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ofclaires · 3 years ago

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IV. CLAIRE WALSH

PAST SELF PARAS: april 2020 / september 2020 / march 2021.

hi, before the read more i just wanted to say THANK YOU. getting to play claire has been absolutely a treat, a challenge, and genuinely, a huge part of my life for the past year and a half or so. it occurred to me when writing this and looking back at other things i’ve written for claire that i didn’t just feel like i was writing this for myself or for claire ; but i was writing it for you guys, too ! that has been one of the most special things about gallagher for me is the writing community that i feel like we built, taking such a huge investment in our characters and everyone else’s writing. i feel like i’m writing with and for some of my best friends. i also feel like i’ve grown so much ( ok, i actually don’t just feel like it, i can look back at those three paras and SEE how my writing has improved. ) i am so blessed to have gotten to write claire with all of you and to share her story, i feel like she has been so fucking beloved & it’s given her so much life. i am so proud of her and it’s really bittersweet that i’m finally saying goodbye to her as well. so, thank you all so, so much, gallagher has been a writing experience like no other for me & i love you all !

trigger warnings : domestic violence & abuse, death

PART ONE: CHILDHOOD.

The trailer that Claire spent the back half of her childhood in never felt like home. Maybe because trailers are made to be temporary, or the fact that if she accepted that this was where she belonged, she’d have to give up hope.

It’s normal Maggie Walsh to be out late, Claire’s usually cleaned up the kitchen and tucked herself into bed by the time her mother comes in the door – but she’s not sleeping. She’s always had trouble with that, brain bouncing around from one thought to the next until eventually she hears the creak of the door.

Her mom’s home.

She hears the usual stumbling, the clatter of dishes falling from where she’d neatly placed them on the drying rack. Maggie’s drunk, Claire’s sure of that. Ten years old and she knows what it means to be so drunk that you can hardly see straight, that the words you say under the influence are a different reflection from the person that you really are. She inhales deeply and crawls out from under the covers to check on her. Ten years old and she knows the steps: Help her take her makeup off, make sure she sleeps on her side, glass of water on the bedside table, trash can on the floor. Maggie is only twenty-six years old herself now, not done with her childhood by the time that Claire was born, not ready to be a mother. Claire’s had to figure it out most of it herself.

“Mom?” Claire knocks on the door lightly, plastic cup full of water already in hand.

“Don’t – don’t come in!” Maggie sputters, and Claire’s confused. She defies her request and opens the bedroom door the rest of the way. When she sees her mom, she drops the cup on the floor, small hands curling into fists.

“What happened? Who did that to you?”

“I told you not to come in here, Claire,” Maggie repeats, but Claire has always been on to disregard commands. She learns at a young age that authority only means older than you or some assigned title, not that they know best.

“Who did that? Why?” She repeats her questions. Despite being mature for her age, it’s hard for Claire to wrap her head around the black eye obscuring Maggie’s face, and the swelling on her cheek.

“It doesn’t matter,” Maggie sighs, dejected as she flops down on the bed. Even in her state, she knows that there’s not much use telling Claire to back off or go away once she’s decided that she’s not going to. Her little girl is a spitfire, strangely enough reminds Maggie a lot of her own mom, like living with a miniature version of her. Maybe that’s why Claire wins most arguments. “Come here.”

Claire walks closer to the bed, kicking the cup aside on her way for no reason other than to kick something. She crawls into bed next to her mom and looks up at her, waiting for more of an explanation or literally anything but silence.

“I don’t know why I keep looking for a happy ending. I leave you home alone, I come home like this...not helping either of us,” Maggie presses a kiss to the top of Claire’s head, runs her fingers through her daughter’s hair. It’s so soft and Claire is so little, she can’t help but look at the spilled cup on the floor with a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry,” she adds, voice choked up and words a little slurred. Tears squeeze out of the corners of her eyes when she closes them, hugging her daughter closer, “I’ve blamed you for my fucked up life for so long...that’s not fair.”

Now, Claire is only ten, but those are the kind of words that you remember forever. Still, she smiles. “It doesn’t have to stay fucked up. It can get better,” a childish spark of optimism in her heart that hasn’t yet been put out. It makes Maggie smile back though, kissing her daughter on the top of her head yet again.

“I like that,” she says, and they fall asleep curled up beside each other. Claire sleeps soundly, thinking that it’s possible. Things really could get better, and for a while, it seems like there really is a sort of shift. Maggie starts cooking, cleaning again, and she doesn’t even stay out so late. That’s when she meets Martin.

He seems better than the rest. Until he isn’t.

But Claire does her job as her mother’s protector, just as she’s been doing all of her life, and it’s that event that jumpstarts the rest of everything that happens next.

PART TWO: GRADUATION.

Claire’s come to the formal conclusion that graduation ceremonies are a waste of time. There’s all this build up, everyone’s so excited, and then you have to sit around and wait for your name to be called so you can spend two seconds walking across a stage while everyone claps. She would have skipped it entirely if her mother hadn’t already come up, and if she knew that people were going to insist. The small talk afterward is even more agonizing than the ceremony itself. It is sort of painful saying goodbye to everyone, and it occurs to Claire that there’s more people that she’s going to miss than she ever expected.

“Callum and his mother are here,” Maggie points out.

“And?” Claire rolls her eyes. Seeing Callum again to begin with had brought up a lot of old feelings, and generally, even though they’d resolved things, she tries to avoid him whenever possible.

“Well, it’s probably weird if we don’t say hello, at least, right? I’m going to say hello,” Maggie interjects, “he’s such a sweet boy.”

Claire’s eyebrows rise on her forehead as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Go ahead then,” she sighs, “I’ll wait right here.”

“Claire,” Maggie draws out her name with a withering stare, but Maggie has never been able to establish that sort of authority with Claire that would prompt any inclination of obedience, so Claire just shrugs her shoulders, unimpressed. She’s not going to budge. “Fine, I’ll be right back.”

Claire’s done her best to put the chapter of their life that includes Martin out of her mind when rekindling things with her mother, and she certainly doesn’t want to stand around making small talk with his other ex-wife, trying not to look at Callum with his matching jawline, trying not to remember everything she hates. It all comes back in a flash. The horrible cracking sound that her mother’s head had made when it connected with the wall, the blood on the marble floor. They say you don’t remember trauma properly, that your memory doesn’t work quite right, but she will never forget the way her fist connected with Martin’s face : like a puzzle piece, like it BELONGED there, and she’d done it over and over again until she heard sirens.

And yet, Claire can’t deny that it’s a part of her life that got her here, where she is today. She thinks life is shitty and random, and that not everything has to happen ‘for a reason.’ Still, she’ll catch Kass’s eye across the room and see her smiling so brightly that it seems impossible not to believe in something. Claire can’t help herself anyway – she smiles back. No one has ever been able to produce Claire’s smile in its truest form the way Kass has, unashamed of being so happy to look at someone. She once thought the idea of looking at a person and seeing your whole future was ridiculous, that you’d have to be stupid to put that much of yourself into someone, but it isn’t like that at all. All of it was unintentional, like by the time she realized it, Kass was already everything. And she feels so safe with that thought that she doesn’t mind at all.

“Am I interrupting something?” A figure steps in front of her, cutting off her line of sight. She’s not really fond of being snuck up on, so she opens her mouth to say something snarky when she’s met with the gaze of Lisanna Harlin, one of last year’s mentors. Her daughter, Elisa, is there, but she’s not graduating, so Claire’s confused by Lisanna’s presence.

“No, Ms. Harlin,” Claire says, though there’s a spark of indignation in her words that practically goes hand in hand whenever an adult commands authority.

“Lisanna is fine,” she says with a light laugh, like she’s amused Claire’s greeted her this way.

“Can I...help you with something?” Claire asks, mostly curious about how long this interaction has gone on. While she’s friendly with Elisa, she was Kass’s roommate last year, they’re not exceedingly close, so she’s not sure what else Lisanna would have to say to her other than maybe a polite hello.

It’s more than a polite hello. Lisanna Harlin works for Lexon Corp in Durham, North Carolina, a private military company that provides armed guards, bodyguards, and guns for hire. They’re the sort of place that would be looking for the best of the best in combat, and they have a bit of a reputation for hiring Gallagher girls. Claire had given up on the job search months ago since the video went out, in fact, she’s had a job lined up for graduation already : at a boxing gym in D.C., where the scene isn’t too bad. It was suited to her, but not exactly the sort of thing that her Gallagher education had prepared her for. Lexon Corp? Everything her rigorous love of January boot camps were tailored to. And they want to interview her.

A month later, Claire’s sitting on the cusp of a completely fresh start. It wasn’t easy to backtrack on the plans that she and Kass had made together, knowing how much was changing for the both of them, it had been nice to have the stable idea of an apartment together on the horizon. Now, she’s a four hour drive away, and she goes home to her one-bedroom studio in Durham after rigorous training throughout the day. But she’s grateful for the chance to work her way back into the field, and she can remember what Lisanna said to her when they gave her the offer.

“We’re aware that with your history that we’re taking a chance on you, Claire,” Lisanna said. “But we think the reasons that made other agencies look past you are exactly what makes you an asset. You care about your jobs, the people that you’re involved in, and you’d have a partner’s back until the bitter end. You listen to your intuition, trust your gut...and above all else, you have follow-through. I’m excited to be able to offer this position. Don’t prove me wrong.”

Claire swears that she won’t.

PART THREE: KIPTYN.

Kiptyn isn’t supposed to be in the left hall closet.

In fact, he’s not supposed to be awake at all. But who can sleep the night before their birthday anyway? Sure, he’ll be thirteen, and that’s probably old enough to have gotten over the magic of it all, but...he’d still been lying awake with excitement, the anticipation keeping his eyes open for hours on end. Well, that and the video game he’d been playing under the covers, but he’d obviously only been playing it because he couldn’t sleep in the first place.

Then he started thinking about the left hall closet and the conversation that they had at dinner the other night. In Kiptyn’s defense, Dahvia – his younger sister – had totally started it and he was an innocent bystander. After all, Kiptyn’s old enough to know that they don’t bring up Claire to mom, because it just puts her in a mood and then you can forget about doing anything else for the rest of the evening. But Dahvia’s ten, practically a baby, and she doesn’t know any better.

“Hey, mom? What sort of accident did Claire die in? Nina asked me at recess and I didn’t know,” Dahvia pipes up, before she’s even properly sat down. Kip visibly cringes. He’s older, wiser, knows this won’t go well. Still, he dares to look at his mom’s face and he notes the faraway look in her eye, like she seems to experience a bunch of things at once. Kip notices how even though her eyes are glassy, she doesn’t cry. Though sometimes, their mom will just cry randomly, like two weeks ago when he asked for help with his Spanish homework and she couldn’t even help him finish the first worksheet.

“It was a car accident,” she says stiffly, “eat your dinner.”

Kiptyn kicks his sister under the table and flashes her a look that says : Great. Look what you did, ruined dinner. Dahvia sticks her tongue out at him.

So, he knows that he’s not supposed to be in the left hall closet because he could ruin many more dinners, but he’s here anyway. He’s been thinking about it ever since they sat in silence for the rest of that half hour, and he’s come to the conclusion – his mother was lying. Because all sorts of things make their mother cry, like a bowl of mac and cheese or Spanish class, or motorcycles, and she won’t let Kiptyn take boxing lessons though his friend Robert is and he thought it sounded really cool, but she doesn’t have any problem with cars or driving, and also, she’s never told them a single thing about Claire except that. They aren’t allowed to know anything about her, especially not anything true, so Kiptyn is pretty sure that’s a lie. There’s just something just weird about it.

So, in the middle of the night before his thirteenth birthday, he looks up a video on how you pick locks and then he figures it out on the door of the left hall closet. He’s there for at least forty-five minutes, practically ready to give it all up when he hears the clicking sound, and then it opens. His first thought is : Woah. This is a load of junk.

And he’s right. There’s boxes upon boxes of paperwork, old clothes. Some things start to click, like when he finds a pair of worn boxing gloves with Claire’s initials embroidered on them. His favorite thing that he finds is the fattest scrapbook he’s ever seen – his mom always makes them, there’s one for every year of his life. Dahvia’s too, they love looking at them. The cover of this one, though, says Italy 2021. It’s all pictures of his mom and Claire, probably in their early twenties. Kiptyn mostly notices his mother’s smile, how he’s only seen her look like that a couple times in his life and yet it looks so EASY here, like she wears it all the time. It’s so strange to him. He sets the scrapbook down and crawls toward the back of the closet. His eyes land on two leather folders with gold embroidery, and he opens up the first one. In big letters at the top : GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

It’s a diploma.

This certifies that Kassandra Sutton has satisfactorily completed the…

“What are you doing?”

Kiptyn yells out like a child, not having heard anyone creeping up on him. He claps his hand over his mouth as if to shush himself. “The door was open! I don’t know how, but I just...noticed it was open and wanted to make sure that...no one was stealing your stuff!” he grins sheepishly, hoping that he can ride on the high of his birthday week to get him out of this one.

“It was just...open?” his mother looks down at him with raised eyebrows before brandishing a twisted paper clip between two fingers. The one that had formerly been stuck in the door. His guilty expression widens, he can’t help it.

“Okay, I might know how it opened,” Kiptyn admits. He hesitates for a moment, before he realizes that he’s ALREADY in trouble, he might as well just come out with it and pray to the birthday gods. He holds up the diploma with her name on it : “What’s Gallagher Academy?”

Kass’s sigh is heavy and deep, accompanied by the amount of exhaustion that comes with raising two curious kids by herself. After Claire died, she moved her family to London to be closer to their aunt and away from everything that reminded her of Claire. She never told her children why. From hiding that world from them, the world that took so many people from her : her father, her ex-girlfriend, and the love of her life. She swore that she would never lose her children to it, too. But Kiptyn looks up at her with wide eyes, desperate to know about his mother and his past, and Kass also knows what it’s like to have part of yourself missing due to family secrets that are being kept from you. He is practically a teenager now. So, she relents.

Kass doesn’t go into all of the details, of course. Just that Gallagher Academy was a school for spies, and that’s where it all started. Kiptyn already knew that his moms met in college, so it’s the spy part that’s most interesting to him. She talks about Claire with a light in her eyes he’s unfamiliar with, how she was one of the best fighters in their year, that she grew up with such a talent in the ring that she probably could’ve gone pro if her life had gone in a different direction. She talks about how they had to part ways after graduation, because Claire got a job in North Carolina and she got a job in Washington, DC, but they made it work, and both got very accustomed to the four hour drive – though it was sometimes closer to three for Claire, because she always drove too fast, even on this big, black motorcycle which Kass swears that she hated. She tells Kiptyn about how they got married, the way she’d almost moved to England for a dream job and that long distance threatened to drive them apart again – until Claire chased her down in the airport with a ring and proposal.

She also talks about how Claire really died : the abridged version. It was an overseas mission where they’d been cornered, and Claire risked her life to save the rest of their team. There were no other casualties, and the information they were able to bring back helped stop the terrorist organization they’d been chasing to end them for good. Kass tells the abridged version for her son, gives Claire a hero’s death. In some ways, it was. She doesn’t mention the ways that Claire was consumed by the case, it was an organization hellbent on killing spies and it likely reminded her of the brotherhood. Kass had been worried about the case the whole time, because it felt like Claire was taking it too personally. In the end, she may have been right : because Claire had let it take her life in order to close it. She also doesn’t mention that such a sacrificial death means that her wife died fighting alone, swinging her fists until her very last breath. But still, she was all alone.

She had no choice but to take her kids as far away from that life as possible.

Kiptyn tries, but he doesn’t really remember Claire. He’d only been three years old when she passed away, and before then, she’d been so consumed by her last case that she was barely present. Still, he thinks she sounds badass.

He falls asleep on his mother’s shoulder that night, looking through the scrapbook of pictures from their trip to Italy in 2021. He’s animated for the first part, pointing out buildings and asking questions, wonders if Claire was sweating in all that leather, but he slowly starts to drift off. He wakes up on the couch the next morning, no trace of the book or any of the other papers he’d hauled out of the closet the night before. He looks at the closet and there’s an extra padlock. Figures.

It comes up in little ways, like a private joke that he has with his mother, like she’ll say something and flash him a secretive smile. He likes that, and he understands that this is a big secret that he has to keep. It doesn’t come up again until his fourteenth birthday the next year, the summer before high school. It’s a strange letter in a manila envelope, sealed with some expensive red wax, his name written in fancy calligraphy. The most attention-grabbing part, however, is not Kiptyn Sutton-Walsh in big cursive letters. It’s the return address :

GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

learn her skills, honor her sword. keep her secrets.

