#kurt is in PANIC MODE

[fvzzyelf]

there's an almost comically timed turn, quick and would-be-wobbly but he catches himself before it becomes something to really have a laugh at. it's not the voice that does it, it's the touch.

he's just thankful for the suit it's self being real, but there is no telling how much of the energy bleed of the inducer a normal person can feel, even with a small touch such as that friendly slap on the back.

and kurt doesn't even have time to worry about that either, because as soon as he's thinking such a thing there comes a brand new thought that has his eyes widening and mouth dropping open stupidly.

oh. it's-

"bruce wayne?" he questions, but he realizes that he's just parroted back that name in response to a question about his name and oh gott-

"i mean! i'm not.. you are, er, that is to say-"

a voice in his head is the soothing balm his frayed nerves desperately need just then. jean's laughter is harmless, sweet even.

[relax, kurt, take a breath. you live in a mansion yourself now. he's not the only fat cat in the room, even if he is bruce wayne.]

he takes a breath, sobering his mild panic into something more relaxed and a little apologetic.

"es tut mir leid, Herr Wayne," he avoids the hand by deciding to take a more formal bow, as if he were greeting a royal dignitary and not a billionaire, a very well known billionaire.

"i am kurt wagner. i assure you, they would never laugh at you. i, however, am afraid i often wear my heart on my sleeve and can not always be sure i am not outwardly expressing my thoughts in a... peculiarly made face."

kurt would have skated over the comment about being handsome, easily forgotten in his brief anxious response, if not for jean questioning it in his head.

[did he just call you handsome??]

"...ah..er... danke. i mean for the... " his heart feels like a hummingbird under his ribs, he needs a drink. "nevermind."

The fear mongering is subtle but apparent if you’re keen enough to listen. The optics are still being weighed in. The citizens are murmuring, unsure what it is exactly they fear. Mutants or crazy people ; all seem to be of equal threat in Gotham when you really look at it from a plain view but both have been around Gotham far longer than some of the politicians trying to safeguard the city from anything different and unfamiliar. 

And, maybe, he’s too used to clowns to take any of them seriously. 

GOTHAM knows who and what to fear. 

But it’s thoughts ruminating only in the confines of his own skull. The event is filled from the rich to the powerful. He’d spotted Jim somewhere before he’d sought out his little refuge. There were other distractions as well as attractions. A gorgeous woman with white hair and a black dress and the Mayor trying to weigh in the pros and cons of one of the new laws a budding public lawyer is trying to lobby that Bruce himself couldn’t be certain yet is in favor of Gotham’s citizen’s best interest or just to further support the fear they wish to instill in them. 

A city afraid of each other means its docile. 

And a docile city means a people easily duped for profit or self-benefit. 

His eyes continued to swept in steady silence. Catching faces and moving lips, taking in every bit of useful information as the computer captured faces and names and words that could prove useful later. Only stopping when a man seems to prove unidentifiable despite having a face that one could, objectively of course, consider handsome and memorable. 

[ ₁ ] Curious. 

The severity in his features fades for a smile and a laugh. Kind. Amused. Tender. “ If they’re laughing at you, whatever luck do I have with them, hm? “ He retorted, smiling still and clapping him amiably on the back. ��� Bruce. Bruce Wayne. “ Hand stretched forward. “ Got a name with that handsome face? “

[braindeadbuthere]

MAMA OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO I JUST KILLED MYSELF PUT A GUN AGAINST MY HEAD PULLED THE TRIGGER NOW I'M DED MAMA LIFE HAS JUST BEGAN BUT NOW I'VE GONE AND JUMPED IN A LAKE MAMA OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

ik theres a lot of fics where kurt comforts blaine for any like mental battles with family or emotions etc, but are there any where blaine comforts kurt with that type of stuff. preferably one shots

Here are just a small selection. You can also try specific episode tags for canon times when Blaine would have comforted Kurt. Or the emotional hurt/comfort tab on A03. ~Jen

It's their loss by @gleekout

Kurt doesn't get into NYADA like he hoped he would. He's a mess and Blaine is there to support him and tell him that everything will be okay.

~~~~~

Juliet's Boudoir By Anna_Timberlake @shame-is-a-wasted-emotion

Kurt goes into panic mode thinking of his days in highschool when he was rejected for the part of Tony. Opportunity has knocked his door for the second time with the same Juliet's Boudair script but Kurt is a nerve wreck refusing to take it. Blaine Hummel- Anderson will not take a second chance to prove Kurt that his husband is a perfect Romeo.

~~~~~

Lovely, don't you ever Change by orphan account

After the premiere of their first Broadway show, Kurt reads some comments online that resurface old insecurities.

~~~~~

3 am by izwardsoup

He's a mess. God, he's a fucking mess. Kurt didn't expect to find himself literally stumbling out of a bar at 3 a.m. but here he was. Drunk and lonely and sad under a streetlight on a New York City sidewalk outside of a bar at 3 a.m. How did he let himself get here?

~~~~~

Don't let me go (cause I'm tired of feeling alone) by falles @fallevs

What if Blaine had met Kurt when he needed him most?

[olreid]

So I want to preface this with the fact that I’m being completely genuine here, there’s no gotcha, and that I’ve been an artist of some flavor basically my whole life but mostly I’m a writer of fiction. And. You have your against representation tag. And I’m coming around on the idea that Representation Doesn’t matter all that much, Actually, but jaws and birth of a nation and other works like them are still extant and have/had a measurable effect on our culture. So, that said, combined with that Kurt Vonnegut quote about the Vietnam War and the pie, is there any conclusion I can come to other than “art can’t help, it can only harm”? Is art at best irrelevant to societal struggles, and at worst, can only set us back?

help not birth of a nation AND kurt vonnegut!!

hashtag against representation is definitely not arguing that art is inherently either irrelevant or antithetical to social change; it is not even primarily making a claim about art so much as it is posting against a particular mode of critical reception which posits that art is only successful or acceptable insofar as it portrays a world which is either a mirror to ours and/or aspirational in some way. within this framework, art is pretty strictly utilitarian, and that only insofar as it manages to either reveal something already extant about our world or, more saliently, to set a moral example for how we ought to behave. i really disagree with the idea that art needs to accomplish either of those goals in order to adequately justify its existence, and i think that idea ends up retroactively making some claims about the relationship between art and life that i also disagree with.

namely, i would push back on the implicit claim that audiences can't be trusted with work that is dark or complex or portrays people behaving in ways that are unpalatable, that such work if left to proliferate unchecked would somehow exert nefarious influence over viewers or readers to the point of causing people to confuse depiction or exploration or critical inquiry for straightforward endorsement which of course they would be powerless to resist. idk it goes back to earlier posts about the idea that consuming #problematic media corrupts your soul and rubs off its problematicness on you whereas consuming moral media that has #positive representation conversely purifies you and serves as concrete evidence of your fundamentally good character. which in and of itself is just the latest iteration of the ever-recurring moral panic about the power of art to exert undue influence over us and bypass our ability to reason; see my pinned post for an example from an earlier historical period lol.

i think the vonnegut point you reference is helpful here insofar as he reminds us that while politically charged art can and does influence hearts and minds, it is also not a substitute for taking political action in other forms; representation paradigms and politics would have us conflate the two, such that just watching the right kinds of shows comes to stand in for being politically engaged. and while it may be meaningful or moving for people to see fictional worlds that are diverse along a variety of axes, i don't buy the idea that that automatically translates into structural change in the world we live in, where people can't afford rent or access healthcare or etc.

the point, at least as i see it, is that like. pushing for fictional diversity in and of itself is not going to save us; it blurs the lines between fiction and reality such that people begin to needlessly try and police or purify others' fiction consumption and production habits because they think it tells them something about those same people's political commitments, and imo is also often a drain on collective energy that could be more effectively deployed elsewhere. it's less that Representation Doesn't Matter and more that representation is literally just representation, no more and no less, and certainly not the lever by which we can most effectively bring about social change.

again that's not to say that art has no place in politics or political movements, but i think the relationship is much more complicated than make art where people are good to each other -> people will be good to each other in real life. and even if that WERE the case, it still wouldn’t obligate people to exclusively produce positive or progressive art.

[take2intotheshower]

Endless List of Why I Ship Jane & Kurt - Part 11 (by @kate-dammit-run)

(re-posting to preserve this list, which was originally created and posted by @kate-dammit-run, whose account was deactivated in 2023)

503. Because Jane’s worst nightmare is Kurt forgetting her 504. Because the thought of losing him– 505. Because they will stop Madeline. Together. 506. Because Ink and Mumbles 506. Because he can help her relax when denaturing deadly chemicals gets tricky 507. Because if they can go undercover in the outfits they wore in Hungary and still find each other hot then they are definitely meant to be 508. Because she helps him stay calm when his daughter is in danger 509. Because everyone wants them to stop Madeline and they will 510. Because he trusts her gut 511. And she trusts his 512. And they both trust their team 513. Because stuck in the bunker elevator 514. Because battle couple confessing their love in the elevator 515. And stolen kisses in the middle of battle 516. Because he’s their mama bear and she’s the flamingo 518. Because Jane will confess and send herself to a black site to protect him 519. Because Rhino!Kurt will charge into six armed terrorists to save Jane 520. Because she’s with him 521. Because… I love you’s through glass doors and hand on heart as the ZIP cloud rises 522. Because when it comes to getting her memories back, Kurt’s face is the first thing she remembers 523. and his face triggers all her memories to return 524. Because she knows how much he loves being FBI 525. Because they can be anything that they wanna be 526. Because they want to start working on starting their own family 527. And because that does not sound like work to him 528. Because being interrupted is just their thing– whether they like it or not 529. Because Jane following her gut is enough for Kurt to act 530. Because Jane going missing for a minute sends Kurt into panic mode 531. Because the ZIP poisoning is the one thing that terrifies them both the most 532. Because he’s not going anywhere when his wife is sick 533. But she knows that when the team needs him, that is where he has to be 534. Because “ok, boss” 535. Because he claims he is not gonna miss this life 536. But she knows he will and so will she  537. But that only means that they’re awesome and cool 538. Because they cannot imagine their life not doing this but they will figure something out 539. Because second time’s a charm 540. Because he doesn’t think she creates chaos or that she’s napalm 541. Because he knows that she has done a hell of a lot more good than bad 542. Because they’re both allowed to be done 543. Because if they’re going to die defusing a bomb, they’re gonna do so while they’re kissing  544. No, seriously, they made out while defusing a bomb 545. Because interrogation room 546. Because “I’m special agent Kurt Weller.” 547. Because they don’t have to lead a quiet life 548. Their life can be whatever they want 549. Because it’s time to make some new memories 550. Some happier ones 551. Because “let’s move” 552. Because Colorado 553. Because Thanksgiving dinner with all their family 554. Because fostering kids  555. Because framed wedding photos 556. Because they’re lucky 557. Because it’s a miracle  558. Because it could have gone wrong so many times and in so many ways 559. and it probably did in some universe 560. Because at the end of the day, when Kurt asks Jane if she’s ok, her reply is “I’m good.” 561. Because Jane’s good. 

[seblaineaddict]

10 Days Of Seblaine 2023

Day 10: I Want You Back! (Your own interpretation)

@seblaineworld

Summary: Sebastian Smythe has messed up big-time - again. Except this time, he's pushed Blaine too far. Following a fight that definitely stemmed from a complete misunderstanding that Sebastian was just too stubborn to correct before he left for work, he arrives home after a stressful day to find Blaine's engagement ring on the kitchen table, and all his clothes gone. As well as a note that simply says, "We're done!"

Bursting into wracking sobs, Sebastian pours a large Courvoisier to steady his nerves and throws half of it back in one go, trying not to fly into full panic mode. As soon as the shock's worn off slightly, he calls Sam, begging him to tell him where Blaine is (because he has a horrible feeling he already knows, and the very thought is causing bile to rise up from his stomach and threaten to choke him. At first Sam stands firm and refuses to disclose where Blaine's staying, but when Bas breaks down and he realises how genuinely upset he is, he tells him. Confirming Sebastian’s worst fears. Blaine's gone to his ex's Loft, and Kurt has told Sam Blaine doesn't want to talk to Sebastian.

Sebastian thanks Sam, and after promising (with fingers crossed) not to 'do anything stupid, dude,' he tries to calm his racing mind and form a plan of action. He can feel the beginning of a migraine prickling his skull, but does his best to shake it off. "Fucking HUMMEL!" Bas roars, puling his arm back and preparing to throw his glass at the wall. But then he stops. Blaine would hate him taking his temper out on inanimate objects. And he doesn't want to give him any more reasons to be mad at him.

He grabs his keys, not bothering with a coat and sets off. The second his feet hit the sidewalk, the heavens open. "Fucking fantastic!" he mutters darkly. "Even the freaking weather hates me."

Full ficlet up on Friday!

Don't worry, they'll be fine! Anyone who knows my Seblaine writing knows I love to put our boys through the wringer, but I'll always put them back together, and they are ALWAYS Endgame.

This was 100% the most complex, difficult graphic I've ever created, but also very fun to make! 💜

Hope everyone's enjoyed 10 Days Of Seblaine!

[rockitmans]

Blaine Anderson Vs Valentine's Day (10/14)

Summary: Blaine drunk posts on his Instagram asking for a date for Valentine's Day. He gets one.

Notes: Written for the @klaineccfanficlibrary Valentine Challenge. Song: Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce.

Read on AO3 or below

~~~~

"Morning, Valentine," Kurt's happy voice chirps down the phone. 

"Mmm, morning," Blaine mumbles, still half asleep. "I could get used to waking up to your voice."

Kurt hums his agreement. "Sorry it's so early, I moved my hours so I would have time to get ready later. It's a trek from Bushwick."

Blaine thinks about their date tonight. Elliott has taken the edges off his anxiety, and this morning's call from Kurt has basically smoothed them completely. "I can't wait to see you."

"I can't wait to see you . I'll be the one looking fabulous."

"I know what you look like," Blaine points out, smiling. 

"I know. Just want you to be adequately prepared for how dazzling I am so you can react accordingly."

Blaine laughs. "Nothing could prepare me for that." 

Kurt makes a sweetly pleased noise. “Anyway, I just wanted to say good morning, I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

“Kurt, wait a sec.” Blaine sits up, blinking himself more awake. “This is probably going to sound crazy.”

"Oh no," Kurt says but he sounds more amused than worried. "Do tell."

"I know my original post came across kind  of horny but… I want it to be clear that this isn't just a hookup for me. I want it to be more than that."

There’s a breath and a pause at the other end of the line and Blaine gets seized by a dread so fierce that he nearly hangs up out of pure denial. But then, “It’s not crazy,” Kurt’s voice is kind. “But I would have thought that goes without saying at this point. However, in case it doesn’t. This is nothing close to a hookup for me. I’m in try-hard dating mode. Prepare to have your life irrevocably changed.”

Blaine laughs, relief making it slightly shaky. “Wow. I better up my game.”

“You better, Blaine Anderson.” Kurt’s voice softens. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah,” Blaine says, beaming like an idiot. “Soon.”

