yoga. She lives with her daughter, Y/N who is an absolute sweetie.”

May invited Peter out to help her prepare supper. Peter was not as experienced as May was, but she stuck him with simple tasks, like peeling apart the noodles and whisking the eggs. It wasn’t long before a knock on the door symbolized the arrival of tonight’s company. May handed Peter the spatula before running off to the door. From the kitchen, voices of two ladies could be heard: May and Leslie. Peter kept his back to the entrance of the kitchen, focusing on not burning the noodles.

“This is my nephew Peter, the one I’ve been telling you about.” May introduced. Peter turned and saw a middle-aged woman, looking as young as ever.

“Peter, it’s so nice to finally meet you! Your auntie has told me so much.“ Leslie patted the young boy on the back. Before Peter could return the greeting, Leslie looked behind her and frowned. “Y/N! Come and meet Peter!”

And in you came. You wore a blush pink skirt and a white blouse. He couldn’t help but notice your ruffled lace socks. He eyed the hair clips that were in your hair, which framed your face beautifully. You were cute. Hell, you were gorgeous.

“Sorry, I was leaving my shoes at the door,” your voice came out, a light blush painting your cheeks. Your voice was as soft as you looked. Peter noticed the cross necklace that decorated your chest and when you brought your hand out to Peter, he took note of the purity ring. “I’m Y/N.”

It was like Peter had forgotten how to breathe. You were this angel sent from above. You looked it and judging by the jewelry, you probably acted like one too. He cleared his throat, apologizing quickly as he shook your hand and repeated his name.

Peter was stunned. The girls on campus were beautiful, sure they had a different, less-modest style of clothing — not that there was anything wrong with showing skin. But you were this cute little catholic girl, who probably would frown upon showing skin, who also was just as stunning. Maybe he shouldn’t be so judgemental and assuming things of you, but those were his initial thoughts.

“Peter, go show Y/N around.” May jutted her chin out as she took the spatula and turned off the stove. Quickly, the older ladies delved into a conversation, their laughs filling the kitchen. You led the way from the kitchen and Peter watched as your hips swayed lightly, your skirt rising in just the slightest. Peter followed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. You stopped once you’d reached the outskirts of the kitchen, peeking over your shoulder.

“Okay, this is our living room. We’ve got lots of movies, but we don’t watch nearly as much as that shelf makes it look.” he joked lightly. Your giggle filled the air and fuck- even your laugh sounded like it’d be from the heavens.

“Don’t worry, May actually tells me you two are really big on reading. I didn’t even notice the shelf until you pointed it out anyway.” your voice was velvety. With every word, you buttered him up, batting your eyelashes. He was convinced you were doing it on purpose, but the aura you emitted said otherwise. You weren’t interested in getting inside Peter’s pants, or anyone’s for that matter. You were just naturally sweet as honeydew.

“That’s good to know,” he chuckled, running his fingers through his hair. “How close are you and Aunt May?”

“Um, we have dinner with her every now and then. She says she enjoys our company, and I couldn’t agree more. She’s very lovely.” you gushed about the lady. “Her and my mom take cooking classes together and do yoga. It’s... endearing, to see my mom have a best friend.”

“I’m happy May has a best friend too. I was worried she would get lonely without me around.” Peter commented as he reached the closed door to his bedroom. “This is my room.” he extended his arm out to open the door.

“W-wait, you want me to go inside?” you blinked a few times, looking down.

“Yeah?” Peter tilted his head to the side. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Nothing, sorry, I’ve just... never been in a boy’s room before.” you blushed. You were truly embarrassed. You were out of high school and had never been in the presence of a boy, not like this at least.

“You haven’t? Why not? We don’t have to, if that makes you uncomfortable.” Peter quickly said, wanting you to feel as welcome as possible. You thought it’d make him upset; a boy who looks like that would have laughed in your face. But maybe you shouldn’t judge, it wasn’t normally in your nature.

“Uh, I grew up going to an all-girls-school, I’ve never really interacted with boys much.” you were so cute, it almost hurt Peter. You were cute, but in a desirable sort of way. All he could think about was how you were untouched and pure; he truly needed to get his mind out of the gutter, he could not let his frat boy mind take over.

“That kind of sucks. Cause now you’re just thrown out to the world, not knowing what it’s like to interact with everyone, you know?” Peter tried to make you feel better.

“Yeah, you’re right, I agree.“ you nodded your head. “My mom said boys in adolescences get rowdy. But that’s not the only reason why she put me in an all girls school,” you shrugged, not wanting to go on. You wanted to encourage him to show his room, but before he could open the door, supper was ready.

Peter watched again as you skirt swayed from left to right, the natural curve of your body causing the material to lift up again. He cursed to himself, unsure as to why he was thinking such impure things about a pure girl.

You stopped again in your tracks, noticing the absence of his presence. “You coming?” you questioned, looking over your shoulder. He wasn’t yet, but he knew he sure was going to tonight. He snickered to himself, covering it up with a cough before following in suit.

“So Peter, you live on campus?” Leslie asked, before sipping her sparkling water.

“Yeah, I do. I initially thought it’d be easier, with how many classes I’m taking.” the brunette answered.

“And now?”

“Well, I was thinking about it for a while, and I don’t think it’s necessary for me to live on campus. Um, sometimes I just wanna stay at home and make sure I can protect Aunt May.” he looked down at his noodles, shoving some in his mouth. Aunt May looked up from her plate, this was the first she had heard about this. Her heart swelled at the thought of Peter coming back home to her. “I’ll still be taking my classes and courses though, I just have to wait until the end of semester before I can apply for a refund on housing.” he explained. From the corner of his eye, he could see you smiling.

“That’s very sweet Peter. I can tell you love your aunt very much,” your mother beamed. “Well, I’m excited to see you more. You seem like such a bright kid.”

It was undeniable, Peter Parker was irresistible and you had an indescribable, insane attraction to him, but you knew that was all it would ever be.

[stella-monstrum]

Rob Zombie; "Why it's time to step outside the confinements of his own box."

For close to four decades,

 Rob Zombie has brought nonstop psychedelic grooves and a rockstar presence while gracing his own music and the silver screen with gut-churning, drug-tripping visuals. He not only commands quite the presence in films (whether his own successes or others’), but also makes appearances within many other horror soundtracks. There’s no denying that Zombie is a bloodied savant who has stayed incredibly consistent. 

[ᴿᵒᵇ ᶻᵒᵐᵇᶦᵉ. ⁽ˢᵒᵘʳᶜᵉ: ᴳᵒᵒᵍˡᵉ ᴵᵐᵃᵍᵉˢ⁾]

(Written by Stella, edited by Jacob J.)

(Side note; tumblr’s photo formatting is a pain)

Let’s take a dive into his music before getting into his film library. From 1985-1997, White Zombie released six albums (between studio and compilations). La Sexorcisto: Devil Music Volume One didn’t break into the Billboard 200 chart until a year after its 1992 release. Shortly thereafter, it became the hot and groovy bong success of the band, going on to sell two million copies. Astro Creep 2000, their final and fourth studio release, was their first and only album to chart within the Top 10 of the Billboard 200 in 1995. Up to this day in 2020, “White Zombie” has been featured in 47 TV, film, and video game soundtracks, from Beavis & Butthead to Pen15 to Bride Of Chucky (which includes a personal favorite moment of mine), amongst many others.

After the disbandment and separation, Zombie continued on his solo journey. He has gone on to release six studio albums, with a seventh on the way in March 2021, titled The Lunar Injection Kool Aid Eclipse Conspiracy. A multitude of hits—eight to be exact—sat within the Top 10 of the Billboard 200 records. 

══════════════════

Zombie’s extensive film career is a “Super Beast” on its own. 

He has been very vocal about gaining inspiration from 1920s-1980s horror culture. In many interviews, he’s cited Stan Lee, Bella Lugosi, Alice Cooper, and Steven Speilberg as being responsible for molding the brain that we know today. 

Some of his influences include:

George A. Romero’s Dawn of the Dead (1978)

A Clockwork Orange (1971)

Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920) 

The Shining (1980)

Zombie’s upbringing in the carnival industry alongside his family is another key influence.

[[I’ll only be focusing on Zombie’s live-action films here.]]

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In 2000, Rob made his directorial and (very memorable) screen debut with House Of 1000 Corpses. 

It took three years to be released because of quarrels with major production companies regarding the film’s majorly aggressive themes of torture, blood, violence, sex—not to mention his arrogance with MGM, fighting to get rights back from Universal. Eventually, Lionsgate bit the bullet, albeit with the major stipulation of having Rob edit it down much further so House could pass with a “tame” R rating. 

[[House of 1000 Corpses: Rainn Wilson as taxidermy merman (Source: Tumblr—and if you’re brave, you can view the scene here.)]]

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In 2005 and 2019, the franchise’s next two installments—Devil’s Rejects and 3 From Hell—were released. The franchise is heavily influenced by the shocking, sickening, and unforgettable ’70s classic Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It follows a family of psychotic, sadistic, and bloodthirsty (if I’m being honest) necrophiliacs. They kidnap, kill, torture and brutalize anyone who gets in their way. At the end of Devil’s Rejects, they somehow manage to survive a police shootout, escape prison, and waltz on into Mexico (as seen in the franchise finale 3 from Hell).

Look, it’s all complicated.

Main Characters from the franchise:

Captain Spaulding—Sid Haig

Baby Firefly—Sheri Moon Zombie

Otis B. Driftwood—Bill Moseley 

Momma Firefly—Karen Black (recast as Leslie Easterbrook after Karen’s passing)

(Other notable appearances throughout: Chris Hardwick, Rainn Wilson, Danny Trejo, Dee Wallace, Ken Foree, and Diamond Dallas Page.)

⁽“ʰᵒᵘˢᵉˢ ᵗʳⁱˡᵒᵍʸ”, ᵈᵛᵈ ˢᵉᵗ﹔ ˢᵒᵘʳᶜᵉ﹔ ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗ.ᶜᵒᵐ⁾

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The notorious/controversial Halloween (John Carpenter, 1978) remakes from 2007 and 2009.

(ᵃ ᵛⁱᵉʷ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵒˣ ᵃʳᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵃˡˡᵒʷᵉᵉⁿ ʳᵉᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ⁽ˢᵒᵘʳᶜᵉ﹕ ᵃᵐᵃᶻᵒⁿ⁾)

Look, this is a remake that you either adore or hate with a burning passion. If you’re a horror fanatic, you know what’s up with the original.

I personally adore Zombie’s take. The fact alone that he gave us an entire background story as to why Michael became the psychotic slasher that we’ve come to know and love. Plus, with an increased suspense and gore factor? Worked incredibly well and did justice (in my opinion).

The film made me feel bad for Michael, with moments of child Myers in therapy, particularly his love for making masks to pass the time while he was locked up and the touching family moments between him and his mother Deborah (Sheri Moon).

ᵈᵉᵇᵒʳᵃʰ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵐⁱᶜʰᵃᵉˡ ᵐᵉʸᵉʳˢ ⁱⁿ ʲᵃⁱˡ ᵗʰᵉʳᵃᵖʸ. ⁽ˢᶜʳᵉᵉⁿᶜᵃᵖ, ʰᵃˡˡᵒʷᵉᵉⁿ. ˢᵒᵘʳᶜᵉ﹕ ᵍᵒᵒᵍˡᵉ⁾

[Michael’s cell in the 2007 Halloween remake. (Source: Google)]

Add in the supporting cast of Michael McDowell (Loomis), Brad Douriff (Sheriff Leigh), Scout Taylor-Compton (Laurie Strode), etc., and I honestly think that it came together very well as a remake.

The films rated relatively low, but they did gross higher than the budgets that they originally had to film on. Again, I’m not going to give much attention to the higher-ups of critical perception—it all comes down to personal taste.

══════════════════

“Lords of Salem” (2013) 

[[Promotional art for Lords of Salem. (Souce: Google Images)]]

A film that’s centered within Salem, Massachusetts, 

this film—you guessed it—tackles witches, occultism, possession, Satan, and all the usual topics. Heidi (Sherri Moon) is a radio DJ who gets sent a mysterious record that’s labeled as being from “The Lords.” From then on out, shit gets a little dicey and admittedly, very disjointed. You can’t fault the cast here, and I loved the visuals that they were going for. However, with set schedule conflicts and multiple rewrites, which led to essentially running out of time to film? As a whole, what looked great on paper just couldn’t be done justice.

My FAVORITE sequence within the film (SPOILERS): 

I can forgive the disjointedness solely because of how mind-boggling and brilliant the film’s history and proper visuals were. Also, we got to see Dee Wallace, Judy Geeson, and Patricia Quinn as creepy and badass witches who moonlight as Heidi’s landlords. Also Meg Foster who leads their coven? Can we talk about what a femme-fueled power cast that is?!

[[Left to right: Patricia Quinn as Megan, Dee Wallace as Sonny, and Judy Geeson as Lacy Doyle. (Screencap, Lords of Salem. Source: Google) ]]

[[Meg Foster as coven leader Margaret Morgan. (Screencap, Lords of Salem. Source; google)]]

Like I said prior, the film gets a little wild. If you’re...well, buzzed prior to watching, it may make a little more sense. 

══════════════════

“31” (2016)

[[Film poster for 31 (Source: Google)]]

[Synopsis from IMDB; “Five carnival workers are kidnapped and held hostage in an abandoned, hellish compound where they are forced to participate in a violent game, the goal of which is to survive twelve hours against a gang of sadistic clowns.”]

Here, we clearly see that Zombie is invoking his childhood growing up within carnivals. In a 2013 interview with LA Weekly, Zombie divulged more about it:

“When we were kids, my parents would [work at the carnivals], and me and my brother would get dragged along to these things all the time and have to work.”