#*#self para

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someone-always-cares · 5 years ago

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[image description: a q&a for the webcomic someone always cares. full desc under the cut because its long and wordy sorry]

post chapter 3 Q&A

first - previous - next

thanks for yalls questions!! it was fun to answer! if anyone still has questions feel free to ask whenever i am always 100% down to ramble. even if i did go slightly off topic in some answers

additional: went off topic with the hair question a bit. their bright hair is all part of the transformations. regular hair dye does exist though. best way to tell is that if the eyebrow matches the hair its probably not dyed. also, quartz’s hair is naturally ginger.

also for more on ages, check out the character bios here

also was gonna keep this in the tags but thought i might as well actually try to answer it: the question i found it hardest to answer was someone the song one. my taste in music is. a mess really. ive been listening to like the same 5 songs on repeat all day. more under the cut because i was rambling again and now its uhhh half 1am

if it helps at the time of answering that specific question i had home by cavetown on repeat, and that song reminds me of both rami and lewis. but that may be because i project onto those two a lot, and as a aro trans dude. who sucks with people skills, yeah of course i love that song.

specifically the vibes of like not knowing how to communicate (rami is fine with his friends but other people are different), the lines “ Turn off your porcelain face, I can't really think right now and this place, Has too many colors, enough to drive all of us insane” idk what the porcelain face line is supposed to mean but im picturing it as like. a mask. that you need to take off and stop hiding and rami does tend to hide when hes feeling upset, and the next two lines kinda could tie into that, like the feeling of when youre overwhelemed and just want the world to stop so you just hide somewhere. also the colours could go with chapter 3 with the chromatic abberation.

also the bit with “ my eyes went dark, I don't know where, my pupils are, But I'll figure out a way to get us out of here” just kinda sums up ramis whole hero thing with his powers and all. anyway this has turned into less what songs rami would like and why this particular song reminds me of him and lewis (lewis specifically has the hair cutting/chest hiding, [big transmasc mood], and also messy haired trainwreck who doesnt know who he is yet. also the ghosts bit)

i did end up picking upbeat songs because ramis a dude who like to try and be upbeat even if things arent. even if hes not really feeling it he will pretend to.

[full description: Anonymous said to someone-always-cares: “hi ily!!! do characters like quartz who have colored hair have that naturally or did they dye it?”

“its both natural and not! while most supers can do a magical girl ish transformation, including a change in hair colour, there are some exceptions.”

theres two small full body drawings of rami, one in civilian clothes, one fully transformed.

“if a superhero were to have a biological child, the child will inherit the powers of the parent(s). however, the child will not inherit the full transfromation. they do inherit any physical transformations, but not the outfit.”

theres a drawing of a woman in blue, quartz’s mother, fully transformed, holding her mask in her hand, smiling down at a much younger quartz as a child. hes smiling back up at her with the same blue eyes, pointy ears, and blue hair, but hes still in normal clothes.

“in the case of quartz, both of hisparents had superpowers, and he inherited those powers and the physical transformations.he can also pick and mix whatphysical traits to change.“

next is a headshot of adult quartz, his face split down the middle with one side having hair and eye like his mother, the other like his father. theres a list of traits from each parents, blue hair and eyes and pointy ears from his mum, and purple hair and eyes and pointy teeth from their dad.

“Anonymous said to someone-always-cares: Are all the characters the same age? If not, how old are they? Are they irl friends or just superhero friends?”

theres some headshots of rami and his team lined up with ages labelled: cam is 15, rami himself is 17, lin, mateo, and dante, are all 18, and cap is 20.

“rami and xandra were somewhat friends before she got superpowers, so when, after the incident with her old team, she found rami had developed powers, xandra stuck close to him. their other teamates started off as superhero friends but soon turned into irl friends too”

theres a headshot of lewis and jade. theyre both 17

“when lewis first decided to start being a vigilante,jade quickly found him and decided to help train himand offered to be a mentor of sorts, as they both have similar powers. that quickly derailed.”

“ cinder5555 said to someone-always-cares: How long does it usually take to make a comic page? I'm curious because they're so freaking good that they must take FOREVER”

theres a drawing of myself, a fluffy hair tired bastard in a hoodie, smiling

“Thanks! Ive been doing this shit since like 2017 and i still have no idea how long it takes me. i can get a page done in a day if i have nothing else to do or if its a simple page, but if i have work then maybe 2-3 days? i spend like, most of my free time doing this.“

another drawing of me, now looking frustrated muttering “how the FUCK does time work”

“but i can never do it all on one sitting.i will inevitably get distracted and zone out daydreaming mid drawing so its very hard to get an accurate read on how long it takes. so however long a piece of string is i guess“

the only qustion not from tumblr is a discord message from RuneStone Cabin:

“Q: Can you talk about the incidence of superpowers in this world? Like many people are supers, which powers are more or less common, how long they've been a thing for, stuff like that. Also does Omen know I'd die for them “

theres a drawing of omen pointing at a date circled on a calender marked “decembuary”, theyre saying “i know. i already wrote your death in my calender.”

then a giant wall of text reading: “Supers have only existed for a relativly short time, since the early 1940s. momento mori was the second person to have ever gained powers.

Only a small number of the population are supers! the chances are higher in more populated cities, but unusally london has oneof the higher percentages of supers. while nobody in universe has any idea of the origins of superpowers, it does seem that powers are more likely to occur in people who would actually use their powers.

as for what powers are most common, after making a badly catagorized spreadsheet of every superpowered character ive made for this world (70% of which will probably never even be seen), turns out that elemental powers are the most common. although not all elemental powers manifest as the straight up 'controling this element' as seen in characters like lin or tsunami. for example, iris's powers would fall under shadow elemntal powers, but theyre a lot more weird that just controlling shadows.there are some abilities that have never been seen before,such as ressurection or full on time travel (aka anything that could bring a character back to life), but powers are certainly allowed to toe the line eg healing, powers involving undeath, immortality, pausing or manipulating time.

aside from that, anything goes. you could get plain old superstrength, but you could also get the ability to create dogs with your mind. other not quite rules, more guidelines are that supers are immune to their own powers hurting them (unless they were pushing themselves too hard), although the way the imminuties occur may be inconvinient to the super.

while some powers may be 'more powerful' than others, powers dont really get to be way underpowered or overpowered in comparision to others. sure being able to talk to animals may feel a bit useless compared to someone who can lift 4 tanks at once, but nobodys going to end up with a power like 'can turn into a goose but only once' or 'can grow toenails twice as fast' or 'if i sneeze i can change my hair colour'. at the same time, youre not going to get someone with the power to snap their fingers and level a city, or instantly blow up the moon or whatever.

“Anonymous said to someone-always-cares: I love rami PLEASE tell me his favorite song(s) and why. I will die for you”

a drawing of rami saying out loud “i dont really have any specific favourite song, really? i just listen to whatever sounds catchy and then listen to that on repeat for hours until i hate it. i guess i do like upbeat songs? ones that make you feel happy even if the lyrics are sad”

“ un1c0rnhh said to someone-always-cares: tell me,,, please,, cam,,, are they a cat person or a dog person?? ily"

theres a drawing of cam a metre away from a cat lying down. she has her arm out and is making ‘psspsspss’ noises at it. end id]

FUCK i am so glad i didnt hand write all of that, it would have been a major pain in the ass to write it all and then have to transcribe all that next. but nope i could directly copy paste the asks and word answers. cheers if anyone made it this far down. if anyone wonders why this is uploaded late, you know now.

#sac #someone always cares #sorry to my friends i rambled to about the previosly mentioned attempt at catagorizing powers #i made a fucking spreadsheet and everything #it was awful #also it probably obvious but i still have yet to download the font i use to this computer #did i ever mention what i named the font when i made it #because its called 'dicks out for the void' or something #it was funny back in mid/late 2017 ok

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sharkmobster · 5 years ago

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spider verse coffee shop au??

Anon im sorry i wanted to draw the coffeeshop au but ive been so tired lately so imma just overshare about what goes down bc this au is just (thick tombstone voice) : “everybody’s traumatized bitch lets get you a latte”

• this au is incredibly villain centric bc uhhhhh all i do is think about villains

• its also very aaron davis centric bc time to project my anxiety onto a grown ass man babey!!

• anyway this takes place in a normal world where there’s no superheros or avengers or what have you, everyone’s super average

• like i said this is more or less aaron centric and focuses on him readjusting to society and making connections with other people, and just healing in general. Aaron’s whole deal is that he was wrongfully arrested for defending himself against an off duty cop who was harassing him and ended up with a 10 year sentence (but was let off a year earlier for good behaviour). He’s got a lot of guilt bc of this if only for the fact that he feels like he let down his brother and Miles (who was a small lad at the time).

• Fun Fact! Jefferson was the one that picked up Aaron at the jail when he served out his sentence! The ride back to brooklyn was awkward! but also jefferson loves his brother and even tho they’ve had their falling outs he never once stopped believing that his brother was innocent. Jefferson also made sure to pull some strings and ended up getting an apartment set up for Aaron (even though jefferson and rio were 100% down to open their home to him for as long as it took him to get back onto his feet but of course aaron denied them bc he didnt want to be a burden) Aaron’s grateful but he tends to avoid his own family…a lot….

• it’s ridiculously hard to find a job bc nobody wants to hire an ex convict no matter the circumstances and Aaron’s legitimately about to lose hope when he spots an expensive looking shop nestled in between an old arcade and a knick knack shop

• ‘Vanessa’s Cafe’ is neatly printed above the door in fancy gold lettering. it’s obvious that the owner has serious cash bc the shop looks too damn good and too well maintained to be a regular mom and pop shop. there’s a help wanted sign hastily scribbled on a piece of notebook paper in the middle of the window which is odd since it off sets the professional vibe of the place. But hey it’s worth a shot so Aaron walks in ready to be denied another job only to find the weirdest looking group of people he’s ever seen.

• The first guy that catches his attention is the very large albino man who looks way too stressed out and manic to be working in a coffeeshop, but the job must pay well because he’s very well dressed.

• “Liv, for fuck’s sake! Clean your goddamn station!” he’s whisper shouting? Is that even a thing? oh look at that he’s got a full set of razor sharp teeth. huh. that’s a hell of an aesthetic he’s going for.

• The lady in question isn’t even giving him the time of day, just enthralled by her phone with a smile that looks too peaceful given what’s happening around her. She’s got wild hair tied up messily in a knitted bandana, weird glasses (custom made??) and when she glances up at aaron, her eyes widen in interest like he’s some anomaly to be cracked open. aaron looks anywhere that isnt the wild eyed lady at the counter.

• Theres another big guy that’s hanging around the back, heavily tattooed and lifting stacks of heavy boxes. Aaron takes notice of his prosthetic hand and the tattoo guy takes notice of Aaron.

• “Lonnie. Customer.” The Tattoo guy seems nonplussed about Aaron and walks into the back. aaron assumes that he’s offended him by staring at his prosthetic for longer than necessary which yeah….yeah he’s probably not happy about the staring.

• lonnie’s got a bad case of resting bitch face so he’s glaring at aaron without actually glaring and he’s just rough around ALL the edges so his tones got that nice bite to it as he shouts from across the counter (which is not something you do to a customer but it’s lonnie…..) "Hey! Ya looking for a job, skinny jeans?!“

• Aaron blanches at the idea of working with these people but he is absolutely desperate for a job at this point.

•"Yeah. I just got out of-”

•"Great, you’re hired! We’re speed running this whole introduction thing, string bean.“

•and that’s all i got other than like small details like:

•Peter B Parker owns a ”“’'cafe”“” across from Vanessa’s and its literally just a burger joint that h a p p e n s to sell coffee and Parker will fight you if you call his place a deli ahdhdj

•Liv and May are dating (big shock) and peter b has to constantly deal with seeing his competition over at his place all the time and it’s yikes

• Tombstone and Noir will 100% throw hands on contact. They don’t hate each other tho??? Its weird they just like to fight. gives them a chance to work on their banter i guess. Noir works the coffee machine at Peter’s “'cafe”’ so i guess he’s the “”barista”” of the joint but he drinks the coffee more than the customers do

• Miles and the rest of the spider kids “”“”“"intern”“”“” at the cafe which basically translates to free labor

• spider ham works there but he isnt a pig he’s just john mulaney. i know its weird. nobody actually sees him tho so he’s a complete mystery as to what he looks like so he could be john mulaney you never know. the only person who’s seen him is noir and that’s only bc they’re a thing???

•oh speaking of everyone being gay: everyone’s gay

• Lonnie and Gargan (tombstone and scorpion) are 100% dating but everyone legitimately thinks that the both of them are straight old men despite the fact that they live together, go to work together, hang out afterwards together, and they’re just always together

• lonnie’s daughter (janice) visits every other week (def the product of a divorce he went through years ago) she’s alright with gargan but she’s very distant towards her dad and def has that teen angst phase that she’s going through

• (lonnie can and will talk to you for hours about how much he loves and supports his daughter despite the fact that their relationship is very estranged)

• you can find janice hanging out with the cute blond punk girl at that weird burger/coffee place across the street

• oh gargan’s big and strong despite the fact that he’s missing three limbs, liv works in robotics on the side and constantly tweaks and repairs his prosthetics when they start acting up which leads to them having this weird friendship where they both borrow each other when they need something and dont really expect anything in return (like gargan’s good for getting her supplies and doing heavy lifting when she needs it and liv’s always down to run check ups on gargan)

• oh yeah liv used to be a scientist but immediately lost her license and phd when she started going above some board members heads to buy less than legal things through super illegal sources

.• that’s another thing, kingpin tends to just hire ex cons and criminals to work in his cafe just bc he believes that a person willing to work hard to better themselves deserves a chance to re enter society again.

• like they’ve all done bad things but still ended up with a job at the cafe. aaron fought a cop, liv did some shady deals for an illegal experiment, gargan used to run a drug ring years ago due to personal reasons but once he was free from jail he never dealt with the stuff again, and lonnie killed a dude (allegedly. he never went to jail bc they couldn’t prove anything but hey word spread around quick and everyone knew not to go anywhere near this guy)

• kingpin is in this au btw he’s just……a very depressed man who’s still grieving over his wife and son dying in a car accident

.• he rarely shows up to run the cafe bc its too much for him being in the place that his wife loved and built up from the ground. he used to be the manager after she died but couldn’t handle it and mostly left lonnie to take care of it

• which holy fuck lonnie is trying his best to keep this cafe alive and well and there’s only two other people working there so like its enough to have him scrambling all over the place trying to find more help (thanks aaron)

•miles doesn’t know aaron’s working at the cafe across the street and aaron def wants it that way bc even tho he’s out of jail he hasn’t actually……visited miles yet….. it’s the shame that’s keeping aaron from reaching out to him which is….sad bc miles doesn’t care what happened he just wants his uncle back.

• oh oh one more thing RIPeter used to run the deli across the street but had to leave brooklyn to go volunteer at homeless shelters across the states indefinitely so theres no telling when he’ll be back, so he left the cafe under the guidance of pb parker (peter b parker voice: my cafe now)

•and uhhh thats all i got, like i said this au is just found family trope + the healing we all want + bad people getting redemption which is all the tropes that i love all compacted together in the most cliche au you can imagine!

#itsv #aaron davis #the prowler #liv octavius #doctor octopus #lonnie lincoln #mac gargan #hi i work at a starbucks and it's hell so this is how i cope babey!!#spider verse #spiderman #the life and times of a robot prince

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71tenseventeen · 6 years ago

Text

Take My Hand (Take My Whole Life Too)-19

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

Warnings for sexual content, male pregnancy, non-hockey Sid. Sid and Taylor’s ages have been altered to fit the story.

Perpetual credit to my betas, @queen-alia and @icosahedonist as well as the GC and @ljummen.

Geno keeps his promise. He calls back in less than five minutes and keeps Sid on the phone until he’s dashing through the front door, fifteen minutes later. “Sid,” he breathes, rushing to where Sid is moving to sit up, sliding an arm around his waist.

“Geno…” Sid starts, eyes welling up again.

“I know, Sid,” he says, guiding them to the door. “Know you scared but going to be okay. I’m promise.” He reaches over and grips Sid’s chin, pausing his steps. “Everything going to be okay. Understand?”

He nods, swallowing thickly, and lets Geno lead him out of the apartment.

He tries to pull away in the hall. “What if someone sees…” he trails off and Geno just sets his jaw, pulling Sid closer.

“Really not care about that right now.”

In the car, Geno reaches over and grips his hand, murmuring quiet reassurances the entire drive to the hospital.

Sid is immediately whisked to a private room where Dr. Agarwal and two nurses are waiting. They waste no time getting him out of his clothes and into a gown while he tries hard not to cry. And he manages right up until he’s on the bed and Dr. Agarwal presses the doppler probe into the gel on his belly. Sid feels like he can’t breathe, holds tight to Geno’s hand while he begs silently to hear their baby’s heartbeat. It feels like time stops and he thinks he’s going to fall to pieces but then there it is. The steady thumpa thumpa thumpa and Sid bursts into tears, burying his face when Geno pulls him close whispering soft words of comfort.

“Baby okay, Sid. Listen, heartbeat strong. Told you everything be okay.” Sid holds tight and is grateful Geno doesn’t let him go.

An hour later Sid’s got an IV, had blood drawn and is receiving IV fluids. Dr. Agarwal is not impressed with him and he hangs his head as she explains what happened. “You’re dehydrated and your blood pressure is way too high. I’m sorry, Sidney, but your current job is not a safe option for you right now. You’re on your feet too much without a break and the stress is too high. I’ll have to see how you respond over the next few days before I make a decision about school. For now, consider yourself on modified bedrest. That means no work, no school and no overexertion. You can take short walks and swims if Geno is with you but I don’t want you on your feet for prolonged periods of time.”

Sid nods, sadly, still not meeting her eyes and Geno smooths his hair gently. It would be the perfect time for him to chime in with an “I told you so” or even with anger. Sid knows he deserves it and he’s been expecting it but it hasn’t come. Instead Geno has stayed close, stroking his hair, holding his hand through the procedures and rubbing his shoulders soothingly as Dr. Agarwal lays down the law.

Even though he’s been gripping Geno’s arm, hand, hoodie—anything he could get his hand on—for the entire time, he still can’t bring himself to actually look at him when Dr. Agarwal and the nurses finally leave the room.

“Sid,” Geno prods, sounding worried. “It’s going to be okay. You hear the doctor. Baby is alright, still healthy. I’m help take care of you, whatever you need. Make sure you’re not lose apartment if that’s what you want. Know you don’t like it but not going to let anything bad happen to you.”