~~~

Blaine is in a ridiculously good mood all day. Even though the store is heaving with last minute panic buyers looking for The Ultimate Love collection. Even though it’s raining and his hair is a frizzy mess, probably beyond help. Even though there’s a guy buying two identical gifts for two separate women that likely don’t know about the other. Blaine is immune to it all. He wishes everyone a wonderful, love filled day and hums along to every song that comes out of the store speakers. 

“You’re so right, Jim Croce, there never is enough time to do the things you want to do,” Blaine declares cheerfully to no one in particular, and Elliott groans. 

“You are beyond obnoxious right now.”

“Oh come on, Elliott. You’re so happy that two of your favorite people found each other, remember?”

“So many regrets,” Elliott moans, burying his face in his hands. But he’s smiling when he re-emerges. “It’s nice to see you’ve gotten over your anxiety.”

“Oh yeah. I'm going to romance Kurt so hard he won’t know what hit him.”

Blaine manages to slide away early to get ready, mostly thanks to the kindness of Elliott, who basically shoves him out the door when it looks like he’s going to get entangled in a lengthy interaction with a customer. He grabs flowers on the way home and has the very real desire to climb onto a streetlamp and start singing as the rain continues to hammer down. Sometimes life just calls for a musical moment. Kurt probably understands that. He resists the urge, more out of a desire to protect the flowers than any deep seated sense of personal shame. That ship has long sailed. 

Once home, he takes his time in the shower, letting the drum of hot water soothe some of his anticipation. There's just something about the way he clicked with Kurt. Something that promises forever. If he can just not fuck it up. With that in mind he dresses in the outfit Elliott suggested and uses the barest amount of product on his hair, leaving it to fall in loose curls. He takes a quick picture of himself and sends it to Tina for approval. After a moment's hesitation, he also throws it onto his Instagram. That’s where it all started after all. 

Queen T: 🔥😍🥵

Queen T: I can't reply because I'm too busy swooning 

Blaine smiles and taps out a quick thanks. His phone is flicking instagram notifications as people start to comment on his photo. Mostly just thirst comments, which Blaine is somewhat used to at this point.  There’s some teasing about how quickly he’s moved on and a lot of people wishing him luck. And then a comment from Kurt catches his eyes. 

hummelbrag Wow. Your new man is very lucky. 