He went further on to say;

 “Yeah, and it's not the nicest world. As a kid, you get exposed to the crazier underworld of the carnival. Me and my brother, when we were very little, we'd be inside the haunted house playing all day. So, already, what people are paying money to be scared [of], we're just playing in because it's fun. We saw the inner workings behind the machines.”

(”31″ trailer, source; Youtube)

Once again in this film, Zombie brings a powerhouse cast:

Jeff Daniel Phillips as Roscoe Pepper

Meg Foster as Venus Virgo

Malcom McDowell as Father Murder

Judy Geeson as Sister Dragon

Richard Brake as Doom Head

You can view the entire cast at IMDB here.

Set in 1976, Zombie stays true to his nods. Again, depending on taste, this is a huge hit or a wild miss with mindless homicidal violence, campiness, and climbs across the monkey bar of standards that we’re used to seeing from him.

══════════════════

So at this point, you’re probably wondering why I think that it’s time for Rob Zombie to step out of the confinements of his own box...

══════════════════

It’s no secret that Zombie sticks to only a small group of tropes: 

Slashers, families or groups of homicidals that lack remorse, the occult, etc. There’s no shame in sticking to what you know. Hell, Zombie has seemingly cracked the code over the past two decades that he’s been in the film industry that so many directors still don’t seem to get.

IMO, despite whatever you personally feel about the films mentioned above- I feel like we’re living a freaky groundhog day repeat within Zombie’s filmography. 

══════════════════

Now, if it ain’t broke, why fix it? Look, I’m not saying that Zombie has to change anything. However, I would love to see him tackle some other nuances that we’ve already seen from him in small doses.

- Children: We haven’t seen Zombie exactly take on what horror films depict kids as. Sure, he made a breakout and impeccable choice with young Michael Myers (Daeg Faerch) back in 2007. I personally would adore to see a reimagined (NOT remade) Children of the Corn on acid, one we all know Zombie can tackle and turn every existing view on its head.

- Witchcraft, The Occult, Satan, Voodoo:  Zombie genuinely had a phenomenal concept (on paper) for 2012’s Lords of Salem. It was unfortunate that they ran out of resources and ran into unfortunate circumstances on set while filming. 

The film wasn’t a total tank, though, given how inspiring and insane all the visuals were throughout the 1 hr, 41min film. I am absolutely positive that, given a full-force opportunity, Rob could rectify the mess that was out of his control. We completely saw that he provided visuals that left quite the impression, and he could take those taboo subjects by the goat horns.

- Animals (not the human form): It’s no secret that Rob and his wife Sherri are ethical vegetarians. It would be so tongue and cheek to see them take on such topics as animals getting their revenge, or even vegetarians torturing carnivores. This twist on the formula would make for an interesting viewing.

══════════════════

2.) In regard to time periods, 

Zombie stays within—and pays homage to—the 1970s and 1980s quite a bit. Obviously, those are the eras that Zombie personally loves the most when it comes to filmmaking. However, it would be very interesting to see him take on current day settings. 

Zombie has such a unique viewpoint. Given changing climates in politics, human decline/growth, the economy, etc., he would do work that could easily put Ryan Murphy to shame.

══════════════════

3.) He could also do with some different casting every now and then.

Let me preface this by saying that I adore every repeat casting choice that Zombie has made for his films. 

Of course chemistry is a huge thing, and sticking to his friends is a very smart choice. However, he also has the potential to make new stars, boosting the power of those that may be under the radar. He can support those new stars with cameos from classic actors that we haven’t seen in awhile. I can’t begin to even fictionally cast those who fit the bill, but I do believe that with the “Zombie Touch,” he can bring so much more fresh air to the usual casting.

══════════════════

There’s no doubting what Rob Zombie is clearly very good at. Despite mixed reviews from the horror world and critics, it’s time that his fans open their eyes to new possibilities. Of course, there are die-hards, but digging your feet in further doesn’t allow the growth of horror and its ever evolving themes.

[[ʳᵒᵇ ᶻᵒᵐᵇⁱᵉ, ˢᵒᵘʳᶜᵉ﹔ ᵍᵒᵒᵍˡᵉ ⁱᵐᵃᵍᵉˢ]]

This theory has been on my mind for a very long time—since 3 from Hell came out. I’m sure, in his usual fashion, we won’t be seeing any new films from Rob anytime soon (what with his new album set to release in March 2021, not to mention the toll that the pandemic has had on Hollywood.)

Still, it never hurts to challenge the set standards and ways.

[iphoenixrising]

For 700 Followers!

Hi babe. Ah, you know, I think we could really work something out because if there’s anything I like, it’s Tim trying to have the I am an island attitude with clingy, needy Bat Alphas right on his tail ;) Tbh, I wrote this once and it got lost, so I cried, but I’m going to give it another shot!

Also, just saying but there was also a short thing done about *ahem* toys in this au, and you’ll probably find a similar theme X

**

There is nothing worse than water in your fucking boots.

Seriously.

His impromptu dip in the harbor was completely worth the pain in the ass because Two-Face is going to live to see another day, and he even acted less crazy than normal when he was handcuffed by GCPD, quiet while he was taken away in the back of a squad car.

The best part? The villain told him he was glad he hadn’t filled him full of holes after all. Red Robin is going to take that as a win.

And since his sleuthing is done for the night, he can go back to his Perch in Gotham City and get out of these wet clothes and put his damn boots by a heating vent to dry out a little.

He feels good enough about the night to order a pizza and do his notes while a slice is hanging out of his mouth when dry clothes are a thing.

He has a fan turning lazily, trying to keep himself cooled down because the Heat symptoms just started to manifest while he was riding back from the take-down (all that wind rushing by while he’s in a wet suit and still he’s starting to get hot? Seriously, body, stop making shit harder on him).

The pre-Heat could take up to three hours before the main event starts, and he at least wants to get the notes done and go blackout before it happens.

He’s got a bunch of Gatorade and power bars from two weeks ago when Jay and Dick pretty much showed up just in time for him to go full blown. Luckily, Dick had picked up more on the way to his Perch since the God-forsaken sixth sense had struck again. Somehow, maybe some Pack Alpha instinct, Dick had known he was going to need them, and true to form, the last Heat had been particularly vicious, his body in physical pain when he was empty.

(And no, he doesn’t need a reminder how nice Dick and Jay were about it when he was literally fucking crying. Geeze, things he doesn’t need people to see for 100 Alex.)

Which means he should have been good for a month and a half, but Leslie had warned him going this long on suppressants would have some effects on him biologically. She’d mentioned he could have two Heats back-to-back as a sign his body is starting to regulate like any normal Omega. So, really, this pain-in-the-ass is his own fault anyway.

Notes done, he logs out of BI’s mainframe and shoots the Titan’s a quick message, In Gotham. Perfectly safe. Going to sleep for 24-36 hours. Don’t freak out about the blackout mode, and shuts down his main system in preparation.

Barefoot, he pads around to shut off the lights and fans, grabs a Gatorade, starts pulling his nerd shirt off on the way to the bedroom. Security in lockdown and he’s starting to feel the burn just a little bit more.

Not long now. Damn, hopefully this will be fast and furious.

A locked box in the back of the closet is deposited by the bed, his thumb print accepted. He shifts through the unopened packages until he gets the red one and the blue one out, laying them on the bed to open before the round of fuck my contingencies ramps up.

(His face is hot, and not because of the pre-Heat. The two knotting dildos were purchased when he started thinking one night about what he was going to do when his body started regulating out, so Dick and Jay wouldn’t need to play Alphas to his Omega anymore. Ironically, the two toys reminded him of their knots anyway, and he’d been guilty as fuck buying them.)

He’s already started sweating lightly and jumps in the shower to wash off Gotham Harbor.

His phone goes off while he’s drying himself off, shifting his weight because his abdomen is already starting to get tight and uncomfortable in anticipation.

The message on his phone makes him groan/sigh because the Red Hood is wondering:

Jaybird: How was the swim?

There’s more laughing emojis than he realistically needs.

In just boxers, Tim plops down on his bed, taps his phone to decide whether or not to respond. Since they already knew he’d taken down Two-Face, he really doesn’t have options.

Me: nice this time of year. Btw, Harvey didn’t drown. That’s a win for the good guys.

Before he’s done, the ellipsis meaning someone is typing shows up, so he’s got himself in a world of trouble by answering. Natch.

(On the other hand, his Omega whispers, if you hadn’t messaged back, they might come looking for you. It preens at the thought of his Pack Alphas concerned for him, coming for him– Dammit. Not. The. Time.)

Jaybird: Oughta come 2 the Manor. Al made pizza. Can celebrate?

Well, shit.

Me: Thanks 4 the invite. Running time-sensitive diagnostic for the Titans and crashing. See you at the next VA meeting tho.

Okay. So, normal. Jay will understand the need for fighting crime.

Jaybird: No problem. We’ll bring you some.

Fuck. Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck.

Me: Nah. Not tonight. Gonna set this up and crash. The alarm will wake me when the analysis is done. Enjoy the pizza!

Jaybird: If you’re sure?

Me: Positive. Sleep is calling. GN.

And turns off his phone with a sigh of unmitigated relief.

Crisis averted.

Right?

**

Forty-five minutes later, he’s idly eating popcorn and watching Infinity War when a wave of blistering heat washes over him, and the gentle reprieve is finally done.

His cock is hard and aching within a moment, his hands fisting in the blanket under him, hips jerking. The soft, subtle scent of slick tickles the edges of his senses, his ass starting to get moist under his boxers.

But Tim has old memories of doing this alone back when he was still in the tunic, and he forces himself to breath past the initial stages, fists his hands even tighter to keep from touching himself yet. He remembers how much better the orgasm was when he held off for as long as he could, remembers the time between waves lasted longer.

He bites down on his lower lip to keep in the noises (but really, what is the point?) and tries to just keep thinking.

He shoves the unopened boxes over and sprawls out on his back, trying not to let anything other than his boxers touch his aching erection. His thighs tighten, legs spreading automatically, feet bracing to work his hips a little.

It’s fine. You’ve done this before isn’t really that much of a consolation.

With the fire in his body starting to get more and please and Oh God, his mouth falls open to pant, toss his head back and forth with the arousal building, making his belly get tense.

An abrupt cramp knocks the wind out of him ending on a small, helpless noise that inadvertently escapes.

Rolling on his side, curling in on himself, Tim forces himself to just fucking breathe through it, it won’t last forever.

–when the comm on his desk blips, and the tinny voice is just loud enough to get his attention over things like terribly thought-out biology.

(Everything in you is screaming for an Alpha to help, touch, soothe. It’s not really your fault.)

“If you’re asleep, don’t get up. We’re just going to drop off pizza and we’ll be out of your Perch-”

Which is nothing short of fucking horrific.

“Almost goddit, Dickie,” is lost when another sharp cramp makes him huddle further into the pain rippling over his upper body while his brain screams to just fucking move.

The scent of slick gets stronger, clogging up the room, and the door isn’t even locked–

The next cramp makes his muscles flutter, but he can wobbly-leg it to the door and collapse in front of it.

(I was stabbed in the fucking spleen and still saved Pru. Without Ra’s, I would have been dead soon after, but if I can do that, I can get through this.)

He flips a small panel on the door frame and presses his thumb into it, forehead braced on the wall while he grits his teeth and gets a second or two of his muscles easing back.

Tim focuses on breathing, listening, and sure enough, there’s a timid knock a few minutes later. The door knob wiggles once softly, nearly inaudible voices mumble back and forth while he holds his breath.

He thinks he might be in the clear when it goes quiet again, thinking maybe they’d gone to dump the pizza in his fridge and be on their way out.

But a very clear, “do you smell what I smell?” is the proverbial nail in his coffin.

**

“Timmy? Are you��awake?”

“Please go away, I’m…I’m trying to sleep.” Tim tries again, more desperate now that hearing his Alphas’ voices is hitting all the deep places in him where the Omega hides.

“Don’t smell like it, Sweets. Think maybe ya mighta forgot ta mention something ta yer Alphas?”

(You aren’t mine. This is just about fucking Pack dynamics and bullshit biology. It’s fine, he gets it.)

“Hey,” and Dick’s voice is low and loud enough to be heard, and Tim slaps a hand over his mouth so he doesn’t whimper. “It’s okay. It’s us, Tim. We can make it better if you just open the door. You know we can, don’t you.”

It really isn’t a question, and Dick doesn’t pretend to make it one.

His abdomen spasms and he’s rolling his forehead against the wall in denial because fuck, haven’t they done enough? He’s not going to die, and, seriously, he’s a shitty Omega anyway.

“It’s not Heat Mania,” he tries to be reasonable, proud of himself when his voice only cracks once or twice, “I can get through it by myself this time. Y-You two just gave up five days a few weeks ago.”

The hand goes back over his mouth and his boxers are getting wet now, the way he’s curled in on himself probably not helping the situation.

Voices talking too low for him to make out again.

“Seriously, it’s fine. You guys got me out of danger. This? This is just business as usual. B is out of Gotham and you can’t be here for that long–”

“–B called in the Birds of Prey ta help out while he’s out wid’ the League,” Jay breaks through his ramblings. “We got Rob n’ BG. Cass is in fer a visit, and a trio of ass kickers. Ya ain’t gotta worry ‘bout Gotham, Timmers. Shit’s all kinds a handled.”

The door knob wiggles again, making him gasp because shit, if anyone could crack his fingerprint locks, it’s probably the Red Hood.

“So. That’s not an excuse to go through your Heat alone,” Dick cuts in, sounds more ragged and raw, the Pack Alpha coming out in him. “There’s honestly no reason for you to go through it by yourself at all because your Pack is supposed to take care of you. And we are here to do just that, Tim.”

And fuck he does (and doesn’t) want to.