Sid sucks in a shuddering breath and finally casts his eyes up. “Aren’t you going to say I told you so?”

Geno sighs and eases onto the hospital bed, drawing Sid into his arms. “No. That shitty thing to say and you not deserve that.”

“This is my fault. I do deserve it.”

Geno narrows his eyes, cups Sid’s cheek with his big hand and holds firm. “Don’t want to hear you say that again. Things been so hard on you with pregnancy, know how much you sacrifice already, know how scared you been. Think I not see how hard you try? Think I don’t know why you work so hard?”

“But I—”

“Did what you think you need to do,” Geno interrupts. “Because you’re thinking about life, future for you and baby. Is a lot of responsibility and I’m sorry things not work out the way you hope.”

“I just wanted to try to take care of myself.”

“I know. And you do such a good job, try so hard. Baby just… Maybe need little extra from you right now. So now I’m take care of you. Know you not want that, know is hard for you but not going to let you suffer or go back to work. I’m make sure bills paid for now, pay for rent too, if that what you need.” Geno looks so sincere, guilt hits Sid as hard as if someone punched him.

“Is that what you want?”

“Doesn’t matter what I want. Only matter what—”

“Geno, please,” Sid looks at him pleadingly. “It does matter what you want. Please?”

There’s a moment of hesitation long enough that Sid thinks Geno might not answer but then he says with a soft sigh. “No, I’m not want you stay in old apartment. Want you move in with me so I can be sure you have enough food, air conditioning, heat in winter. Want to go to games and practice and not worry about where you are and if you okay. I’m want to spend time with you, go to doctor, talk about baby, keep getting to know without having to set up meeting plans. But if that not work for you, then we figure it out, understand?”

It’s Sid’s turn to sigh as he nods before looking back up at Geno. “I—If it’s what you really want then I’ll, um, I’ll come stay with you.”

Part of Sid hates it, hates that he’s getting into a situation where he has to rely on someone else to meet his needs. But a bigger part of him, the part that was terrified tonight and wants desperately to be healthy for his baby is finally ready.

“You sure, Sid? Never want to push you.”

“I’m sure,” Sid nods. “You’re right and you’ve been right. And I don’t…” he trails off and when he speaks again, his voice is so low, it’s almost a whisper. “I was so scared.” He’s blinking back tears again but Geno doesn’t bat an eye, just pulls him close and leans them back on the bed.

Dr. Agarwal monitors Sid closely for the next few hours. He gets two bags of IV fluid and orders some chicken broth and toast when she asks him to eat to be sure he can keep the food down. He tells Geno more than once to go home and each time Geno just frowns at him like he’s lost his mind. It’s late, after ten, when she finally discharges Sid with strict instructions to stay on bedrest for the next several days and three appointments to check in with her.

He’s so relieved that the baby is okay that he doesn’t argue. The only time he starts to complain is when the nurse brings in a wheelchair for him but he barely gets two words out when Dr. Agarwal is giving him a stern look. “Bedrest, Sidney, or I’ll admit you for the next week.” He snaps his mouth shut and climbs dutifully into the chair, letting Geno wheel him out of the room.

It’s not until they’ve made it halfway down the hall that Geno leans forward and whispers, “She little bit scary,” making Sid snort with soft laughter. He twists just enough to smile gratefully at Geno who winks and smiles back.

Part 20

#Take My Hand #My fic #sidgeno #mpreg #rpf #19

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chimcharstar · 5 years ago

Note

1-100 TELL ME ALL

Get To Know Me Uncomfortably Well

1. What is you middle name?

Jesse

2. How old are you?

3. When is your birthday?

dec 9

4. What is your zodiac sign?

sagittarius

5. What is your favorite color?

purples

6. What’s your lucky number?

7. Do you have any pets?

8. Where are you from?

bc canada. my great grandparents are from russia

9. How tall are you?

5 something

10. What shoe size are you?

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own?

3 that i actually use

12. What was your last dream about?

i dont remember my most recent one but i had a banger of a dream i described in another post

13. What talents do you have?

i think expressing myself, or music, i have some talent that needs discipline

14. Are you psychic in any way?

well i am a spiritual person, in a way. and growing up in a toxic drama filled family, i have Developed the Skill of guessing how people are feeling and what they are gonna do. and i analyze dreams. so not psychic but i am really interested and intuitive whats goin on in there

15. Favorite song?

for some reason https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oilVq8-F4_Q colours by roosevelt ive been obsessed with lately i just loop that shit. loop loop loop. blaringit into my ears and speedwalking down thestreet. the beat.!!!! i feel like I took all the colours

16. Favorite movie?

spiderverse. i really enjoyed always be my maybe.

17. Who would be your ideal partner?

someone who doesnt make me feel like im Too Much

18. Do you want children?

not RIGHT NOW

19. Do you want a church wedding?

i have no idea actually. id want a special wedding definitely.

20. Are you religious?

yes, i honestly feel like i just come like this, i dont go by any books and i dont want to be associated with christians. if i be too religious i start getting the Bad Feelings

21. Have you ever been to the hospital?

yes visiting sick relatives. and one in a psyche ward.

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law?

i got a parking ticket

23. Have you ever met any celebrities?

no. maybe i did and i had no idea who they were because id never heard of them

24. Baths or showers?

showers.

25. What color socks are you wearing?

alien socks that are green and black

26. Have you ever been famous?

no. what does that even mean !!!!

27. Would you like to be a big celebrity?

yes because money but noooooo. its hard when one person definitely doesnt like me. if im famous some people just wont like me and theres going to be more of them

28. What type of music do you like?

stuff with electric guitars in it. funk. bops. i cant get enough lately

29. Have you ever been skinny dipping?

30. How many pillows do you sleep with?

one. and sometimes NONE. i dont fucking know why its just more comfortable. id lie down on a floor and pass out

31. What position do you usually sleep in?

i usually cant fall asleep unless im on my face with my arms tucked under me for warmpth and general log shape. after that though its chaos. dreamin

32. How big is your house?

BIG!!!!!! so many rooms. so many people.

33. What do you typically have for breakfast?

on a Functional day, cereal. not because its my favourite thing but it doesnt require a lot of attention and its easiest to tolerate. my appetite is just. like this

34. Have you ever fired a gun?

HELL no.

35. Have you ever tried archery?

in my child days i shot my hair elastics around and pretended i was fighting aliens. this is definitely archery.

36. Favorite clean word?

i dont really think about words like that. pizza is a nice word.

37. Favorite swear word?

bitch. its really fun to say.

38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep?

not all that long. if i was up the entire night i am usually sleeping in midday no matter where i am. ive disappointed many teachers. its called not caring.

39. Do you have any scars?

yes, but theres no dramatic stories to them, just me not leaving scratches and bites alone as a kid. they look kind of cool though. and theyre so mysterious. youd think id have scars from self harm but no.

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer?

i believe so...

41. Are you a good liar?

yes, when i am 100% like morally committed to lying.

42. Are you a good judge of character?

NO. my thought process is: its rude to assume someone is going to behave badly, and they will be offended and have hurt feelings if you anticipate that. i have to like. treat everyone with exactly the same respect unless theyre a dick. otherwise its being judgmental. and it ends up as naïveté. but im okay with that . the price of being a good person

43. Can you do any other accents other than your own?

i could do a british one once i guess LOL and it looks like now ive Absorbed a mexican accent but i never really try to talk in other accents

44. Do you have a strong accent?

i dont know how to answer this

45. What is your favorite accent?

idk i like new things i havent heard before. and thinking about how other languages work. theres a lot of different accents at my work and i honestly enjoy listening to them

46. What is your personality type?

that.... INFJ. see. psychic

47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing?

one of the gay jackets

48. Can you curl your tongue?

dont think so

49. Are you an innie or an outie?

innie

50. Left or right handed?

left

51. Are you scared of spiders?

depends. i had these big house spiders in my dungeon at my parents house, and id just be “hi” and set them free. but if i see one where im not expecting it i might yell a lot and tell everyone and run around and then set it free

52. Favorite food?

tacos from my old work. i was indeed. screaming, lost in the sauce. i waited until i was away from the restaurant because i knew all my dignity would vanish

53. Favorite foreign food?

idk... i need to eat more curry. i need more curryin my life. bring it on.

54. Are you a clean or messy person?

clean

55. Most used phrased?

“this slaps” i feel like ive been saying that a lot

56. Most used word?

57. How long does it take for you to get ready?

a whole entire fucking hour (when i wake up) otherwise 5min

58. Do you have much of an ego?

i do, but i hide it.

59. Do you suck or bite lollipops?

chomp chomp. i am not a patient man.

60. Do you talk to yourself?

yes, when i know no ones around, or when im not worried about seeming like a crazy person at work

61. Do you sing to yourself?

nah

62. Are you a good singer?

no. i can sing and it sound okay. nice even. but good??? like beautiful?????? no.

63. Biggest Fear?

someone dying, natural disaster, new illness

64. Are you a gossip?

maybe. i feel like i have the Tendencies and then im like “am i being a bad person right now”. i want to know the deets though.

65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen?

i Simply Dont Have the Attention for Those

66. Do you like long or short hair?

BOTH . long hair is more fun to draw. short hair is hot

67. Can you name all 50 states of America?

fuck no. why would i. fuck off. i dont care about your states.

68. Favorite school subject?

ART ART AR T

69. Extrovert or Introvert?

introerverte

70. Have you ever been scuba diving?

71. What makes you nervous?

people who are not Definitely Cheerful

72. Are you scared of the dark?

no. unless i think about things to scare myself on purpose

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes?

no unless they need to know. because im not a fucking ANIMAL

74. Are you ticklish?

depends. i can be not ticklish if im determined.

75. Have you ever started a rumor?

i dont think so... i started a rumor i was from mars

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority?

maybe i was supposed to train some girls and then i probably didnt do a great job and they didnt listen. they say my job now is somewhat authority and im like...... ok......

77. Have you ever drank underage?

78. Have you ever done drugs?

79. Who was your first real crush?

someone whos OUTTA MY LIFE

80. How many piercings do you have?

two? i got them pierecd at claires lmao and i didnt get an infection because im so salty. then i took them out because they were from claries

81. Can you roll your Rs?“

hell yes

82. How fast can you type?

so fucking fast. faster than my work finder helper. im fast im very fast

83. How fast can you run?

IM VERY FAST

84. What color is your hair?

orange

85. What color is your eyes?

green

86. What are you allergic to?

im still trying to figure that out. whatever it is gives me hives

87. Do you keep a journal?

yes. so i can get better at handwriting and just talking in general and hear what my voice sounds like. and to have a space away from other peoples needs and pressures

88. What do your parents do?

my mom is a stay at home mom and my dad shoots pop bottles into the sky

89. Do you like your age?

sure

90. What makes you angry?

everything. cabbage. i swore about cabbage for a long time the other day. i am just full of anger.

91. Do you like your own name?

YES. i mean i chose it i better. honestly my first name ......... i feel self conscious about it sometimes. i think it was the only name for me though. it wasnt the ideal most wonderful namei could find because those didnt fit, it was MY name.

92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they?

im going to have two sons and im naming them brick and rusty.

93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child?

yeah, i want a boy a girl

94. What are you strengths?

my strengths doing all 100 questions, this is serious muscles

95. What are your weaknesses?

the exhaustion of jumping from one question to the next especially when they are vague. im not complaining this was my idea

96. How did you get your name?

i pfound it in the baby name book and i was lie “hey yyy, i saw that name in black beauty, lets use it for my gay coded villain what the hell!”

97. Were your ancestors royalty?

no but i did have some ancestors who lives i a mansions andhad fucking SERVANTS. before you call me problematic my other part of family was like sewing things and not going to school

98. Do you have any scars?

weve been over this. when im older im going to get a cool scar fighting a dragon

99. Color of your bedspread?

pink, white, blue

100. Color of your room?

white

#chatty tag #WHEW

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duhragonball · 6 years ago

Text

Continuity

I’m still reading Star Wars comics from the original Marvel run of 1977-1986. Last night, I made it to the Return of the Jedi adaptation, so now I’ve read all the issues set between that movie and Empire Strikes Back. As I expected, these comics (#45-80) feel a lot more like authentic Star Wars stories than the pre-ESB issues (#7-38). The biggest plot hole that I noticed was that Luke still has his lightsaber throughout this period, despite losing it on Bepsin.

It occurred to me later that this wasn’t necessarily a mistake. There’s a deleted scene from ROTJ which shows Luke assembling his new lightsaber right before the mission to save Han Solo from Jabba the Hut. This strongly implies that Luke didn’t have a lightsaber of his own between Episodes V and VI. This was further supported by the ROTJ radio drama, produced in 1996, which incorporates the deleted scene into the story. There, Luke expresses frustration with how difficult it is to build a lightsaber, and then he finally realizes that he should have been using the Force to assemble the pieces. I haven’t read the novelization of the movie, but maybe it was touched on there as well.

Later sources indicated that building your own lightsaber is the final ritual for completing your Jedi training. This is shown in the 2002 Clone Wars cartoon, where Barriss Offee assembles her own saber on Ilum, under the supervision of Luminara Unduli. I’m pretty sure this scene was inspired by Darth Vader’s line in ROTJ, when he observed that Luke’s training is complete after checking out his badass green lightsaber. The implication is that building your own lightsaber is difficult enough that Luke would have to be a Jedi Knight just to pull it off.

But in the early 80′s, none of that lore existed, and it would be a simple matter for writers to assume that Luke had no trouble at all getting a spare. What I find strange is that no one bothered to explain where this spare lightsaber came from. It’s like the writers just assumed he never lost the first one, but that’s crazy.

Really, the artists on the original Star Wars comics never seemed to be able to keep track of the lightsabers to begin with. In the early comics, they paid no heed to the color schemes or hilt designs at all. Not that I would expect late 70′s artists to really worry about props from a movie that had just come out, but they kept coloring all the lightsaber blades at random, and drawing the hilts way too short and thick. Luke and Vader looked like they were holding soda cans. The art started to get more true to the movies when Tom Palmer got involved, but one thing I started to notice was how the artists would draw Luke and Vader’s lightsabers on their belts, even when they were holding them, ignited, in their hands. It was like the artists recognized the lightsaber hilts as part of the characters’ costumes, but they didn’t understand what they were. I can’t really blame them for this, since the big column of light was what really drew everyone’s attention in the theaters, and it wasn’t like they could look up hilt schematics on Wookieepedia like you can now.

Anyway, it struck me as kind of interesting how something minor like that can start off as an oversight, and then be easily corrected, or magnified into a major plot hole. It’d be pretty simple to explain Luke’s between-movie lightsaber.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had a spare tucked away somewhere, and Luke had been keeping it in storage just in case something like this happened.

Yoda had a spare, and Luke took it with him when he went to Bespin, and put it inside R2-D2′s lightsaber compartment for safe keeping.

Luke found a new lightsaber on a mission.

Luke built a new lightsaber to replace his old one, then lost that guy, requiring him to build the green one in ROTJ.

Luke found/constructed a replacement weapon, but it’s actually a knockoff “laser sword” and it doesn’t work as well as a genuine Jedi design, but it got the job done until he could do the job right.

I find it curious that no one ever bothered to tell any of those stories, though. The Expanded Universe era of Star Wars multimedia seemed determined to sew up as many continuity problems as possible. Some writer in the 2000′s did a story to establish that Jedi would swap lightsabers as a gesture of mutual respect, just to explain why Mace Windu’s action figure has a different lightsaber design than the one he has in the movies. I’m not too worried about this stuff, and I don’t think Jo Duffy or David Michelinie were too worried about this stuff when they wrote Luke carving up Stormtroopers in Star Wars #45-80, but between 1994 and 2008, there were people working for Lucasfilm who were paid to worry about this stuff. I’m genuinely surprised that no one ever got around to penning Star Wars: Luke’s Spare Lightsaber: The Lobot Chronicles: Dark Tidings.

It’s the little things like this that get lost in the shuffle, I’ve found. When you read a Star Wars novel or comic book, the major characters are always very consistently portrayed, and the story always sticks very closely to the groundwork laid down in whatever movies were around at the time. Star Wars #45-80 excelled at this. Every issue was either about the good guys searching for Han Solo, or dealing with a crisis big enough to pull them away from the search for Han Solo. I was disappointed that they didn’t spend much time at all having Luke work on his Jedi training, or trying to make sense of Darth Vader being his father, but I think Marvel knew the next movie would address that, so they knew not to wade too deep into that stream.

The stuff that gets changed the most is the minor characters. I read one issue where they basically established that Wedge Antilles never made it off the base on Hoth in ESB. He and “Nice Shot” Jansen had to take cover in the AT-AT Luke blew up, and then they lived in what was left of the base while they waited for the imperials to clear out. He was stranded there for months, and it was a pretty cool story, but I’m betting that later Star Wars writers decided to ignore this, because they wanted to use Wedge in other stories during that period.

General Tagge’s another interesting example. He was the guy on the Death Star in Episode IV, the one who warned that the Death Star was vulnerable while the Rebels had the stolen plans. Tagge’s kind of a walking continuity error to begin with, because everyone kept getting him mixed up with Admiral Motti, the guy who sassed Vader and got choked out for his lack of faith. In the Archie Goodwin run on Star Wars, Tagge was killed in the movie when the Death Star exploded, but his brothers and sister turned up as recurring villains with a grudge against the Rebels and Vader alike. Flash forward to 2015, when Disney took over Lucasfilm, and in the new continuity, Tagge survived the Death Star’s destruction because he happened to leave right before it went to Yavin IV to get blown up. This was done mainly to set him up as a rival to Darth Vader in the 2015 Darth Vader comic. I guess they figured there was no reason to invent new characters when they could just salvage some of the officers from the movie. Tagge feels more authentic than his siblings because we actually saw him on film. He’s a “real” Star Wars guy, while rest of his family are just cartoons. I think that’s the attitude anyway. Back in 1978, they were probably eager to create new characters because they had tons of world-building to do. So the 2010′s Marvel comics don’t square with the 1970′s Marvel comics at all, especially where the Tagges are concerned, but Darth Vader’s dealings with them feel pretty consistent.