Blaine draws in a shaky breath, pink creeping into his cheeks. He’s the lucky one. And Kurt is waiting for him. 

~~~

Blaine gets to the restaurant before Kurt, at least ten minutes early and is freshly reminded of one of his completely valid fears. Di Fara is stuffy. Expensive in a way that wants to appear wealthy rather than stylish or comfortable. Blaine is pretty sure there are more people having business meetings here than dates, even on a night supposedly put aside for love. It’s a very Sebastian sort of place. There’s also a lot of men wearing suits. Blaine determinedly doesn’t think about his jeans. He looks hot, that's all that matters. 

He decides to wait in the lobby rather than be seated because he wants to be the first thing Kurt sees. He can't stop shifting his weight, checking his phone restlessly as the clock ticks towards their agreed meeting time. Somehow being early is worse than being late. The anticipation is killing him.

And then Kurt walks through the door. Blaine has heard of hearts skipping beats but he’s not sure he’s ever fully experienced it until now. Kurt is just that stunning, his coat flapping open to reveal a gorgeous yellow shirt and blue scarf. He’s wearing jeans too. Light grey and so tight that Blaine struggles to tear his eyes away from Kurt’s legs. 

“Hi!” Kurt greets him brightly, eyes lighting up at the sight of him. 

“Kurt. Wow. You’re so… cute. I mean like dirty cute.”

Blaine immediately cringes and Kurt raises a confused eyebrow. “What?”

“Sorry. I panicked. Even though you warned me. I still wasn’t prepared.”

Kurt laughs and leans in to wrap Blaine in a hug. “Speechless adoration is also acceptable.”

Blaine melts against him, getting a lungful of sweet shampoo. “You look incredible,” he murmurs close to his ear, a lot more normally. He can do this. Just the most beautiful human in the world hugging him. Perfectly average Tuesday. 

“So do you,” Kurt says and Blaine can hear the smile in his voice as they draw apart. “Are those for me?” he adds, eyeing the flowers. 

“Oh. Yes. To celebrate us finally meeting. Or at least it feels like Finally. Even though it’s not been that long, it also kind of feels like forever. And I know red roses are kind of cliche but…”

Kurt’s eyes soften as he takes them. “They’re not cliche, they’re classic. And beautiful. Thank you.”

Blaine just nods, slightly overwhelmed.  "Shall we?" He offers his arm. 

Kurt takes it. "We shall."

[a-roguish-gambit]

Yooooo got some

Transfem Kurt au thoughts for ya:

Nightcrawler wanting to be referred to more and more by their code name rather than given name

Comes out to Kitty first about these feelings of wanting to be a girl. This being the early 2000s kitty just assumes Nightcrawler is having her gay awakening and is into drag. Encourages it. They work on a drag persona together. Drag helps when she doesn't quite know what this feeling is yet.

Get the image inducer to keep glitching and turning her into a girl

Comes out to rogue as "gay" next. Worried her sister will reject her. Rogue is confused because Nightcrawler still clearly likes girls and so teaches her sibling about this term floating around the goth and alt forums called "bisexuality"

So the label changes again. Rogue starts dragging nightcrawler to alt stuff with her. Gets them into MCR. Nightcrawler only kinda likes the music but likes more having people like her to hang out with.

Logan figures things out cause they were sneaking out a lot. Gives Nightcrawler "the gay talk" as a queer man himself about being bi.

Nightcrawler has never felt more seen but also embarrassed by this. It's gruff and frank and I'm some places a bit too vague to really get at what Logan is saying and when she ask what he means Logan explains WAAAAAAy too much.

Does remember that Logan said something about in the Queer community he's gonna meet people weren't born the gender they present as currently and they are called transgender and to just accept what they call themselves cause they are good people like everyone else just trying to live their lives. Starts to get curious about this but doesn't want another uncomfortable talk from Logan.

Tries to use early Internet search, first result is for a porn website so she panics and erases her search history and is too afraid to look again.

Fast forward. Gambit is in the picture now and is dating Rogue. He clocks Nightcrawler as trans immediately. He grew up in the red light districts of New Orleans, the guild had multiple gay, bi, and trans individuals working for them at any given time. Hell his favorite uncle growing up was trans. He picks up all the vibes nightcrawler is giving off for a closeted trans person

is trying to be a good "brother" and grill gambit for why he is dating her sister and gambit fires back at her

"I'll tell Logan you are dating her" "pfft an break her heart by havin him scare me off? Sure. You do dat. Ahm sure y'all manage dat right afta ya work up da nerve ta come out as trans to him too." "....I'm....vhat?" "....come on it's obvious. Ya can't hide it from gambit. Ya a real egg iffin ah ever saw one, even if ya cruise around in boy mode most o da time."

Egg cracks. Initial denial, shock, realization, acceptance

"holy Scheiße he's right I am trans...."

Nightcrawler ends up approaching Logan again trying to covertly ask about transgender stuff.

Logan ends up pulling out a medical text book, goes on a diatribe about a trans cowboy who still owes him money, then talks about the first transgender surgeries and how he remembers how dangerous they used to be but how safe they are now. Then goes on about the stonewall riots and how Marsha threw the first brick.

Nightcrawler appreciates the queer history and basics but is still confused and is worried that she HAS to get a surgery now to count as trans.

Goes back to gambit.

"so ah....vhat do you know about zis...transgender zing?"

Gambit: *suddenly realizing he cracked this poor kids egg and is now responsible for these actions*

Gambit is now calling up his auntie Maurine asking for emergency information on tucking and such -no not for me auntie for a friend- And trying to frantically write all this shit down

Nightcrawler ends up coming out to his sister and Kitty soon after.

"....we need to restablish the sirens" "yep gotta keep little sis safe."

Nightcrawler comes out to the school soon after. Lot of people are confused but generally supportive. Charles and jean are having to pretend like they didn't kinda know from the start there was something not quite cis about nightcrawler.

Rogue and Kitty become nightcrawler protection squad at school. Nobody is allowed to mess with her. They travel as a pack.

Principal Kelly is in an uproar about this but is reminded by Charles that nightcrawler isn't violating any of the dress code rules and this would be discriminating against her for sexuality and gender identity.

Scott and evan start acting more like big brothers to nightcrawler. They try to also help her come up with a name

Very butch Wanda suddenly very interesting in nightcrawler

That's all I got

Hey pspspspspspsps X-Men Evolution fans. Pspspspsps Kurt Wagner fans. Pspspspspspsps queer people. I have just the AU for you

Transfem Kurt Wagner AU.

I dont have a chosen name pinned down for her yet but i'm thinking Kerttu? Maybe give suggestions (I'm thinking specifically German names)

(Source babynamesdirect)

This is kinda what I wrote when I was talking about it with my friend:

The professor messing with his image inducer as a joke, but Kurt looks in the mirror and his eyes blow wide and he feels more comfortable in this skin than he's ever been, and why did scott calling him "ma'am" feel so right and oh, god, she's not a he.

I just think that a transfem Kurt au would be,, cool,,, (I'm shaking and sobbing I'm definitely not projecting my transness onto my newest favorite character what are you talking about)

[flamingredanon]

Toppats decide that they can have a day off, a few, being Reginald, Right, Sven, Burt, Thomas and Geoffrey decided a day at the beach would be fun.

It was.

Until some "government dogs" showed up.

Both groups just wanted a break, so they decided they wouldn't tear each other apart just for a day.

Chaos.

Just plain chaos. some security guards from the museum Henry stole the diamond from were also gonna go to the beach as well, until they saw Rupert and Right tryna fuckin stab each other with seashells. (What led up to that? No one really knows)

Reginald and Henry tryna build a better sand castle then the other. (Reginald build a castle that was way to big and extra, while Henry built a sand castle that was way to bright with all those shiny things on it)

Ellie and Sven surfing and showing off, both trying to look better then the other. (Honestly, bisexual panic for some of the simps in the area, cuz holy they were hot)

The Bukowski twins were, chaos just doing "nothing". (Pretty sure they buried somone)

Hubert and Burt were done with life. (Kinda wished the twins buried them instead of Thomas and Geoffrey. Life would be better just not watching)

And the security guards decided. Nevermind. (They also took Dave with them, because he just looked like he calling for help. Must happen a lot.)

Jacob and Kurt just grabbed Dave and left the beach because they honestly didn't want to witness the several murders that was bound to take place.

Reginald and Henry decided to combine their interests into one overly extravagant sand castle. And it was amazing once they were done, with Reginald sprinkling in hints that Henry could do so much more as a Toppat.

And then the Bukowski twins body slammed themselves into the sand castle, causing Henry and Reginald to go feral mode on them. Nobody still knows what happened to Konrad to this day.

Right and Rupert were deep in their seashell sword duel, neither one giving up ground. And then the two quickly gave up their duel to run, having somehow pissed off an army of crabs.

Geoffrey quickly got him and Thomas unburied from the sand, with some explosives he had taken with him for emergencies. Burt and Galeforce tried to ask where and why he had them, but Thomas just told them not to bother, Geoffrey always kept an emergency stash of explosives with him and to just roll with it.

Ellie and Sven were the only two that didn't engage in any violence, just enjoying catching waves and playful banter among themselves. The two eventually went back to shore to see the beach police chasing around everyone in a huge mess.

They decided to ride the waves more and land at a shore further away from here.

[ransomedrogue]

okay so I finally made one of these to participate in the rewatch. just figuring it all out now that fic is finally ready to post. hopefully there will be a scene per episode but no promises!

###

Tales of Woe - Scenes from S1

1.1

She had finally had enough.

After dozens of questions and just one response, the nameless woman tore the sensors off her fingers and called the whole thing to a halt. She didn't know anything, yet she knew that this was pointless; and that she was done being a specimen, letting these people do whatever they wanted to her.

"I want to speak to someone in charge," she stated once more, more fiercely this time.

She felt better just having made the demand. And at least it made something happen; the man with the machine left and she was alone for awhile, her head full of the same sorts of questions the man had just asked.

Who was she?

What had happened to her?

Why the tattoos?

But she didn't have any answers other than the one she'd offered the man with the machine. Her mind was still a complete blank and the stark interrogation room just made the woman feel small and anxious about everything she didn't know.

She was clearly under suspicion but she didn't think she'd done anything wrong. Her only memories were a blur of being naked and yelled at, shaking under a thousand lights. Then there was the onslaught of tests, being dragged around like a rag doll as her brain tried to catch up to what was going on.

Finally, the door opened again and she looked up to see a different man walk in. This agent was bearded and a bit stern looking, but when he got closer she thought his blue eyes seemed sympathetic. Yet she still wondered what he was going to demand of her, if he was going to be as pointless as the last guy.

"I'm Special Agent Kurt Weller," he said. "I'm the lead agent on your case."

The memory-less woman felt a flash of satisfaction, realizing that her demand had been met. But that was quickly washed away by the flood of questions rushing through her mind.

She asked him the most important ones - if they knew what was going on, who she was. But, frustratingly, the agent didn't have any answers for her. Instead, he told her that they hadn't been able to identify her through any of the usual means, despite all the testing they had done.

The woman was disappointed but not surprised. Somehow she'd known that it wouldn't be that easy - someone had gone to a lot of trouble to do this to her.

She was surprised though, when the agent asked her if she recognized him. Especially because he seemed a little uncomfortable with the question himself; sounding as if he was unsure how to even ask it.

To her, the question was absurd. Hadn't she made it clear that she didn't know anything or anyone?

"I don't even recognize me," she replied.

That's when he dropped the first real bomb in her relatively short memory, causing a seismic shift in her understanding of the situation. Telling her that he might somehow be familiar to her, even though he didn't know her. Because his name was tattooed in large print across her back.

Even without much context or experience, she'd come to understand that the tattoos which covered her were not at all normal and a major part of whatever was happening to her. But all of the ones she'd examined were just random patterns and pictures. Nothing nearly as obvious as the huge letters stamped across her back.

The woman started to panic, questions and anxiety flooding through her. How could it be that she knew him well enough to have his name tattooed on her and he didn't know her at all?

But the agent had asked her to try to find some familiarity in him and he had asked kindly, without making it a demand. Which, at least, was different than anything that had happened since she woke up in a bag, without a single memory in her head.

She reached out cautiously, putting one hand on his, then lifting the other to his stubbled cheek. The idea of touching someone else, instead of being the one touched - even that was something new. The agent looked uncomfortable with the situation but let her continue her exploration of his features until her fingers drifted over his eyebrow and he finally flinched.

Disappointingly, her hands didn't know him anymore than her mind did. There was nothing but a total blank as he pulled her hand away, looking a bit embarrassed at having just been examined so intimately.

"Anything?" he asked.

She told him no and could tell that he wasn't surprised. Though he did still look a little flustered at what had passed between them and switched straight into Agent-mode when she asked what would happen to her next.

He said something about releasing photos of her to the media to try and gather tips about who she could be. Which was, even to her, pretty obviously the next step in trying to figure out her identity.

But she was starting to understand that there weren't likely to be any easy answers. Clearly, the agents weren't going to quickly identify her and bring her home to her family. Which then made her wonder what was going to happen to her now that the FBI finally seemed done with their questions. How long was she going to be stuck in that sterile room?

"No, that's not what I meant. I mean what happens right now? I don't have anywhere to go."

The agent looked surprised at her question, as if just realizing her situation. The nameless woman tried not to feel so vulnerable, even though she was completely reliant on people with unknown intentions. It was hard to hold it together though when she was so alone and adrift, without a single memory to tether herself to. Lost and detached from anything; born into a world of people that only seemed to see her as a dangerous commodity.

Suddenly she felt completely drained, both physically and emotionally exhausted from her nightmarish experience. She wanted to curl into a corner of the cold metal room and shut her eyes until someone could help her, tell her who she was. But she was at the mercy of this agent, with no idea what she was allowed to do in this strange existence.

Agent Weller gave her a worried look, as if he could feel her need bleeding through her words. Then he pulled out his phone and started sending typing some messages, groaning to himself as he received a response he clearly didn't like.

"We're working on finding you a place to stay but it's not going to be ready for another hour or two. I'm sorry ma'am, but you'll have to wait here until it's all set up."

The woman shuddered, hating the thought of being stuck in that room alone with her thoughts for another minute, let alone two hours. Her mind was a swirl of endless questions, the kind that led straight into despair. She wondered how to tell the agent that she was going to lose it if he left her there but then felt pathetic just thinking about admitting it.

The woman started to panic as she realized again how little control she had over her situation. The agent could leave her in that room for as long as he wanted to - she had no reason to trust what he said. Even though she wanted to believe he would help her, she'd also been quite irritated by the way the FBI had treated thus far.

But just as her thoughts began to spiral out of control, Agent Weller surprised her by reaching over and taking her hand in his. In fact, the agent seemed equally befuddled with his own action, frowning down at their enjoined hands before looking up at her in concern.

His next words were a miracle though, as if he were reading her thoughts. For the first time in her short memory she actually felt seen, despite all the previous examinations.

"Hey. Do you want to get out of here?"

Maybe she hadn't recognized him, maybe she never would. But he had understood her need and she was immensely grateful for that.

She needed something to hold onto. And maybe, just maybe, that something was the stern-but-gentle agent who was still nervously squeezing her hand.

###

His Jane Doe was about to lose it.

Even without knowing her at all, Agent Weller could easily see the anxiety take over her body after he told her about the delay in finding her accommodations. Which made a lot of sense as soon as he realized how long she'd already been in rooms just like that one, getting bombarded with tests and questions that she had no answers for. Not to mention the situation she found herself in - alone in an unfamiliar world with no memories or sense of self.

What didn't make any sense was the way Weller automatically reached for the mystery woman's hand, curling her fingers into his palm in an attempt to settle her. Despite her physical examination of him, there was no reason to think she would invite his touch. Also, it was most definitely not amongst his usual tactics. On the contrary, Weller was normally quite reserved with his manners, careful to maintain appropriate contact in all of his interactions, especially when it came to gorgeous victims in his cases.

But she was panicking and looked like she was about to crumble into herself. The terrified look on her face was breaking his heart and Weller suddenly realized that he'd just condemned her to more hours in that sterile room, with the intense lighting and distinct air of criminality. No wonder she looked so on edge, about to teeter into an emotional abyss.

Shit, he thought. He should have considered her prior experience before telling her she had to remain in interrogation like a prisoner. Not that there were a lot of options for what to do with her until the safe house was cleaned and ready. But he had to do something to resolve her obvious anxiety. Even if it meant breaking his usual rules.

"Hey. Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, the thought tumbling out of his mouth before it was even fully formed.