(It really is going to hurt like a motherfucker when it’s all over with, isn’t it?)

And while Tim Drake could give them a hundred different excuses, could explain it away a hundred different ways

(“I don’t want my Omega to get used to having Alphas. That just makes my Heats more difficult. Please understand.”)

–he, Tim, not the Omega, really doesn’t want to.

(Oh yeah. He’s figuratively fucked. Literally fucked to possibly follow.)

He’s already reaching up to thumb at the panel again before he realizes what he’s doing and pauses, sighs at his own weakness.

And like they can feel him hesitate, the heavy musk finally gets to him from under the door. The combination of Dick and Jay and the Alpha instinct to soothe.

“Please, Timmy, Baby. Please let us in.” Dick says to the door, hands braced on the door frame outside, staring a hole right through the damn thing because he really wants to say is please let us love you.

Jay is nudged tightly against his back, peering over his shoulder with those precious few inches of extra height.

“S’all right, Timmers,” Jay’s deep voice rolls past his ear when his second leans over to talk closer, simultaneously sliding a hand over Dick’s hip, finger making soothing circles around the bone. “Ya know we love it when yer all pretty n’ pink fer us, yeah? Heat makin’ ya bite yer lip n’ flutter yer eyes when we get ta touch. N’ ya know how much we like it, don’t cha? Ya know it don’t matter how long it needs ta be, ‘er how much needin’ ya got saved up inside. Ya know the only thing what matters is how perfect ya are under our hands n’ mouth, yeah?”

Dick smirks at the tactic, turning just enough to get close to Jay’s face and shove their mouths together in a quick kiss.

His mate and second just grins right back, his down ‘n dirty one.

“Wadda ya say, Sweets? Gonna have mercy on these two ole’ Alphas? Let us be good, n’ take care a’ ya like we oughta?”

There’s a low noise, something muffled by the door, but Dick’s muscles tighten against the front of Jay’s body, putting the other Alpha right on point.

“Sounds like–” pain.

Jay just nods, staring intently at the door, fingers tapping over the hilt of this .45 like he’s thinking of taking the easy way inside. “Starting up awful fast, ain’t he, Alpha?”

“Leslie said something about double Heats while his body is getting back under control,” Dick reminds him absently. “I’m hoping this is the only one he’s experienced so far.”

Jay hums a little, “you n’ me both. Don’t like ‘im hittin’ two ina month. Too much strain.”

“Agreed, but we–” and Dick gets cut off by the sudden, powerful scent hitting them right in the instincts. The Alpha in them knows what a spike that sudden means.

Dick turns to make one last plea to the door, please, Baby, you don’t have to do this alone, before they would have to go. If Tim was that adamant, they wouldn’t hack the door to get to him, to force him to accept them during his Heat, but if he caught their scents, it could make the cycle more painful (“The inner Omega will pine for an Alpha. Scents will not help, but make the [sic] situation worse. An Alpha should vacate the premises if an Omega in Heat does not belong to him or her”). To keep it from being so much worse, they’d have no choice but the leave.

The possibility sticks in Dick’s throat, makes Jay rumble out a low whine.

But the telltale click resounds, kills the words in Dick’s mouth before they get out.

It’s a breath when he and Jay step over the threshold, kneel by the (their) pained Omega, warm hands and soothing touches, purring a low reverberation that makes Tim’s spine uncurl when Dick gathers him up and lifts. Jay is back with more Gatorade and power bars, throwing off his jacket and holsters while Dick kicks off his shoes and straddles Tim on the bed, leans closer to start kneading out the muscle spasms and nuzzling against Tim’s throat gently, soothingly.

“Ssshh, sshh, it okay Timmy. We’re here.” And Dick tilts his head just a little so his throat is visible and his scent gland right there if Tim wanted to give him and bury his face there.

(He totally does. Stupid fucking instincts.)

And Dick’s hands are warm, the pressure just enough to work out those muscles, to make the pain ease down. At one point, Tim had wrapped a hand around Dick’s forearm to have something grounding.

“You don’t have to do this,” is low and soft, “it isn’t going to be bad this time. Just a normal Heat. I can handle it. I have handled it.”

Jay takes a knee beside the bed, reaches over to direct Tim’s gaze with a forefinger under his chin. “Timmers,” is more stern than he’s used to hearing from the Red Hood, “like me n’ Dickie dunno how much ya can handle? Like we dunno how much ass ya can kick? C’mon, give us a little credit, yeah?”

Tim’s eyes get more dazed with all the stimulus hitting him right in the Omega instincts, blinking hazily at Jay kneeling there. “Seriously, I’m a shitty Omega, and neither of you need this. It’s bad enough you gave up a week already this month.”

“I told you,” Dick counters serenely, hands pausing, “that you are not a bad Omega. I would have thought during your last Heat you would have gotten that.”

They can both see Tim swallow, his eyes dart away, clearly disbelieving but not calling them on their bullshit.

Dick’s inner Alpha curls around his insides, wanting nothing more than to flop on the pretty Omega and pin him down until he cries uncle and finally believes in them, wants nothing more than to stick his nose in the sweet scent gland and never move, wants to hear Tim say it, just once–

“I’m yours, aren’t I Alpha?”

–but there’s no room for that yet. Not here, not now. Someday soon when Tim stopped giving into his instincts to hide and protect himself. Even if the Omega in him had accepted their Alphas, it still drew back, remembered the pain they both caused at one time or another.

And Dick understood. As Pack Alpha, he can scent more keenly, as a detective, he can put all the evidence together with the spikes of adrenaline, the quickening of a pulse, the flinch when certain things are brought up in casual conversation.

(Someday, he thinks fiercely, nuzzling into Tim’s jugular, while the knots under his hands ease down, you are going to forgive us, and everything is going to finally be okay.)

He huffs a little when Jay kneels by the bed, hands folded to rest his chin and watch. Timmy’s head flops over, the lines around his eyes still prominent with pain and the ingrained struggle not to just give in, and Jay trails his fingers lightly over the hand fisted in the sheets.

“Hey, hey. S’all right now, ain’t it, Baby?” He keeps it low and deep, lets it end on a nice purr. Inching the hand over, closer to his mouth, “an’ ta think, y’ weren’t gonna let me n’ Dickie here fer this? Tryin’ ta punish us, are ya?”

“Wh-What?! What are you even–”

Dick’s hand on his shoulder stops Baby Bird from sitting up, his cheeks gettin’ pink ‘cause he get all embarrassed ‘bout it.

(And fuck ain’t it cute.)

Big Wing smirks a little and leans up, gives Jay some room. He takes all he can, rising up on his knees, turning his jaw a little so his musk is stronger, getting fuller.  He gets to wrap a palm around that wrist, pinning it lightly when he hovers over Tim’s wide eyes, makes him face this, face him, face them.

“Ya already know it, don’t cha, Timmy?” Low and growly against his mouth, flick of a tongue over his bottom lip, “how much ya make us want, yeah?”

And since Jason Todd is a man what knows how Tim reacts to being touched, how he gets so sweetly slick and ready, how needy and soft he can whine, knows that as much as Timmy says he don’t need this, need them, his body don’t agree with it.

It’s how he n’ Dickie can tell when Timmy is lyin’ ‘cause it’s the Omega what tells them the truth.

It’s why Jay can purr and nuzzle, can lean in and take his mouth like he owns it. When Tim makes a noise, arches his back, Jay knows Dick is mouthing at him, right below where his palms are rubbing, licking the line between boxers and skin.

Pullin’ back just makes Timmy chase his mouth, eyes half-mast and cheeks just the right shade of pink.

“See that, Sweetheart? How pretty y’ are? An’ ya weren’t gonna let us be here fer it? ‘M hurt over here.” And he purrs against the tendon in Tim’s neck, just the sharp edge of teeth teasing down to his collarbone.

“Th-that’s not–!”

“But it is, Timmy,” Dick fills in soothingly, mouthing at the waistband of his boxers. “You weren’t going to let us have this.”

“Dammit that isn’t–”

“Sshh,” and Jay presses a kiss back to his throat, right below the scent gland, “s’all right. We f’give ya, Sweets. ‘Cause we’re here now, and that’s what matters, you feel me?”

Tim finds it in him to brace a hand against Jay’s shoulder, pushing him back just enough to be able to think around the heat pooling in his stomach, lighting his body with need.

“It isn’t like that!” He tries, he really does, stares into those eyes with green flecks faded away. “It–this–it’s just!”

Dick finally seems to have enough, knee walking up so he and Jay could loom over the squirming Omega, both of them facing him down.

“At first, it was because of the Heat Mania, Timmy,” Dick’s voice is low and firm, “but it stopped being about that for me in the first five minutes.”

Jay purrs at him softly, “like I’d keep comin’ back ta ya if’n it was only ‘cause a’ biology, Timmers. Like you think I don’t see this fine as fuck ‘Mega right ‘chere needin’ an Alpha? Like I don’t want a piece a’ ya?”

That is...so not what he anticipated tonight once he’d given the Alphas an appropriate out. The admission makes his heart thump painfully in his chest, a jolt of fear slithering through his brain pan at all the implications of this–

–that would fully set in later on after his body stops trying to literally kill him with sex.

Because it’s enough of a push, this moment when scents are so fucking sincere and they’re looking at him with heat and affection, and he wants so desperately to believe. It’s enough to make the Omega in him rear up past his barriers and bullshit masks, for the whine, the call to his Pack, to his Alphas, to spill out of his mouth without holding back.

Fuck.

Because even though it’s a rough, soft sound, something he’d never been able to let himself do before now, not with all the secrets he’d had to keep, it makes some of the tightness in his chest ease down to finally be able to let it out, let his instincts take over.

In the form of a whine, a call to his Alphas. His Omega could finally stop mourning being left out of the Pack.

So he’s completely unprepared for Dick and Jay to react so distinctly to that noise, for them to bury their faces in his throat and lick along both sides until the kiss of teeth along his collar bone becomes a bloom of pain and sinks deep into his subconscious. It’s not (and he gasps in a hard breath just thinking about it, about either of them biting down on the back of his neck instead…) to mate him or make him submit, it’s just marks made to show ownership, to show Pack, and his eyes might get a little hot and full with it while the Omega in him rolls over to show its’ belly to the (his) Alphas.  

And it’s something he’s been wanting for so long, the confirmation that he’s no longer the outcast, the Omega without a place. During the long road to come back to Gotham, back to the Bats, he hasn’t let himself sink into the depression that hit back when his tunic was yanked out from under him, leaving him hanging.

With the indents of teeth along his collarbone, with the distinct Alpha scent on his neck, the assurance he’s been claimed as their Pack Omega for anyone to see, is enough to make him close his eyes tight to keep from fucking crying. Instead, he distracts himself by lifting both arms around his Alphas to hold on while they lick across the indents of their teeth, soothing the sting.

He doesn’t let himself panic when they move on from marking him, when Jay is licking into his mouth and Dick’s hands are spreading his thigh, long-fingered hand cupping his straining erection.

He keens with it, back arching at the onslaught, his inner Omega sated with the marks on his body, languishing in the attention of his Alphas.

It’s so easy to fall under their spell, to put himself in their hands, and just give in. If they weren’t so damn careful and easy with him when he needs it that way, if they didn’t fuck him dirty and rough when it needed it that way instead, if they didn’t purr against his chest and lick at the marks, if they didn’t talk low against the back of his neck, if they didn’t hold the hell on when all he wanted to do is run.

Hands that know how to make him writhe, are busy smoothing up the sides of his thighs and over his abdomen, Jay and Dick trading places with his mouth. Thumbs make small circles on his nipples, makes them peak, makes the spark of pleasure shoot down his spine straight to his aching cock, while he keens in Dick's mouth.

“Uh-oh,” hazily gets through the heat pooling in his belly, in his blood, lighting his nerves on fire. “Looks like we have some competition, Jaybird.”

Fuck.

And Dick is leaning up on his knees, holding up the blue knotting dildo after he’d snatched it from the blankets, looking it over with a critically assessing expression–

Then those eyes slide over to the Omega spread out on the bed beneath them, the one smelling like a bakery, the one that needed him, needed them to take care of him.

“I told you, I can handle my Heats.” His face is going red and not because of the whole lot of naked happening beside the bed where Jay is stripping off the body suit.

“Mmhm,” and Dick widens his knees, spreading Baby Bird’s legs wider, puts the toy by his calf so he can be the one to use it on Timmy (and he is very interested on seeing how much of it his Omega can take before he’s screaming for the real deal).

The other Alpha’s eyes shoot to the subtly covered splash of red almost by the wall, and one brow quirks up as a side to the smirk on Jason Todd’s face.

“Dickie. Ya’ thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If it’s to fuck him with these things until he cries, then yes. I’m on board with that plan, Little Wing.”

“Good t’ see we’re on’a same page, you feel me here?”

The oldest vigilantes exchange a heated glance, the message clear from that look alone:

Time to teach Timmy a lesson and get to have him at the Same. Damn. Time.

Two Robins with one stone.

Jay is already crawling over Tim to lay on the other side while Dick moves fast, climbing off to shimmy out of his clothes until he’s in black briefs, coming right back to the perfect spot between the third Robin’s clenched thighs. He grins, already deciding on a plan, while Jay pins both wrists above their bird’s head, preparing him for the on-coming torture.

And when this cycle is done, when they’ve both had turns teasing him between waves with the toys he’d purchased, fucking him fast and rough or slow and soft until their knots throbbed to be buried in him, when they’ve made Tim give in to them, over and over, made him beg for their cocks, promised to always call next time no matter what.  When he’s so overwork, overstimulated, a trembling, babbling, crying pile of please fuck me before I die.

When they make the lesson stick.

(“Never gonna need ‘em again. Ya gotch us, n’ ya better damn well call b’for ya use it again. Do you feel me, Baby?”