The reason I bring up all of this is because I used to think that the continuity in Star Wars was never terribly complicated. When production of The Force Awakens got started, Lucasfilm announced that they were rebooting the whole Star Wars canon, declaring all the Expanded Universe content as “Legends”, which no longer counted as official continuity. The only hard canon sources from now on were the movies, the Clone Wars TV series, and anything published after that announcement. Naturally, all the post-Return-of-the-Jedi stories would be off the board, which only made sense to me, seeing as Force Awakens would contradict it. But I figured the other stories could still be made to fit together somehow, since none of them had anything to do with Rey or Kylo Ren or the First Order, or whatever.

But really, it’s been like that all along. The novels and comics would introduce some idea, and others would build on it, and then George Lucas would override it with his next project. Then the writers would have to pick up the pieces. The 2008-2013 Clone Wars TV series trampled on a lot of continuity from the 2002-2005 Clone Wars books and comics, primarily because George Lucas worked on the TV series, and he was the final word on this stuff. That announcement in 2014 pissed off a lot of Expanded Universe fans (so much that they bought a bunch of billboards to complain about it), but it was kind of inevitable. They’ll probably have to wipe the slate clean again around 2040 or so, because there’ll be enough new movies that the comics and novels won’t align with them.

I sort of half-joke about my own fanfiction getting this kind of treatment. My goal is to write stories that could fit into the established continuity, but I can only work with the continuity I know. With Dragon Ball, that was easy, until Dragon Ball Super got underway, and Akira Toriyama started writing new stuff. It was pretty easy to write my own female Super Saiyan, until DBS introduced a couple of their own, and now I have to wonder if they’ll say or do something that might contradict my own take. Likewise, this Broly movie might establish some new lore that I need to take into consideration. I can write new material to work around those things, but the stuff I’ve already written is pretty much locked in. My private joke is that in any of these new animations, a character will just stare at the screen and coldly announce that “Mike’s fanfic never happened.”

But that’s pretty much what Lucasfilm has been doing to the novel and comics writers for over forty years. “Splinter of the Mind’s Eye” would have been the official sequel to Star Wars if Empire Strikes Back hadn’t been funded. Instead, Dengar and Bossk looked at the screen and said “Alan Dean Foster’s novel never happened.” Return of the Jedi killed every Luke/Leia shipper’s hopes and dreams. “Oh, those fanfics never happened, my young friend,” Ben Kenobi said from beyond the grave. Attack of the Clones wreaked all sorts of havoc on Boba Fett’s backstory. The Force Awakens wrecked the Skywalker-Solo family tree. “Han and Leia only had one kid, and I’m gonna kick his ass!” Rey shouted asskickingly. And on it goes. I read that one writer resigned after they retconned all the stuff she had set up about Boba Fett’s home planet, but that’s the way the game is played, unfortunately.

Me, I’m just writing my stuff for fun, when it comes down to it. I like to think all the continuity can be fit together, but the reality is that there’s too many redundant pieces, so they can’t all be part of the same picture. You can either have Tagge or his brothers, but not both. You can decide to keep Ben Solo or Jan and Jeice Solo from the EU novels, but not both. Or you can do an AU, I guess. They’re all AU’s when you get down to it.

I suppose that, no matter what, I prefer my own assumption that Luke just didn’t have a lightsaber between Empire and Jedi. I’ve read too many stories about how there’s more to a Jedi than his lightsaber, and how the best Jedi never use them at all, so it makes sense to me that Luke had to make due without one, and use the loss to force him to refocus on his training. While the others searched for Han, he was doing cool Jedi homework that he should have been doing on Dagobah, and he purposely waited until he was finished before building a new lightsaber. That just makes too much sense to me, even if some other version is presented. But the other stories are still fun to read. They don’t have to be canon to be enjoyable.

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chibinightowl · 6 years ago

Text

Bakery AU, Part IX

One more chapter to go...

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII

~*~

“Tell me what?”

Tim’s heart starts to race, a last ditch effort by his body to give him the brainpower needed to get the words out of his mouth. He takes hold of Jason’s hand and removes it from his chin, but he doesn’t let it go. “I know you’re Redwing.”

To his credit, Jason doesn’t even flinch. “Right,” he drawls. “Tim, I think you’re a little sleep deprived.”

“Oh, I am,” Tim agrees. He forges on. “But I know I’m right.”

“Really? How so?”

“Because I figured out that Dick Grayson was Robin when I was nine years old.”

Jason’s grip on his hand tightens, the only sign his words are affecting him at all. “Okay, suppose I buy this tale. How did you figure it out?”

Tim launches into a story that has never once passed his lips. About how as a young boy he went to the circus with his parents and met an acrobat who promised to do a quadruple somersault just for him. He spoke of how that night ended in tragedy, with the acrobat’s parents falling to their deaths when their ropes snapped. “I kept tabs on Dick after I heard Mr. Wayne took him in. Sometimes I saw him at society events it was okay for kids to attend. When I was nine, I caught a clip on one of those paparazzi TV shows of Robin. They were running a brief segment on local urban myths. The video was absolute crap even if they did try to clean it up, but it wasn’t the person I recognized. It was what he did that struck me the most.”

“What did he do?” Jason prods when Tim pauses to gather his thoughts.

“He did a quadruple somersault. There’s only person in the world who can do it. Dick Grayson. After I figured that out, the rest was easy.” Tim bites his lip, stopping the flow of words.

There. He’d done it. No going back now.

Jason places his hands on Tim’s shoulders, holding him firmly in place as he stares intently at him. “Are you telling me a nine year old boy figured out one of the most closely guarded secrets on the planet?”

Tim nods. “If you’re referring to Batman, yes. He goes to great pains to hide it. Superman on the other hand…a pair of glasses? Really?”

A heavy hand covers his mouth faster than Tim can blink. “I think that’s enough tonight. You’re tired and obviously getting to the point where you’re not thinkin’ straight.”

What? Tim stiffens and jerks himself away from Jason. “You think I’m making this all up? I’m exhausted, but I’m not stupid. Jason, I have never, ever, spoken about this to anyone before. If you don’t believe me, fine. I was trying to be honest with you, because if you want whatever this is between us to work, then you need to be honest with me.”

“I don’t think this is the time or place to be having this conversation. You don’t have a door right now, remember?”

Tim’s mouth snaps shut. Son of a bitch. Had he been speaking too loudly? He doesn’t think so, but Jason is right. All that’s keeping the rest of the world out of his little shop is a piece of plastic. “Sorry. Sorry, you’re right. I’m just…”

“You’re tired, Tim.” Jason hauls him back in and plants a tender kiss on his forehead. “Go take a nap. I’ll finish cleaning this up.”

There isn’t anything Tim can do but nod. He’s blown it. He knows he has. Goddammit, why did he say it? Had he really misread things so badly? What’s going to happen now? Jason would be fully within his rights to never see him again after this little bomb. Fuck.

Tim lets Jason direct him into the kitchen and, under his watchful eye, gets his blanket and pillow out of the storage bin. Jason doesn’t comment about it, which says a lot about where this is all heading. He makes a little pallet under his desk and lays down. Through bleary eyes Tim watches Jason turn off the light and close the door, leaving it open just a crack. This is the last time he’s going to see Jason, he knows it. It hurts so bad that he doesn’t want the same thing as him.

So much for that gamble.

As Tim falls into a fitful sleep, he swears that he hears the low tone of Jason’s voice speaking to someone. “B? You won’t believe what I just heard…”

~*~*~

The next day Tim decides is quite possibly one of the worst he’s had in a while. Jason is gone when he wakes up to the alarm the man apparently set for him. No note, no nothing, not that Tim expects anything after the mess he made of things last night.

Stephanie tries to get the story out of him when she arrives an hour later with breakfast and coffee, but he refuses to say a word other than that he and Jason had a disagreement. This isn’t something Steph can help with. It’s all his fault.

“Do I need to call him and tell him to stop being an ass?” the blonde asks pointedly.

Tim loves that her loyalty is unwaveringly with him even if she doesn’t know all the details. “No, I’m pretty sure this is all on me.”

“Oh, Tim.” Steph wraps her arms around him and holds him tight. “Are you guys done then?”

He sighs into her freshly washed hair. God, he has to stink to high heaven at this point. “I don’t know.”

Steph squeezes him, then draws back, hands still on his arms as she gives him a serious look. “You know what’s going to make you feel better?”

“The ability to rewind the last twelve or so hours?”

“A shower. Go home, Tim. Get cleaned up, and for God’s sake, brush your teeth.”

Tim laughs weakly because what else can he do? He put himself out there and got rejected.

This is why he doesn’t date. It always hurts when things fall apart.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. It takes a few phone calls to get someone out on a Saturday to replace his door, and as soon as that was done, Tim calls it a day. He and Stephanie already have a plan in place to get things back up and running tomorrow, even if it will take at least a week to get a new display case. That’s fine, they can still take the truck out and Tim can set out a tray with a single cupcake of each design for any walk-ins to choose from while keeping the rest in back. They can make this work. Gotham and a broken heart are not going to keep Tim Drake down.

As he walks home in the late afternoon sun, Tim decides to allow himself one night to wallow in his misery. He deserves that much. A quick stop by the store gets him a six pack of his favorite microbrew and he swings by a Chinese restaurant that makes what he swears are the best noodles in town. Literally, since they make their noodles right there.

Properly fortified, Tim brings his prizes home. Another shower and a change of clothes later, he settles onto his sofa to binge watch Netflix. There are some shows he needs to catch up on.

He does not think about Jason. Much.

Three hours later, he’s finished half his stir-fried noodles and three bottles of beer. Sleep sounds like a great idea, lightweight that he is, so Tim manages to put away his food before returning to the sofa where he puts on a BBC nature documentary to fall asleep to.

He cuddles under his afghan and is out in under a minute.

~*~*~

It’s late when Tim wakes up. He feels like he should still be asleep, but something has drawn him out of that sweet oblivion where he doesn’t think about Jason. Everything is quiet, so he decides it must be his faintly hurting head that woke him. Some headache meds and water will fix that, as will sleeping in his bed rather than the living room.

Tim opens his eyes blearily as he sits up. Then he opens them wider and jerks upright, the afghan pooling around his waist.

Standing in front of his muted TV is Batman, outlined by the glow of the screen behind him.

Oh, shit. Why…Oh. Oh. Jason must have told him everything. Of course, he would, the little bomb Tim dropped on him last night impacts everything his family works so hard for. God, how could he have been so thoughtless?

His inner fanboy cowers in the corner of his mind, wailing in fear even though Tim is reasonably certain Batman won’t actually hurt him. Scare the crap out of him, yes. Intimidate him, hell yes. This is very intimidating, yup. Babbling seems like a stupid thing to do right about now, so Tim keeps his mouth shut and waits for Batman to say something.

And waits.

Seriously? Is he waiting for Tim to speak up first? He has not had enough sleep for this. Tim shoves the afghan off his lap and swings his legs to the floor. “Would you like some coffee? If you’re just going to stand there, then I’m going to need some.”

Batman doesn’t move. If anything, he frowns harder without even moving his face.

Now there’s a trick Tim would love to learn. He makes his way into the kitchen and flips on the overhead light by the sink to see by. Coffee prep is something he could do in his sleep, so while the little pot is brewing, Tim takes two mugs out of the cabinet and sets them on the counter.

“Do you take cream or sugar?” he calls out, not really expecting an answer.

He doesn’t get one.

Black it is.

Tim pours two cups and returns to the living room. He doesn’t try and hand Batman his cup, but he does place it on the coffee table in front of him before sitting back down on the sofa. This is by far the strangest interview he’s ever been part of. It must be a neat trick, using your reputation to get everything you need to know out of a person without having to say a word.

This could go on all night. “What do you want to know?” Tim asks eventually.

“Start from the beginning.” Batman’s voice is a low growl, one that makes Tim’s throat hurt just listening to it.

So Tim starts there, telling Batman how he met Dick, the promised quadruple somersault, and the tragedy that occurred later. He tells him about how he kept tabs on the former acrobat through the news, that he just wanted to be sure the boy was happy. Then he tells him what happened when he was nine… “I’m not sure there are many people who could have made that connection,” he admits slowly. “I mean, sure, the people at the circus probably can if they ever happen to see Robin, or Nightwing now, do that. But outside of there? I don’t think I would have if I hadn’t been there that night and saw it myself.” As well as everything that happened after, but there’s no need to rehash that again.

“You were very young.”

Tim nods. “I was almost four. My mom always said I have a mind like a steel trap. That when something goes in, it’s not coming out. I think that’s part of the reason why I didn’t forget. I couldn’t, even if I’d wanted to.” He sips his coffee, debating about the next part. This is where he could get into some serious trouble.

Well, this is supposed to be a confession of sorts. And it does feel good to get everything off his chest after holding it so close for years.

“When I figured out who was under Robin’s mask, I decided I needed to see Dick in action again for myself. We lived in the city, and Mom and Dad were never around much, so it was easy to sneak out…” Tim tells Batman about how he used to map his and Robin’s patrol routes, how he would hide and wait half the night for even a glimpse of his hero. As he got better and grew more confident, that was when he started bringing a camera.

If Batman was rigid before, then those words made him even more so.

“Those first photos were horrible,” Tim admits with a wry shake of his head. “It took a lot of practice to learn how to shoot at night, just as it took a lot of trial and error to learn to develop my own pictures because these were not something I wanted to take to the convenience store and have just anyone see. But I got better and by the time I did, there was a new Robin.”

Jason. The Robin he got all the best photos of.

“I took my pictures for a little over three years,” Tim continues. “And then my parents were murdered in a botched kidnapping. My life was turned upside down for a time, but when it became clear that I was going to end up in foster care since I had no family to take me in, I knew I couldn’t keep any of those pictures. I couldn’t risk it, even if no one knows the faces beneath those masks.”

“What did you do?”

“I took them up to the roof of my parent’s townhouse and burned them. Each and every one.” It still hurt, even after a decade and more having passed. But it hurt like ripping off a bandaid hurt, and no longer tore at his soul. “All my negatives, I soaked in bleach.”

Batman gestures to the pictures hanging on the walls. The black and white photos are taken from various angles high above Gotham. “You didn’t stop taking pictures completely.”

Tim shakes his head. “No, but I didn’t take those until I’d graduated from culinary school and had my own place. I like photography, it’s something I’m good at. But it’s a hobby now. A skill I can put to use in my shop for my website.”

“You understand the concerns I have.” It isn’t a question and Tim doesn’t pretend to take it as such.

Still, he knows he’s expected to answer. “I do. Honestly, I wasn’t planning to say a word about this to Jason at all. Until last night, I thought what we had was just a mutually beneficial arrangement between two consenting adults. He’d never given me a reason to believe otherwise.”

“Until last night,” Batman states, echoing Tim’s words. “Why did you tell him this?”

Tim hedges and sips his coffee as he tries to gather his thoughts. For all that opening his mouth had been a mistake, the reason why he did hasn’t changed. On that one fact, he still feels like he’s on solid ground.

“Because last night he said he cares about me. That what keeps him coming back is me.” No need to mention the frosting part. Nope. “I’ve known for a little while now that I like him more than what our arrangement calls for. I figured that if he wants a real relationship, then he has a right to what I know so that he doesn’t have to lie to me when the shit hits the fan or he gets all battered and bruised and needs to cancel plans we’ve made. I can’t imagine it’s easy for anyone who tries to date one of you guys.”

“It isn’t. Especially for someone like you who cannot protect himself.”

The implication is clear as day. Tim tightens his fingers around his warm mug. “I know I’m putting myself in harm’s way if Jason and I keep seeing each other. I know I can be used against him or as a means to hurt him. I know all of this. But isn’t it up to us to decide if that’s a chance we want to take?”

“Yeah, B, stop stickin’ your nose in our business.”

Tim almost spills his coffee as Jason comes striding around from behind the sofa in full Redwing regalia. It’s an impressive sight, from the battered leather jacket to the dark gray uniform underneath that fits him like a glove. How long has he been here? Oh, shit, what has he heard? Tim tells himself to get a grip. Everything he’s said to Batman is stuff he plans to tell Jason, if the other man ever gives him a chance.

He’s here though, so that has to mean something. Right?

Batman doesn’t move, but it’s clear when he turns his attention on his son because that weighted gaze no longer sits like a ton of bricks on Tim. “I am trying to ascertain what this man’s intentions are towards all of us.”

Jason snorts incredulously. “No, you’re trying to be a dad for a change and scare away a potential boyfriend. B, Tim knows and hasn’t said a word to anyone. Do you have any idea how much easier this makes things for me? I don’t have to fucking lie for a change.”

Tim clutches his coffee mug, afraid to make even the slightest of noises for fear of interrupting what is clearly a very important argument. Inside, his heart sings with joy because Jason is fighting with Batman for him. If that’s not a sign from the heavens, he doesn’t know what is.

“What happens if it doesn’t work out?” Batman says to Jason. “Think about the damage Tim can do in a single moment of petty spite.”

“I’d never do that,” Tim interrupts. This is something he has to speak up about. “What you guys do is so much bigger than anything I deal with. You’re important. You all mean something to the world. For however long this lasts between Jason and me, I’m glad to be able to support him in whatever way I can. And when it ends, well, I’ll at least know that for a time, I made him happy. Because I can’t imagine you guys get that a lot.”