But any regrets about his impromptu offer were instantly pushed aside by the spark of hope his words elicited from the woman's troubled green eyes. She looked at him with a heady mixture of surprise and relief that filled his chest with sugary satisfaction.

"Where would we go?" she asked, still wary but already visibly calmer from his suggestion.

Damn, he hadn't exactly thought that far yet.

There certainly wasn't protocol for a situation like that, so Weller just did his best to think about what he would want after being cooped up in windowless rooms for an entire day.

"Outside?" he suggested. "We could go for a walk."

Her eyes flickered nervously again, then brightened with hope as she nodded shyly.

Weller felt extremely pleased with himself, far more than he should have been, as he led the tattooed woman out of the interrogation room and into the elevator. He really should have been formulating a good excuse for what he was doing but instead Weller just texted Mayfair a brief update that did not explain why he was personally escorting their asset outside the building until her safe house was ready.

The benefit of having a superior that trusts you, he thought wryly.

But then, more soberly, Weller reminded himself that he only held that trust because he never did stuff like that. He was always sure to play within the rules and, therefore, his word held a lot of weight with Mayfair.

Again he asked himself what the hell he was thinking. He'd known this woman for less than a half hour and his usual rock solid professional boundaries were already wavering.

But there she was, standing rigidly beside him in the elevator, chewing her lower lip nervously. Weller tried to convince himself that it was all just because she'd needed help and he was wired to protect. Though he'd done the job long enough to know that his near instantaneous attachment to this victim was more than that, something he'd never experienced before.

Inappropriate conduct Weller, he silently scolded himself, in a mock military academy tone.

But then the elevator reached the ground floor and Weller glanced over at the nameless woman, who was still obviously tense, her eyes flickering up at him hopefully. Quickly he shrugged off the mental reprimand; when he looked at her, there was no doubt in his mind that he was doing the right thing, even if it wasn't exactly consistent with protocol.

His thought was further confirmed as they approached the exit and she became visibly calmer, even offering him a tentative smile as he led her out the door, his arm hovering protectively behind her back. Then, when they stepped outside the building, she turned her eyes towards the street and took a deep breath in, wrinkling her nose a little at the odorous city air.

Weller grinned at the mixture of joy and relief on the woman's face as she stared wide-eyed at her surroundings; first taking in all the people on the street before looking up at the skyscrapers in awe. He let her just stand there and take it all in for a moment before gently directing her towards the closest green space he could think of, a small park in amongst the concrete jungle of lower Manhattan.

It was quiet in the park, as quiet as his Jane Doe. She hadn't said a word since they left the NYO, though her body language had gradually loosened up during the walk. Weller wondered what she was thinking about but held himself back from asking. He wanted to give her a chance to decompress after everything she'd just been through, not make her feel pressured to talk.

They reached the end of the grassy area and, again, he wasn't sure what to do. There was still a lot of time to kill before they needed to be back at the NYO.

"Do you want to sit? Or keep walking?" he asked.

It was just a simple question, but Weller hoped that offering her a choice would give her a small sense of control.

He watched her think for a moment, tilt her head just so. It was almost impossible not to stare at the bird tattoo on her neck, watch the way it moved with her skin.

Having your whole body tattooed against your will was such an invasion he couldn't even begin to imagine how she felt about it. But Weller also couldn't help thinking about how aesthetically eye-catching some of was.

AKA, fucking hot.

The thought came to him completely unbidden, forcing Weller to take his eyes off her skin as he chastised himself strongly. Learning to stay emotionally detached from victims in his cases was one of the first things he'd had to figure out as a rookie agent. Nowadays, he didn't have problems with that anymore, except in cases involving little girls. But the woman beside him was making his chest ache with her innocent vulnerability and all Kurt could do was tell himself to calm the hell down and keep things professional.

"Let's walk," she finally answered, shivering a little as the sun dropped behind a building.

Weller realized that he'd brought her out in just a tank top and immediately felt like a total idiot. He hadn't thought to grab her a jacket because he'd already been flustered with his own actions and it had been warm out when they left the NYO.

Plus, it was odd having to dress an adult, he figured. Though he still felt negligent for not having thought of it earlier.

Taking off his suit jacket, Weller draped it over the woman's bare shoulders and she flashed him another thankful look. Idly, he wondered if she appreciated more than just the warmth of his coat - if she'd been feeling too exposed in just her tattooed skin. Especially after already having been scrutinized for hours by strangers.

They continued walking away from the park and Weller kept having to remind himself not to stare. But now it wasn't the tattoos that kept tugging at his eye; he just felt drawn to the woman in a way he couldn't explain.

Obviously there was the mystery of his name in large letters on her back. That would be intriguing in any circumstance. But it was more than that - for instance, he was out walking with her instead of tending to all the things he should have been doing. Which was definitely not usual Kurt Weller behaviour. He was known as a workaholic for a reason and set the example for his team to follow. So he should be at his desk, finishing up the paperwork for that raid in Kentucky and then catching up on this tattoo case.

And yet, there he was, strolling the streets of lower Manhattan with a memoryless stranger and all Weller was sure of anymore was that he needed to protect her. He had no idea what had happened to her, what her future held. But he was going to figure it out and help her not look so lost.

Walking in silence seemed to help calm her so they kept going until they were almost at the water, at the tip of Manhattan. Then, when they couldn't walk any further, they stopped, looking out over the bay.

Weller looked at his Jane Doe as she stood there, seeming adrift in her thoughts. Which wasn't surprising of course. She had to have so much going on in her mind, all that wondering about who she was and why this was happening to her. And even though he felt like he should say something to break the quiet, Weller couldn't think of anything that didn't sound stupid or insensitive to what she was going through.

While he was still searching for the right words, she turned to him, her expression suddenly anxious again. Then an onslaught of questions poured out of her like an emotional dam in her had finally been broken.

"What if I never find out who I am? Why this happened to me?" she asked.

"What if I never remember anything? And I'm just stuck with these tattoos and no life and no one who knows me? What am I going to do?

She was getting visibly agitated again, biting down hard on her lower lip. Her eyes were wide and scared, begging him for an answer.

Weller had the oddest instinct to wrap his arms around her from behind, hold her until she calmed. But of course he didn't actually do that, would never behave that way with a complete stranger.

Briefly his mind flashed back to the interrogation room, the way he'd automatically taken her hand to help settle her panic. Flushing with embarrassment at his breach of etiquette and the tingle he felt even thinking back to it, Kurt reminded himself that she was the vulnerable victim of a crime and he had to be extremely careful not to abuse his position of power.

Still, he couldn't help but stand right up beside her, close enough that her shoulder touched up against his. Weller told himself it was just to ground her with some human contact and remind her that he was there with her. Yet immediately he again found himself yearning to put his arm around her, and again he had to vehemently tell himself no. And then, somehow, as if he had no control over what was happening, his arm was draped around her shoulders, completely disregarding everything in his usual moral code.

She tensed at his touch and Weller cursed himself silently for whatever had possessed him to do it. But when he started to take his arm away, she moved even closer and leaned up against him.

"No, please don't," she said.

Well that sold it. Weller replaced his arm on her shoulders, wrapping his hand around her right bicep. He noticed that she was strong, seemingly made of muscle, and he gave her a reassuring squeeze on the arm. Which won him an upward look and a timid grin that jabbed at his heart.

She still looked so lost and he didn't know what he could say to make anything better for her. But Weller knew that he had to at least try and alleviate her worries, make some sort of effort to show her how much he wanted to help. So he did his best to gather up some words, hoping that they didn't sound too trite.

"I know you feel very alone and scared about what's happening to you. But you're not alone, I'm here to help you. And I don't have any answers for you yet but I promise, if there's any way out there to figure out who you are, my team will find it."

His attempt at comfort was met with a furrowed brow and skeptical eyes. She obviously didn't completely believe him, yet she seemed content to stand much too close and Weller found himself rubbing her arm absently as she continued to study him carefully.

"You trust your team a lot," she finally said, in an unreadable tone.

"They're the best," Weller replied, with full confidence.

"Shouldn't you be with them? Figuring this all out?"

Weller froze. She was right, of course. He should be at the NYO, working on her case. Under no circumstance was his current behaviour appropriate.

Instantly he felt called out; completely exposed. The woman was looking at him with an unreadable expression, somewhere between a frown and a smirk. Part of him thought she was poking fun at him while the other part thought she was being seriously critical about his dedication to solving her case.

He was still speechless and trying to come up with a suitable answer when she surprised him yet again by edging further into him and tentatively resting her head against his shoulder.

"Don't look so worried. I was just kidding," she said.

"I know you didn't have to take me out here, I'm sure you have a million things to do. But thank you, this is exactly what I needed."

The look of gratefulness on her face was Kurt Weller fuel. He was a fixer; and at that moment there was absolutely nothing else he wanted to fix.

So, even if he hadn't found out anything about who she was, at least she was standing by the waterside, joking with him and no longer looking so terrified. In that way, he'd already won the day.

"I know I'm just another stranger but if there's anything you need I'm here for you," he said.

Again she didn't say anything for awhile, but seemed happy to just stand there, leaning against him. Then, just as he thought that she was done talking, she looked up at him with serious eyes.

"You're not a stranger. You're the lead agent on my case," she said thoughtfully.

"And we went for a walk together the day we met."

That earned her a full on grin, one that Kurt didn't see coming at at all. The firecracker that erupted in his chest from her comment was especially very unlike himself, far more emotional than he was used to feeling.

Which again told him that the situation was off, that he was acting bizarrely. But what was worse, he didn't care. Despite everything, Weller looked down at the woman in his arms and knew that he was exactly where he needed to be.

[kosmicdream]

i wanted to give more context to this since it got brought up.. just for FUN because it is genuinely one of the funniest/worst issues for their relationship. -knife did not kick spoon out immediately after adopting fork, but once it became clear that fork was not a pet, and not going anywhere, spoon's jealousy started to escalate in a way where knife felt he had no choice but to kick him out. Knife was very distraught by this. but he also did not offer spoon much communication on what the "split"/break up really meant, largely due to knife not even knowing himself. He just knew he had to protect Kurt and didn’t really know how to mend things from there, as it was almost an ultimatum of “me or the pet” vibes from spoon anyway. Spoon was just shocked he did not “win”

-after being “dumped” for an indefinite, undetermined amount of time spoon ofc immediately snapped and basically was on a fuck strangers rampage. This was partly done as a desperate attempt to make Knife jealous/get his attention, but also he was in panic mode and trying to distract himself. It was not something he enjoyed! He often made fun of how his relationship with Knife was “boringly monogamous” but he actually genuinely LOVED it being like that bc he did not wish to share knife. With anyone. So having lost him he was just trying to double down with that by pretending he was like finally LIBERATED SEXUALLY!!!!! again but actually insanely miserable and in a free fall. 

-how he ended up shacking up with Cash (before helping her transition) was that he was already her coworker and always got the vibe that she and knife had SOME kind of weird history. He didn’t know what, but never really pursued learning more about it.. Until the break up, then he decided to explore his curiosities about Knife’s past any way he could - so initially fucking her was out of an attempt to learn more about Knife. He ended up finding a great friend in the process tho. Simon to this day has NO idea that Cash is Knife’s adopted mom.

-Knife was mega pissed off at him fucking strangers, obviously, but he truly went nuclear over him and Cash. It made their history, to Spoon, even more suspicious - but also he did regret it. I mean he regretted all of it even while it happened, but he had no idea that it would cross some kind of big line. Even if he didnt know what it was, it clearly happened. He stopped sleeping with Cash after seeing how badly that upset Knife, even in a sick way too it also made him glad to piss him off in such a real way too. Like a petty revenge, but also self sabotage, ect. However, he still remained friends with her and helped her with her transition, if anything their relationship also got better once they eventually stopped sleeping with each other. Spoon also stopped sleeping with well, anyone for a time. Which honestly was not easy for him but he tried to do it as almost like.. A way of showing Knife an apology for the cheating, even if it was somewhat intentional - it was also intentional in that he wanted to hurt him in some way with it. Which he accomplished. -However, their bond only caused the divide between Knife/Spoon to only get worse for a time, to the point where Knife purposefully would avoid seeing Spoon even at work and they mostly just communicated through Fork if they did at all. But it got to the point where Knife was doing so badly, and his apartment was so badly managed, Fork had to move out himself (which he was wanting to do anyway for some time, not that he didn't enjoy living with Knife but he felt he wanted to be more independent and did NOT like bringing girls over there…...) Once Fork officially moved out, knife actually during this time, was trying to GO TO BARS and find new people to bring home to the empty nest. It was not going well, and he has a lot of personal umm.. regrets over this time period that no one knows about. All that fork knew, is whenever he came to visit he could tell his dad was not fine. It got to the point where Fork was desperate enough to try to ask Spoon to help Knife cuz of how badly he was taking care of himself/the apartment. And they’re like. Best bros. You know. 

-While rocky, their relationship started to improve from there w/ baby steps. It was not great though, and they were still living apart up until Knife’s “death” - but this did start the period of years where Knife would basically visit Spoon (by breaking into his apartment at random times and just being there) and vice versa (although spoon did not break into knife’s apartment bc that might get you stabbed since Knife doesnt like surprises) and they were somewhat rekindling their relationship, although there was a lot of things they did not talk about. It took a long time but as it improved Knife was getting ready to ask Spoon to move back in with him, which almost seemed like a guarantee that Spoon would accept - but Locket showed up and y’kno. The rest is history….

In an ask in 2017, you mentioned that simon had cheated on knife with cash, is that still canon

yup it is. although there was a huge lack of communication btwn the two. it happened after Simon was kicked out.

[tthankstoyou]

Bad boy Sam though. Rolls into S2.

dude the first thing for this au that comes to mind is ‘bad enough for you’ by all time low

anyways, here’s what my mind thought of:

sam has a huge crush on kurt and has been trying to work himself up to asking him out. one day sam overhears that kurt had a thing for bad boys (which he doesn’t - mercedes was just joking around). sam goes into panic mode, he’s the furthest thing from a bad boy, and he asks puck for help. puck gives sam a class on how to be bad/rebellious.

sam comes to school with ripped black jeans and a leather jacket, but kurt still isn’t looking his way. that’s when he decides to join the glee club. he sings something with puck on the guitar as his audition song. kurt’s staring at him, but not in the good way. all that’s running through kurt’s head is ‘what the hell happened to sweet sam.’ after the song, sam brings a chair right next to kurt and sits in it, throwing his arm around the back of kurts chair. kurts still all like ‘???’ at the end of glee club sam says, “we’re going to dinner tonight, i’m picking you up at 7” and leaves before kurt is able to reply.

sam is an asshole on the date, so much so that kurt says that he needs to use the bathroom but ends up leaving through the back door of breadstix. this is like a stab to sam’s heart, he thought he was doing great and that kurt was loving this bad boy persona.

the next day at school sam asks kurt why he ditched him. kurt straight up tells him that it’s because he doesn’t wanna date someone that’s a dick. the truth is that kurt wanted to date sam more than anything when the boy first came to mckinley looking like the sweetest person ever, but he assumed that sam was straight and didn’t want to make the same mistake as last year. that’s why he was ignoring sam, he figured that the best way to get over his crush was to pretend like sam didn’t exist.

sam comes to school the day after as his old self. he walks up to kurt and does a little twirl like ‘check this out.’ kurt says that he likes this sam so much better. sam asks kurt out on a do over date and kurt says “no.” sam is like “oh um i’m sorry... i’ll go now.” kurt is trying his best not to laugh and says “i’m just joking. i’d love to go on a date with you. one request: please leave your leather jacket at home”

[raviposting]

Hey guys! I have another fic out for Luther & Allison’s dynamic - I’ve tagged folks who liked my excerpt post, please message me if you want to be untagged! :) 

Thank you to @ginnxtonic & @superhero-bastards for beta-reading! 

Crossposted to AO3 (properly formatted here!) 

Summary: Luther and Allison have been doing things in reverse their whole lives, so it’s no wonder that it applies to their relationship as well. A character study on Luther and Allison’s journey to being romantic, to friends, to siblings again.