“These are last resort only, Tim. You only get to use these after you’ve called both of us and not because of a case or checking in on Gotham.”

He’d only been stupidly grateful all three of them could fit in his tub at the time, water lapping lazily around him, caught on Jay’s lap with his leg in Dick’s, hands on his ankle and calf under the water. He was dozing and utterly fucking destroyed, which is the only reason he agreed to it in the first place, dammit. They took advantage of fucking him completely out.

(Alphas. Of fucking course.)

But this time, after they’d been so fucking thorough in showing him where his place with them really is, Red Robin can’t help but wonder if it’s more than just a bunch of Alphas taking care of the Pack Omega. If all the sweet things Dick growls in his ear is more than just hormones and Pack Alpha lizard brain. He wonders if Jay’s dirty talk doesn’t stem from some messed up sense of guilt or responsibility from back when they were just, you know, trying to kill one another. Or, Jay was trying to kill him and Red was really just trying not to die.

He wonders if it isn’t just a matter time until his body regulates.

He wonders if they know what they’re doing to him when they act like he’s theirs.

He wonders how far they’re going to go.

(A part of him is terrified to find out.)

[pandoraimperatrix]

Four Names for Love

Gotham | BatCat | BabyFic | Multi-chapter | Read on AO3

Summary: When Bruce parted ways with Gotham he was leaving behind more than he thought. Meanwhile Selina is trying to find a way to herself after being abandoned again and on top of that she finds out she was left with a lot more than a heartbreak.

——————————————————————————

Philia part II

‘Wanna a sip?’

Selina took the bottle Nikki was offering. Adding the smell of cheap booze to the list of things that now made her feel sick. She looked at the ring of the bottle, she wanted to drink it, she wanted to feel the burning liquid going down her throat, she wanted it to hurt, she wanted to do something she would regret later.

‘Selina?’ Nikki chuckled. ‘Are you high? You have been frozen like a statue looking at the bottle forever.’

She wanted to be high.

‘You know what? I don’t feel like drinking some lame cheap vodka.’

Nikki eyed her with confusion.

‘Alright…’ She cleaned her throat. ‘So, what you found out about how do we leave?’

Selina sighed.

‘There will be a boat coming in three weeks with more supplies for the construction of the new bridge, it will be in the harbour for a few days, I don’t know how many, we can go back with them. Pay someone to smuggle us in.’

Despite the government sending help, finally, it was still forbidden to leave Gotham, except in very special cases of you being really sick and in need to be transferred for a proper hospital or having a lot of money.

‘Three weeks? Geez, so long.’ Nikki complained. ‘I think we’ll need to be patient, then. Well, more time to think where we should go next.’

‘Look, Nikki, I don’t think-‘

She was interrupted by someone knocking on her door. Nikki and she shared a concerned look. It wasn’t like they were expecting visitors, or that Selina’s address was on the yellow pages.

Selina stood up from the ruined couch, took the knife from her thigh and went to the door.

‘Who is it?’

‘Selina? It’s me, Leslie.’

Selina made a half-confused, half-suspicious face to the door but didn’t open it.

‘What do you want?’

She heard Thompkins sigh from the other side.

‘Selina, please. I want to help.’

‘I don’t need your help. I’m not hurt.’ However, in some ways, that was far from the truth.

‘Selina… I know about the baby.’

‘Baby…?’ She heard Nikki ask confused behind her.

Selina opened the door as fast as she could despite the multiple locks she installed.

‘Get inside! Quick! Geez, are you stupid? Anyone could hear you!’

‘You wouldn’t open otherwise.’

Selina sneered at her.

‘So, Barbara told you. That’s what I get for trusting that nutcase.’

‘She just wanted to help you, Selina.’ Then she noticed Nikki. ‘Hello, I’m Dr Thompkins, you are?’

‘Yeah, I know who the Queen of the Narrows is, alright.’ She said apprehensive, but added later ‘I’m Nikki.’

‘Pleasure, Nikki.’

Feeling terrible uncomfortable by that whole setting, Selina turned to her friend.

‘Can you please leave? No offense, Nikki.’

‘Oh, it’s fine. Congrats… on the baby… I guess.’

Selina didn’t thank her. Her face was livid. Then she was alone with Lee Tompkins.

‘So, Selina. How are you feeling?’

‘How do you think?’ She snapped angrily.

Lee gave Selina that disgusting doe eyed compassionated look of hers.

‘I’m sorry, I know this is hard. I wasn’t a teenager back then, but I went through something like that before. I really came here because Barbara wanted to know if you were okay, and also to let you know you have options.’

‘Options? What are you talking about?’

‘Selina, you are very young. You have no income, this is not a place to raise a baby. If you want, we can arrange for an abortion.’

Selina felt the world side-track, she seriously haven’t thought about that. It was like the whole concept had been completely alien until Lee said those words. Abortion. She didn’t have to go through that. It was so stupid. Of course, the idea of her giving birth to a baby, being a mother, it was ridiculous. How could she thought that was no way out when it was so obvious? And yet…

‘You don’t have to decide now. Just think about it and come to my office then. I’ll go now. Take care.’

ooo

Selina spent the next three days thinking hard about what Leslie told her. It really seem the most obvious thing to do. Just terminate that pregnancy, that mistake, and just go forward with her life, her plans of leaving Gotham, of making something for herself elsewhere.

All her life, her first and most urgent imperative was to survive. That’s why she always had to put herself first, because since her mother dumped her in that orphanage nobody had. A child would change that. A child would have to make her put herself in second place. And experience had been teaching her over and over again why that was a terrible idea.

It was decided. She would have an abortion and everything would be okay. Or least okayer than before.

So why could she even imagine herself doing that? Maybe if it was someone else’s child, maybe if she couldn’t remember clearly how that baby was made and how she felt that night, the warmth of his touch, how sweet it was to have her name in his lips, maybe she would feel different. Maybe she would have no doubt when it would come to make the wisest choice. But it was hers and Bruce’s baby. And no matter how hurt she felt, how angry… She couldn’t do it. How could she? That baby was the only proof she had she was loved once. She couldn’t just make it disappear. And Selina knew that she was being stupid and would make her already shitty life a million times harder but she just couldn’t do it.

That poor kid would have the stupidest homeless teenaged mother.

ooo

Alfred found her in a back alley next to Leslie’s clinic feeding some local strays.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Kyle.’

Selina looked at him like he had said something funny and dumb, but other than that ignored him. Scratching the head of an orange tabby.

‘Nice day, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know what you are trying to pull. But I have no time for it.’

She stood up from her crouching position and was ready to leave when he talked again.

‘Selina, I’m sorry.’

She stopped. He hardly used her first name, and even more rarer than that apologised.

‘It was very unbecoming of me to say those words to you. I know how you and Master Bruce care for each other. And I am grateful for every time you saved his life when I could not be there.’

And maybe it was the stupid hormones but Selina felt a lump in her throat.

Fighting back tears she turned her face to him.

‘She told you, didn’t she? Leslie? Or was it Barbara? That’s why you’re telling me this stuff. God, why do I keep doing this? Why do I keep trusting people that will betray me later? Look, I don’t need your help, or your pity or you money. It is my baby, I’ll take care of it just fine.’

Bruce had told Selina once that Alfred was an actor for a time in his life, and as hilarious and hard to believe it have been back then, she didn’t think even an Oscar winning actor could fake surprise that well.

‘Pardon? What did you just say, Miss?’

She panicked.

‘Just forget it. Apology accepted, let’s never deal with each other ever again.’

She tried to leave again, but he blocked her path.

‘No. You will explain to me what you have just said. Miss Kyle, are you expecting?’

‘I don’t have to tell you anything, Jeeves.’

‘Are you serious? Are you really with child? And it is Master Bruce’s?’

If she thought she was the most annoyed she could be, well, she was wrong.

‘Of course it’s his. What do you take me for? No, scratch that. It’s mine, just mine, Bruce left.’

He didn’t say anything for a while, and Selina thought he was finally letting her go.

‘Miss… I really do not know where he is.’

And maybe was how broken he sounded but Selina felt herself falling in that pit of despair she had crawled out far too recently to go back again.

‘I don’t care.’

‘If you need help, with anything-‘

‘Are you stupid? Or are your hearing already going bad? I don’t want your fucking help, and now get out of my way.’

ooo

But after that conversation Selina would always find food at her door, sometimes her squat was eerie tidier than it was when she left, and even her pile of clothes were now folded in orderly fashion and smelling fresh clean no matter how she avoided laundry day.

She knew what was up. And as nice as it was having someone taking care of her, she really hated that he was just doing it because of the baby in her belly. Also he was invading her privacy, how dare him!

So she went knock at his door.

‘Miss Kyle, what a surprise.’

‘I came here to tell you to stop.’

‘I don’t know what you mean, Miss.’

‘Oh please. I’ve already told you. The baby is mine. I don’t care what twisted plan you have, but you won’t be taking him from me.’

‘It is a boy?’

‘I don’t know, Leslie says it’s too soon to tell, but it doesn’t matter. Bruce’s participation was over when he pulled it out.’

Alfred sighed. He wasn’t mad at her vulgarity anymore, but he looked very tired, very sad.

‘Miss, as I told you before, I am sorry for what I said. And no, I did not try to apologise that day because I already knew you were with child. I really did not know. And I would never take a baby from his mother.’

Selina said nothing, he continued.

‘And I was not lying when I said I do not know where Master Bruce is. I have tried the best I could, but he is not using any of his money, none of his numbers are working anymore, my letters returned. I do not even know if he is dead or alive. That boy was my whole life, and now the only thing that might have survived of him is you and the child in your belly.’

Selina felt like her heart was turned to lead, it was so heavy it was hard to breathe. Bruce couldn’t… He couldn’t…

‘So what?’ She managed ‘It doesn’t mean you have any right over us.’

‘I know. But I am begging you, Miss Kyle. Let me help.’ And there was so much despair in his voice, Selina felt sorry for him.

ooo

'So you’re really not coming?’

Nikki pushed a piece of hair the wind had blown to her face, Selina hugged herself to keep warm, it was very cold in the harbour, she was grateful for the new larger jackets that Barbara had given her. She was dumping on Selina a lot of her pregnancy stuff, most of it was useless, why would she wear so many maternity sequin party dresses?

‘Yeah… Sorry about that.’

‘It’s fine I guess. But you are really sure about raising a baby in this place? I mean, it was already a dump before…’

Selina actually laughed at that.

‘I know, right? But, I think it might get better now. So many changes happening. Maybe it was a shitty place for us, but it won’t be for her. And my doctor is here.’

‘It’s a her now?’

‘I don’t know, I keep trying both.’

‘Oh, I know about that.’

They both giggled at the lame joke.

‘Good luck, Nikki.’

‘Thank you. Good luck you too, and the baby. It was nice to meet you again, Selina.’

  ——————————————————————————

We are, finally, about to reach the timeskip. I don’t know you all but I’m ready to have Bruce back, I miss him.

I hope I didn’t give a pro-forced birth vibe in this chapter, I’m veeeery pro-choice, and I tried had to not use problematic language when it came for Selina deciding to keep her baby.

Also, the whole Selina and Alfred dynamic was really tough to write, because as I said before, I don’t enjoy the characterization of Gotham’s Alfred very much. But I hope I made a decent job.

Till next time, don’t forget to wash your hands and tell me what you are thinking of this story.

[possibilistfanfiction]

prompt: leslie and/or tina’s reactions to seeing karolina and nico together! (as easy as it is to write leslie as homophobic I truly don’t think she would be, especially after watching the second season, so I’m interested in your take on this!)

[this is just basically entirely au bc honestly … idk i didnt want to write abt murderous parents lol… also sometimes i forget that karolina is in high school! so small!! just a baby!!!!]

//

all of your friends already know, and it’s not really that big a deal; gert is ready to drag you to a fucking parade, probably, and molly has already gotten you a little rainbow pin.

also, there’s nico, who is soft and so beautiful and you knew you liked girls before you kissed her—there’d been crushes and you’d definitely touched yourself a few times while you were absentmindedly watching callie and arizona during a grey’s anatomy rewatch—and then you had absolutely hated kissing chase, so. you knew. you knew even if it was hard to admit, and even if it was harder to say aloud.

it still is; you’ve only said the words to gert and that was because you were plastered and she was so genuinely proud of you, excited for you. it’s not that you’re ashamed—you’re not; you love who you are and you think you’re definitely in love with nico—but it’s still hard sometimes.

all of this is running through your head really fucking fast because you’re having a movie night with your mom and she’d ordered your favorite pizza and you know that you should tell her, that dale and stacy know because they’d caught you and nico kissing in their backyard during a dinner when molly said they wouldn’t be home until later, but they had promised that you could stay with them if you ever needed.

it’s just—you’re supposed to be the perfect church girl, and you are; you’re tall and thin and blonde and you like pretty clothes and you get good grades and you are kind; nico has told you this with all the confidence in the world, and sometimes you have petty thoughts, recently you have felt a kind of anger that you never have before—but you are kind. you are good.

you’re thinking this kind of like a mantra as you walk downstairs, and your mom is setting out plates and smiles when she sees you.

you check your phone to stop your hands from shaking; you’d told your friends in your group chat you were probably going to talk to her tonight.

gert: I support you and we all love you so much! You know if you ever need someone to protest for you I’ll be there in a heartbeat

gert: Also my parents said i can pick you up if you need, just let me know. There’s tons of ice cream and also wine, I’m pretty sure they’d let us have it without even asking

gert: but ur mom is going to be cool. You got this

you roll your eyes because okay, it’s a little excessive, but she’s just doing her best and being who she is, really, and that is why you love her.

chase: love u kar !!

it makes you smile. molly texts you just a lot of rainbow themed emojis, and even alex sends you a few purple hearts.

nico texts you in your own private messages: you’re the bravest person i know and no matter what i’m so proud of you and i’m so proud to be with you

you smile and shoot back quick texts thanking all of them, and then you put your phone down and sit on a stool at the island.