Both men turn and stare at Tim, heavy and weighted and wow, this must be the same feeling that makes bad guys quiver in their shoes. But Tim holds firm and doesn’t drop his gaze.

“B, you’re done here,” Jason finally announces. “You got what you came for. Tim won’t spill the beans. Now get out.”

“Redwing—”

“Get outta my business, B. I can either air dirty laundry about you and Catwoman or toss you out that window. Take your pick.”

Batman looms over his son, but Jason is clearly having none of it as he just stares him down. All the long years of exposure must make him immune. Tim finds that impressive because wow. Just wow.

That heavy gaze settles back on him for a moment before Batman walks away without another word, brushing past the sofa towards the window leading out to the fire escape. Tim feels a faint rush of cold air on his neck and then nothing. He turns around to look, just to be sure. The only thing he sees is the faint movement of his cheap window blinds.

“So that’s what being interrogated by Batman feels like.”

Jason snorts and picks up the coffee Batman never even touched. “Sort of. There’s usually a lot more punching and getting tossed off the side of a building involved.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Tim feels faint at the thought. Although jumping off the side of a building doesn’t sound too bad if he’s with the right person…kind of like skydiving perhaps.

An awkward silence falls over the room, neither of them seemingly able to start the conversation that needs to happen. Tim fiddles with his mug and steals glances at Jason, who seems lost in thought as he drinks the not-so-warm coffee. What’s going on in his head? How does Jason feel about all this? He apparently likes the idea of him knowing who he is if his statement to Batman was legit.

Tim takes a deep breath and breaks the ice. “How much of that did you hear?”

“All of it. I followed B here and snuck in through your bedroom while he loomed over you like a creepy fuck until you woke up.”

“How long did that take?”

Jason chuckles quietly. “About half an hour. Color me impressed.”

“I may have had a few beers earlier tonight.”

“Lightweight,” Jason teases, but there’s a fondness to it. “You were quite the little stalker once upon a time, weren’t ya?”

Tim nods, feeling steadier now that they’re talking about his past. “I guess you could call it that. At the time though, I was so incredibly lonely that sneaking out for even a glimpse of my heroes was enough to negate the creep factor.”

Jason walks around the coffee table and takes a seat in the recliner. Under the jacket, Tim can just make out the stylized red bat on his broad chest. “You’ve mentioned before that your parents were never around that much.”

“No, they weren’t.” Tim takes a sip from his mug. It’s almost empty. “I had a hard time mourning for people who were never there. I got lucky when I was placed with Grandma Ives. She gets kids in a way I’d never seen before. Probably because she had six of her own, plus over a dozen grandkids. She helped me figure out what my grief was really about and gave me something constructive to do while I worked my way through it.”

“She the one who taught you to bake?”

“Yes.” Tim has many fond memories of Grandma Ives. Perhaps one day, he can introduce Jason to her.

“Did you really take all those pictures of me?” The question seemingly comes out of left field, but Tim has a feeling it’s a precursor to something bigger.

“I did.”

“Is it… Is this the reason you want to be with me?” Jason gestures to his uniform, to the mask he’s still wearing.

Tim is shaking his head before Jason finishes speaking. “No. Not at all. In the beginning, I was shocked that someone like you even spared a glance in my direction. I kept telling myself not to look too deeply into it, to not get attached, that we were both getting something we needed. But when we went out for dinner to that bar, it felt like a date. I wanted it to be a real date so badly that I had to keep reminding myself it wasn’t.”

Jason sighs heavily and leans forward, his solid arms resting on his thickly muscled thighs. “I think of that night as a date. It was all so clear in my head what I was doing, sweeping you off your feet and romancing the crap out of you, but in hindsight, I can see why you believed what you did.” He sounds defeated, which no. No. Tim is not letting this happen.

Standing, Tim sets aside his coffee and kneels in front of Jason, resting his hands over the man’s gloved ones and forcing him to look at him. This close, the lenses in his mask are disconcerting, but Tim knows Jason’s eyes are on him. “We’re both idiots,” he pronounces. “Doing everything ass backwards from the way we should have.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fucked up,” Jason tries, but Tim shushes him.

“Me neither. But I think we have a good reason to want to do this right. If you want to, that is.” Tim trails off, his momentary boldness tapering into uncertainty.

Jason grabs hold of his hands, holding them firmly in his gloved ones. “I want to. Christ, I want to. But the risks…Tim, already the thought of something happening to you hurts like hell. If we go further…”

Tim raises their joined hands and presses a kiss into the material of Jason’s gloves. “I understand. Just know that I’m willing to take those risks. But really, the choice is yours, not mine. What you do, who you are…it’s all so much bigger than just me.” His confidence shocks him, even if it is nice to know he can bring it out when he needs to, despite the less than stellar circumstances.

“I need some time to think.”

“I respect that.” Tim tries to stand, but Jason rises along with him and draws him in close, pressing his forehead against the top of Tim’s head.

“Tim, this isn’t good-bye. I will let you know what I decide. And in person because you deserve that much, even if it’s not what either of us want.”

It’s more than Tim can reasonably expect. “I appreciate it.”

Jason pulls back a bit and runs his fingers over Tim’s cheeks, seemingly memorizing the planes of his face. “I’ll see you soon.” He leans in and presses a brief kiss against Tim’s mouth.

And then he’s gone, vanishing into the night.

#chibinightowl writes #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Bruce Wayne #JayTim #Bakery!AU

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domesticangel · 6 years ago

Photo

here’s a big ol dump of art thats been sitting in my folders for anywhere between 1-3 years that at this point ill probably never finish to accompany some Really Long rambling under the cut

im a junior in college now (””should be”” a senior/whatever that means/since i took a gap year but) but when i was in my like....sophomore-senior years of high school i drew like.....every. freaking. day. like literally i feel like i would draw like, 1 or 2 fully fleshed out, give-all-my-attention to type drawings every single day of my life, and i always had so much fun doing it.

after having a while to self-reflect though ive concluded theres kind of some layers to this. because i figure theres at least a little romanticization of the past going on, because i KNOW i wasn't a very happy person in high school; in fact, mental health wise, late high school into my freshman year of college was probably my very lowest point. i did lack motivation at these points, but not for drawing; i kind of put off school work and college prep, which wasn't good, but drew like HELL every single day, and pretty much all of it was fan art. thats one of the main differences between me then and me now; i used to dedicate so much of my time and energy to “fandom” and the media i was into, and it totally fueled my desire to draw, whereas now, i obviously still enjoy different series, but... my life doesn't really revolve around them like it used to.

the way i see it, i think i definitely used to use media and fandom participation as a form of escapism, but not really the good kind... i think it was more of a maladaptive obsession i failed to keep in check that i know for a fact really got in the way of my schoolwork, and i only doubled down when it came time to apply to colleges, because of course that stressed me out and scared me; during times like that, which was almost always due to my mental health issues at the time, i clung to fandom because its what brought me comfort and kind of shielded me from my responsibilities.

either way, that obsession with whatever media i was into at any given time is also what i think gave me that desire to draw all the time that i miss so much. i think being THAT invested in something is what actually gave me the constant desire to create, and being able to create something and feel accomplished in something without having to face anything uncertain or scary kept me totally hooked. so its weird trying to parse how i feel about that time period in my life.

on one hand, my mental health has gotten SO much better. obviously ive matured a lot since high school, so over time ive learned about much better coping mechanisms and ideas about mental health, ive gotten on a medication that works for me, and ive really gotten into my major so I'm really enjoying school as well. and obviously this is progress that i would never, ever, just want to give up or throw away. however, its also this progress that seems to have inadvertently influenced how often i draw, because I'm no longer fully diving into media/fandom because i dont need that escapism anymore, and therefore i don't have this like, feverish, obsession-fueled desire to draw like i used to. its kind of a double edged sword i guess and something i don't have a clear answer to.

i also think another factor i can't ignore is that i used to have a very large following in a lot of fandoms on tumblr, and if i remember correctly before i deleted my old tumblr i had around 12,000 followers that i had accumulated over probably the course of about 5 years. so that meant that my fan art got a LOT of attention. not to sound like hur-de-blur-social-media-is-evil but like at least in my personal experience, i kind of taught myself to think, “your art is only worth something if it gains a huge, instantaneous reaction, and peoples’ reaction to your art is the ONLY thing that decides its value.” and thinking like that really has hurt how i feel about my art over time! often times, after deleting my tumblr, i would find myself thinking, “well whats the point in doing any art, because nobodys going to see it anyway” so i honestly didn't draw or feel anything for art for a long, long time. in that time i channeled my feelings and energy into much more harmful activities, and i really could've used art at the time, but it had become such a worthless concept in my head since i could no longer associate it with immediate praise and attention.

i forgot a lot of important things about art, most importantly, how it could be fulfilling to just ME and that that was ok. i forgot that drawing regularly would help me improve, or give me something to focus on when i felt down, or give me the power to create something when i felt like i messed up everything else around me, or just make me happy because i thought of something i wanted to put on paper and then just put it on paper. and thats one of the main reasons i created this tumblr; i want to kind of rekindle that passion i had for art, but this time, without the maladaptive obsessions and without the need for approval from everyone around me. and i know this isn't a unique struggle; i know lots of artists who share their work online get discouraged by how little attention their work gets after they put so much time and effort into it, and like them, i don't have an answer as to how to “fix” this feeling either. but i can at least try. i want to prove to myself that the time i spent feeling hopeful and happy about something i created justifies its entire existence regardless of now many notes it gets, whether its OCs, fan art, digital, traditional, whatever. i just want to learn how to draw because it makes me happy.

that said, finding the motivation can be hard. however, i think I'm sometimes a little too hard on myself. I'm on winter break right now, and ive kind of defaulted to thinking “you haven't drawn enough, you've wasted so much time wishing the motivation fairy would visit you and make you draw that you haven't put in the time and effort needed to make yourself do it, youre pissing away every chance you have.” but when i think about it, i don't think thats true.

ive spent a lot of time thinking about OCs recently, which is kind of wild, because i haven't had the desire to make OCs in probably literally ten freakin years, so thats honestly huge for me--i actually really WANT to make original content despite the fact that i know it won't get as much attention as fan art, and i want to just do it for me, because i want to get it out. ive done a whole character sheet and I'm working on another! and sure, it didn't take me half a day like it maybe used to would've, but what does that matter? i thought, hey, i wanna get this out, and i got it out, and thats good enough for me. ive even written up storyboards in case i wanna ever make some small comics about my OCs just for fun, which is exciting cause ive never done it before. ive also been working on a commission for a close friend who wanted me to design her a fursona, and not only has it been a really fun process, but its the first commission ive done in a really, really long time, and it feels really rewarding. on top of that, I'm working on a painting for my dad as a late christmas present, and its my first really ambitious traditional piece in a while, so thats been pretty exciting too. and sure, ive done some fan art, but it feels like its coming from a better place; its less “please assign me value” and more just, really feeling something for the characters and wanting to try to connect with other people who feel something for those characters as well.

so, while it seems challenging, i also need to remind myself not to be blind to my own progress. i think i am doing better, and feeling better about art even if sometimes it feels like i spend way more time thinking about doing art instead of actually doing it. i think thats probably normal, and i think i can keep heading in the right direction.

ANYWAY this got really long but sometimes typing out how i feel about something and then reading it back helps me understand my own head a little better, so thats ok

#art #theres some scattered tf2 stuff in here but its mostly old tf2 ocs so

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mothraballs · 6 years ago

Photo

Sketchbooks From Over The Last Seven Years

I have a box of sketchbooks and random sketches that I’ve been adding to since I was about 12. Today I went through it all and I decided I’d make a post about it because. idk. why not I guess? So obviously its not every page of every book but like if anyone wants to go through about 7 years of bad sketchbooks and loose sketches and doodles its under the cut. Some nudity

.Going through this sucked a little because like who in the world ever wants to go through their middle school art??? Its hard not to get rid of that stuff because like not only does it suck but it makes me remember middle school and things like anime club and like. ew. But it’s nice to see how much less I suck at this, even if i’m not nearly as talented as I’d like to be. It also makes me sad to think of art i’ve lost, even if it was bad. I don’t have pretty much anything that I did digitally from like age 13-16 because I either deleted it or lost it when a computer broke because i didnt back that up since I didnt think id care but l kinda wish I still had some of that stuff, just like to compare improvement over such a big time period.

I wanted to find some of my actual finished art to post with this, but I couldn’t find it today, so it’s only sketchbook stuff (but I dont finish a lot of things anyway lol). Maybe I’ll make another post comparing old things I actually finished with new stuff once I can find it because I know it’s around here somewhere anyway heres sketchbooks!!

This is from 7th grade, so I guess I was 12. It’s god fucking awful, complete with drawings of memes (which I will spare u from), slenderman fan art, and a weird message about my middle school bike, which I still have in my garage, being stolen, which it never was. And the brakes do work.

why

This one is also from when I was 12, but it’s only about 1/4 of the way full.

i think i had a mental brakedown here lmao

@douche-mccoosh ‘s sexy page

This one was either from 7th-8th grade or just in 8th grade. Idk. Either way I was probably 13 years old. Just a warning: Mlp fan art starts here

1 (ONE) wolf

idk what this is supposed to be honestly

long forgotten OC

This one was also from when I was 13

I had this from age 13-14, I started drawing digitally a LOT more around age 14, so I guess I wasnt rly using my sketchbook as much

this was like straight copied from a piece I saw at an art magnet school I applied to (obviously I didnt get in lmfao) and I really did not understand how dark I needed to make the paper in some spots. And then I never finished it

A pony OC... she was a robot ok

I think I had this one age 14-15. The paper ended up being translucent so I stopped using it early on. Im kinda glad I didn’t fill it up because that actually might be kinda useful to me now

Sweet notes from @lmkno

This one wasn’t in the picture on the top bc I found it later. I think I might also be missing like 1 other one too tbh but oh well lol I think I had it when I was 15? really stopped drawing like a lot around this time, I wasn’t doing digital stuff either cuz my computer was broken at the time

This is also about when I stopped throwing away every single thing i drew on a loose piece of paper, so here’s some random sketches from the general timeframe

First sketches of my OCs Vonn, the fish man and Elliot, the girl with pigtails

Some of my art I’ve sorted correlating to the OC’s and the universe they belong in or whatever so here’s some OC’s that sort of came about around that time, some of the pictures are from when I was older though

Ginger

the TV head robot guy was named Seven

the guy with the fuckin,, circle head and weird face is Wolfgang, I still draw him a lot today but ive changed how he looks a l o t

I had this age 15-16, so like 2014-15. Maybe early 2016? There’s a lot of blank pages and scribbled out things. I

Wolfgang again

fukkin,,,, gaye ass furry roleplay oc

Sketches on loose paper from the time I think??? I honestly cant tell when all of these are from but they’re gonna go here.

first design of an OC named Eryl

A random D20 character

Eryl

Early drawings of an OC named Lucy Lucy Lucy Lucy Lucy Lucy Lucy Lucy Lucy aka Lucy Ninetimes

Lucy & Wolfgang

And heres more stuff I had sorted by OCs/universe or whatever

main OCs here are Pidgenfinger, with the blue or possibly stylistic black hair, and Chrissy, shes like. A mouse or something

main OCs here are Roland and Ansel, they were like siamese twins and then one of them died at birth and now this guy just has a ghost twin idk it was stupid

Finally we’re at the point that my phone started recognizing faces in my sketchbook. I had this one age 17, i might have started it like right before I turned 17?

Lucy & Wolfgang

Vonn and Elliot on the right side of the page

Pidgenfingersa

Roland & Ansel

Dont Starve fanart on the right

Elliot on the right

Lucy on the bottom left

Vonn & Elliot on this page too

Lucy & Wolfgang, this is dumb but w/e

Von, Elliot, and another OC, Eryl. The lady with horns never got a name

Random Sketches

Lucy

Wolfgang

I got this sketchbook a few months after id turned 18 if i remember correctly

Lucy, but decapitated

Lucy

Lucy again

Lucy yet again

Lucy!!!!!!!!!!

Wolfgang

(and Lucy)

I got this sketchbok as a gift from my wonderful boyfriend @the-lost-professor early january of this year, so technically when I was 18, I’m now 19

Eryl on bottom right

Stuff I did for mermay

some random sketches

My current sketchbok ft. Tsu This one was also a gift from my boyfriend ♥ I got it late June of this year

Wolfgang

Lucy

Wolfgang

Lucy

Wolfgang and Leah, and OC that i made a long ass time go and I dont have the original picture but I redrew her

Wolfgangs and Lucys

Eryl on the left

The last thing I did for mermay, which I technically finished after may ended

Lucy

and the most recent page! With Lucy and Wolfgang on the right

uhhhhhhhhh

im really fucking hungry now and im gonna go eat bye

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theharlequinwriter · 6 years ago

Text

He’s Just like you.

Summary : you and sam have a bad fight causing you to leave not knowing your pregnant and its a couple years later

Word count : 2,720

triggers: swearing.

“Dean wheres sam”

I stood on my tip toes looking over deans shoulder looking for my tall boyfriend sam.

“He took of with that demon bitch”

I gritted my teeth.

“Ruby” I hated her more than anything , I knew that she was lying to us about helping dean outta going to hell but of course we couldn’t took a damn angel to save him. I hated how much sam trusted her , I feel like he would chose her over me , so I avoided the question during fights. I sat back on the couch grabbing my food from the brown bag dean had.

“You okay y/n?”

“Im fine why?”