Note: I wasn’t entirely sure how to tag this fic so I thought I’d describe it here for people to determine for themselves if they want to/can read it. For shippers - this fic does not support or promote their relationship; I believe that Luther & Allison’s dynamic formed as a trauma bond and I really wanted to explore that concept, so this might not be the fic for you though if it is, great! For non-shippers -  I wanted to explore their relationship and see how they could become genuine friends/platonic in canon. As I’m going through their dynamic there’s going to be incestuous undertones for the first part in particular. 

Whichever way you fall on that please just be warned on that before you read, as your own comfort when reading comes first. Thank you! 

Fic: The Days that Were (And Are to Come) under the cut!

Number One found out that Number Three was his soulmate on September 26, 1996. 

The six-year-old had been sitting with Mom, watching Cinderella again - their favorite movie. Well, Mom’s favorite, he reminded himself. He liked Superman and King Kong, but Mom really liked Cinderella and none of the other siblings really liked watching it so One would sit with her, his eyes tracing between the sparkling spirals as Cinderella got her magical dress and his mother sighing contentedly when she did so. 

“Sublime,” his mother would say, every time without fail. One didn’t understand why she would choose this routine, of sitting on the couch and watching the same movie, having the same reactions night after night after night after night, but the content smile on his mother’s face told One that there was something there for Mom. 

The rest of the movie went on as planned. Mom would clap in delight at the pumpkin getting changed into a carriage, sing along to all the songs, and sigh and say, “Look, darling, she’s meeting her Prince,” when Cinderella and the Prince locked eyes. 

Except for September 26, 1996, when Cinderella and the Prince locked eyes, Grace sighed, and said, “Look, darling, she’s meeting her soulmate.” 

One looked away from the screen, a brush of panic hitting him. He didn’t know that word. He racked his head for every word his father had taught him, every language he could think of, but his mind was blank. Mom looked over and frowned (a frown that looked more like a smile, it seemed like Mom’s default mode). 

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asked, and One looked up. The smile was back on her face when he looked at her. The light of the television reflected back onto one of her eyes like a monocle of light. It seemed wrong, threatening somehow, and something about the image was screaming to One that he couldn’t tell her that he didn’t know what the word meant. 

Besides, he was Number One, he was supposed to know what every word was. He took pride in it every time he got to show up Number Two in their lessons and Dad told him, “Good job, Number One,” when he explained the difference between arthropods and molluscs, while Two had sulked in the corner with his head down. He couldn’t just not know something now. 

“Nothing,” he said in response, and ran upstairs, ignoring Mom’s call asking him if he was okay. He was running down the hallway when he bumped into Three, and the two of them went sprawling onto the floor. 

“Sorry,” One said, getting up and holding out his hand to Three. 

“It’s okay,” she said, grabbing his hand and using her free one to rub the back of her head with a wince. “Where are you going?” 

“I…” One paused, debating if he should tell her, but then Three smiled encouragingly. It was a true smile that reached her eyes, and there was no...wrongness to it, like there was for Mom. 

“I need to look up a word,” he admitted. “Mom said soulmate. I don’t know what it is.” 

Three tilted her head to the side, her nose scrunching up in thought. “Me neither,” she said, and she turned, walking towards the library. “Let’s find out, then.” One looked at her, walking confidently towards the library room. She didn’t even seem to really care that she hadn’t known, just seemed set on finding out, and One marveled at that confidence as he followed behind her.

It was at the library that they pulled out the large dictionary and searched painstakingly until they got to “soulmate”, and One read: 

A person who is perfectly suited to another in temperament

A person who strongly resembles another in attitudes or beliefs

“Well that doesn’t make sense,” One sighed. “Mom was talking about Cinderella and the Prince. I don’t think they fit this.” 

“Why don’t you just ask Mom?” Three asked, and One shook his head, the same flash of panic he had felt earlier rising up in his chest again. 

Three must have sensed his panic because she reached over, taking One’s hand. “You can trust Mom,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Mom is here for us. She’s not going to be mad.” 

One looked down at their hands, thinking of Mom’s plastic smile, illuminated by the pale glow of the television screen, her posture upright and her limbs looking not-quite right. He wasn’t sure if he trusted her, but he did trust Three. 

“Okay,” he said, and squeezed back. 

Three didn’t join him, saying she needed to help Four - or Mallory, the name he was trying out for the week - pick out another name, so One slowly walked back downstairs alone. Mom was still there, hands clasped in her lap and the movie still playing, the smile still on her face. If One looked closely he thought he could see something glistening in her eyes, but it was probably the reflection from the screen. 

“Mom?” he asked, and she turned from the screen, her smile widening when she saw One. 

“Sweetheart, where did you go?” she asked, reaching out to cup his face, and One moved back instinctually. Her hand paused and dropped to her side, but the smile never left. 

“I needed to look up a word,” he said slowly and stilted. “Soulmate. You said it earlier, but I still don’t know what it means.”

His mother laughed, the noise somehow blending in perfectly with the music still blaring from the television. “Oh, silly, you can always ask me!” she said. 

“A soulmate is…” she paused, and her eyes looked far off and her smile dropped ever so slightly - probably, One assumed, to download information on everything there was to know about soulmates for him, and just as expected, her eyes cleared and she looked back at him, looking sure of herself. 

“A soulmate is someone who loves you entirely, and you love them the same. You both support each other, trust each other; that bond cannot be broken, no matter what or no matter how much time passes. That person is your person for life. Does that make sense, sweetheart?” 

One nodded, and she smiled brightly again. “There. It’s like I said, you can always ask me, sweetie,” she said, and she moved, slightly slowly, to envelop One in her arms. He let her this time and he heard her sigh happily, but One was barely paying attention to her, his own smile wide on his face. 

He had heard the definition and knew without a doubt that he already had a soulmate. He always knew their bond was important, but after Mom told him what soulmate meant he knew that it was more than he ever thought about. 

A soulmate, he thought to himself as he walked up to his room. I have a soulmate. 

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Bad love, bad love and misery….

The song droned on through the radio as Three and One looked through the baby naming books. 

“Hm...Kurt?” One asked, and he and Three looked at each other, imagining it, before shaking their heads in unison. One sighed, placing the book on an ever-growing pile next to him. 

“I’m never going to find a name, Audrey,” he groaned, and Three tried not to flinch at the name. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Three said. “Klaus changed his name tons of times before he picked one, Five and Seven still don’t have one.” One didn’t seem convinced, so she went on. “And hey, I don’t even know if I like mine,” she confessed. 

One sat up, his face rapt with attention. “You don’t? But you were so excited,” he said sadly. “You were saying how much you love Audrey Hepburn and this would be a great name for yourself.”  

Three sighed. “I thought it’d be nice, but it just doesn’t feel like….me,” she said. She hadn’t even realized what the issue was until she had said it - it felt like she was just wearing the name, not that it was hers. She wanted something that was hers, completely and wholly. Aubrey wasn’t her, it was a costume, a mask that she could put on as easily as if it was the mask on her uniform. 

“Do you want to change it?” he asked, and Three thought to herself. She had been feeling it for a while, but she had told herself that when she announced her name, that was it, it would be the only one and that was it. She had gotten excited, told One all about it, then told the rest of the family and they all said how wonderfully it fit her and by the time Three realized that it wasn’t working for her anymore it had been so long that it felt dumb to change it now. 

But One was looking at her, his eyes wide and non-judgemental, just filled with concern and understanding, and Three couldn’t think of what she was worried about. 

“I actually have one in mind,” she admitted, and One’s eyes perked up, encouraging her to go on. “I think one of my favorite things about the whole name thing is trying to find one with you. Listening to Luther Allison’s songs on the radio, going through all these books over and over and over again, it’s all really...they’re my favorite moments,” she said, feeling shy all of a sudden - no clue why, One wasn’t going to be mean about it anyway. “And I think I like Allison, for my name,” she admitted. 

“I think it’s great,” One said, smiling at her, and Allison smiled back. 

“Then I’m Allison,” she said brightly, and she looked back at One. “I think there’s even a name there for you, if you ever want it.” One locked eyes with her, and she knew, she knew that he got what name she thought would work for him. It was how soulmates worked, as One had described to her only a few years ago. She knew he understood her as much as she knew that he would choose that name eventually, just as she knew that he wasn’t ready to use it right now and not be Number One all the time, but that he’d get there anyway. 

“Maybe,” One said softly. “Maybe...you can just call me it when we’re alone? For now?” 

The thought of Allison being the only one to call him by his name made her heart beat a little faster. No one else would know - it’d be their own special soulmate secret, something so special and unique that even Dad wouldn’t know about it. 

“For now, Luther,” she said, and Luther smiled. The two leaned back on their spots on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, the only sound being their namesake’s music and the sound of each other breathing. Allison couldn’t see him, but she knew Luther was smiling just as she was smiling. 

She closed her eyes and leaned her head towards Luther, glad to have her safe strong beacon here with her in this moment. She reached out until she felt his hand, interlocking it with her own, and they stayed there, quiet, away from the rest of the world.  

We have it, she thought to herself, giddy with joy, knowing, knowing Luther was thinking the same.

A name.  

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Allison had known a surprise was coming, but she hadn’t thought it was this. A part of her wanted to tease Luther and say that he just had to show her up, after she had decorated their little hideout into a beautiful tent scene, but looking at the necklace in her hands she couldn’t find the words. 

No one had ever gotten her a present before, ever. She remembered this necklace, they had killed some robbers at a jewelry store weeks ago and Allison had peered over while Luther threw a robber through the window, had gasped at how pretty the necklace was, and squealed when the terrified clerk said, “I c-can engrave it for you, on the house.” 

They had contained the scene and Dad had swooped in, so Allison had gone off to talk to the reporters and rumor one into taking some headshots of her, but she had noticed Luther hanging back, and now, looking at the necklace that just said A+L she knew why. 

“Do you like it?” Luther asked. He seemed nervous, though Allison couldn’t figure out why when she was so happy it had to have shown on her face. 

“I’ll never take it off,” she said, and she meant it. She smiled down at her necklace and then back at her brother. “Oh!” she said, getting up for the rest of her surprise. “I almost forgot. I brought one more thing.” 

She put on the record and outstretched her hand towards Luther. She had seen him on their designated fun and games nights, whenever Mom would put on her Disney or romance movies. Luther always watched with rapt attention, even when he was pretending not to, and he’d sigh wistfully whenever there was a ball, looking longingly at the screen as the prince and princess glided across the ballroom floor. 

Allison didn’t have a fancy ball gown or a prince’s outfit, but Luther didn’t need a costume to feel that way anyway, and she thought she could give him this. 

He was about to grab her hand when Dad burst in, telling them what a disappointment they were, that he never wanted them in here ever again, and Allison flinched, moving ever-so-slightly behind Luther. Dad left and Allison slowly packed up her things, turning off the lights that she had so carefully strung up earlier that day and getting ready to take them off when Luther stopped her. 

“Don’t,” he said. “Dad...didn’t say the lights and tent couldn’t be up.” It was a rare bit of not-quite disobedience from Luther, and Allison looked back at him and nodded. 

“Yeah,” she said. “We can keep them up. We can come back on Saturday.” 

Luther gave her a weak smile back. The two walked back silently to their rooms, and Allison stopped Luther, giving him a kiss on the cheek. She felt him still briefly before he relaxed and grinned, bringing his hand up to his cheek. 

“Good night,” Allison said, and Luther stammered out a good night back. 

Allison curled into her bed, clutching her necklace and smiling as she dozed off to sleep. 

In her dreams, she saw herself in a long red dress, dancing with Luther clad in a suit, and the twinkling lights shining bright in the background. They twirled in the moonlight, her A+L necklace spinning with the two of them, and when he dipped her, Allison would hold his cheek and lean in, and he would as well. They’d kiss, just like in the movies they watched, and Allison would lean against him and just take in the moment as they swayed together, only enjoying each other’s company. 

In her dreams, they danced all night. 

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Diego leaves a few weeks after Ben’s funeral, yelling at their father in a way that reminded Luther all too well of a small cocky thirteen-year-old who had slammed a knife into the table four years ago. 

“We’re kids,” Diego had said, pointing his finger at their father. “Kids. You’re supposed to protect us, we’re not supposed to do anything else but live our lives.  You’re the one who failed us and Five and Ben, you piece of shit. We deserve better, we can go,” he had said, looking around at his siblings. Vanya was huddled in the corner, staring straight down at the floor, and Klaus seemed only vaguely aware of what was going on, his eyes an all-too familiar glassy shade that indicated that he was really only there physically. Allison locked eyes with Diego, and Luther puffed out his chest, standing next to Dad. 

“If you want to leave, Number Two, you can,” Luther had responded, and Allison and Diego stopped their staredown.

Diego had looked at them all and sighed. “Whatever,” he said, grabbing his duffel bag. “You can all go to Hell. You especially,” he said to Dad. “They don’t know any better but you do.” With that he went off to the hallway, lingering a bit to say something to Mom, and then the door slammed and Diego was gone. 

His father was silent and turned, walking back to his office. 

“Wait, don’t you have anything to say?” Allison asked, anger overwhelming her voice. 

“Training will be at 7:00 AM sharp tomorrow,” came the response, and the door was shut. Klaus laughed, muttering out a figures, and sprawled onto the staircase, staring at an unseen ghost and mumbling something about Ben. Vanya had disappeared from her corner on the stairs; Luther hadn’t even noticed when she had left. 

Allison clenched her fists, strolling over to the office, and Luther grabbed her arm right before she could turn the knob. 

“What are you doing?” he hissed, and Allison narrowed her eyes at him. 

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “Either Diego’s coming back home or we’re not having training tomorrow, it depends on my mood when I walk through the door, okay?” 

“You can’t,” Luther whispered. 

“I can if you let go of my arm,” Allison said. The two stared down at each other, and Allison narrowed her eyes. “I-”

Luther dropped her arm. “Allison,” he said, looking at her. “Please.” 

Something flashed in Allison’s eyes, too quick for Luther to properly figure out, and she dropped her hand from the doorknob. “Fine,” she said, turning around and stepping easily over Klaus as she left, not turning back once. 

He found her later in their usual spot, crying and picking at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” Luther said, sitting next to her. Allison’s fingers stilled. 

“For what?” she asked. 

“For making you mad,” he said, and Allison sighed. 

“It wasn’t you, Luther,” she said. “It was Dad. We’ve had nonstop training since Ben died, and I just want - we can’t go on like this, Luther. Diego got that.” 

Luther pushed down the reflexive annoyance at the comment. “Diego doesn’t know anything,” he said breezily. “He thinks that just because he has a few friends outside the academy that he’s better than us. He’ll be back groveling for Dad and the rest of us in no time.” 

“But what if he doesn’t?” Allison said, resuming picking at the thread on her shirt. 

“Then we don’t need him,” Luther said. “Allison, we don’t need anyone except each other, okay? It’s just like when we were kids, I always had you, and you always had me, right?” 

“Right,” Allison said. “Yeah, you’re right. I always feel safe with you,” she said, looking up at Luther, her brown eyes wide and earnest. “Like nothing in the world could ever get to me as long as you were there.” 

“I don’t want to lose that,” Luther said, and Allison nodded. 

“Me neither,” she agreed, and there was a content silence, until Luther broke it with a question he had been wondering for the entire day. 

“Allison, were you going to...rumor me this morning? With Dad?” he asked. Allison had used her power on their other siblings before, he’d see her trying to use it on Klaus to fix his addiction (something that would last about a week before it wore off), or to tease Diego; back when they were young she’d use it on Five so he couldn’t leave arguments when they were going back and forth. He hadn’t thought she’d ever use it on him, and the thought had made him feel special. 

“I…” Allison sighed, putting her head in her hands. “I’m sorry Luther, I was. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“Not try to rumor me?” Luther tried to joke, but it came out flat, and he cursed himself for the insecurity leaking through his voice. There was an awkward silence, and he reached over, gently clasping both of Allison’s hands in his own. They hadn’t done that before but he had seen it in movies and thought it’d feel awkward. It did, kind of, but it felt nice too, and Allison smiled at the motion, which gave Luther the courage to say what he needed to next. 

“Allison, I will always have your back,” he said. “You can always count on me, okay? But I need to count on you too, and I need to know that you won’t rumor me.” 

“I won’t,” Allison said, the answer coming so quickly and easily that it made Luther’s heart swell. 

“I...also need you to not rumor Dad,” he said, and Allison wrinkled her eyes in confusion, and he felt her hands twitch ever-so-slightly under his own. 

“But I thought you just said that we’d always have each other’s backs,” she said slowly. 

“We do,” Luther said, trying to figure out where the confusion was. There shouldn’t be an issue after all, if they were together, they were in the house, and Dad knew what was best for both of them. There wouldn’t be any problems, he and Allison and whoever else wanted to stick around and listen would be heroes. They’d live a good life. 