‘hi sweetheart,’ she says, slides over a plate to you with pizza and a few greens on the side. ‘how was your week?’

you can’t bear to even look at your food you’re so nervous you feel sick, and you clench your hands under the island so your mom can’t see how much they’re trembling.

‘mom,’ you say, and you will your voice to be strong and steady; logically you have a wild amount of privilege in the world so even if this goes horribly wrong you’ll be really, really fine. 

she sits down next to you and takes a bite of pizza, nods.

‘can i talk to you about something?’

she sits back and looks at you seriously. ‘karolina, of course.’

you nod, clench your jaw. you had a whole speech planned but what comes out is, ‘i kissed nico,’ and it sits in the air and you’re about to start rambling and explaining but your mom just puts down her pizza and stands, steps toward you and folds you into a gentle hug, fierce and tight and soft.

you start to cry and you’re kind of embarrassed, distantly, but your mom is steady and strokes down your back a few times, eventually backs up and frets with your hair for a few seconds before smiling gently.

‘is that what you’ve been so upset about recently?’ she asks, gently but also like it’s so normal, like she would’ve asked about any boy. ‘does she not feel the same way?’

‘oh,’ you say, and feel the heat rise to your cheeks. ‘uh, no, she does. we like each other.’

your mom smiles and sits but doesn’t let go of your hands, even though they’re shaking. ‘i love you, karolina. you’re my daughter and i’m proud of you and the gender of the person you like could never change those things.’

you give her a watery little smile and when you sniffle she stands to bring you a few tissues, kisses the top of your head.

‘i had a whole speech planned, about being gay.’ your voice is rough and kind of small but you’re so relieved you don’t even care.

‘you can still give it to me, if you want.’ your mom’s offer is sincere and sometimes she’s fucking annoying but honestly she’s a good mom.

you shrug. ‘nah, it’s okay.’

‘okay.’ she rubs your back once. ‘do you want me to warm your pizza up for you?’

it’s so absurd, you think, the normalcy of all of this, the fear that had been eating away at you for weeks. ‘that’s all right,’ you say, and take a bite.

‘so,’ your mom says, turning toward you and sitting forward, dropping her voice a little conspiratorially and you almost want to preemptively roll your eyes. ‘how’s it going with nico?’

‘oh my god,’ you groan. 

‘are you girlfriend official yet?’

‘mom.’

she grins, really, sincerely grins. ‘do we need to have the talk? you’re being safe?’

you think your face is burning. ‘not that it’s really any of your business but we’re haven’t—i’m not ready. yet.’

it makes you sound so young and vulnerable and you hate it; you know you love nico and you want to have sex with her but you also want to take your time, especially after whatever happened at that party; you want it to be safe and unhurried and beautiful, for both of you.

your mom’s smile softens. ‘okay,’ she says. ‘well, if you ever need anything, let me know.’

‘i definitely will not.’

she laughs and then takes both of your plates to the couch. you sit next to her and refuse to even let her click on the lgbt movies category. you pick salt instead because you both love that movie even though you’ve seen it like a million times and your mom just gives you a little side eye when angelina comes on screen.

‘you’re way too excited about this,’ you grumble around a bite.

she pats your thigh. ‘i could tell you were holding something in for months, now, karolina—a heaviness. i was worried.’

‘oh.’

she brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. ‘you’re my child, and this is just something about you. i support you and the church does too. mostly i’m very relieved that you’re happy.’

you nod because you’re going to cry again and you really don’t want to.

you set aside your empty plates and curl up into her side like you did when you were very small, even though you’re taller than her now. she smells the same and growing up is kind of fucking terrible but this, right now, really isn’t so bad.

you text your friends quickly when she goes to the bathroom, that everything was cool, it was great even.

and you text nico: my mom was awesome. i love you

you send it before you realize that the first time you’d told her that you love her after you kissed her is over text but it’s sent now, there’s no going back. you laugh a little but she texts you back i love you too and you decide you’ll tell her a hundred times in person, a thousand, to make up for it.

you fall asleep on the couch after you’ve eaten a lot of ice cream and your mom wakes you eventually, walks you to your room.

‘i love you, karolina,’ she says, drawing you into her. ‘so, so much.’

you take all the half-asleep comfort you can from her hug. ‘i love you too.’

[azfellandco]

Hiya! So, please feel free to ignore this, but I just listened to Good Omens for the first time with considerable enjoyment, and I was wondering whether you have/know of any good fic rec lists for the book?

hi and welcome and i’m glad you enjoyed the book!! 

General

Something Ordinary by literature_and_ocean_waves (9k)

Summary: “You kidnapped the Antichrist?!”Aziraphale’s shrill screech echoed harshly throughout the dingy bookshop.

Crowley looked sheepishly at his expensive, snakeskin shoes. “Kidnap is such a strong word,” he said. “I rather like liberate.”

This is following what, if you ask me, is a plot this fandom can never write enough of: what if Crowley had kept baby Adam and he and Aziraphale had tried to raise him together? 

Never Mind the Gravitation by Argyle (2k)

Summary: Sure, there’s life on Mars. But Crowley can hardly call it living.

This is not as angsty as that summary makes it sound. …okay it is a little bit, but in a bittersweet kind of way, and it’s so funny as well. This is one of those fics that has the tone of the book down really well and it takes what I feel is an inherently sad concept (humanity moving off world and the places Aziraphale and Crowley call home changing again) and makes it feel hopeful and optimistic. Also scifi is my real true love so like… of course I love this fic. 

Even Without Looking by maniacalmole (18k)

Summary: Aziraphale gets requested by the heavenly court to prove that romantic love is real, and makes a valiant effort. He’s read about it so many times, in all the most romantic books. How hard could it be?

Everything maniacalmole has written is brilliant, funny, whimsical, and so in character, but this one is my favorite. 

Habitual by goingsparebutwithprecision (4k)

Summary: In which Crowley wears lipstick and Aziraphale is flustered.

The mutability of angelic/demonic gender and sexual presentation is one of my favorite things about these characters and about writing for them, and this fic is one of the first I read that got me really thinking about it. 

Guests On Memory Lane by Holoxam (5k)

Summary: “Whatever you go around telling yourself, angel,” Crowley said over his morning-coffee, “some of us have to work for a living. The girls and I can get into some shenanigans around the shops, you know.”Aziraphale looked up from his Telegraph, and sent Crowley a wary glance. He was torn between asking Crowley if he remembered his fruitless attempts at influencing the presumed antichrist back in the 1980’s, and sternly telling him off for even thinking about attempting to corrupt humans at such a young age.The Dynamic Duo babysit Anathema’s cousins for the weekend.

Crowley and Aziraphale being friends with Anathema? Yes, please. Crowley and Aziraphale taking care of children? Yes, please. 

Teen

Five Times Crowley Wanted Aziraphale by Mitsuhachi (3k)

Summary: Wanting and wanting and wanting, in many ways over many years.

This and it’s sequel, Five Times Aziraphale Wanted Crowley (The One More Night Remix) (rated M, mind the tags) are one of my favorite fics in this fandom. I love historical stuff especially that traces Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship over vast tracks of time and this delivers on that in a huge way. 

here i am, leaving you clues by Lvslie (10k) 

Summary: It’s all the same burning bookshop, and I’m always inside shouting your name. 

[Aziraphale is recalled to Heaven, but leaving proves more difficult than anticipated. Written for the tumblr prompt: ‘Actually….I just miss you.’]

Another one that I just adore. This fic is poetry in all the best ways and I think about the summary line, “it’s always the same burning bookshop”, pretty much every day of my life. There isn’t a plot as such (or if there is I’ve forgotten it because I am mostly just focused on how beautifully written it is) but I highly recommend it anyway. 

Everything Leslie has written for this fandom is like this, actually, beautiful and poetic and sort of dream-like. 

Modern Love by punkfaery (7k) 

(I podficced this last year)

Summary: “The crux of it, Crowley decided, was that demons were not supposed to want.

Or – well, that wasn’t strictly true. Certain things, such as material wealth and the corruption of innocents and the eventual triumph of Hell over Heaven, and possibly Earth as well, were perfectly all right. The fact that he didn’t particularly care about any of these things just served to add a little extra salt to the wound.

It wasn’t a question of wanting. It was a question of wanting the wrong things.”

Crowley, Aziraphale, and a series of religious buildings.

No Pain, No…Loss? by NotASpaceAlien (7k)

Summary: Aziraphale has a horrifying realization and decides he needs to lose weight.

This is so goddamn funny. I love Aziraphale with all my heart but he is very foolish sometimes and this fic… is such a good instance of that. 

There’s No Pancake Too Big For My Heavenly Father To Flip by dwarvenbeardspores (6k)

Summary: After a few exceptionally busy months, the forces of Heaven and Hell attempt to outwit each other in Aziraphale’s kitchen.

That is, Aziraphale makes pancakes and Crowley eats them.

I love cooking, and cooking headcanons, and Aziraphale and Crowley cooking for each other. This fic is delicious. 

Read everything by this author, actually, everything they’ve written is wonderful. 

Mature

Goodbody by copperbadge (3k)

Summary: Aziraphael’s new body is causing some problems.

Again, I love a good exploration of the relationship between angels and demons and their bodies and this fic is so much fun on that count. 

Only Human by abstractconcept (9k)

Summary: Aziraphale loses his job. Humor/romance A/C

Fics exploring the fallout of Aziraphale and Crowley’s disobedience towards their bosses in trying to avert the apocalypse is definitely A Fic Type in this fandom and this one goes the route of “one of them is fired and turned into a human”. It even takes a humorous angle on this and not the obvious angst route. 

Explicit

fires of the flesh, both literal and figurative by mercuryhatter (3k)

Summary: Pretty standard “there’s a sex curse and Crowley has to have way too many orgasms or be discorporated” stuff.

Genderfluidity/trans Crowley!! Discussion of feelings!! Fuck or die!! What’s not to love? I really love this fic. 

No Cause for Alarm Clocks by HJ Bender (archived by the GO_Library_archivist) (2k)

Summary: A short story detailing one of Crowley’s infernal household gadgetries, and why he’ll never have sex in front of it ever again.

This is wild and funny and I have read it about thirty times. 

Figurative Language by alamorn (2k)

Summary: It’s two years after the apocalypse that wasn’t and the only thing that’s changed is Aziraphale’s dick. That is to say, he has one now.

A Classic. I have read this probably thirty times, as well. 

Rarefied Air by Vulgarweed (4k)

Summary: Earth is getting older, news is getting worse, and an angel has to go to extreme heights to get any peace and quiet at all. But as close as you can get to Heaven, you’re still never far from Hell. (Hell hasn’t frozen. Crowley nearly has.) Giftfic for Allthisnonsense in 2006 GO Holiday exchange. 

This is another author who has written a lot of really good stuff but this one is my favorite. 

And here is my ao3 as well, I’ve written a lot of GO fic in the last year. Here are some of the ones I’m most proud of. 

Where a Heart Would Fit Perfectly (Teen, 2k)

Summary: Aziraphale shrugged and gestured for Crowley to sit down, “I’ve come back from the battlefield; no need for all that muscle anymore.”

“You’ve gone a bit in the other direction, though, haven’t you?” Crowley said conversationally as he took a seat and flagged someone down for a drink. “You’re a bit… pudgy.”

In 600 BCE Assyria, two man-shaped beings meet up after a long absence.

Nothing Like The Sun (Teen, 6k)

Summary: One tended to go through a number bodies in six thousand years, even if one was as cautious or sturdy as Aziraphale. Crowley, who was neither cautious nor sturdy, had gone through a large number. He’d changed appearance so many times that in Aziraphale’s memory he was often just his eyes, for no matter if Crowley was tall or short, lithe or stocky, blond or raven-haired, his eyes stayed the same.

Touch Me Gently (Explicit, 2k)

Summary: Aziraphale had started manicuring his nails.

Yours, Truly (General, 3k)

Summary: A love in selected letters.

Snapshots (General, 2k)

Summary: Five photographs on the wall of Aziraphale’s shop. An expansion of a headcanon I posted on tumblr.

And that’s about what I got! Happy reading, anon. 

[ali-alice-alison]

The Hayloft

“Alright, it’s in here,” Daisy excitedly proclaimed as she dragged Leslie by the hand into her family’s old wooden barn.

The goats were standing around silently, just stabled for the night half an hour ago. Some were chewing softly on some straw. Tools lined the right wall of the rectangular barn, below the hayloft. Leslie spotted the rusty old hooked poles used to pull down bales of hay propped up next to a green rake. Daisy and her had gotten themselves into some serious trouble a few months back when they’d tried to use those poles to practice for the staff-fighting tournament at the Festival of Bells. They were too young to enter, but still, they were determined to train for when they were old enough in a couple of years.

Daisy let go of Leslie’s hand as she moved to put the creaky ladder into position.

“You’re gonna love this, Les, just wait till you see it!”

Leslie couldn’t help but smile at her friend. Between the two of them, she herself was usually the more hyperactive one. Not that Daisy lacked for energy, she simply tended to be a bit more composed. This thing she wanted to show her must really be something special.

“I haven’t seen you this excited since I gave you that book about that man who has to save the world while slowly going mad, Daise. I can’t wait to find out what’s got you so riled up.”

Daisy smiled at her in that playful way she did when Leslie said something amusing, or sometimes when she was flattered. “Thanks again for that, that was a really cool present. Just come up here and you’ll see,” she said as she began climbing the ladder to the hayloft.”