“You seem upset lately maybe a little bitchy”

I pushed deans arm , taking a bite of my burger. We sat watching movies until at least midnight when sam finally came back in the door. Dean and I both turned now looking at sam who stood there as if he had just gotten off work.

“Where were you sam?”

“With ruby babe”

He walked by grabbing his salad pecking me on the cheek. I heard more footsteps and in walks in the demon herself ruby.

“Why the hell are you here demon bitch”

“Watch you’re tone with me hunter skank”

I walked around the couch coming face to face with ruby.

“Lets go bitch”

I pushed her back , sam came grabbing my hand leading me to the kitchen.

“What the hell y/n”

“Really sam”

“What?”

“You brought her here knowing how I feel about her”

“Shes helping me”

“I can help you sam”

“Not like she can”

“Are you sleeping with the bitch or something”

“What no”

“Then what the hell sam , why am I getting the 3rd degree here”

“Shes helping me y/n more than you or dean ever could”

“Wow sam I stayed with you even after dean went to hell ,I stayed when I found out you’re a demon blood junkie , I stayed even when she came” “No one asked you too y/n”

His hands now clenching into fist.

“I didnt ask you to stay , you did that all on your own”

“What was I gonna do sam , let you go y2k on everyone and everything?”

“I dont know y/n but it would of been easier if you just left”

“Really why so you could fuck her without feeling guilty after , oh im sorry I mean "helping” you"

“Actually you know what y/n yes okay yes im fucking ruby ,ya happy now , wanna know why? Cause she doesnt bitch all the time , she doesnt need me to protect her , id rather her have my back at least I can depend on her”

“SAM!”

dean yelled stepping between us.

I felt my heart shatter In pieces, I felt tears forming , I didnt want him to see me cry.

I walked away still hearing him yell at dean about how ruby is better for him than me , how maybe I should just go. I went to our room grabbing everything I could , smashing pictures as I walked around the room.

“Okay sam , hope your happy”

I walked away grabbing my bag and a little money. I gave dean a hug then I walked out the door not looking back.

I finally got to a cheap hotel where I got a single bed for the weekend. I walked inside falling onto the bed tears falling down my face. How could he say that. I took a shower , getting out my phone had a text from dean.

-hey y/n think it finally hit sam your not coming back , he might try call ya Ill let you know if he does anything stupid and dont worry about ruby ill gank her soon-

I didn’t reply i want sam to worry to realize im not going back.

Its been two months since I left, i decided I need to get a apartment in a little town where supernatural things didn’t occur. I went into the little market buying some food and shampoo oh and pregnancy test.

I got home taking the test , it came back positive only one guy could be the father.

Sam.

I havent slept with anyone else or even looked at another guy I still loved sam.

*TWO YEARS LATER*

“Mommy , mommy look”

I got down on knees taking the drawing out of ethans hand.

My son ethan looks just like his father , he has his eyes and hair , his laugh , smile. He makes me miss sam everyday.

“Thats amazing baby , what is it”

Looking at the drawings it was a very tall person with a cape and what look like dogs.

“Its daddy , you said hes saving people from devil dogs , silly mommy”

I put it on the frige placing him in his seat. I gave him his lunch , he always wanted to know about sam ever since he had a play date with a kid who had both his parents. I told him sam was off saving the world from monsters like ghost and devil dogs. He always asked if his daddy was coming home or will he ever see him.

He was so smart for a child his age. After lunch I asked if he wanted to go to the park to play and feed the ducks.

We got in the car buckling ethan into his seat. When got to the park , ethan took off for the swings. I sat on a bench close enough to see but not so close I can’t see my surroundings. Im still a hunter after all. Ethan was playing tag with some of his friends when another mom came and sat next to me.

“Hey y/n , how are you”

“Im fine susan ,how are you”

“Honestly a little shook up , some fbi agents came to the house asking about murders”

“Creepy”

“Oh my thats them”

She pointed her finger over at two men in suits , walking twords us. I brushed my hair into my face , I turned to her but she was already gone. As they got closer I could hear them banter back and forth.

“Excuse me miss may we ask you some questions”

I sat up looking up at the man who spoke.

“Hi sam”

His jaw dropped as I spoke to him , I flashed a smile , I jumped up hugging dean before reaching out offering sam a hug. He pulled me in hugging me tightly his hands rested on my lower back. I pulled away still having the smell of him fill my nose

“So what’s going on , I havent heard about any murders”

Dean spoke when sam just stood there with a big smile across his face.

“Happend in the 80’s thinking its a wendigo who went quite”

“You guys still gotta gank it nice or not a monsters a monster right”

“Right”

Dean winked at me before sam cut in.

“So uhh whats new”

“A little this , a litte that”

I didnt tell him about ethan, I didnt need a absent father in his life Sam kept glancing at the ground then back at me.

“We ganked ruby”

“Oh im sorry ”

“Im not ,she was tricking me”

“Oh well cant trust anyone I guess”

“Ive missed you y/n”

“I miss you too sam”

His smile grew bigger.

“Maybe we can get a drink tonight and talk”

“I can’t im sorry”

“Oh you got a boyfriend or something?”

“No ”

Dean now trying to help his brother spoke now giving me his best charm.

“Why dont the three of us go get a drink and talk about getting the band back together”

“Id love to you guys but I cant”

Sam was about to protest when ethan came running from the playground.

“Mommy , mommy I caught a bug”

I picked him up sitting him on my hip.

“Let me see”

He opend his hand showing a dead cricket"

“Its dead hun”

“I know silly mommy , it was scaring lisa so I saved her , like how daddy saved you from monsters”

I kissed his cheek putting him back down , crouching down I grabbed his hand.

“Go say bye we gotta go home”

He smiled running off to say bye, I stood up sam and dean both wide eyed and speechless. I waved my hand in front of sams face making him snap out of his trance.

“You have a a a a son?”

“Yea his names ethan”

Sam stayed speachless watching ethan run back to us.

Ethan stood by my side , gripping my pant leg tightly. Sam crouched down pulling out his fake fbi badge.

“Hi im sam”

Ethan grabbed his badge.

“Im ethan”

“Tell him your full name ethan”

ethan tucked his head into my leg before looking back at sam smiling.

“My name is Ethan Samuel Winchester”

Sams head shot up looking at me, he stood up trying to figure out what to say.

“Ethan hunny dont forget your toy”

He ran back to the swings where his toy dragon sat in the sand. Sam finally spoke.

“Is he mine?”

“Yes sam , hes your son”

“When did you find out"

"Maybe a month and a half after I left”

“Why didnt you call?”

“Didnt think you would care”

I could see tears filling up his eyes. Ethan walked over , picking him up I gave sam and dean quick hugs before walking to my car , shaky and on the verge of tears.

*sams pov*

Dean and I just killed off the 90 year old wendigo. Dean decided we had a crazy day so the bar was the perfect place to go. We sat down at a table near the back , dean ordered 6 shots of whiskey , 3 for each , and two beers one for each. As we drank my mind kept snapping back to y/n and our son.

“Sammy?”

I snapped out of my day dream to dean cheersing me with his shot.

“So you’re a daddy sam”

“Im not a dad im just the biological father , I wasnt there for anything”

Dean downed his other two shots , so did I. He raised he hand asking for 3

More rounds. We were in the middle of our 3 or was it 5th round with jack when I finally yelled.

“Why the fuck didnt she call me dean? Ya know just be like oh hey sam im pregnant with your child just fyi or a text something”

“You told her to go sam , told her you wanted ruby , that you were cheating on her with ruby , that you wished she left , you made her feel worthless , unloved , unwanted , you were so jacked up on demon blood you didnt care when she walked out the door”

I buried my face in my hands , dean was right , it was my fault she never came back or called , I dont blame her for hiding him from me.

Dean cleared his throat.

“She clearly tells the kid about you”

I looked up at him , feeling tears build behind my eyelids.

“What?”

“She tells the kid about you I mean you didnt hear him say he saved the girl from the bug like his daddy saved her”

My heart beat hard agianst my chest. I had to see her ,tell her everything. I stood up but dean pushed me back into my seat.

“2 more rounds”

After we drank I felt the room spinning , my thoughts jumbled between y/n and ethan , and more alcohol. I walked outside feeling the cold air hit my face.

“Cas!”

I yelled when I heard the sound of wings I turned to see 3 cas’s , he spoke but I couldn’t hear him.

“T-t-t take me to y/n”

Next thing I knew I was infront of a little white house.

*y/n pov*

*BANG BANG*

I ran to the door , it was 2 am who the hell is banging at my door this late. I opened the door to find a very drunk , very sad sam.

“Sam?”

He smiled pulling me to his chest.

“Y/n!!”

I took him inside sitting him on the couch handing him a water bottle.

“Sam what are you doing here?”

“This right here ”

He patted his hands on the couch.

“Is where im meant to be”

“Sam please dont”

“Please just listen”

I sat next to him making sure we didnt touch.

“Y/n im so sorry for how I acted , for what I s s s said , ruby was a lying bitch just l l like you said. She tricked me into horrible things I never had sex with her , I never even looked at her like that , I was so junked up on demon blood that I didnt see that you were what I needed , w w what I need baby.”

I saw tears falling from his eyes now when he spoke.

“Baby you are my world , and we have a son , , I dont blame you for keeping him from me, but I I can’t , wont miss anymore of his life or yours , I need you back y/n , im so sorry so so so sorry”

He was now full on crying , I could tell dean had gotten him drunk so he could say how he felt. He looked back at me , his eyes blood shot and his breath smelling of whiskey.

“He has your eyes sam”

“Really?”

“Yeah , he is just like you more and more everyday”

I felt tears falling down my face.

“Sam you can come back but you have to be here , I wont let you hurt ethan”

“I wont ever hurt eaither of you”

His hands grabbed mine pulling me to him so now I was sitting on his lap facing him. He put one of his hands on my lower back while the other rested on my cheek. He closed the gap between us his lips gently touching mine. I kissed back running my hands through his hair making the kiss deeper.

“Ive missed you so much sam”

I helped him upstairs ,letting him sleep in my bed. As I layed next to him , he wrapped his hands around my waist pulling me into his spooning me.

“Does ethan know about me?”

“Yeah he knows you and dean hunting monsters like ghost and demons but he thinks your a superhero”

I heard his laugh as we fell asleep. I woke up before sam untangling myself from him. I walked downstairs where ethan sat watching his morning cartoons. I called him over to the kitchen sitting him in his chair I went to the frige grabbing things for pancakes.

“Mommy what’s wrong?”

Ethan looked at me smiling

“Nothing baby”

I walked away from my mixing bowl picking ethan up sitting him on my hip. Grabbing my wallet I took the picture of me sam and dean out handing it to him.

“That right there is your uncle dean , hes really brave and the tall guy thats your daddy sam he’s my hero”

Ethan smiled holding the picture, I walked into the kitchen sitting him down on the floor. I heard steps coming from upstairs.

“Ethan hun I have a surprise for you”

His head snapped up looking at me with wonder.

“What is it mommy?”

“I want you to look at that picture real close”

As he squinted his eyes , sam came down standing at the walk way into the kitchen.

“Now ethan look up”

Ethan looked up from the picture , as his eyes met sam , the biggest smile formed across his face.

“DADDY!!!”

he ran over grabbing sams legs as sam picked him up.

“Daddy your back!”

Sam hugged him tears falling down his face. His eyes locked onto mine.

“Daddys home now ethan”

After breakfast dean came over so ethan could know his family. As sam and I did dishes his hands grabbed my hips spining me around so now I was face to face with him.

“Y/n I wanna be a family”

“We are sam”

“I wanna make it offical”

He reached into his pocket pulling out a ring.

“I know its not much but will you marry me ?”

“Yes sam oh my lord yes”

He kissed me , my hands tangled in jis hair as we parted I could hear ethan and dean.

“Ew mommy and daddy are kissing”

“I know right gross”

I smiled at sam , knowing he will always be there for ethan and I

#Littlebrothersammyimagines #sam winchester imagines #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader

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uniformbravo · 6 years ago

Text

an Post about Me (my day)

i got a new phone case today ok bc like my old one was just a clear soft plastic, v minimal & functional, but ive had it for like 3 yrs so it had gone all gross n yellow w/ age and handling & it was totally falling apart & i wasnt in a hurry to get a new one just yet but my mom surprised me today w/ a new one & it’s like. it’s basically the same but black and opaque & im not gonna fuckin lie my phone looks so fuckin good now oh my god i cant get over it every time i look at it im so?? i love it??? it’s so Sleek like im not one 2 ever call electronics sexy but hoooooo

i thought i was losing my fucking mind today bc i could not remember what nagisa’s motif animal was??? i was literally running through every aquatic animal i could think of in my mind i was picturing those medley relay scenes where theyre swimming n the animals appear but nothing was fuckin coming up for nagisa like it was Bad & i didnt wanna look it up bc i was using my phone for yt & didnt wanna lose my place in the playlist i was on like it was a whole goddamn Thing & then i also didnt wanna Give In bc i Knew i would kick myself the second i found out what it was from it being so obvious i was fuckin. ive never blanked so hard in my life i was like i should KNOW this shit i was THERE what is this Amateur Hour what the FUCk, for 5 fuckin minutes & then when it Finally fuckin hit me it was like a full on arin hanson kinda moment where i just yelled “PENGUIN” in the middle of my living room it was. a journey

this is gonna sound dumb af but ok so every time i get into a new fandom i get rly anxious the first time i try to draw for it, like i feel so stupid trying to draw these new characters n i know the only way to get good at drawing them is to, u know, actually Draw them but for some reason i still always feel like a Fool for even trying so like. that’s a hurdle i have to get over every time i wanna start drawing fanart for a new Thing I Like so you would THINK that if i was gonna go back to drawing for an old fandom i fell out of but have now come back to, like free for example, that wouldnt be an issue right?? like ive already drawn these fools before this should be a piece of cake??? except that like. free came out 5 years ago & to put it lightly my art has improved a Lot since then. free was also my first like, actual anime fandom?? up until that point i’d only been drawing fanart of real people & actors n shit so it was like stylizing a real human, right. so i remember being really intimidated by the thought of trying to draw these anime boys bc holy shit the art style already looked so good how could i possibly convert this into my style, no matter what i did it would be a downgrade right. taking Really Lovely Art & squashing it down to accommodate my limited abilities at the time so i was never really happy with any of the fanart i did back then & i think thats why i was so nervous to draw them again today?? like i sat down w/ my sketchbook, did a little warmup thing (not free), & then just kinda went huh bc like. i know i love doing fanart of the things i love & i know i love free so i knew the logical thing here would be to draw free fanart but i was rly hesitant to try it & almost chickened out, but i stuck through it & drew a haru & then from there i started having ideas for More stuff to draw which turned into a lil series that i want to make & im!!! so glad i got myself to get over that hurdle of First Fanart Anxiety bc if i had just stayed in my comfort zone i wouldnt be working on this new project & i wouldnt have all these sketches im actually rly happy with like! i rly like how today’s drawings came out!! ive honestly been in such a rut w/ art lately & i think this is exactly what i needed to dig myself out & get myself excited to draw again so!! im rly happy!!! today was a Good Day

#retag later #today posts #ok ive been watching a lot of vine comps lately (50 yrs late as usual)#& i swear 2 god literally every time i made some kind of mistake while drawing today my hell brain kept going #''whaddup im rieley im 23 & i never fucking learned how to draw'' EVERY TIME #(i wasn't using reference so it was A Lot Of Times)

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multiversejosephbradshaw · 4 years ago

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final evaluation

for our multiverse theme, I was really inspired by the idea of a passageway through time, or a tunnel that links the past and the future. I looked at Viktor & Rolf’s FW 2016 runway, where they used old scraps and rags from their past projects to create their garments, creating an immersive journey through moments in their career. I thought looking at the theme ‘multiverse’ in a more metaphorical, meaningful way was very interesting, so I decided to reference Viktor & Rolf’s time capsule-like garments in my own, by adding scraps and rags of black fabric to represent the ‘chaos’ side of my dress.

I wanted to make sure my garment didn't fall short for the M.A.R.S (maths, art, religion, science) part of our theme, so I spent a lot of time deciding how I should link it all together. For maths, art, and science I machine-embroidered a geometric block pattern all over the ‘order’ side of the dress, inspired by artist and quilt maker Yoshiko Jinzenji, whose minimalistic, yet detailed quilts communicate order like nothing else. I also wanted the geometric pattern to look like living cells of a plant or animal, with little organelles inside. For the ‘religion’ part of my theme I looked at the ancient Chinese philosophy of Yin and Yang, which is a concept of dualism, where contrasting forces are said to actually be interconnected and complimentary. this also fits in with ‘order & chaos’ because in the real world, order & chaos come as a pair, all order was born out of chaos, and you can never have one, without the other. to communicate the idea of Yin and Yang, I made sure to make opposing sides of my dress black and white, and I made the dividing line waved instead of strait to mimic the Yin and yang symbol.