“It’s either I don’t rumor you, or I don’t rumor Dad,” Allison said, moving her hands away from Luther. Her eyes steeled over, and Luther found himself reeling back a bit from her. She couldn’t do both? 

“I can’t do both,” Allison continued, as if she had heard his unspoken question. “I’m sorry, I can’t, Luther. Not even for you. I just need to know which one you’d rather I do, okay?” Her tone was softening, and she looked at him, but it didn’t comfort him. For the first time Luther felt like he couldn’t figure out exactly what was going on in Allison’s mind. There was something in her face, a desperation, her eyes searching for an answer that Luther didn’t think he had. It was as if he was getting one of Dad’s pop quizzes, and he hadn’t prepared for the possibility of one. 

Which one would he rather have? 

He thought about telling Ben that his powers were good enough for him to fight, and Ben’s casket getting lowered into the ground. Of Klaus, talking to friends no one else could see at the dinner table and the glint in his father’s eye, and the next week when Klaus came back quieter, and the months after when he started rolling joints under the table. Of Five, who had told their father how much better he had gotten at using his powers, and his portrait, hanging over the mantle to showcase his mistake for four years and counting. 

“Don’t rumor Dad,” Luther said, and Allison nodded.

“I won’t,” she said, though it seemed less sure than the first time she had promised, and then she sighed, bringing her hand up to massage her temple. “I have a headache, I’m sorry, so I’ll be - I’ll be off,” she said. She smiled at him, but it seemed weak, not reaching her eyes, and Luther couldn’t help but feel like he had just failed whatever test he’d been given. 

She brushed past him and stopped at the door, her hand on the knob. “For what it’s worth, I don’t want to ever rumor you either,” she said, and then she turned the knob and was gone. 

Luther sighed, and turned to leave. It was fine, he thought. This was the better decision. It was. It was a good decision. He gripped the doorknob and turned it, telling himself that he didn’t mess up, that there wasn’t anything wrong, that there was nothing he was missing, and by the time he exited he stood a little taller and his chin was up. The moment was difficult and hard but it had to be done, and he knew he and Allison would come through it stronger than ever. He knew, he knew, he knew. 

It was a good decision. It was. 

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“You’re leaving?” Luther asked, staring at the bags Allison had packed. 

“Luther,” Allison said, her eyes filled with pity and sadness. “We knew this was coming.” 

“No, we did not,” Luther said, even though he knew, deep down, that there wasn’t much shock there. Allison’s smile had seemed more strained lately, and she had locked herself in her room when Klaus had gotten kicked out a year prior, even longer when Vanya had unceremoniously left a few months later. The comments that she and Luther should run away together had increased, now no longer something she’d say in the safety of their hideout but something she’d say freely and carelessly: after missions, disposing of bodies, after Dad would turn a corner. 

Luther would remind her that they had each other, hoping it’d be enough, but he guessed he wasn’t. 

“I need to go out and live my life,” Allison said. “I’m just…” she sighed, searching for the words. “I’m just Number Three here, or the Rumor outside. I just want to be Allison.” 

“You’re Allison to me,” Luther said, and in his mind he saw Allison’s eyes light up with the realization, that he saw her just like she saw him, that it didn’t matter what name anyone else thought of for them because they had each other, and she’d run into his arms and he’d hold her and they’d keep each other safe. She’d promise that they’d never leave each other like the rest of their siblings that had abandoned them, that she couldn’t even imagine that she had been about to do it. 

Yeah, he could see it now, them dancing in their attic with the twinkling lights, playing some Luther Allison on tape. He hadn’t danced with Allison since Dad had interrupted them all those years ago. He’d do it for real this time and not let anyone interrupt, even Dad, because Allison was important. Allison was his soulmate and soulmates never left each other, ever, they protected each other and stuck through all the hard times and never wanted more because their soulmate was that more. 

Allison shook her head no, shattering the plans already forming in Luther’s head. “I’m glad I’m Allison to you,” she said, walking over to him, suitcase in hand, using her other hand to gently cup his cheek. “But I need to be more than that.” 

Luther shook his head. “No,” he said. “If you leave then, I’ll be-” he stopped, wanting to say he’d be alone but not feeling like it was right, somehow. He’d have Mom, he’d have Pogo - Pogo was his best friend, he wouldn’t be alone but there was something about Allison leaving that left him with a vast emptiness inside anyway. 

“Come with me,” Allison insisted. “We can go somewhere, together. We know where the others are, we can see them from time to time but it’ll be the two of us, just Luther and Allison. Not Space Boy and Rumor, not One and Three, just Luther and just Allison.” 

Luther tried thinking about it, a life outside the house. He didn’t even know what he would do, and the thought of it scared him. Allison didn’t know either, she was just stepping out into a world that would gleefully rip her apart if it could, just as it did with Ben, and Five, and Klaus, and what he was sure it was doing to Diego and Vanya right now. 

“We’re better off here,” he said. “Allison, you have to stay here.” 

He hadn’t meant for it to sound like a command but it did, and Allison sighed. “Luther, you have to let me leave,” she said, and Luther hated the resignation in her voice, and for a moment he hated her for having it. It wasn’t him wrecking their life, it was her, she just couldn’t see it clearly. 

“No,” he said. “Allison, I - I won’t let you leave,” he said desperately, trying to think of how to get her to stay when it hit him. Of course, of course - he’d take her dancing and do whatever else she wanted for the day, just a few more moments and she’d get it, she’d understand, they could fix this, they could fix this.

“Luther,” Allison said, and Luther was pulled back to the Allison in front of him, tears pricking at her eyes as she touched her forehead to his, and Luther sighed in relief at the motion, and smiled when she said, “I love you, you know that, right?” 

“I do,” Luther mumbled. He loved her, and she loved him, and their love was stronger and more important than anything else that was thrown at them. It was going to be alright. They were going to fix this. 

“I heard-” Allison started, and Luther backed away, his eyes wide. He shook his head, shooting a rare look of anger at her. 

“Allison,” he said, the pleading in his voice evident, and Allison gripped her suitcase, seemingly steeling herself. As if she was the one who was hurting here. As if she wasn’t intentionally throwing their world upside down because she couldn’t handle a few more years of Dad. 

“I need to leave. I’m sorry,” she said. “I heard-” she started again. 

“No,” Luther said, but Allison went on, the tears already clouding her image of Luther and the betrayal clear on his face. 

“- a rumor.” 

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A baby.

Allison had a baby. A baby girl. Claire. Claire Green, Allison had said after a beat. Luther tried not to wince at the full name but he was sure Allison felt it all the way over the phone and there was a five-second-pause that felt like the five years Allison had been gone. Allison was as flawless as ever, however, picking right back up to describing her daughter and steamrolling the pause to the ground. 

“It’s amazing, Luther, she’s amazing,” Allison said. “Her hands are so tiny, but she’ll grasp onto my finger and won’t let go, and then it feels like she’s the strongest thing in the whole world.” 

Luther stored that in the back of his head, knowing it was metaphorical but wondering all the same if Claire shared a power with him, and the thought made his chest ache. 

“I’ve heard kids can do that,” he said, chuckling a bit, and he could hear the smile widening on Allison’s face. 

“You know, I always kind of shook my head at people talking about how having their kids is life-changing, but they’re right,” Allison said. “I was scared, I was so scared Luther, this entire time about being pregnant.” 

Luther hadn’t known that, but he nodded along as if he did and as if she could see him. 

“When I went into labor, God, it’s stupid but I kept getting so worried Luther. I even thought that maybe I could just rumor her to stay in a little longer because I wasn’t ready, but then she was out and they put her in my arms and…” she sighed, and he could imagine the same faraway smile she had when she had announced to their siblings that her name was Allison now, soft and sweet and eyes sparkling with opportunity. “They put her into my arms and I realized something. I’ve never loved anyone more than I love that little girl.” 

Luther’s mouth was thick, the aching in his chest getting tighter and tighter until he choked out a strangled, “I’m so happy for you, Allison” and a more sincere, “You deserve this.”  

“You should come visit,” Allison said. “Diego and Vanya said they’d come, and Klaus…well, he’s Klaus,” she said, a hint of annoyance in her voice before it softened again. “I would love for you to meet her.” 

Luther imagined visiting, seeing Allison and Claire and...him, even. He and Diego could be civil for a day or two, he could make small talk with Vanya, and most important of all, see Allison. Allison and his newfound niece. He hoped she’d like him. He had seen videos of babies being placed in strangers’ arms and immediately sobbing and he had the sudden image of Claire being placed into his arms, locking eyes with his form, and bursting out into tears. His eyes shifted from the phone to his arms, the skin black and wrinkled and bushy. 

“Luther?” Allison asked. 

“I ah….” Luther drifted off, but on the other end he heard a man’s voice. “Babe?” the voice said. 

“Sorry Luther, I have to go,” Allison said quickly. “It was...good talking to you. I missed you,” she said. 

“I missed yo-” Luther started, but he heard the line click and the dial tone of the phone. He hung it up as gently as possible, and shuffled back to his father’s office, knocking quickly at the door before entering. 

“Allison had her baby,” Luther said. “A little girl named Claire.” 

Mom gave a gasp of joy and clapped her hands, and Pogo smiled, his face softening with the news. 

“Isn’t that wonderful, sweetie?” Mom asked Reginald, and she looked back at Luther, her eyes twinkling. “I’m a grandmother, we have a beautiful little girl named Claire!” 

His father didn’t look up from his desk. Save for his pen stopping midway through whatever notes he was taking, Reginald didn’t seem to give any indication that he had even heard Luther. “Does the child have abilities?” 

“No,” Luther responded. 

The pen started up again. Mom’s smile stayed plastered on and Pogo’s face wrinkled back into his neutral sad state, and Luther waited, allowing the silence to overtake them all. 

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“Moon sure is beautiful tonight, huh baby?” Ray asked, and Allison ripped her eyes away from the window. 

“Hm?” she asked. 

“The moon?” Ray repeated. “You’ve been staring at it for the past few minutes.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Allison said, smiling at her husband. “It’s beautiful.” 

Ray looked at her for a bit, knowing something was up, but he didn’t press on, and Allison loved him for it. He had been so understanding and patient with her, accepting her, “My life is...complicated,” as an answer to who she was. He had told her that it was all right, that he was planning on sticking with her for as long as God gave him on this Earth and that when she was ready, she could tell him.

She had kissed him then, smiling through her tears because here she was, offering nothing to this wonderful, kind man and being given the world in response. 

It made her feel wrong, somehow, not telling him about her family. They’d find her, one day, and she didn’t know how Ray would react to meeting them with no warning, or when Five would inevitably fix the problem so they could go back to 2019. He’d probably come with her - she hoped - but then he’d have to adjust to 2019, and meet Claire and… Allison clutched the dishrag in her hands, forcing herself to think about anything else but her baby girl. She’d think about her every day, missing her daughter’s warmth, her smile, even her tantrums that Allison had so foolishly gotten irritated at so long ago. She would give everything up, her abilities, her life, her marriage if it meant she could hold her daughter for just one more day. 

It hurt too much to tell Ray, and she wouldn’t even know where to begin. With the powers she had, the other siblings who were probably somewhere else right now causing havoc? She could hear him now, asking about all of them. How could she explain Ben without breaking down? How could she explain Luther? 

It was easier to just keep quiet, even though every lie by omission felt like another bandage was placed across her throat, building and building until she couldn’t breathe anymore. 

So she looked at the moon, and imagined her siblings were out there staring up at it as well. Sometimes she’d look up and imagine it breaking apart, the pieces hurtling towards her, and she wondered if Vanya ever looked up at the moon and felt a sense of dread. She’d look up and remember cursing at it when she had gotten Luther’s message that he was going on a special mission to the moon, looking up at it and hating that he was there, alone, hating Dad for sending him there and hating Luther for going and always wondering if it was so he could avoid attending her wedding and meeting Claire. 

Her thoughts were filled with all her siblings, but Luther took up the most space, almost as much as they did of Claire and thinking about him filled her with both longing and guilt. She told herself it was fine, just her thinking of her favorite sibling, but in her most desperate of moments she knew that thinking about a favorite sibling shouldn’t make her feel like she was cheating on her husband.

She had been asked once, from one of her colleagues, if she had ever had a significant other and Allison had hesitated before saying no. It had felt like a lie and her friend had raised her eyebrows, disbelieving, but had let it drop. When Allison mentioned her siblings and brought up Luther the same look had crossed her friend’s face, and after an awkward silence, her friend mumbled out, “Well hey, no worries, at least you guys aren’t really siblings.” 

That hadn’t sounded right either, but Allison couldn’t pinpoint why and trying to think about it more made her feel like she was standing back at the Academy right before Dad was ready to scold them, so she just nodded and said, “Yeah, technically we’re not siblings anyway.” 

She could imagine the hurt on her other siblings’ faces, but saying she and Luther were only siblings felt wrong too, as if she was betraying someone no matter what she said. 

How could she explain any of that to Ray? He may be the world’s most understanding man, but there was only so much that any person could accept. How could she explain that she loved him, really truly loved him, but that she had this bond that she couldn’t shake and didn’t think she wanted to shake anyway? How could she explain that Luther existed in this odd in-between of relationships in her life, a not-quite something but a not-quite nothing, that saying that he was her brother felt like a glorious truth and a stab in her heart at the same time? She couldn’t explain it to herself, much less Ray. 

Ray walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I’m going to go to bed, all right?” he said, and Allison nodded, the thoughts of Claire and Luther and the rest of her family taking up too much occupancy in her mind for her to properly speak without breaking down. He kissed her cheek and untangled himself from her, and Allison heard him walk up the stairs to go to bed. 

One day she would tell him. She would sit him down and explain everything, start to finish, and hear what he’d have to say and accept it, no matter what it was. She would. 

For now, though, Allison stared at the moon. 

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A file. 

Luther’s life had been reduced to a short, one-page file. Or well, his new life. His new timeline life? He wasn’t too sure. 

Either way, his name was Tom now, and he was a mechanic living in town. He had a twin brother living in Europe, he was British now, apparently, and he was dating a woman named Amy. 

It was short, but apparently all that Dad could find on their new selves. He’d clearly invested as much time finding their alternate-selves as he had in ever raising them with any care in their lives. Not that it was any big difference from their own timeline’s father, Luther thought, remembering the reports he had found under the floorboard, with only a hint of bitterness. He had given up a life, love, his body for his father’s mission, and Dad had just tossed him aside like garbage and found a new group of children to raise. 

He choked down his bitterness - it wasn’t going to help his siblings, and there was no use trying to hash out his issues with a father who didn’t care, anyway. 

“Find out anything about yourselves?” he asked. Five looked down before tossing his file on the table. 

“I’m galavanting around Europe, apparently,” he said dryly. “This me is a…. hippy who wants to backpack across the world,” he said, the words dripping with venom. 

“Philosophy professor in Florida, which is horrifying,” Klaus groaned. “Philosophy professor is bad enough, but Florida?” 

“I’m in Mexico,” Diego said, and when the siblings looked at him to expand he looked down and shrugged. “I do interior design, and if anyone makes fun of me -”

“-I’m dead,” Vanya interjected, trying to be casual, though the wobbling of her voice betrayed her. “Just died as a baby, according to my file.” Klaus started to move towards Vanya, but she shrugged him off. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it to be a thing, it just came out. We can move on from it.” The now was unspoken but clear.  

There was an awkward silence, and Allison spoke up. “I’m in town,” she said, trying her best to sound cheery, even as she shot her sister a concerned look. “My name is Amy Jackson, and it doesn’t say much else about me.” 

Luther looked at her, then back to his file. “Well that’s funny,” he said. “My girlfriend’s name is Amy.” 

The silence got even louder and awkward, and Allison stared at the floor. Five sighed, and Vanya broke the silence.

“Okay, I think I’m fine with being dead now,” she said, and Klaus laughed. 

“Hey, at least you two can do your whole, ‘technically we’re not related’ thing in this timeline!” Klaus added, and Luther opened his mouth to argue, and then stopped. Did he want to argue? 

Allison grabbed his file from him and was reading it over. “It doesn’t say a last name,” she said. “It doesn’t mean it’s me. There’s a lot of Amys in the world.” 

Diego opened his mouth, ready to tease, but Five interjected, saying that love lives didn’t matter but that they should at least check out the leads, and that they had the most information on Luther so they’d go and find him and go from there. 

Luther was glad to have Five there, and even more glad when Allison said that she wanted to keep an eye on the rest of the Sparrows and the rest of their siblings agreed, leaving just Five and Luther to stalk his other self from afar. 

The ride to the not-him’s house was short and quiet. Luther sprawled himself in the back seat, looking out the window as Five drove, not even caring enough when he saw people staring in shock as they drove by. When they pulled up to the house, Five turned to Luther. 

“You know, when you see him, he won’t look like you, not exactly,” he said, and Luther shrugged. 