Leslie followed suit after Daisy reached the top. Two on the ladder at the same was dangerous; the thing wasn’t very stable, as they’d learned the hard way a few years back.

When she got to the top, Leslie found her friend crouching behind a stack of hay bales in the corner of the loft. Daisy looked at her with eager eyes shining with anticipation, glimmering in the soft, warm light of the lantern they’d brought. Now burning with curiosity, Leslie approached to find out what Daisy was so eager to show her.

Behind the hay bales lay a tiny little field mouse sleeping peacefully on a small folded up blanket. Leslie leaned in to inspect it closer. The poor thing looked like it had been hurt quite badly, but it didn’t seem to be in a lot of pain. She could spot small stitches where the animal had been wounded and apparently sewed up again.

“Muffin got a hold of him a couple of weeks ago, but she got distracted and left him alive,” Daisy explained. The Lewis’ family cat was an excellent mouser and she didn’t normally leave her prey alive. “It was so sad. He was just lying there on the floor of the barn, not even able to move. I just couldn’t leave him like that. So I took him up here to hide him from my Pa and I gave him some food and water. Stitched him up as fast as I could. Wasn’t easy on such a small animal and I was scared that disinfecting the wounds might kill him, but I went with my gut and I did it! I’ve been giving him small pieces of banana and sunflower seeds every day and he’s slowly been getting better. He’s not here sometimes now, so I think he’s healed enough to go, but he keeps coming back. I think he likes sleeping on the blanket.”

Leslie looked in awe as her friend explained passionately, her face cast in that warm orange glow of the lantern. When she was done explaining, Daisy smiled warmly at the mouse. She looked so beautiful in that light, with that kind, soft smile on her face. Leslie didn’t know what to say, so she did the only thing that felt right and hugged Daisy tightly.

“This is amazing,” she said after a short while, pulling out of the hug slightly and pressing her forehead against Daisy’s. “I can’t believe you managed to nurse it back to health! Actually, scratch that, I can totally believe it from you. You’re just that kind.”

Daisy’s smile turned into a broad one, Leslie could see her dark brown eyes glittering with joy. She was so pretty when she smiled, the way the corners of her eyes crinkled up in just that way, like no one else. You could see the warmth in Daisy’s eyes when she smiled and Leslie could see them very well from this distance. They were very close.

Suddenly, she released that their foreheads were still pressed together. She hadn’t even been thinking about it; it had just felt natural, but they’d sat like that for a pretty long time now. Daisy continued to just smile at her. Was she blushing? Surely that must be a trick of the light. Leslie suddenly became very aware of the heat in her own cheeks. Was she blushing? Their noses were almost touching as they sat staring into each other’s eyes. Leslie could feel the warmth coming off her friend’s face, could feel her breathing. Was she imagining things or was Daisy breathing slightly faster than normal? Her lips looked so soft...

Leslie moved on instinct. She wasn’t really sure what she was doing, but it felt right. She lifted her right hand, which had been resting on Daisy’s knee, and gently cupped her face, caressing her cheek with her thumb. She closed her eyes, leaned in... and kissed Daisy.

It was over very quickly, just a small peck on the lips really, but Leslie had never felt so alive. Adrenaline rushed inside of her as she took her hand away and backed up her face. Excitement suddenly turned into fear. What if that’s not what Daisy wanted! She could have just totally ruined their friendship!

“S-sorry,” Leslie stuttered. “I... I shouldn’t have! I’m so-”

“It’s okay,” Daisy said as she put a hand on Leslie’s leg. “I... I liked that. I liked that a lot.” The warm smile was back on her face. She quickly glanced to the side, as if hesitating to say something. She was definitely blushing now. “I think secretly... Maybe I’ve wanted to do that for a while now.” She moved in closer and rested her head on Leslie’s shoulder.

“Me too,” Leslie said quietly, and she realized it was true. She’d never thought about it quite so directly, but it was the truth. She had wanted to do that. Her insides felt like they were on fire, but in a good way. Thoughts racing and all warm inside, she was a boiling cauldron of emotions. There was no more fear though. Daisy had managed to dispel that with just a few simple words. She leaned in her head to rest on top of Daisy’s. This was right. This was the most right she’d ever felt. Her stomach felt like it would turn inside out from pure excitement and yet she was completely at peace.

“There’s another blanket in the corner over there. I spent a couple of nights here when the mouse was still very weak, to keep him company. Wanna just sit here together for a while?”

Leslie lifted her head and all she could do was nod, smiling softly. She was still too stunned to say anything. Daisy moved to grab the blanket and the two of them sat down next to each other with their backs up against the wall, wrapped in warmth and comfort. After sitting wrapped in each other’s arms for a while, saying and doing nothing but sharing in this magical moment together, Leslie turned her head and looked into Daisy’s eyes once more. Feeling a lot more confident, the next kiss was more than just a small peck.

[a-toast-to-my-real-friends]

LOVER RANKINGS

Alright, y’all may or may not know, I’m a Taylor Swift fan. Chad Willard posted his Rankings and Reasons for her newest album, Lover, and it inspired me to do the same. So, for the two of you who care about my personal Taylor opinions: here they are.

I haven’t sat with Lover long enough yet to really figure out where I am with it. Speak Now is my peak Taylor Swift album. I love the honesty and vulnerability on all those songs. My emotions oftentimes seem overwhelming, irrational, and illogical, and I feel like a crazy person because I tell myself, “Johnathan, you shouldn’t feel this way, so and so hasn’t done anything wrong, if anybody knew you were THIS upset about THIS situation, they’d all laugh and tell you to relax and calm down and that you were acting crazy.” And oh buddy, if I weren’t acting crazy before, best believe I’d act crazy after.

Speak Now makes me feel like it’s OK to be overwhelmed by my feelings, and Taylor does such a great job of saying exactly how I feel.

So I say all that to say, I’ll probably compare every Taylor album to Speak Now. Does Lover make me feel the same way Speak Now does? Yes and no.

I like Lover a lot. To be fair, I have listened more to the first half than the last, only because by the time I get to  “Death By a Thousand Cuts” I want to go back and listen to “I Forgot that You Existed” again. I’m going to agree with what Chad said that Hannah said: “our enjoyment of her songs oftentimes stems from where our current relationship status is.” I’m so happy that Taylor is in such a healthy, great place emotionally, and that she’s so deeply in love – and the songs she’s made are SO GOOD; but I think I’m having a difficult time enjoying them the way I would if I were in a solid, committed, tried and true relationship. I listen to “I think he knows” and “Paper Rings” and “Lover” and instead of being all glowy and glittery I just feel – sad, I guess. Which maybe explains why I like Speak Now so much, because a lot of those are sad and Overwhelmingly Emotional.

Anyway, TO THE RANKINGS!

18: False God. I just think it’s sonically boring. It’s not fun to sing along to, and the lyrics don’t do enough for me to raise it any higher. I’m gonna give it a little bit longer, maybe it’ll eventually grow on me, but it’s dangerously close to becoming a skip.

17: Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince. I’m going to get dragged for this, but it’s got the same chord progression as “So it Goes” from REPUTATION, and tbh, that one is a skip for me too. Maybe I’m not deep enough or politically educated enough to see all the brilliance behind it, but I’ll give it points for the line “It’s you and me, that’s my whole world,” though.

16: It’s Nice To Have a Friend: Meh. This just seems like a list of unrelated things she’s done with Joe. Again, maybe I’m not deep enough to understand the brilliance, but what is she trying to say? And the song is so repetitive, it doesn’t keep my interest. All this snow, ya know?

15: The Man. It’s a fun song, good beats, fun to sing along to. But as a white male, the content is unrelatable to me. Which is the point, I suppose. The song isn’t meant for me. I appreciate it, for sure, and I think it’s important, but I just don’t feel the way she feels, so it’s just strange to sing along to it. I don’t wonder if I’d get there faster if I was a man, because I am a man.

14: Soon You’ll Get Better. OK, I LOVE this song, to be clear. It’s so sad, so relatable, so pretty to listen to. Hello Dixie Chicks, glad to have you back. I cried the first time I heard it, because I’ve followed along with her mom’s struggle with cancer, and I’ve two really close friends who have lost parents recently to sickness, and the thought of them feeling this way just breaks my heart. The only reason it’s so low on my list is because I like the other songs so much. Here’s where it starts to get difficult for me.

13: London Boy. This one is a lot of fun, it’s fun to sing along to, and I like the fast rappy bridge. Gotta work on getting those lyrics down. I also like the small details about the steps that we all take in relationships, specifically meeting all of his best mates and listening to his stories from uni.

12: ME!. Brendon Urie come through with those vocals. I think I’m a little biased towards this one, just because of the video, and the excitement that always surrounds a new Taylor era. It was the first thing we saw post REPUTATION era, snakes into butterflies, all the bright colors in the video, the peppy catchy chorus. I also strongly relate to “I know that I’m a handful baby…but I promise that nobody’s gonna love you like me.”

11: Daylight. Highly relatable content here. I always say Taylor knows exactly where I am and what I’m going through. Speak Now, I was living in New York, struggling in every aspect, and spent a lot of that era feeling pretty lonely and crazy, broken, losing friends and missing them but not knowing how to say any of that to them. Red was a carry-over. 1989 I had moved to Orlando, was living in the Wolf Den with a bunch of doods that I loved, everything felt neon and electric and exciting. Reputation I had been kicked out of my house and betrayed and felt very snake like, unforgiving, and hard-hearted. And February of this year, I moved into a house I had found, picked amazing people to move in with, and felt in control of my life again. And if you happen to follow Taylor culture, that’s the same month she posted the picture with the seven palm trees to her instagam, which kicked off the whole Lover era. I say all that to say, it was time for me to step into the daylight and let it all go. To be defined by the things that I love, not the things I hate, or haunt me in the middle of the night. I only want to see daylight and think of that that special person, you know?

10: Afterglow. Hello Speak Now. It’s all me, in my head. I’m the one that burned us down, but it’s not what I meant. I don’t want to do this to you, and I don’t want to lose this with you. It’s the perfect example, IMHO, of unconditional love. Here’s all my crazy. Here’s all my insecurities. They’re going to rear their ugly head, will you please love me even with those? Here’s what I need from you in those moments of temporary emotional insanity: Tell me that you're still mine, tell me that we'll be just fine, even when I lose my mind. Tell me that I'm all you want even when I break your heart. And when you do that, I’ll say “I’m sorry that I hurt you.” What a beautiful picture of loving and being loved in return.

9: You Need To Calm Down. I dunno how closely y’all follow my antics on Facebook, but when this video dropped, I casually posted it because I liked the message. As a believer in Christ, I feel the Christian community has done a HORRIFIC job of loving the LBGTQ community, and my simple post BLEW UP, proving my point. Sidebar, I also link the first listen of this song to being in Toy Story Land with Topher, Jessica, and Leslie, huddling around my phone under the giant Christmas lights for our second dive into New Taylor.

8: Paper Rings. Ok now it’s starting to get super hard narrowing it down. We’ve entered my True Jams™ section. The only reason this is at the bottom of my True Jams™ section is because I ain’t in love like this, so where I want to feel like glitter is exploding inside of me, I just feel like dried glue the glitter was meant to stick to. I love how deeply personal it is, I love the specificity, and the song is a BOP. Standout lyrics: “I’m with you even if it makes me blue,” and “I want your complications too, I want your dreary Mondays…”

7: I Think He Knows. A Bop. Fun. Sexy. Coy and flirtatious, while also owning her power. The rappy bits. I’ve never felt a longing for somebody’s body just by the way they hold a cold glass, but boy, does this song make me want to. What specifics, what detail. Also – “I want you, bless my soul.” HONESTLY. BLESS IT LORD.

6: The Archer. Giving me those Speak Now vibes. All my heroes die alone – I jumped from the train, I ride off alone. The LONGING. The wanting to be wanted. Knowing you’re good enough, knowing you have a lot to offer – but also knowing that it’s so much that maybe nobody can handle it all. I’ve got so much to offer, who could ever leave me? I’m too much to handle – god, who could put up with all of it?

5: Cornelia Street. My God can I relate to this. I’m ALWAYS looking for the ending, for someone I love to tell me they’re leaving because being with me is too much. I always prepare for the worst case scenario. And only recently have I started to believe that maybe the worst case won’t always happen? Maybe somebody will stay? But man, my natural impulse, my knee-jerk reaction, will always be to get as far away from any and all memories of the good times. I don’t want to be reminded of the beauty and joy and greatness because it will just keep reminding me that I don’t have it anymore, and there’s nothing I could do to get it back.

4: Death by a Thousand Cuts. Ahhh, yesss, Taylor. Speak to me of being left and of the heartbreak that brings. Also, make it a bop. I constantly find myself looking through the boarded up windows of past relationships, and I see the chandelier still flickering and see all the beautiful moments, though they may have lost the radiance they once had. Saying goodbye is the worst, endings are the worst, new beginnings mean something else ended stale. Also being given up like I was a bad drug – reminds me of a line from “Better Man”: “You pushed my love away like it was some kind of loaded gun.” Pure Taylor and I’m here for it.

3: I Forgot that You Existed. On repeat. Will dance and sing to this endlessly. Also always here for a good snarky twist of the kinfe.

2: Lover. Again, the longing. The vulnerability. Asking the questions that are scary to ask, that people would think you are insane for asking someone. Loving somebody so much that you put everything else aside, and all you want is to ask, “Can I go where you go?” Clingy. Needy. Co-dependent. As brave as it would be to ask a question like that, the fear of being seen as any of these things will keep most from doing it. Which probably hinders more than it helps, because if somebody loves us, truly loves us, we should be able to ask that without any fear of anyone or anything. But I’ll sing it and pretend.