From all the 2D processes that I did in this project, I think doing an artist copy of Jinzenji’s quilt embroidery was the most effective, as it really gave me an idea as to what direction I wanted to go in the the ‘order’ half, and it also features very prominently in my final garment. I also think that the ‘fashion rough’ task really helped me loosen up and stop overthinking my designs and ideas. I had never drawn that many designs at once, and I found it really challenging at first because I wanted every design to be the best, but it made me realise that its all about experimenting, and finding out what works and what doesn't. Drawing out my final design idea was really effective in helping me decide what to do next because seeing a fully conceptualised version of my idea allowed me to go back and refine details and make it even better. some 2D processes that I didn't think were so effective for me were the mathematical grid mirrored designs we did. I didn't like the colours I used, and the lighting gave it a yellow tone which didn't look very clean or professional. It just wasn't where I wanted my final piece to go. I loved my ‘positive and negative space’ paintings, I used gouache paints which are really pigmented and easy to work with, and I spent a lot of time filling in all the details, which I think was worth the effort. they came out really clean, looking almost abstract until you notice what the paintings actually are.

out of all the 3D processes I did in this project, I'd say that draping was the most effective. I had never tried draping before, and a chose to make a very simple dress because I don't have any experience in constructing clothes yet. I really enjoyed draping my garment, because it was really satisfying making the fabric fit the mannequin perfectly, and it was a lot easier than I was expecting. I really enjoyed the whole process of making the dress, like pattern cutting, embroidery, and sewing, my main interest is learning how to construct garments, and although this dress is very simple, I still feel like I've learned a lot. I also love the ‘interstellar wormhole/wearable sculpture’ task I did, i loved the shapes and curves the tights naturally made, I would of loved to have included it in my final piece, but I couldn't work out how to include it in a garment without it getting scrunched up because of the elasticity. Although I like how my pop up constellation turned out, I don't think it was very effective in terms of helping me towards my final piece, as I didn't explore star signs and horoscopes to represent the ‘religion’ part of my theme.

I created a video to show the process of making my final piece from start to finish by making a Tiktok. I wanted to do this because it was an easy way to cut and edit a video quickly, and add music in the background. I wanted a clear story of how the dress was constructed, which I think I achieved. I like the transitions I put into the video, I think it makes the whole process look very seamless (even though it wasn’t) and flow well.

In terms of heath and safety, there wasn't a huge concern because I didn't have access to any serious machinery or tools such as a heat press that could pose a real heath risk, but I still has to consider things such as being careful not to catch my fingers in the sewing machine. To achieve this, I made sure not to use the sewing machine when I was tired or unfocused. I pricked my self a lot with needles and pins, but there was no way I was going to avoid this, especially with the amount of beading I was doing. I also had to make sure not to cut myself with scissors, but at the time I wasn't really thinking about health and safety, its almost second nature.

I faced a lot of limitations while making this dress, especially because of covid. I didn't have any of the materials I needed, so I picked up a bag of supplies that was made for me from college, as well as buying my fabric from amazon. the fabric arrived very late, which meant I had some serious Time restraints. I'm lucky I live right next to the hardware store, I was in and out of there frequently, buying pins, needles, beads, thread, zips etc. I leaned how to drape my dress from YouTube, which meant I did have to have a couple tries before I got it perfect. the most challenging moment was when i realised I spent hours and hours embroidering and beading the wrong panel of my dress, and I had to throw it away.

I really love my final outcome, it looks exactly like the design I drew, and I think its clear that a lot of time and concentration went into creating it. I think I did a really good job of connecting it to all the themes while still sticking to a strong concept. if I were to make it again, I would add more textures and shades of black to the chaos side, I think it would look much better if it wasn't all made out of the same black fabric. I would also add more black strips on the shoulder and hip to give it even more volume. I would also love to have made it on a different mannequin, as my one doesn't have a lot of shape, and with the rag rug design, I had a hard time making the dress keep it’s silhouette.

Ive struggled a lot with time management and organisation while working a home, I find it really hard to say concentrated when I'm surrounded with so many distractions. Its something I need to work on, this was the first time I've had to do a project completely from home, and think it was important for me to see what I'm like working in a home environment so I can see what I need to change for next time. I've always struggled with committing fully to and idea or concept, because a lot of the time I second guess myself and struggle with feeling confident in my skills. this project has taught me not to take things so serious, to improvise, and that it okay for everything not to be 100% perfect.

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manonblckbeak · 7 years ago

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Temptation: Part VI

wow. whoa, what? Gin’s actually finally posting another part of temptation?

okay, kidding aside, i just wanted to say how sorry i am about the time it took to post this. i explained before that i was going through some weird things in my life and i wasn’t feeling any of my writing and to be honest i didn’t want to post anything for you guys if i didn’t actually love it. i’m better now, and i managed to write something i’m really proud of and i hope you guys like it! Thanks to @nightcourthighlordrhysand for everything really.

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V

As winter grew colder and Christmas drew closer, Feyre dove into her art projects like they were her only means of survival. She knew she should use this time, this magical time of year to get closer yet to her friends, but after that day at Hiems… she just didn’t trust herself around Rhys. Didn’t trust herself to make the right calls, to be strong, to keep her heart safe.

So she did homework, practiced her drawing and her painting and her sketching, but never, not even as she realized the very thing that was supposed to keep her mind off of him had betrayed her once more—not even as she realized she had drawn his face, his body, his lips—thought of him.

It was for the best. This, all this, was for the best. She knew where the road that lead her to him would take her, and it was not a peaceful or pretty place.

And it was not selfish, she had come to realize. Because she was no longer thinking about herself, no longer thinking about how much she would hurt and bleed and suffer. No, not at all. She thought of him, of how she would ruin a… piece of art. Rhys—Rhys was so pure, so perfect—like a painting: splashes of colors and feelings and pain. And she couldn’t add up to that. Couldn’t change it, no matter how much she wanted to…

No. She wouldn’t go down that road.

Feyre sighed, dropping the charcoal she had been drawing with. She could start to make out an elegant face on the paper beneath it, the lines on it beautiful and strong. Again. She had done it again. With a growl of irritation, Feyre ripped out the page off her drawing pad—which, if she was to be honest, had seen better days. She had been doing this too much lately.

Dropping the balled up paper in the trashcan beside the desk, Feyre stood up, arching her back in an effort to stretch cramped up muscles. She wondered for a moment when Mor would be back, if she would find her asleep again, if she would complain the next morning about how they never got to spend time together anymore.

Things between her roommate and her had been… complicated since the visit to Hiems. She’d tried at first. After all Mor had told her, after what she had shared as well, it had seemed like they would be stronger than ever, but—Mor could relentless in trying to make things right. And right for her wasn’t the same as it was for Feyre.

So she had started to avoid her, avoid her plots and plans, her matchmaking, her efforts that, despite seeming well-intentioned and harmless, could hurt her so deeply. And with avoiding Mor, came avoiding Azriel, Amren, Cassian and, of course, Rhysand.

And she had never felt so lonely. This, this was what she had expected her life at Prythian Academy to be like. It was like the world was collapsing in on itself and she couldn’t help but stand in the middle of the crossfire.

She sighed again, checking her phone for the time. 7:30. Too early to go to bed yet, but definitely too late to go to the cafeteria for any remnants of dinner. Gods, what was she doing with her life? Mor was probably somewhere with the gang drinking the expensive wine she’d bought at Hiems—a never ending amount, it seemed, for she was always taking more and more and more from the bottom drawer of her closet. And yet, here she was: alone, unhappy, and fully aware that this—all of this—was her own choice.

She was about to put her phone away when the ringing tone sounded.

***

Feyre had come to fear the ringing of her phone. In the bitter, lonely weeks that followed Hiems, not once had Tamlin called, and yet, every time the damned thing buzzed, it was a near heart-stopping phenomena.

It was not that she disliked having the thing with her. The phone was a commodity, a privilege. It kept her company when humans did not. But even when said nightmare did not happen, the phone itself, old and battered, held so many memories. Photographs and messages and even a makeshift love letter typed into the notes of the phone, signed with “much love, Tamlin”.

It was a constant reminder of a life she did not want, did not need, did not deserve. But a reminder she kept close, for it let her know, with each touch of her skin against the cold screen, that love could be a poison. That love could be dangerous. That love could be wild and hurtful and tricky.

So when her phone rang, the buzzing sending shivers up and down her spine, she jumped. Because she wasn’t ready to keep the reminder that close to her heart. She wasn’t ready to talk to Tamlin again, especially not alone, not after everything she’d done to bring herself up from the blind panic he’d set her upon at Hiems.

But her fast breathing slowed down to a stop when she saw the number on the screen. For it was not Tamlin calling… But Nesta.

“H-hello?” Feyre said, hands trembling with the fear of yet another heart-breaking moment, another piece of news that could change her life as she knew it, another slap in the face. You know, figuratively.

“Hey, Feyre.” Her sister’s voice was as rough as she remembered. But oh, it was so nice to hear it. If not for the feeling of being home, for the simple reason that she had not talked, properly talked to another human being in so long. Weeks. It’d been weeks since she’d last had a conversation that hadn’t involved how absent she was or how her projects were going or what the fresh hell she was doing with her life. So, yes, the roughness and familiarity and just the fact that this was a simple, non-Rhysand related conversation was… nice. Very nice. “I trust you’re doing well?”

Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall out into the planes of her face. Oh, how simple it would be to tell the truth. How simple it would be to confess that everything had turned, most definitely, to shit, and she was not well, not in any way. But things were not simple. Life was not simple.

And so, she simply said, “Yes.” Feyre reached over to turn the light of her drawing table off, leaving only the room light on. She stood and walked over to her bed, throwing herself at the linen sheets before adding, “Yes, everything’s fine.”

“I’m glad. But Feyre,” Nesta said, voice sharp. “You haven’t called in months. Dad’s been worried sick. You don’t call, don’t answer our texts, even Dean Falsum seemed helpless trying to get ahold of you.”

Guilt buried itself deep inside of Feyre. She’d been trying so hard to make it all bearable for herself that she had forgotten about everyone else, it seemed. But she guessed she couldn’t pin it all on Tamlin or even Rhys. This was months of carelessness. This was just her avoiding her family for the very reason she was avoiding Mor: they, too, thought they knew what was best for her and she knew what was best for herself. “I’m sorry, Nesta.” She said quietly. “It’s just been… hard.”

“Yes, well,” Nesta seemed angry at her. Not that she could really blame her. Her sister could be a bitch sometimes, but she was nothing if not protective of her family. “It’s been hard for us, too, you know? Dad’s rarely ever around, and since you aren’t here anymore…” she sighed, as if reminding herself that that hadn’t exactly been Feyre choice for starters. “Since you aren’t here anymore, I have to take care of Elain.”

“How’s—”

“And your beau,” Nesta ground out. “He keeps coming around. Begging—begging for us to bring you home.”

Feyre trembled. Oh, Gods.

“I can’t take it, Feyre.” She said, and Feyre could swear she heard some desperation in her sister’s voice. “I can’t take it anymore. Elain’s scared to bits. The last time I had to call the cops on him.” There was a sigh here, and it sounded so tired, so distraught, that Feyre wondered for a second if it had been herself that had breathed it out. “I don’t deserve this, Elain doesn’t deserve this. We can’t keep suffering the consequences of your mistakes.”

“What—what are you saying?”

“It’s time for you to come home.”

***

Breakfast came all too soon.

But Feyre didn’t talk as she picked up her food. Didn’t speak as she tried, and failed, to eat, and stared out the window beside their usual table, and blatantly ignored everybody. Her mind was still reeling with Nesta’s words, with the promise in them, with what the future now held for her.

She went about her day as if everything was still the same, walking the halls of the Academy like a zombie out for brains. It had taken its time, but by now, the confusing halls made some sense to her. It wasn’t like she could trust Mor to be her guide anymore.

Art class was usually the one joy in her life these days, Alis being the one support she needed most. The teacher was so giving, so kind… But her mind was elsewhere today. Miles away, actually. Back where she could still hear Nesta’s voice calling, as if a hair’s breadth away, I don’t deserve this.

And she didn’t. Not really.

Nesta had never been the best sister, had never cared for her as she had obviously cared for Elain, but Feyre loved her all the same. She was her sister, Gods damn it. And she was right, she didn’t have to keep paying and paying for what was surely Feyre’s momentary lapse of judgement. No matter that it was much more than that. No matter that it was haunting her, turning her life into shit.

Because that, well that Feyre could deal with. She could deal with Tamlin ruining her life if it came to that. But her sisters… She had done too much to keep them healthy of mind and body and soul to lose them to him now. She had simply done too much. Tamlin could take her pride and her innocence and her youth, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t take her sisters.

She knew what she had to do. Because she knew how his mind worked, knew how guys like him ticked. It was simply a matter of how to do what was necessary, because she had pushed everyone away and now… now everything had just turned to shit. And she couldn’t do this alone. She knew this now. Together we stand, alone we fall and all that shit, right?

Right.

***

I need a favor.

Feyre didn’t look as Rhysand unfolded the note she threw at his desk, her rushed calligraphy shaky with the thought of what she was about to ask him. Out of her peripheral vision, she could see one groomed brow tilting upwards at the words before he wrote something down in his own notebook, ripped it out and threw it back at her.

So, you’re talking to me, now, are you?

Great. This was going to be phenomenal if this is how it was going to start out.

Rhys… Just, meet me in my dorm room after class. Please.

This time she did look. She stared deep into those violet orbs as they read the words scribbled into the note and the smirk on that exquisite face faded—just a tiny bit. Yes, they seemed to say to her. I will.

As the bell rang, Feyre didn’t bother getting a written confirmation that Rhys would show, trusting him out of pure will. She would have to trust him, or this wouldn’t work. Or this would just crumble into dust.

Gods, maybe she should’ve asked someone—anyone—else.

But, alas, now it was too late for that.

And she wouldn’t regret it. This was the obvious choice. She had something with Rhys, be it something she wanted or not. And she could work with that. That spark, that flame that sprung to life every time they touched… it would save her. It would save her sisters. Because if she knew something about people like Tamlin, if she knew something about territorial, abusive bastards was that they didn’t touch what was someone else’s.

***

“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Nine words. The first nine words that she said to him in weeks and they were… a mess. Gods, what was she playing at? What was she thinking? But no, she knew what she was doing, she reassured herself.

Still her gut felt like it was hanging out by a thread, and her head spun and she couldn’t think besides the feeling of second guessing every decision she had made since coming to Prythian Academy. She couldn’t help but think about how badly this could end, how incredibly wrong. Still she needed it. Needed it to work. Because if it didn’t… well, that wasn’t a choice.

“What?” Rhys was caught between laughing and staring incredulously at her, hand messing up his blue-black hair.

“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.” She repeated, walking her way around him to sit on the bed. She patted the space next to her for him to sit down and, when he didn’t move, sighed impatiently.

“No, I—” Rhys said. “I heard you the first time. I just can’t understand you around all the crazy of what you’re saying.”

Feyre laughed bitterly. Rhys thought about how much it didn’t suit her, that laugh, and for a second they were just two people having a normal conversation, before he remembered what they were actually talking about. “Well, the situation is a bit… crazy. So, what is it they say?” Feyre smiled sadly. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Oh? So dating me is desperate, now, is it?”

Feyre punched him lightly on the shoulder. “You know what I mean.” She rolled her eyes.

“Feyre, I—”

“No,” She said, begging him with her eyes, all blue and sad and woeful. “Please, Rhys. I need this.”

“But why?” Rhys finally sat down next to her, taking her hand in his, holding it tightly, like it would spill all her secrets. “What could you possibly gain from this? Everyone here at the Academy already kind of thinks of us as an Item. What could come of this?”

Feyre sighed. “That’s just it. I need you to come home with me.”

Rhys stared at her with his violet eyes, understanding and not. “You’re—you’re leaving?”

Feyre sighed, looking down. This—this was where it got complicated. If this didn’t work—and she had to be practical about this, because these were her sisters and she couldn’t leave any room for the unexpected, she had to work, had to think and feel and plan strategically—well, if this didn’t work, it’d come down to Feyre going back. For good.

She didn’t want it to come to that. She didn’t want to leave. As lonely as Prythian Academy had become, as much as she’d never wanted to come here in the first place, the thought of going home—going anywhere else besides right here, right next to this man besides her had become unbearable.

“Yes.”

Feyre was distracted. It was all Rhysand’s fault, really. All his damn fault. His damn eyes, and his damn lips, and his damn hands. She followed the lines of his face and how the light illuminated each inch of his sun kissed skin, down to his neck, to his collarbone, to the planes of his chest and the tattoos that lay beneath his shirt just a hair’s breadth away. Her breath trembled.

“Feyre?” He said, waving a hand in front of her face, startling her out of her reverie.

“Sorry,” Feyre sounded sheepish, almost shy as she blushed deep red, betrayed by her own thoughts. Her feelings were everywhere, it seemed. Splattered out into the world and crashed into nothingness, leaving her feeling empty and full all at once. She felt so afraid. For her, for her heart—for Rhys.

“When do we leave?” Rhysand asked. It was the first confirmation he’d given her that he’d actually go, and she could’ve sworn she had actually felt her heart skip a beat. So selfless, this man. So—giving. He had asked her nothing in return as she told her the story of her life with Tamlin. How they had met—in a school camp out in eighth grade—and fallen deeply in love, and how that had been lovely and warm and good for a while. And how bitter it had all become, how sad.

She smiled, “Next weekend,” grabbing both his hands in hers, she squeezed them tightly before saying, “You have no idea how much this means to me, Rhys. I won’t forget this.” Tears pooled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, refused to let him see just how much he could affect her. “Thank you.”

“I would go to the stars and back for you, Feyre Archeron.” He simply answered. “This is nothing.”

***

The week went by without much incident. Feyre wished she could somehow apologize to Mor, but she didn’t know how—didn’t know what to say, how to say it. She was just lost, broken. And perhaps it was just too late. Mor had opened up to her and she had closed down. She had shut her out completely, and for what? The fear, constant and unwavering, of being hurt, of hurting, of everything in between. Feyre had been a terrible friend, and she knew it.

It was Saturday morning when Feyre decided that she had to put an end to this. She could not stand the silence anymore. This room, their room, had been a safe haven for so long and now—now it was a cage. It contained her, it provided her with a place to hide and sleep and draw but she could no longer be happy in it, no longer laugh or share any sort fond memories here.