“I know, I’ve thought about it,” Luther said, though he hadn’t, really. His thoughts had been wrapped up in Allison-slash-Amy and he hadn’t remembered that, save for being slightly stronger than other people, he would be normal in this life, in more ways than one.

Five looked at him, and turned back without a word. 

They waited for a while, until Luther was sure that maybe his other self wasn’t going to ever leave his house, and then the door opened and he stepped out. He was whistling a tune, not a care in the world, absentmindedly checking his pockets and then turning at a woman’s voice yelling, “Wait, babe!” and the door opened yet again. 

A young Asian woman ran out, holding out car keys, and his other self laughed and thanked her, and she kissed him quickly on the lips before going back inside. 

The relief that Luther felt was immeasurable. It’s not Allison, he thought, giddy with the knowledge, and then the guilt and shame washed over him immediately. It wasn’t a bad thing if it were her anyway, because it was okay here. Allison was his rock, if she was his rock here it’d be even better. Right? He loved her, she had taken up every thought in his head every day that he had been without her, so why did he feel so much relief knowing that his other self wasn’t with her? Was he only in love with her in their own fucked up world? Was that why he was happy that he wasn’t with her here? 

The revulsion grew in Luther’s throat as he remembered his father’s voice in his head, telling fifteen-year-old him that he was unnatural. Maybe Dad hadn’t turned him into a monster. Maybe he had just exposed what was already there, an abnormality that was already festering the shape of a human, and just made it obvious to the outside world. 

Five didn’t say anything on the ride back home, instead just shooting him glances when he thought Luther wasn’t looking. Maybe he thought Luther was disappointed, or he could tell that Luther was conflicted - or rather, conflicted about not feeling conflicted. Luther wasn’t sure - he never knew what was going on in that little guy’s mind, but he was thankful all the same for him. Five wasn’t going to push for Luther to talk about his feelings, and Luther wasn’t exactly even sure about what those feelings were. 

All he knew was that he needed this timeline fixed soon. 

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When the timeline is fixed and they get their own Ben back, it’s the miracle of miracles, and Luther allowed himself to swoop up his siblings, lifting them up off the ground as he enveloped them all in a bear hug.

Allison went back home, briefly, promising to come back with Claire, and the thought filled Luther with anxiety but he nodded and smiled and told her to come back soon. 

She did, and it all came crashing down again for Luther. 

There was a little girl, about five years old now, holding onto Allison’s hand. Her eyes were wide and she was staring at them all with nervousness and excitement. Ben had approached her first, cautiously saying that she didn’t know this, but that he’d seen her as a baby with their Uncle Klaus. It was as if a dam had broken, and the other siblings gathered around their niece, some for the first time and others for a second. 

Luther backed out of the room as quietly as possible and went back upstairs, to his hideout. 

Allison found him there, half an hour later, and Luther sighed when he saw the sadness on her face. 

“I’m sorry, Allison,” he said. “I want to meet Claire. I do. It’s just…” he trailed off. 

“Just what?” Allison asked, sitting down across from him. There wasn’t any judgement or resentment in her voice, just sadness, and it occurred to Luther that no matter what he said, Allison was probably feeling it just as much as he was. 

“What are we?” he asked Allison, and she looked down at her hands. “I feel like -  I know that we’re siblings, but there’s….” he trailed off again, trying to think about it. His mind went back to Jack Ruby, sliding over Allison’s information with the comment, “You really know how to pick ‘em,” which had rubbed Luther the wrong way but he knew he’d be a fool to snap against. 

Everything about that had felt a little wrong, from Jack knowing where she lived to him asking in the first place. When he had asked Jack to find her, Jack had asked if she was an ex, and it didn’t feel particularly right to Luther (she was his sister after all, and besides that she couldn’t be an ex if nothing ever happened between them, technically), but it had been simpler to just go, “Yeah, something like that,” in response. When he had heard Raymond Chestnut say Allison Chestnut, the words had been a punch in the face, but surprises of surprises, Raymond was kind to him and when Allison didn’t want to leave, Luther had felt another punch, but this time for Raymond and the overall unfairness of the world that Allison couldn’t be with the man she loved. When he had given Allison CPR, he’d felt the relief of her living, the thrill of almost-kissing someone, and then the immediate shame and awkwardness as he desperately tried to apologize.

He hadn’t known when that conflict happened. Maybe with the wrongness of asking Jack’s help or meeting Raymond, or maybe before that when he had bulldozed Vanya in his quest to avenge Allison in a revenge plot that she hadn’t asked for, or maybe long before that, in the back of his head even when he’d gravitate towards Allison with their soft touches and lingering looks. He’d always known she was his sister and he always knew that he loved her, but both had existed in two separate spaces in his head until somewhere along the way the cognitive dissonance had disappeared and something that had seemed so simple and easy to Luther suddenly felt complicated and uncomfortable. 

They weren’t a relationship, but they weren’t a normal pair of siblings either. 

“You feel like we’re in an in-between type of space?” Allison asked. “Like - we know our other siblings are our siblings, but that with us, it’s just a little different?” 

Luther nodded, the relief hitting him as Allison spoke. “Yes, that exactly. And it makes me feel weird, Allison, because I’m thirty-two now, technically, and I’m only just now realizing that it’s not a normal thing. And I just-” he sighed, and the rest of his words came out in a panicked rush. “I want to meet Claire. I really do, Allison, I swear. I want to be the best uncle that I can be, but I think about her calling me Uncle Luther and I just can’t handle it.” 

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t worry,” Allison said, reaching out to grab his shoulder, and Luther stopped rambling. “I know,” she said, and he saw the tears in her eyes but they refused to fall. Instead, her grip only tightened on his shoulder. “You don’t need to see her now, and we can wait until you’re ready.” 

“What if I’m never ready?” Luther asked, staring at the floor, and Allison sighed, though her hand never left his shoulder. 

“Then that’s fine too,” she said, and Luther knew she meant it, that if need be she’d always tell Claire that Uncle Luther had something to do and wouldn’t hold it against him, because she was far more adjusted than he was even if she felt the same bond, and far kinder and forgiving than Luther ever was. 

It wasn’t fair to her, though. It wasn’t fair to Claire. It probably wasn’t even fair to him, though he couldn’t think of why it wasn’t. 

“Allison?” he asked, ripping his gaze from the floor. “Can you rumor me?” 

Allison blinked, and her hand finally dropped from his. “I - rumor you?” 

“Rumor me,” Luther said. “It’s okay, I want it. Just rumor me, and I can be around you and Claire without a problem.” 

“It’s not how that works, Luther,” Allison said. “You know it’s not. My rumoring only lasts a week, tops-” 

“Bullshit,” Luther said, and he didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh but it did. “Vanya’s block lasted until 2019.” 

“She was five, Luther, and Dad kept her drugged up and kept gaslighting her to think that she was normal, this is different, you’re an adult. I’d have to rumor you every single week to not have feelings.” 

“Then dammit, Allison, do it!” Luther cried, hitting the floor with his fist. The motion made Allison flinch slightly and the tent to finally collapse around him, and Luther put his head in his hands, trying and failing to stop the tears. 

“Luther,” she said, leaning back towards him. “I did this to Vanya. I did this to Klaus. It doesn’t work. I don’t want to control another sibling, okay? I won’t do that.” 

“Please, Allison,” he said, trying to wipe at the tears that just kept on coming. “I just want to be normal.” 

“Stop saying that,” Allison said, and he looked when he heard the anger and the break in her voice. “You keep saying you’re not normal, you are. Maybe we’re a bit unconventional, sure, but you’re not some monster.” 

“But-” Luther started, and Allison shook her head, wiping furiously at tears starting to form. 

“And if you are then I am too, so stop saying that, okay?” 

Luther didn’t think he was all that normal if he was a half-gorilla man who was in love with his sister, but he never wanted Allison to feel that way either, so he nodded, and Allison softened. She started moving the collapsed tent away from Luther, letting it fall on the ground in a heap. 

“Look... I used to get therapy, sometimes,” she said, untangling the string lights from the tent’s cloth. “I probably should have gone more often than I did, and I rumored half of them, but for the times I didn’t it was... good.” 

“You think I need therapy?” Luther asked. That didn’t feel like something a normal person got to him. 

“I think we all need therapy,” Allison said, wrapping the lights around her hand. “And it’s great, Luther, it is. You pay someone to just sit there and listen to you talk, and they’re not there to judge. Their entire job is to just help you.” 

Luther was quiet, and Allison moved on to the crumpled cloth on the floor, folding it neatly and putting it next to the string lights. 

“Rumoring you isn’t going to work long-term,” she said. “And it wouldn’t be your own thoughts anyway. Claire deserves better than that. We deserve better than that.” 

Luther wrapped his hands around his knees, thinking. “You’re getting therapy too?” he asked. 

“I’m getting therapy too,” she affirmed. “Think about it.” 

With that, she reached out her arm towards his face but then seemed to think better of it, opting instead to pat his knee before going back downstairs, where their siblings were still talking and Claire was yelling with laughter. 

Luther listened to the sounds, wishing he could go downstairs, and he wrapped his arms tighter around his knees. He wanted to be able to talk to Allison the way he did Klaus, or Diego, or Five. He wanted to see his niece, and give her a piggy-back ride and be an uncle. He wanted to have a family. 

Maybe therapy wasn’t a bad idea after all. 

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Therapy was weird. 

It was good too, Luther thought, but mostly weird. He liked Dr. Martin, so that was good. In their first session she had asked him about why he had come to therapy and he had talked to her about Allison, and the moon, and his body. He had expected a “and how does that make you feel” and had been ready to bolt right then and there, but she had just said, “The moon? Interesting, tell me more about how you lived there,” and he had perked up and talked. They had spent the rest of his first session talking about goals for Luther - a “be able to feel like I can meet Claire” goal at first. 

She hadn’t even broached the body stuff until a few sessions later, and then slowly as they went on she asked more about his siblings, slowly getting to Allison along the way. 

Luther was learning a lot about himself. Mostly that he carried a lot of guilt, like Dr. Martin suggested. He should have been the protector of the group as Number One. He hadn’t protected any of them, not even Allison, she had told him what she wanted loud and clear with Vanya and he had bulldozed over the both of them, so wrapped up in thinking that he was protecting them, all of them, that he had hurt his siblings all the more. Alongside the “be able to meet Claire” goal he added another one: Apologize to your siblings. 

He wrote all this down and more in the journal that Dr. Martin had given him (he needed to ask her for another one, the book was down to its last few pages and Luther had so much more to say). He had written about his childhood, and growing up in his house, and he had been upset, at first, when he read it all out. There was so much that he had thought was beautiful and special about growing up in the Academy, but reading it out on paper just felt so…sad. He wondered if this was how Vanya had felt when she had written her book, and the story that felt like a traitorous ramble started feeling more like an insight into her mind, and he wrote another goal in his journal: Re-read Vanya’s book.  

He was also starting to get his relationship with Allison. “Have you ever heard of trauma bonding?” Dr. Martin asked. 

Luther had blinked, taken aback by the word. “Trauma bonding?” he repeated, trying to bite back the initial thought he had. I don’t have trauma. The thought still reverbated in his mind from time to time, but he’d only have to take one look at his journal to remind himself that he felt sad for the child in the journal, and that if he felt sad it probably wasn’t a happy childhood. 

“Trauma bonding,” Dr. Martin said, nodding. “When two people grow up in a toxic environment, they may develop bonds with one another. This may be between an abuser and their victim, or individuals suffering the abuse together. I think it sounds like what happened with you and Allison. You were both a safe space for each other that you couldn’t find anywhere else in your home, and these strong emotions were interpreted as attraction.” 

It sounded beautiful, in a way, even though Luther didn’t think it was meant to be taken that way. It also made sense, if Luther were to think about it. They had always been pillars of support to each other, had been one another’s confidants and shared their hopes and dreams with one another, always circling back to each other when they were upset and hurt, which in their home was almost all the time. Their entire relationship fit so perfectly and neatly into two words. 

It was on Luther’s mind when he and Allison met up later that month, as they did nowadays. It felt off, planning their meetups, and Luther constantly had to remind himself that it wasn’t a date, but it was also something to look forward to rather than how they used to meet. He had gone from seeing Allison every day to not seeing her for years, to the random pop-ins with the apocalypse and all and it was nice, knowing there’d be a day designated to talking to Allison, hearing updates about Claire, and them both talking about therapy if they wanted, and how they were doing. 

The lunches were hard, at first, there was so much that was still so difficult to say between the two of them, but then one day Allison had started showing him new photos of Claire and telling him stories about how she had Five wrapped around her finger, which Luther found hilarious, and they were slowly getting back to themselves. They talked, slowly, about therapy and how it was going, and each lunch got a little bit easier and a little less sad each time, and Luther was excited, for once, to share something from therapy with Allison.

“Trauma bonding, have you heard of it?” he asked after a quick hello and hug, and Allison nodded. Luther grinned. “It’s what we have!” he said, leaning back in his chair. “There’s a whole name for it, something that other people have and share, and we have it.”  

“I’ve heard it,” Allison said. “I don’t love it, though,” she admitted. She saw Luther’s face fall and added, quickly, “I’m not saying that you can’t, Luther. You can. Maybe one day I’ll like it more, maybe I just don’t like the phrase, I don’t know. It’s okay if it works for one of us.” 

“Oh,” Luther said. It felt a little confusing, for him to cling so happily to the phrase while she did not, but he thought he understood. “What do you think of us?” he asked. 

Allison picked apart the cookie on her plate, until it was crushed into small crumbs. “Do you remember when you told me we were soulmates?” she asked. 

“Yes,” Luther said, feeling a bit apprehensive. He remembered being a six-year-old hearing what a soulmate was and all he could hear was trauma bond trauma bond trauma bond, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t tell Allison that it was so clear to him now what it was. 

“I think...we’re still soulmates. Not - not in that way, I’m not saying I think we should get married or that I even want to - no offense -” she added, as Luther’s face betrayed a bit of offense at the comment. “I just think, well - dammit why is this so hard?” she asked, crushing the last bit of her cookie. 

“I know,” Luther said softly. “I don’t think it’s ever going to stop being hard.” That was something else he had to come to terms with in therapy. He had thought that having a name to his issues would make them all go away - body dysphoria, child abuse survivor, trauma bond - but while they helped him figure out what was wrong they didn’t make any of those feelings actually go away. “Maybe a bit easier, but always just a little bit hard. We have each other, Allison, and we always will. It’s okay if it’s hard to say.” 

Allison looked at him and smiled. “That’s why I think you’re my soulmate, you know that, right?” she said. “I don’t think they have to be romantic, they’re just people who are always going to be with you and support you. I feel safe with you, Luther, like I can be myself completely, like if I fell off a cliff you’d be there to catch me and help me and that I could do that same for you. You’re my soulmate, Claire is my soulmate, the rest of our siblings are my soulmates. That’s what I mean.” 

“I think that sounds beautiful,” he said, and he meant it. He wasn't sure he agreed, but he was starting to get what Allison meant about them having different definitions and that being okay. He had a trauma bond, she had a platonic soulmate. There was something there that intersected and he tried to figure it out. A trauma soulmate, he thought briefly, but he didn’t say it because it felt a bit stupid to say out loud and he didn’t want to minimize the moment. Instead, he took a breath and said the other thing he had wanted to tell Allison. 

“I think I’m ready to meet Claire.” 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Claire looked up at him with wide eyes, her neck craning up as she tried to meet Luther’s face, and Luther laughed despite himself. 

“Hey Claire,” he said, crouching down and smiling at his niece. “I’m your Uncle Luther.” 

The words still felt like a punch in the gut, but nowhere near devastating as he thought they’d still be, and when Claire smiled and said, “I knew that!” he felt a warmth that made the punch worth it. 

They spent the day at the house, Claire asking every single story about their old missions and space and Luther happily obliging. She grabbed onto his hand at one point as she looked around his room, pointing at the replicas of rockets he had hanging around and pulling him forward as she looked at all of them. Luther let her drag him around in a daze, as Claire kept on talking and asking questions. There were no questions on why she hadn’t met him before, no shrieks of fear at his size, no expectations besides fun stories about the Academy that she had already heard a million times before from their other siblings. 

When Allison said they needed to get Claire back to her father’s house, Luther felt a pang of disappointment, but it went away as quickly as it appeared when Claire said, “This was fun! See you later Uncle Luther!” 

And he did, over and over and over again. Sometimes he’d be with her and one of their other siblings, sometimes it’d just be Allison and Claire only, sometimes Allison would let him babysit and it’d just be Claire hanging out with her Uncle Luther, which was the nicest of all. 

One day they were out at the aquarium, Claire pointing at different fish and oohing and aahing at how pretty they were (Luther agreed), saying she thought she’d love to be a shark (Luther would rather be a dolphin), scrunching up her nose as she tried to read the descriptions and asked him what on Earth a mollusc was (Luther didn’t know). It went on and on for every exhibit, and Luther loved every moment of it. It was when Allison was letting Claire pick out something from the gift shop that a woman walked up to him, beaming and saying that she thought they had the cutest family. Luther blinked once in confusion and looked back at Claire and Allison before saying to her, “Oh, no, that’s my sister and my niece.” 