1: Cruel Summer. SO. SINGABLE. I love the chorus. It gets stuck in my head. I love the lyrics. The frailty. A relationship that started as friends with benefits, her saying “it’s cool, no rules,” when secretly she’s falling in love and fears saying it, because she thinks it’d be the worst thing he’s ever heard. Yeah, OK, please stop reading my diary, girl. But the best part is, IMHO, he feels the same way about her, and also has feared speaking up, which is why he’s grinning like a devil, because he’s so happy because he feels the same way. 10/10 cant’ stop listening.

 And there you have it, folks. Time may change my rankings, relationships may change my rankings, but from where I sit, 10 days in, these are my thoughts. If you made it this far, I’d love to know what you think of the album, and your rankings!!! As if I’ll ever pass up a chance to talk about/listen to someone talking about Taylor Swift. Sound off!

[themysteriouslou]

To the deep ends

I wrote this as part of an angst war between @elusetta @foofygoldfish and me. Another good motivation was noticing that there are few bunker ending fics where the deputy explores their grief following the death of their friends. So, my deputy is going to be the guinea pig of this little experiment of mine, hope you enjoy it!

The days in the bunker went on smoothly.

Or at least, she perceived them that way.

It was difficult to guess how much time had passed since the bunker's doors had closed to the outside world. Joseph had removed Dutch's body one day after she had woken up from her blackout, muttering about giving him eternal rest once and for all. The hours following it, though? They felt the same to her, without any change that would point out something anew.

One thing she could be sure of was that, if she was careless enough, she could lose the perception of time in that dark box that kept her safe from "God's wrath". She had to keep herself constantly alert to the sounds of the radio, to some errant paper that had flown from the desk where Dutch had kept his things, to the calendar that was too far away from her eyes to see. Leslie knew she could ask Joseph, and she could almost picture the scene in her mind's eye; him going and coming through the door, the rosary around his wrist tinkling with his footsteps, approaching her to give her to drink (or eat, or just to watch her without uttering a word). If she concentrated long enough, she could see herself looking at him and asking what day it was (how long have we been here?) But it wouldn't work.

She had already tried, step by step, but the words refused to come out of her mouth. Her lips were glued together, and the air in her lungs (wasted, of course it was) did nothing but remind her that she was no more than a doll whose strings had been torn apart: soundless, motionless, and useless.

What remained of those efforts was him leaving the room and her making a futile attempt to extend her hands, a plea on the tip of her tongue: stay. Because if Joseph stayed, her memory would give up the chance to torment her. Please, don't leave me. Don't go.

But he never saw her doing that gesture, and Leslie hadn't the strength to repeat it when she was in his presence. Both were tired and preferred, somehow, to coexist without really interacting with each other. A kind of symbiotic relationship, one that ensured their survival but prevented them from interacting with the person who had caused the most damage in their lives.

Isn't that right, Joseph? She thought, hearing his restless gait in the continuous room. I complied with everything you predicted, and even so, it's difficult for you to see day after day the sinner you swore to convert to the cost of your family.

The sinner that took everything from you, just as you took everything from her.

And she understood, she really did, and she didn't blame him for it.

After all, every time she made the slightest attempt to blame him, something inside immediately reared its head at her, compelling her to close her eyes, to hold her breath and wait. Wait for the surrounding sounds to die out, for the lights to flick down like a candle's flame—and then, stillness.

She had enough self-awareness to understand that her psyche’s silence wouldn’t last long. It never did. It creeped on the edges of her consciousness, reminding her of the words branded in her memory since she woke up in Dutch’s bunker.

The world is on fire and it’s your fault.

"Breathe," she whispered, the sound echoing through the empty room. Her throat felt hoarse when she took in a deep breath—when was the last time she swallowed?—and held it, allowing the lungs to expand and fill with the smell of ashes and humidity the bunker carried. It cleared her mind for a brief second, made it easy for her to listen to the pounding of her heart. She was alive, breathing and well. However, at what cost?

Joseph claimed that God was purging the earth for them, that He was making sure they received a new and blank start. A pure one, where they would replace the bad with the good. Where they could forget.

But how to start again if everything reminded her of what she had loved and lost?

She didn't even have to access her own mental space to remember it—the images assaulted her daily, regardless of whether she was awake or trying to sleep. She saw towers of fire rising from the forests. Saw the white church where everything had begun die out in a pile of dust before her eyes. Saw their faces, both known and not, frozen in time with the same widen-eyed, mouth-opened expression.

And yet, nothing could beat out the dreams.

...

Sharky was sitting next to her, roaring with laughter as they drove alongside the Henbane River, Johnny Cash blaring out of the speakers and a host of peggies following them closely from behind.

"C'mon, Les, you can't tell me you've never tried it!" She couldn't take her eyes off the road; hands firmly curled on the steering wheel, yet responded to his playful tone without missing a beat.

"Driving with music at full volume as I go through a horde of cultists? No, Sharky, I haven't had time to attempt it."

He laughed; the sound muffled by the wind as he leaned out the window and pulled his flamethrower with him. Looking through the rear-view mirror, Leslie saw the cultists trying to keep themselves out of the fire's range. It can't be helped, she mused, returning her vision to the road. I would've rather lost them the old way but desperate times call for desperate measures.

The outlaw patted her hands affectionately, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You are in good hands; Dep. Uncle Shark will teach you everything he knows."

“Only if you don’t call yourself uncle ever again.”

...

"Les, isn't it a little... too much?"

Leslie looked away from the landscape below them, raising her eyebrows in brief confusion. Looking at her through the rear-view mirror, Nick sighed deeply, releasing Carmina's controls to make a gesture with one of his hands.

"I mean that monstrosity of a bag you're carryin' in your hands."

"Pregnant women need protein, Nick," she beamed lightly, squeezing his shoulder to remind him to look forward, "I'd rather stuff your fridge to the brim than having Kim and the baby missing some delicacies to eat. That ain't to do, don't you think?"

He grinned, “You don’t have to go to all this trouble for us.”

"I want to. Now, keep your eyes on the front view—if we crash into a tree and die Kim's gonna revive us just for the sake of killing us again with her own bare hands and that's somehow an even more terrifying thought than the cultists doing it themselves."

...

It was in that moment she opened her eyes.

It wasn't the typical movie scene where someone jerks awake from a nightmare. She wasn't screaming her lungs out because of something her mind made her see. She wasn't sweating profusely, nor was she wondering if whether it was a dream or an actual incident.

She knew it was real. She knew it with the same certainty she felt when she saw those faces, mirages of a previous life where she didn't feel alone. (Where the world outside was bright and hope was just around the corner. Where she could do things right...)

It wasn't a nightmare, too. The images were too vivid, too precious to have been one. That much she did know.

Trembling, Leslie tested impulsively the shackles that had her bound to the bedpost, only to find her wrists free of the metallic cuffs. Joseph must have been sure she wasn't going to attack him as soon as he took the chains off. He must have known that she…

You’re weak, a voice uttered in her ear, a soft and deep cadence that made her think of red (the color of his hair, of his burns, of the lights in the trial rooms, of the blood dripping down on Eli's forehead). And you know what happens to the weak.

“I do.” Curled up in the bed, hands tightly drawn to her body in an attempt to stop her shallow breathing from taking ahold of her being, she darted her sight from the radio to the ceiling in quick succession until everything blurred out. “Believe me, I do.”

Morpheus didn’t look for her again, nor did he do it the following nights.

It was for the best.

Joseph was bound to notice it sooner or later.

And, in all honesty, Leslie was right to assume it would be the former option.

"You haven't been eating well," he said, as she put her meal's leftovers in a tupperware.

Her fingers twitched lightly, holding onto the food container as carefully as she could. His gaze burned the back of her head, making her want to face him. It's all on the eyes, she thought, they're called the windows of the soul for a reason.

And that was the exact reason for which she turned away every time he was near her. He would notice the slight frown in her mouth, the dark bags under her eye sockets, the tiredness of her features—she didn't doubt Joseph was a perceptive man, one who knows exactly what a person is going through just looking at them.

He would know.

And she couldn't let that happen. Not yet.

"It's just your imagination," Leslie assured him, looking at him over her shoulder. Yup, he's effectively burning holes through my skull. "I'm okay."

You've always been a terrible liar, but at least you can look like you've got yourself together.

"Now, if you excuse me..."

She didn't see the tight-lipped expression that settled on Joseph's face once she left the room, but it didn't matter.

She would get acquainted with it soon.

...

"No!"

"As you hear it! It's only a matter of time, Ladybug. The Monkey God has not forgotten me, we just have to wait." Hurk clapped his hands, visibly satisfied at his audience's stunned countenance.

The two were enjoying a pair of beers in the backyard of the Fort Drubman, taking a break from the fighting as soon as Drubman Senior’s truck Nancy —Leslie gripped the mouth of her bottle strongly, almost sneering at the thought of the traitor that sold her and her colleagues to a conflict neither of them wanted to happen. Fuckin' Nancy— was safely back in her owner’s hands. It was just her and Hurk chilling in the sun, listening to the chirps of the birds and the sound of wind through the leaves of the trees…. until Hurk deemed the silence to be boring and dreary, and started telling her stories about his exploits around the world, about being part of a Resistance group in the past and crucially helping the hero when they needed him.

She suspected Hurk embellished some parts of his story, but it truly didn't bother her. The places he went were exotic but dangerous and she wondered, in awe, how Hurk was still alive following that. Dumb luck or an actual Monkey God protecting him? No one will ever know.

"Are you still in contact with Ajay after what happened in Kyrat?"

"Sometimes, though I haven't heard of him since the county closed off to the outside world," Hurk opened his mouth, but then closed it and looked at her, furrowing his brows in contemplation. "Now that I think about it, you two are very similar. You're both bull-headed and fight like mad dogs when you see people getting threatened by others." He nodded to himself, in agreement with his own train of thought, "Yeah, you two would totally be each other's best friends, after me, of course."

Leslie shook her head slightly at his words, amusement still openly evident in her mien. "Should I take that as an insult or a compliment?”

"Whatever you wanna make of it, Ladybug." Hurk stood up, stretching up and sighing at the feel of his joints popping into place. "Now, what d'you think about going to blow some peggie stuff up?"

…

"Adjust the angle two inches to the right." Grace advised, watching her from the shadow of a tree.

Leslie nodded, closing her left eye and rotating her body slightly to the right, until she was aiming where she wanted it to be. Focus. She breathed in and pulled the trigger.

The thunderous noise of the shot made her grit her teeth and left a buzzing in her ears, but when she looked at the target, her hands tightened around her weapon’s handle in glee. Straight at the bullseye.

A calloused hand touched her shoulder. Grace was smiling at her, a proud smirk lighting her usual stoic face. “That was good, Les.”

Her lips quirked upwards, sighing deeply as she strapped her rifle to her back once more. “You’re a good teacher, Grace.”

“Have you done this before?”

“Opa used to take me to his and Dad’s hunting trips.” A wistful expression flickered in her mien. It’s a shame he’s not here anymore, her eyes wandered up to the sky, almost picturing in the clouds the solemn weathered face of a man who had been dutiful until the end, but then again, had he been alive Eden’s Gate would be shitting bricks and running to the next hill in fear, no doubt about that. “We had – have – a sniper rifle back at our house, but it was my Gramps’s and there were few occasions were we took it with us. Most of the time we used standard rifles with suppressors.”

“I see.” And Grace understood, she truly did.

The former Olympic champion gazed at her companion and observed her posture attentively. Having been in the Army made her knowledgeable of certain aspects of body language—how the behavior of her colleagues or targets changed at the drop of a hat in the face of adversity and weariness. The deputy could fool anyone else with her composed semblance, but she couldn’t fool Grace. She wouldn't let her.

“Come with me.”

Leslie looked at her, confusion briefly flashing across her face, but she followed Grace without a second thought. “Where are we going?”

“We are not far from Fall’s End. You need to eat and rest if you wanna take the cult down,” after a quick scrutiny, she nodded to herself, walking to the motorcycle stationed at the side of the road, “and perhaps a bit more practice at target shooting with that sniper rifle. I know a place for that—my Pop and I used to go there to practice our aim when we felt stressed. A change of air will do you good.”

“… Thank you”.

“Don’t mention it.”

...

Fool, you absolute fool!

Hands gripped onto the mattress underneath her body until her knuckles turned white, a way to keep herself from slipping away, to reminds herself she couldn't go back. She could still feel the wind playing with her hair as she and Grace rode through the highway, her hands placed firmly on the motorcycle's handlebar and the sight of Holland Valley's gorgeous landscape in front of her. The colors, the sounds, the warmth of the sunlight on her skin... Everything felt so utterly vivid that one might think it was reachable.

Oh, she wished it was. Please, let me return, she begged, shutting her eyes so tightly it almost hurt. Please, please, please... Tremors shook her body with the force of ocean waves, making her gasp and loosen her strong hold on the smooth textile to grasp at her neck. Count!

Uno, Due, Tre... She inhaled quickly, oxygen making its way to her lungs and brain. Quattro, Cinque, Sei... She sat up, holding her own head between her hands, giving into the structure she made to cope with the dreams. All she had to do was to breathe.

Had someone decided to seek her out, they would've found her in the darkness of Dutch Roosevelt's former bedroom, her face giving nothing away while she looked at the ground with a focused but blank stare.

She was there, but at the same time... she wasn't.

You will not hide any longer.

"I know," she muttered, digging her fingers through her hair. Flashes of people and places played like a movie inside her head.

Mary May's gleeful expression when she saw that she managed to get the Widowmaker back.

Pastor Jerome sitting next to her in his church's steps and giving her gentle encouragement to never doubt herself.

Boomer nearly barreling into her the second she returned to the town from the mountains.

Kim smiling at her from a wheelchair and putting her daughter in her hands, asking if she wanted to be the godmother.

Believe me, I know.