So as she prepared for the day, hauling a simple red sweater and ripped jeans over her head, and put on some mascara and red lipstick, Feyre made a decision. Today, she was ending this miserable phase of her life, be it for good or for bad.

She shook Mor awake. It was early, earlier than her roommate would probably like to be woken up on a Saturday, but she didn’t have much time before she had to leave for her trip with Rhysand and she had to do this before she left—had to, or she wouldn’t have the strength, wouldn’t have the courage to do what was necessary. You see, your courage didn’t lie in your actions, not really. You gathered it up in every one of your bonds, be it with family or friends or lovers. That’s what gave you courage.

“Mor,” Feyre said, a hand on her friend’s shoulder. One brown eye opened to look at her sleepily, brow furrowing. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Feyre?” Mor wiped a hand over her face, blinking the sleep away. She sat up in bed, stretching her arms and back, looking at Feyre confusedly. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“Oh—yeah. I’m fine.” Feyre didn’t know what to say now. Mor was still looking at her with a confused look in her eyes, like Feyre had grown an extra head. It was weird, for Feyre to wake her like this, after weeks and weeks of silence and avoidance, she knew. But she also knew that her roommate deserved this, even if she didn’t want anything to do with her anymore. Mor deserved so much better than her, so much more. “It’s, um—can we talk?”

“Um, sure,” Mor patted the place on the bed next to her. “What is it?”

“I wanted to talk to you before I left…” Feyre sat down, wondering what on Earth she could say to make this better, what she could say that wouldn’t sound completely selfish and cruel and self-centered. She came up with nothing. Eventually, she said, “I’m so sorry I’ve been distant. I—I was trying to protect myself, and you, and everyone, but I just made a mess of things.”

Mor put a hand over hers. “Feyre,” she looked into her blue eyes, trying to capture some semblance of meaning in those words, trying to understand. “We would never hurt you, not on purpose anyway. And don’t you know by now?”

“What?”

“Sometimes, the ride is worth the risk of getting hurt.”

***

The drive home went smoothly.

Feyre had met Rhys outside the gates of Prythian Academy since, for once, she did not feel like meeting everyone for breakfast. Patching things up with Mor had gone okay, great even, but it was all she could take for one day, she guessed. She had texted him and gone outside, barefoot once more, to feel the wind on her skin, the earth on her feet, the sun on her face.

She was happy right now. Right now—because time, for her, was a very fragile thing. At any moment things could change. And they probably would, too. She just hoped it was for the better.

Feyre hadn’t explained to Mor what exactly her and Rhys were going to be doing. She could only guess her roommate would be questioning him at breakfast, and hoped he wouldn’t say anything too incriminating. She couldn’t take it if she knew how dangerous her situation was—Mor knew about Tamlin, about how he had treated her, or rather, mistreated her, and how he still thought she was something of his to just take as he pleased. And her friends, well… if she knew her friends, she knew that they would stop at nothing to keep her from going home when she didn’t want to. Because they were good people, and that’s just what good people did, even when the people they did it for didn’t really deserve it.

She didn’t say much to Rhys as he arrived, hurrying inside the car for the long journey back home. But she wondered if he had told their friends about what they would be doing, what lay ahead for them. It would be easy to ask him, to just say the words, but the silence was so welcoming, so simple that she did not dare break it.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Rhysand’s eyes were on the road ahead, his voice low and smooth, like a stream of warm water.

Feyre blinked, shaken out of her reverie. She’d been watching the plains of trees outside the window, how they blurred into splashes of greens and browns and blacks, doing anything she could to ignore the warmth that radiated from the man beside her. The smell of citrus and the sea. And the thoughts that seemed to plague her mind, those dangerous, betraying thoughts of how those arms had felt wrapped around her, how those lips had touched and burned and kissed, how those hands had marked her. “Oh,” she tried to think of what to say, what to do besides tell him the truth, and came up with nothing. Eventually, she said, “I was just thinking—I haven’t told you much about my sisters. I think I should prep you for this meeting.”

“I need… prepping?” he smirked, aware of her blush, and put a hand on top of hers. “I’m kidding. Prep me up, darling.”

“Prick.” Feyre laughed. She slapped his shoulder playfully, rolling her eyes. But her mind was reeling, wondering how to do this, how to begin explaining things. Her relationship with her sisters was so—complicated. So strained. And she didn’t want his pity, and didn’t want him to think she didn’t love them or that they didn’t love her either. They did, they all did. It was just—complex. And weird. And hard.

Relationships, Feyre had come to realize, took work. Especially when the people in question didn’t fully trust you with their heart. And Nesta—well, Nesta didn’t trust anyone with her heart, not even her own sister. There was only one person that truly had hold of her soul, and that was Elain.

But even with Elain’s help and the years of building up trust, after Tamlin, there was too much anger, too much disappointment, too many secrets between them. You see, for Nesta, there was no such thing as water under the bridge. And she wished she could fix this, she wished Elain could stop walking on eggshells and Nesta could stop her quiet bravado, but there was nothing she could do. Nesta wouldn’t listen, not to words or promises. But actions—well, actions were another thing.

And that was her plan. Not only to stop Tamlin—though, that was the most important part. But these months of being alone at the Academy had taught her one thing, and that was that alone, she was nothing. She was just a shell of a girl. Without friends, without family, without the loving of those around her, she didn’t have a reason to live at all.

So, yes, she did want to scare Tamlin away. But her plan, well, it consisted of more than that. She wanted to show Nesta that she was not weak, she was no longer the girl Tamlin had strung along and hurt and fucked up, over and over and over. She was her own woman, she was strong and smart and worth something. She had friends that would fight for her, friends that would be with her as she fought for herself—friends that would even pretend for her, it seemed.

And it didn’t matter that Tamlin still haunted her, it didn’t matter that everything he did and everything that happened the following months was still embedded deep within her, because she was all the more valiant for it. All the anxiety it had caused was just a misfortune of fate. And she would show them, she would show them all.

***

It was about midday when Rhysand pulled up at the Archeron driveway. He stretched his neck to look at the house, his violet eyes focusing on the creamy walls and clear windows of the property.

On the drive here, Feyre’d told him everything there was to know about her sisters. He categorized what she’d told him, or, at least, what he’d gotten from it. Elain Archeron—sweet and gentle, worked at a dog pound and could always be found gardening. Nesta Archeron—hard as steel, cold as ice, book andstreet smart.

He was not sure he was ready to meet them. The people that had so completely undone Feyre, the people that had told her she was not enough, that she was entirely to blame for whatever mistakes she had made in the past. But he had to do it. For Feyre, for himself, for a future where her family was united and strong. So he said, “You ready?” He looked at Feyre, violet eyes flashing with emotion.

Feyre took a deep breath, looking at the house where she had grown up, where so many memories and so many emotions had occurred. She blinked, “Y—yeah.”

He seemed to read the nervousness in her eyes, the tremble in her voice, because he put a hand on top of hers as he said, “It’s going to be fine, Feyre.”

“No, I—I know.” Feyre shook her head, seeming to shake away some kind of thought as well, and he didn’t think he should ask what had been on her mind. Her eyes looked sad, forlorn. Like she had been remembering a life not so long ago.

Rhys sighed, stroking her hand before he let it go, moving out of the car and around it to open her door for her. ��Milady,”

“Thank you,” she said, trying to ignore the feeling that swept over her when he called her ‘milady’, as if she were his, as if she were more than just a girl that had nothing at all to offer him other than hurt and poor excuses and unhappiness.

As they walked to the door, Feyre’s hands trembling with nervousness. He grabbed a hold of her hand, squeezing it tight in his own. “Hey,” he said, “It’s okay.”

She nodded, taking another deep breath before moving forward and into the doorway. “Are you sure you want to involve your sisters in this lie?” he finally said, before Feyre could ring the doorbell. “It’d be easier to just tell them we were involved as well.”

She seemed to think it over, even though they’d talked about it before, but eventually said, “No, I—I want them to know the truth.” She looked at their hands as if she were about to let go of his, but, for his surprise and wonderment, didn’t. “There’s too much between us—between Nesta and Elain and me, for me to lie to them. They’re my sisters, Rhys. As easy as it would be to just lie, I need them to support me.”

It was his turn to nod.

Feyre rang the doorbell, squeezing his hand for reassurance. “Just a minute!” comes a voice from inside that she recognized as her sister’s. A moment later, the door opened to reveal a breathless Elain, holding her cat, White Socks, in her hands. She smiled widely and said, “Feyre!”

“Hello, Elain.”

***

Feyre could tell how uncomfortable Rhysand was.

Nesta held him under an unwavering stare, eyes steely and cold. “So,” she said, moving her gaze to his hand, currently intertwined with her sister’s for some kind of comfort in this strange, somewhat hostile situation. “You’re not together?”

“That’s right.” Rhys answered, all business. Feyre squeezed his hand, as if to say Relax, you’re safe, and nodded her agreement to her sister. Nesta didn’t seem much convinced, not with their weird displays of affection, but then again, nobody ever was. They had a—special connection. A bond that most people would think went beyond friendship and maybe—maybe it did. But it didn’t exactly mean the opposite either. They weren’t lovers, weren’t anything but two people who would fight for each other no matter what, even if it meant that they wouldn’t be together at the end of the day.

“You seem pretty chummy to me.” Nesta drawled out, eyes still on their hands.

Feyre sighed, letting go of her friend’s hand to bury her face in it for a moment. She recomposed herself as she said, “Look, Nesta,” she looked at Rhys for support, and he smiled encouragingly at her. “The situation is this—Tamlin won’t ever stop. He won’t ever give up chasing after me, not while he thinks I’m still his.” She gave her friend a little grateful smile, because she was so thankful, so incredibly thankful that he had agreed to do this. “And that’s why Rhys is here. My relationship with him has nothing to do with it.”

Nesta snorted deprecatingly before saying, “So you admit,” she drawled, “There is a relationship?” her gaze was studious, as if she wanted to pick apart any and all information she could from the sight before her. But there was nothing to see, nothing to discover—was there?

No, Feyre was clear on one thing and that was that her relationship with Rhys was just friendship and nothing more, no matter her feelings. No matter how much she—no. She wouldn’t go there.

Feyre sighed once more, exasperated. “No,” she ground out. “Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been saying at all?”

“Fine.” Nesta moved her gaze to Rhys again, exploring the planes of his face with that careful mistrust, “And you?” she asked. “What’s in this for you?”

“I’m sorry?” he spluttered, looking at Feyre for help, unsure of what to say, how to explain that while for her there was nothing in this, no feelings, no relationship, no love—well, for him it was different. Rhysand was deeply embedded in his friend’s life, for better or for worse and he wished, oh, how he wished, there was more for them, and he would do anything for her. He loved her, he was in love with her, he had fallen and she had not caught him, but that was okay, too, because he was more than equipped to deal with pain.

“Well,” Nesta said, studying him once more, that fatal curiosity filling her steely eyes. “You come here to help us having nothing offered to you other than friendship. What is your angle here?”

“I think you undervalue your sister.” He said, sounding angrier than he’d intended. He figured it just got to him, seeing the very people who were supposed to protect and provide a home for Feyre treat her with such disregard, but he knew it wasn’t his place to judge. He’d come to help, to make amends between them, not to harm their relationship further. “I do what I must to keep my friend where she wants to be.”

“Can I—” Elain finally quipped up from where she sat at the end of the living room, propped up on a chair with White Socks on her lap. “Feyre, why don’t you just come home? You didn’t even want to go there in the first place—you say you want to keep her where she wants to be, but isn’t that with us?”

It seemed to pain Feyre to answer the question, seemed to burn her with every breath she took, but she gathered herself up and said, “I wish—I wish that I wanted to come home. But home, for me, home is elsewhere now.” She begged her sister to understand with her blue, deep eyes, and continued, “I didn’t want it to be like this. When I first went to the Academy, I thought it was going to be hell. But I found the best friends I could ever wish for and—Elain, I can’t begin to explain or apologize or—”

“Then don’t.” Nesta interrupted, softer this time. “Just—fix this.”

***

“Are you sure about this?”

Feyre couldn’t think. Not with him standing so close to her, not with the smell of him, the citrus and the sea, the overwhelming sureness that this was wrong, so wrong, yet—it just felt right. Rhysand let out a breath, leaning over to put a hand on the tree trunk behind her as she stepped back, not allowing her an inch of detachment from him. She could almost laugh at the irony, almost feel the mockery of how alike this was from the first time they had kissed. It mimicked the very surroundings, the feel of the bark against her skin, the wet grass under her feet, the warmth of his body against hers.

“Yes,” she couldn’t look away, couldn’t keep her eyes from his violet orbs, staring at her with a hunger she almost wished she didn’t know. This is just for show, this is just for show, she reminded herself over and over, gulping. “I’m sure.”

Rhysand nodded, finally looking away to the building in front of the small park they stood in. “When does he get off again?”

Feyre exhaled shakily, feeling weak in the presence of him, feeling like she could not stand on her own, without the tree, without his arm around her middle, without the grass supporting her up. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of him—as if that were possible. She’d been trying for months now. Sighing, she took her phone off her back pocket and checked the time. “In about five minutes.”

He nodded again, still looking at the building.

It was a law firm, one of those that never did pro-bono jobs unless they had to because that never led to any “progress” for the firm. Or, as Rhys liked to call them, douchebags in suits. Feyre had explained to him that Tamlin’s father had worked there all his life and finally bought out a part of the company a few years back. He’d wanted his only son to continue his work once he retired and so, he’d managed to get him an internship. At the time, Feyre’d found it wonderful.

But that’s when it’d started.

Tamlin’d screw up or drink too much with his office buddies and his father, being the proper, old style kind of guy he was, thought he could beat it out of him. He’d changed so much in a matter of months. Become hollow, and angry, and sad. And then there had been the drinking.

Tamlin had never been one to drink too much. He’d liked beer, sure, but never gone for vodka or anything like that. But afterwards, Feyre would find him outside her house with a bottle of scotch, mumbling about how much he loved her and how she could never leave him and how he would tear apart anyone that dared come between them.

After a while it started to scare her. And she tried to break things off, she did. But he just kept coming around and calling and making these damn threats and promises that she wasn’t sure he would keep and was honestly scared he would because he had become scary and she was now so unsure of how exactly she had fallen for him. But she knew, she knew that this—this was a different person than she had once knew. Occasion and fate and terrible choices had made him into a monster and she did not deserve him. Not anymore. Or maybe—maybe she did, because she didn’t help, either. She’d just run, scared. She didn’t call the cops when she’d seen the scars or the bruises on him, she didn’t do a thing.

“Feyre?” Rhys’ voice shook her out of her reverie. She noticed how wet her eyes had become, and shame swept over her. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. Not right now—not ever. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“I know,” She shook her head, “I just—I wish I could just forget all this.” Feyre sighed, wiping at her eyes, before saying, “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine,” he said, hand coming up to cup her face. He stroked her cheek gently, like he was going to lean in and kiss her at any moment, but just whispered. “You don’t deserve to suffer. You don’t deserve to have your past follow you around wherever you go.” Rhys pressed a kiss to her cheek, sending shivers down her spine. Because this, this wasn’t for show. This was the two of them—the two of them against the world. “You are a bird that’s forgotten how to fly, Feyre Archeron. And we will set you free.”

“Here he comes.” She whispered, a hair’s breadth from his lips.

Rhys studied her face, looking for any trace of doubt, of fear, of second guessing. She tried to convey certainty, but she could only guess her eyes were as sad as she felt as he hesitated.

She wasn’t sad for herself. She wasn’t unsure or confused or afraid. In fact, she wanted this, and her reasons for wanting it were quite selfish. But she knew how much it would hurt him, how much it would mean to him to have her and then not.

And yes, Feyre knew how self-centered that sounded, but that was simply true. She was aware of his loyalty and his affections for her. And that’s what made this that much harder. To dangle herself in front of someone who could never have her. At least, not while she was so broken. So sad, so unbelievably unfixable.

She glanced at the man approaching, tall and blonde and muscular. Before Tamlin could notice her looking, she turned back to Rhys, cupping his face, putting a strand of hair behind his ear. “It’s okay, Rhys.” She said, resting her forehead against his and closing her eyes, breathing deep. She took in the intoxicating smell of him, the warmth of his body, the solid feel of him against her as she added, “Set me free.”

And then, it was just the feel of lips against lips, their tongues clashing and claiming, and the taste of each other, the touch of his hands to her hips and neck as he pushed her against the tree trunk, the pulsating heat of their bodies as they moved ever so slightly. She forgot where she was, who she was, why she was here. She forgot just why—why on earth this couldn’t be.

Rhys let one hand wander under her sweater, feeling the warm, creamy skin beneath, and Feyre let out a low moan. As another mimicked action from the night in the woods, she came up for air and he didn’t stop kissing her, trailing a line down her throat, to her neck, to her collarbone. He licked upward and nibbled on her ear and Feyre giggled—a strange new sound. “Ticklish,” she whispered, smile visible in her voice.

He just engulfed her in another kiss, biting down her bottom lip, running his tongue through her teeth, the roof of her mouth. She had to remind herself that they were in public, that they were here for a purpose besides this—whatever this was. Because she was not sure it was a ruse anymore at all. And maybe it hadn’t been for a while now. Maybe she felt for him, maybe—

“What the hell is going on here?”

Feyre pulled back as if burned, Tamlin’s very voice scaring her beyond measure. But she wasn’t paying attention to him at all, didn’t care for once that he was here because the man before her, because Rhys, still had his arms around her and his eyes on her lips and—

She almost gasped as the realization ran through her, as it hit her.

Feyre was in love with him.

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