It was later, when Allison was putting down a tired Claire to bed that he thought about what he said, and he paused before admitting to Allison that he hadn’t ever said she was his sister to someone else that easily and quickly before. It had always come with a bit of hesitation in his mind, a weird little pause before he’d mutter “yeah, kinda” to whatever the person’s assumptions were. He told Allison about it and she smiled. 

“I’m proud of you,” she said, smiling, and she bumped his shoulder with her own when he didn’t reciprocate the smile. “What’s wrong?

“It feels good to hang out with Claire. It makes me feel...happy,” he said. “She doesn’t have any bad memories of me, and she just thinks of me as fun Uncle Luther. That’s it. I like being that person.” He frowned then, and went on. “But I also feel like I lost something, you know? Like I’m mourning the fact that I didn’t hesitate. And I’m getting there with you, it’s like every day it’s a little bit easier and I start thinking of you like I do my other siblings, but it feels like a...loss, somehow?” he finished lamely. “Sorry, it’s dumb, I know it’s what we want.” 

“It’s not dumb,” Allison said, a twinge of annoyance clear in her voice, as it always was whenever Luther said something self-depracating. “I get it. I’ve been going through the same thing,” she said, and Luther looked over in surprise. Allison had been honest about therapy and her feelings, but she had seemed so put-together since she had started. She’d speak about everything in her sessions with such a certainty. Besides, out of the two of them she was the only one with previous husbands, and she had gone on dates here and there with other people with such ease that Luther had assumed that she had managed to quickly work through whatever feelings she had for him. 

Allison got up, grabbing a bottle of wine from her fridge and pouring it into two glasses before setting one in front of Luther. “I’m glad,” Allison continued. “I’m glad we’re friends now, and I still feel like I can tell you everything, but you’re right. Things are different now.” 

Luther nodded, and a silence fell between them, though he couldn’t determine if it was an awkward one or not. 

“I think,” Allison said, looking past Luther and at Claire’s closed door. “That it’s okay though.” Her eyes moved from the door to Luther and she smiled. “It’s like our relationship with Five, or Ben, or Vanya now. They’re never going to be the same as they were before Five disappeared, or Ben died, or Vanya didn’t know about her powers, and maybe that’s okay. It’s not a relationship dying, it’s just...taking on a different form.” 

“Huh,” Luther said, mulling it over. “I think I like that.” Maybe he wouldn’t have that hesitation before saying Allison was his sister anymore, and maybe a part of him would always feel a little bit guilty about that. Maybe one day he’d find someone who he could actually be with, genuinely and completely, and he could talk freely and openly about it as much as Allison did to him, and maybe it’d be a little bit awkward, but they’d get through it all the same. 

And maybe that awkwardness wasn’t bad either. Clinging onto the past had proven unhealthy for them, but trying to brush it under the rug and ignore any lingering jealousy or awkward moments wasn’t the way to go either. He liked the thought of building this new bridge with Allison, an awkwardly built one that probably looked a little lopsided, but a strong foundation all the same, and mentally, he added a new goal to his journal: Appreciate this new relationship with Allison, always. 

Allison raised her glass, smiling at Luther. “To moving forward,” she said. 

“To moving forward,” Luther repeated, and the two clinked glasses. 

Tagging: @let-the-whump-commence @pennsylvanya @uaklauslovesdave @hamdehlesmis @odrantheseeker @angel-starbeam @dykerory @rulerofturtles @milkylai @of-sunshine-and-sea @superbandnerd99 @tuafives @kalinara @challengerblue @trulyalpha @ostentatiousalibis @thingsanthoughts-on-lifeanfandom @imarealdad @sparrowchristopher @the-maidofmischief @daisyrose1966 @soaring-falcon @adelheid32  @69-octane-69 

[gleekto]

Summary: College AU/Famous!Blaine and Fanboy!Kurt - Kurt POV

Kurt really doesn’t have time to figure out the dating world between being a freshman at prestigious theatre school, LAADA,  and his active but secret blogging life in the Sing!Fandom. So what if Sing! ended last year? There are still fics to read and actors to follow. Especially the uber talented heartthrob lead, Blaine Anderson. He can act. He can sing. He can even dance. He’s gay. He’s out. And he’s only 24. Kurt is willing to twiddle his thumbs and click refresh until Blaine Anderson’s next project.

He just didn’t expect the next project to be on his roommate Rachel’s new TV show.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Even Better Than the Real Thing (5/15)

Kurt is sitting at his desk, completing his essay on queer subtext in ‘Cats’ when Rachel rushes in the front door like a hurricane. “Please help me clean, Kurt. They’ll be here soon.”

“Who will be here when?” Kurt is immediately irritated. 

“You know, the cast, hair and make up, whomever can make it. I really felt that as the star of the show that I should be hosting a get together evening. I’ve got the wine, we can warm up some easy appetizers, cut some veggies. Oh and can you make your guacamole?-”

‘Wait what? Did you even think to ask me if tonight worked for me? My essay is due tomorrow.”

“I did-” Kurt stares at her. “I didn’t ask? I mean I thought I mentioned it last weekend.” 

Kurt sighs deeply. “You didn’t.”

“Okay I’m sorry. But come on, Kurt. I know your essay must be almost done. You never leave anything to the last minute-”

“Unlike some other people, apparently.” Kurt groans and shakes his head but begrudgingly stands up and makes his way to the kitchen. “You clean. I’ll do the guac and veggies.” Rachel thanks him profusely and he shoos her away so he can get the food done. He will need to shower and change before anyone arrives. And clean his room. Because though he won’t ask Rachel who’s coming, he’s not going to risk Blaine Anderson thinking his home is a mess. 

...

By the time Kurt feels ready enough to enter the gathering from the safety of his bedroom, having carefully chosen a definitely flattering but not trying too hard outfit for the occasion - a skintight white long sleeved shirt under a dark grey vest with tight dark blue jeans - there are already a good ten guests in his living room, milling and drinking wine and laughing too loudly. But so far, no Blaine Anderson. He chats for a bit with Sarah and Joan, two of the hair and make up folks, and tries very hard to be interested in whose hair is the hardest to get consistently correct, and not to be distracted by who is not there.

“Rachel!” The door swings open about half an hour later and there he is, giving Rachel a big hug, handing her a bottle of red wine, and apologizing for being late. Kurt’s heart beat quickens slightly but he notices that he is not going into full on panic mode. They’re friends, buddies, and of course they’ll talk tonight. Yes, it’s Blaine Anderson and yes, he’s really very gorgeous, but it’s a bit more like hot gay friend has entered the premises and less like he’s holding his breath to catch a brief glimpse of Sing!’s most eligible bachelor. He can do this.

“You almost missed your chance,” Kurt wanders over and hands Blaine a Corona with lime. “It’s the last one but lucky for you, I set it aside.”

Blaine smiles widely, looking genuinely thankful  - Kurt thinks more appreciative than a saved beer would warrant. “You know my drink of choice?”

“Given that it’s all you’ve been drinking each time I’ve seen you - I guess I know your “drink of choice.” Kurt makes quotation marks with his fingers.

Blaine raises the bottle in a cheers-like gesture. “So this is your home,” Blaine takes in the apartment, looking at both Kurt and Rachel. 

“Two bedrooms, two bathrooms-” 

“That was a requirement,” Kurt adds. “I have a very particular nighttime skin routine and there was no way I was competing with Rachel Berry for the mirror.” Blaine laughs and keeps smiling at him with those sparkly eyes.  It’s unnerving.

“Kurt, why don’t you give him a mini-tour? I need to refill the Sangria bowl,” Rachel says, flitting off to the next thing.

“Why don’t you, then?” Blaine says. Kurt surveys the room. The apartment is not that big.

“Well, this is the living room slash kitchen slash main room.” I mean, Blaine can’t really think there is that much of a tour to take, but he’ll humour him. Kurt leads Blaine to Rachel’s unfortunately overly pink room and bathroom. “I couldn’t convince her that it was not a bold choice, but a bad choice.” Blaine’s eyebrows rise as he takes in light pink walls with splashes of bubble gum pink accents, and he laughs genuinely at Kurt’s commentary. Neither this tour, nor Kurt, are really that amusing but okay. Blaine Anderson is having fun. 

“I guess she really is a girly girl at heart,” Blaine says as he follows Kurt into his own room. Much more soothing, and more adult, shades of blues and greys, with some bold orange accent pillows on his bed for flare. 

“A girly girl can still have taste - and that room, Blaine, is too much pink.” 

“I dated a guy last year who had a pink room,” Blaine rolls his eyes at the memory as he sits down on Kurt’s bed. Okay. Guess they’re staying here for a bit.

“Just really proud?” Kurt pulls out his desk chair and faces Blaine.

“A proud gay guy can still have taste,” Blaine mimics, looking approvingly around Kurt’s room.

“Indeed.” There’s a brief pause and Kurt’s heart starts to race again, worried it might get awkward. “Wait - didn’t you say you couldn’t meet anyone while working on Sing!?”

“Yeah, but it didn’t stop me from trying. Or sort of trying while enjoying,” Blaine pauses. “The LA scenery.” 

Now Kurt laughs, shaking his head to himself. “Honestly, I can’t imagine having a life where there are so many options that they are all just part of the pretty scenery. Although I suppose Mr. Pink’s room didn’t qualify.”

“Mr. Pink,” Blaine pauses, looking like he is assessing whether he should say whatever is on the tip of his tongue. “Had a body to make up for the room,” Kurt’s eyes widen but he wills himself to play it cool. No big deal. Friends chatting about past relationships. “So we had a week of torrid sex and the rest is history.”

Kurt bites his lip. This image is too much. Blaine Anderson having torrid sex is too much. He knows he’s red. He just says the first thing that comes into his head, “Honestly, Blaine, I’m from Lima, Ohio and your life right now, it’s outside my mid-western frame of reference.”

Blaine chuckles again but he nods. Does he think Kurt is just hilariously innocent? “I know. You know, I don’t completely forget what it’s like to arrive in LA from small town Ohio. I’m only 24.  Did you ever get out to Columbus for any of the  LBGT youth dances or game nights? I used to do that. Even got my first kiss from a drunken college freshman behind the community centre. Very romantic.”

“Nope.” Kurt answers quickly. “Never went to Columbus. No dances or games. No kisses.” He’s embarrassed but what else was he going to say? Blaine’s suspicion of his innocence confirmed.

“No first kisses?” Blaine repeats and Kurt shakes his head quickly. 

“Why is that so hard to believe? I thought we already discussed that Lima is not exactly a gay mecca.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not. Lima would not exactly be the best place to meet someone.” Blaine agrees, shaking his head and looking down slightly before looking right back into Kurt’s eyes. “It’s just that,” Blaine breathes in, “You’re hot.”

What. The fuck. 

Great. Now the silence is going to be super painful because Kurt is certain no coherent words will come out of his mouth ever again. 

“Anyways,” Blaine bites his lower lip, shaking off his momentary slip of the tongue. “Thank you for the tour.” Kurt gets up to lead them back out to the others. “You’re one up on Mr. Pink.”

“For my decor? I hope so.” Kurt manages to speak words.

“In all areas,” Blaine says quietly from behind him and before Kurt can register the second less than subtle compliment in five minutes, and turn around, Blaine is back in the crowd, chatting with Joan and Sarah as if nothing could be more interesting than the perfect hair gel. As if he did not just say what he said. 

Kurt is done. For the night. Maybe forever. He’s sure he’s not capable of any more small talk with echoes of “You’re hot” and “In all areas” singing through his head. He quietly sneaks into his bedroom and closes the door. He may be innocent and even naive. But Blaine Anderson was most definitely flirting with him. He was honest, at least about his relationship past (or lack thereof), but Blaine didn’t run away. He stayed. And stared. And flirted. 

This situation is real. And very complicated. 

He needs to stop blogging. 

Out of respect for my source, who is a good friend, I need to stop posting on this blog. I will leave the blog up for all the fun gifs, and I may even be back to peruse on occasion. You know I will miss you all. Keep sing!ing, my friends -LimaBlaineFan

[spaceorphan18]

Wait what was the cut dialogue between kurt and brittany??

The original dialogue between Kurt and Brittany in A Wedding

Kurt: What’s going on? 

Brittany: I’m freaking out.  I’m in total panic mode. I don’t think this barn is structurally sound and I’m worried it’s going to collapse and kill everybody. 

Kurt: Brit, I think you’ve just got some pre-wedding jitters...

Brittany: But we still haven’t done our final fittings, and I just got a telegram from Martina Navratilova saying she can’t be our officiant, mostly because she’s never done it before and she doesn’t know either of us. 

Kurt: Okay, well, I’m here to help.  But first, you have to trust me when I tell you that everything is going to be fine.  It’s okay to be anxious before your wedding.  You just have to try to relax and enjoy what is going to be the best day of your life because you and Santana are perfect together.  

Brittany: How did you cope with all your wedding planning? 

Kurt: Not very well, I guess, because we never actually went through with it, remember?

Brittany: Right. Sorry. I find it really hard to track your relationship.  Well, then, is it painful to watch Santana’s and my romance come to a perfect storybook conclusion while your relationship with Blaine is still so painful and fraught and there’s no prospect of getting back together? Is it going to be weird being at the wedding with your new boyfriend who’s old and looking over and seeing Blaine and thinking about what could have been? 

Kurt: Look, this isn’t about me.  Let’s just try to stick to the problem at hand. 

[Rest of scene plays out like episode.]

The reason I like Brittany’s little rant is because it’s intentionally provoking Kurt to think about what could have been --- and if acted well (and Chris would have acted it well) we could see the wheels in Kurt’s head turning -- about how he doesn’t want to be at the wedding with Walter, he wants the rest of his life with Blaine -- it’d be a nice little scene where we can see exactly why the next thing Kurt does is ditch Walter and run to Blaine.  

Instead, we have to make more room for Brittany’s annoying dad, but whatever...  

[i-am-out-of-my-vulcan-mind]

A Long Night - Chapter 2

Hey guys, this is a small continuation, requested by the lovely @lurkingwhump. I glove you ❤️

She was sick of being horizontal. It had been two days since her “sleepover” with Rich and she was sick of lying down. The painkillers were making her wound bearable, so therefore, why shouldn’t she get up and have that shower that she so desperately needed?

She hadn’t had a shower since she had been shot and she could feel the dried blood and sweat cracking on her skin. 

Her mind made up and determination coursing through her bones, she cautiously sat up, grasping her side when her pain flared. 

She stopped for a second to catch her breath, wondering from the intensity of her sudden onset of pain, whether this might be a bad idea after all. 

She glanced at her sleeping husband, ever faithful, never leaving her side and frowned. She would just be in the next room. There was no law about her getting out of bed for god's sake! 

Taking a steadying breath, she grabbed hold of the bunk pole for support and gingerly got to her feet. Black spots danced in front of her vision and nausea rose up her throat. She swallowed thickly, knowing full well this was definitely a bad idea to try and tackle alone, but also knowing she was not going to back out now. Kurt needed the sleep and she wasn’t going to wake him from something as trivial as her wanting a shower. 

She let go of the bunk pole and brought her hand to her wound, finding it easier to bear the pain if she applied a little pressure. She took her first few steps across the room with relative ease, grabbing her toiletries before opening the door and closing it behind her softly. 

Using the wall for support, she limped up the hallway to the bathroom, knowing at this hour it would be very unlikely one of the others would be using it. 

By the time she reached it, a cold sweat had formed on her forehead and she felt positively sick. Waves of vertigo came crashing down on her with such force that her vision flashed and her queasy stomach riled.

She tried to take a few deep breaths, but her body was in panic mode. Knowing she was about to pass out, she grabbed a hold of the wall and waited. Her ears were ringing so loudly she didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. 

Strong, sturdy hands clasped her shoulders, stopping her falling. They guided her down to the floor and gently helped her into the recovery position - her wound making it impossible to simply put her head between her legs. 

Still on the brink of unconsciousness, she didn’t notice the footsteps leave and come back until a cold cloth was placed on her forehead. 

Slowly her body started to settle down and the ringing in her ears disappeared. 

She blinked, trying to get her vision to focus and encourage her sluggish brain to catch up with her senses. 

“That’s it baby, come back to me.” Kurt murmured softly. He was crouched over her, running the washcloth over her face and down the back of her neck. 

“Kurt?” she cracked weakly. 

“What were you thinking Janey?” he asked tenderly, but she could see the worry etched into his features and hear the waver to his voice. 

“I just wanted a shower.” she muttered. 

Kurt shook his head, knowing there was no way he was ever going to stop his stubborn wife. No matter how many times he had told her to just ask if she wanted or needed anything, he was still to convince her that he truly meant it. 

Kurt looked at his watch. 

“How about we try again in the morning?” he asked. “It’s the middle of the night.”

Jane nodded, too exhausted to even stand, let alone have a shower. 

Seeing how pale she still was, and the fact that she could barely keep her eyes open, Kurt gently picked her up, carrying her the few steps back to their room. He laid her gently on the bed, before leaving the room to pick up her toiletries that had scattered all over the floor when she had nearly passed out. 

He returned back into the room, put everything away, then lay softly on the bed beside her, gathering her into his arms. 

“I’ll help you have a shower after breakfast.” he said softly. “Patterson told me you lost a lot of blood… your body will still be recovering from that. If you manage to eat some breakfast and actually hold it down, then I’ll help you have a shower.”

Jane grimaced at the thought of food, but agreed all the same. 

“Thank you… I’m sorry.” she murmured into his chest, sleep nearly overcoming her.

“Just let me help you.” he replied softly. 

Jane sighed, relenting to the fact that she really couldn’t do this without him. 

“Thank you for looking after me.” she whispered softly, before falling asleep. 

Kurt smiled softly, kissing her on the forehead. 

“Always.”