…

"Come on, dear, you can't tell me you haven't had any experience when it comes to hunting meat, if you know what I mean."

She sighed, pulling leisurely the line of her fishing rod back to her. "Addie..."

"Don't "Addie" me, young lady.” Adelaide chided her, and then quieted down. Perhaps she forgot what she was going to say? The hopeful tone of her thoughts was, nonetheless, swiftly stifled as the Chopper Queen looked at her once more and waggled her eyebrows, a lewd smile blooming in her face. “I worry about you, when was the last time you had a bit of the old in-out, in-out?"

That absolutely prompted the reaction she was looking for: the deputy turned to face her so quickly she nearly fell into the river. It’s a shame I don’t have a camera with me right now Adelaide thought gleefully, watching her companion making an effort to stare anywhere but at her. Of all the things that could’ve encouraged a response, this one’s the quickest yet.  

"Addie!” she spluttered, morphing into the true portrait of mortification. “Th—That’s private!”

The older woman threw her head back and guffawed, slapping her thighs as if she had heard the greatest joke ever told. “That’s a good one, honey! You can tell aunt Addie everything, y’know. And for your information, it’s a small county, no one is private here about their matters, so you don’t have to feel ashamed of it.”

"For your information, trying to fight a cult seriously lowers my opportunities to "hunt meat", as you say,” Leslie huffed, raising a hand up to her neck to rub it absently. It was warm and she didn’t doubt for a second it went red the moment she was caught off guard the way she had been.

"You're doing a lot for us, Lessie.” Adelaide touched her shoulder and squeezed, “and we’re grateful for it. I just want you to have some fun. It mustn’t be easy to be the figurehead of the Resistance and you’re so young—you shouldn’t be going through this,” her voice lowered in volume, gaze wandering to the rippling waters below them in contemplation, “any of this, if you ask me.”

They fell silent as they observed the sun melt into the horizon, both of them lost in thought—mulling over the war, their comrades and the people they had to fight to liberate their home from the cult.

“Addie?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I stay at the marina?” she cleared her throat. “Just for the night, if you…”

“Of course, sweetie,” Adelaide stood up and extended a hand to her, helping her get to her feet. “You don’t even have to ask.”

...

She should’ve known it was a bad idea from the start.

"Damn moose,” Jess cursed, wiping the sweat from her brow. “I swear they're everywhere.”

Finding a spot in the Whitetail Mountains where they could hunt wasn’t the hardest part of the day, the region being overflowing with wild animals of all kinds all the time of the year as it was. In fact, she guessed they should count themselves as fortunate: in one of the bags they had brought from the small market at the Baron Lumber Mill laid the skins of two deers and a coyote, in the other, their meat. A productive and calm day, indeed.

Or so they thought, until they heard the gunshots.

“Shit,” Les crouched down behind a bush, rummaging through her backpack till she found what she was searching: her binoculars. She felt Jess duck out by her side, waiting patiently for a report of their surroundings. “What do you see?”

“Cultists on their quads,” she pressed slightly to zoom in, furrowing her brow in concentration. “They… They’re leaving.”

“A shame, really,” Jess flexed her fingers around her arrows, as if conjuring up pulling them out and making of these peggies her own shooting targets. “Hopefully they’ll remember they forgot something and come back here.”

Leslie chuckled, standing up lest her legs went numb, and extended her hands to Jess, who accepted them right away. They were ready to part back to the mill to gather the rewards of their work.

That was the moment they noticed the mooses.

Two big, strong and shaggy mooses that looked pissed off and were looking right at them.

Fuck!

The deputy pulled her sniper rifle from her back as one of the mooses charged at her. Body tense and mind working at an alarmingly fast pace, she surrounded the hostile mammal, looking through the sight of the rifle and pulling the trigger.

The moose fell to the ground with a dull thud.

“Are they usually this aggressive?”

“Only when they’re startled by something." The huntress adjusted the angle of her arrow, squinting until her eyes became thin lines, cold blue peeking from behind her lashes.

She shot. And the beast was dead in an instant.

Leslie approached the dead carcasses, slowly and carefully.  God forbid they were still alive and decided to kick her in the face as their last act of revenge. Her hands were placed at the inside of the mooses’ elbows and waited.

Nothing. She sighed in relief, and then examined the carcasses intently: the bodies wouldn’t fit inside their bags. They were too heavy and huge for it, which meant they would have to call someone to help them carry it back at the mill. We have to skin them immediately, too. For one, it would cool the meat and prevent the sourness of the bone. For other, it’d be a lot easier to remove the hide while it was still warm. It had been years since she watched her father, uncles and Opa do it, but she would manage. She always did.

She was about to call Jess, to look over her shoulder and ask for rope, when her eyes fixed on the antlers. A little smile spread across her face, visible enough for Jess to notice it.

The younger woman tilted her head and squatted down beside her, furrowing her eyebrows in slight confusion. “Why are you smiling?”

"It's nothing; it's just that it reminds me of a joke my Opa used to tell me." Leslie smiled nervously, clearing her throat and trying to keep her face as straight as could. "Do you know why moose have such large antlers?"

Jess kept looking at her, waiting for the punchline that'd follow.

"To have better radio reception!"

Silence followed her awkward attempt to light up the mood. Way to go, Grünewald, way to go.

But then, she saw Jess’ lips quirking upwards and turning her gaze away from her, eyes crinkling in contained laughter.

Maybe the joke wasn’t as bad as she thought.

...

You were weak. The memory of a giggle ringed in her ears, a distant sound from world consumed by the flames, rising from the grave to taunt her. And you were selfish.

The dream morphed. Instead of a remote forest in the Whitetail Mountains by Jess’ side, she was standing in front of the closed doors of a church—a church she knew all too well. Eyes adjusting to the light the moon provided her with; she saw the Marshal and Sheriff Whitehorse prepared to enter the church, from where chants could be heard beyond the building’s walls. Amazing grace, how sweet a sound…

The night of the arrest. A shiver went down her spine, fear holding a tight grip on her heart.

Leslie looked at the marshal and the sheriff and the urge to grab them and pull them away from those doors was overpowering. She felt the words building inside her chest: the request to go back to the chopper, where Staci was waiting for her. You’re not going to come alive from this if you go through that door.

But her body refused to cooperate with her. She was a prisoner of her mind’s set-ups, reminders of the possible what-ifs that could have happened had she walked away. She gripped the cuffs in her hands tightly, hands trembling by the sheer force of her grasp, and went forward.

Except that, just before she entered the church, a hand touched her elbow, stopping her in her tracks. Joey Hudson gave her an encouraging smile and muttered, low enough for her to hear:

‘You’ll be fine.’

She wasn’t the Joey she remembered, the one who was filled by so much rage and pain against those who broke her.

No, she was the Joey who gave her advice about how to survive in the station without going crazy in the first try, the one who snarked at hers and Staci’s antics, the one who became her first female friend in the county.

The Joey from before.

No…

Another hurricane of colors surrounded her; the church’s doors slowly moving away as a new image replaced it.

She was running through a bunker, looking for… someone. Someone important to her. She had to find them before Jacob’s men noticed the trail of dead bodies left in her wake. She promised him she would come back for him. 

And she did.

A sheen of sweat covered her body, soaking darkly into her clothes along with the grime and blood from battling the Soldier on that mountain. Hurry! She walked into a room quickly, almost barreling into the figure strapped at the lone chair in the center of the room.

Staci Pratt opened his eyes with difficulty, the wounds in his face still leaking blood. When he looked at her, it was as if he was seeing a miracle, as if her presence were but just as dream.

‘Rook, are you real?’

Her throat tightened, swallowing down a sob as she inspected him. Oh, Staci… Sweet Staci Pratt, the first one after Whitehorse who welcomed her to the station. He had always been kind to her, even when he was teasing her at all times of the day, leaving a mug of coffee at her desk every single morning without fail. They broke him. He broke him. Oh God…

As she reached for her fellow deputy’s bonds, she was pulled away from the bunker, Staci’s hopeful face fading into black before her frantic eyes.

No, no, no!

As soon as the scene changed, Leslie found herself in the pilot seat of a truck. She saw the walls encircling the Hope County Jail coming into view, people pouring out of the structure to take care of their injured and dead.

Sound gradually started reaching her ears. She blinked once, twice, thrice—and turned on her seat to listen to the person speaking to her, hands leaving the steering wheel to rest on her lap.

Earl Whitehorse was sitting on the copilot seat of the truck, exhausted but alive, face reflecting the fondness and pride he felt for his junior deputy. His eyes wrinkled around the edges when he smiled at her, patting her hands as a proud father would to his daughter.

‘A lot of good people died, but everyone here, all of us, we’re alive because of you… and I’m damn proud of you.’

Tears gathered in her eyes at his words. She struggled with the invisible bindings that didn’t let her reach for the sheriff. There were so many things she wanted to tell him. So many, and the dream gave her the opportunity to do it. She just needed to try harder….

Just as she managed to raise her hands to him, everything dimmed out.

Until all she could see were a succession of images. Images she thought she forgot, except she hadn’t.

Cameron Burke was staring at her, a finger on the trigger of his gun. His hands were extended to his sides and his posture displayed an alarmingly openness that chilled her to the bone. ‘I told you I didn’t want to leave’; he spoke, voice carrying a dejected touch to it. She dared to glance to her right side, horror striking her chest at the sight of Virgil Minkler’s lifeless body beside the table where he and the marshal had been playing cards before.

Stop.

Tammy Barnes was giving her speech at Eli’s funeral, her voice trembling as she recalled how her dear friend helped her when she needed someone the most, the one who gave her a second chance to be useful. Once she finished, she looked straight at her and walked up until they were standing face-to-face, her eyes shining from unshed tears. ‘It wasn’t you. Eli knows that.’

I killed him, and he knew.

Tracey was looking at her through the window of the truck, a soft expression that she wasn’t used to see exposed in her mien. She didn’t think there was a more capable person to fight against the cult as Rook, not after everything she had done for them. ‘You saved a lot of people here today, Rook. Don’t forget that.’

In the shadow of a tree, in a meadow somewhere in the Holland Valley, Cheeseburger laid his head on her lap, purring happily when she scratched him behind his tiny ears. Leslie grinned down at him, placing a gentle kiss on his brow. ‘I know you’re tired, but I promise that soon all you’ll have to worry is how many salmons I’m going to bring you. You like that, don’t you?’

Peaches was running alongside her, sprinting past one of the forest trails she had accidentally found in her hunting trips. There hadn’t been calls over the radio for her, no one was in need of a rescue, and the cult had retreated briefly to rethink their strategy. Enjoying the warm rays of the sun as the autumn breeze played with her hair, the deputy halted her steps, closing her eyes and just breathing in the fresh air of the mountains. Life’s good.

You’ll be the one who decides what happens. You were the start, and you’ll be the end.

Hands reached out to her body from the dark, shaking it at a persistent rhythm. Deputy…

You did everything he said you would do. And you didn’t even know it. You had no fucking clue.

The movements intensified, trying to rouse her from her slumber.

May God have mercy on your soul.

…

She stirred awake and sat up, blinking to chase away the blurriness of her sight. Where was she?

Her hands flexed tentatively from one place to another, feeling the soft textile of the couch under the pads of her fingers. She didn’t remember falling asleep on it, but then again, neither she remembered walking away from her room to the bunker’s living room/kitchen mix.

So much for swearing sleep off.

“My child…”

Her muscles stiffened.

Oh, fuck.

“Deputy…” His voice was a whisper, but she heard him well. It was difficult to not do so, when he was at her side and blocked the bluish light of the aquarium, giving the shadow her sensible orbs needed to see. “Was it a nightmare?”

He saw her hesitate, close her hands strongly over her trousers and give out a shaky sigh.

The deputy had always tried to stay composed in his presence, to hide her emotion behind a strong and inscrutable mask she had created to give others the security they needed. The security she needed. He saw it in his church, that fateful night when the county’s sheriff department came to arrest him and pull him away from his faithful, and he saw it the night she refused to accept his peace offer.

But the grief had been consuming her for days—once he went through his own time to grieve for his siblings and his faithful, he noticed it, in every movement she did. He didn’t have to look at her face to know what was happening to her. He already did.

Joseph breathed in, and drew her in close, holding her against his heart so she could listen to the beating of his heart. Constant, even. He looked at her face and was almost startled to see her eyes welling up, figure slightly shaking in his arms. She was holding back.

He wouldn’t let her.                                                                                                 

“You don’t have to hide it anymore.”

The silence in the room was deafening for a second.

Then, brick by brick, her walls came tumbling down, leaving behind a rawness borne of an open wound that hadn’t been given the chance to heal.

As much as she tried to let it out little by little, as much as she tried to control it, the pain came out from her throat in the form of a silent howl, sobs wracking against her chest with such intensity that she clung to Joseph in an attempt to steady herself. She pressed her forehead against his skin and wept bitterly, her sight turning the world into a blur of color until all she could see was gray.

“I want to go back” she choked on through the tears. “Please, let me go back. They’re dead. They’re dead and I see them everywhere. I want to correct this, please, let me go back.”

Joseph’s arms tightened around her middle, before whispering in her ear.

“You can’t.” He stroked her hair, pulling it away from her face carefully, kindly. “They’re dead, but they aren’t suffering anymore. They’re with the Lord now, in a place where there’s no pain, where they will not lack anything. And one day,” his voice took on a fierce tone, “one day, we will meet them again. I promise you that.”

She nodded, blinking away the tears to look at the newspaper clippings and photos she had collected from Dutch’s former war room. Boomer, Sharky, Grace, Nick, Hurk, Jess and Adelaide stared at her over Joseph’s shoulder, smiling contentedly at her.

Someday, we’ll find each other for a second time. But until then… wait for me, guys.

I love you.