#so rory doesn’t throw the paper away. he didn’t even know he remembered all of this info that well.

[hockeyforthefirsttime]

Speechless- Nolan Patrick

AN: Is the ending literal trash? yes, do i care at this point? also yes, but not enough

Word count: just over 3k

TW: none that I can think of, but let me know if i need to tag something:)

i

Nolan is definitely bored at the bar. He is out and supposed to be celebrating a win, but third wheeling with Tavis and Karly, simply is not fun. Not that it ever has been, but as he watches them laugh at each other on the dance floor.. well he takes a deep sigh and an even deeper swig of his beer. Some of the team is gathered around the bar ordering another round of drinks, and as he is scanning the crowd a woman walks in front of him, making him look up at her. 

And stop dead in his thoughts. 

She is wearing jeans that cling to her curves just right, a deep magenta top that seems to wrap around her stomach, before it reveals a little more than he can handle, and he looks up at her and sees the ghost of a smile on her lips. She isn’t looking at him though. She seems to be looking into the crowded dance floor, and Nolan desperately wants to know who she is looking for. 

In any other situation like this, he would have swept her off of her feet and wouldn’t have put her down until they’d reach his bed. But her obliviousness to him has knocked him off balance it seems. 

“Hey Patty, me and Karly are gonna head home. Want a ride?” 

Travis comes up to Nolan, Karly in tow and the mysterious girl moves with a quiet sorry and a fleeting smile. Nolan can feel his eyes drift after her before he meets Travis’ eyes, which are brimming with amusement. 

“Nah, I’m good.” 

He answers, and Travis bursts out laughing. 

“What, so you can sit here and stare like some kind of creep the rest of the night?” 

Nolan sees Karly gently shoving on Travis, also having noticed Nolans lingering gaze. 

“As opposed to going home in the same car as you two rabbits? No thank you.” 

Travis and Karly bid their goodbyes as the rest of the team and their significant others appear back at the table. Nobody seems to take notice of the Nolans distantness though, pinning it down as just his Philly personality. Nobody really sees him staring at this girl dancing in vans and a pink top. 

As the song ends he watches her go up to the bar, so in normal Nolan fashion he gets up and heads in that direction. He takes a look down at his watch and in a second, a split fucking second, she is gone. 

ii

He’s so fucking tired. The game last night had been decent. They’d won in overtime and Nolan had the assist, yet he keeps going over the chances he had and the chances he missed making in his head. Driving to the rink is dreary but even more so than usual. It’s not until he stops at a red light that he wakes up. He’s supporting his head on his left arm and looking out the passenger seat window. His eyes widen when he sees who is in the beaten up truck next to him. 

The girl from the bar three weeks ago. She has her hair down her shoulders and is looking at him through her own window. When she catches his eyes, she gives him a wink. As if she recognizes him. And if this was anyone else he might have given her a half smile, or even a wink back. But no. He can feel his cheeks heating up and getting rosy. God how he wishes he could be as confident as he usually is. The girl in the other car seems to be laughing a little, a smile on her lips. Nolan swears she starts slipping away from view, and in that second he remembers. He’s at a fucking red light. Except it isn’t red anymore, made obvious by the boisterous truck behind him, basically laying on his horn. 

Quickly he presses his foot down on the gas pedal and looks for the beaten up truck, which is nowhere to be seen. 

iii

It’s still winter and Nolan for some reason unknown to him decides to take a walk in the park not far from his apartment. He blames it on his restlessness, which stems from sitting inside the entire weekend. It’s nearing Christmas time and the main section of the park is covered in fairy lights and christmas decorations. There’s even a stand that sells hot chocolate. 

He buys a cup, puts in his earbuds and starts walking. It is nice out, he decides, with all the people out enjoying the snow on the ground. There are even some kids out rolling big snowballs, which turn into snow men and women. He feels a sudden wave of content roll over him. And a smile subconsciously finds its way onto his lips.

Nolan walks a little further, and doesn’t really stop, until a ball of golden fur is at his feet, almost making him trip. The wagging tail is making the entire body of the dog move and he catches himself smiling and taking out one of the earbuds. Immediately he hears the voice of a girl shouting. 

“Akira!”

The dog at his feet, looks around eagerly as her owner sprints up to him. And Nolan can hardly believe his luck. It is the bar girl. 

“I’m so sorry, she usually doesn’t run off like that.” 

And judging by her attire she is out for a jog, which would explain how out of breath she is. Quickly she pulls a leash out of her pocket and hooks it onto Akira’s harness. 

“Oh there’s no worries.” 

Nolan manages to stutter out. He sees a little smirk on her lips and curses his reddening cheeks for being so obvious. He bends his head a little and scratches Akira behind her ears. The golden retriever leans into his touch and a soft chuckle escapes the girl standing in front of him. 

He is just about to ask the girl her name when a phone starts ringing. It’s hers. Quickly, from another pocket, she pulls out a phone and answers it. He watches with steady eyes as a frown starts to grow on her face. 

“Fuck, okay yeah, I’ll be home in a few.” 

She hangs up the phone and pockets it, before she turns to look at him again. With a wink she turns around and Akira follows. 

“See you around Shy Guy!”

And just like that she’s gone. His chocolate is no longer hot, so he tracks back to his apartment, with discouragement sitting in his chest like a rock.

iiii

The Starbucks is so full, the line goes through the door and that’s the reason why Nolan doesn’t even consider entering it. He turns and treks back a block until he sees this quaint little cafe he’s never really noticed. Which is no surprise, because it seems to be mostly inhabited by students. With the amount of computers and books up at the cafe tables and its location closer to UPenn it should come as no surprise. 

And maybe he gets a little hopeful that the bar girl will be there, so despite his logical mind, he enters through the glass doors and goes straight to the counter. The boy has to be around his own age, but a fair bit skinnier and with glasses on. It makes him look a bit too young in Nolan's eyes, but it doesn’t really matter. 

“Hey, what can I get you today?” 

The young boy asks as he wipes down the counter. 

“Ehh, just a large black coffee, please.” 

Nolan says and pulls out his wallet. He doesn’t completely register the bell over the door ringing, not until the gust of cold air washes over him. Instinctively he turns and spots a smaller frame entering the cafe. A hoodie over their head and a black jacket, lightly dusted with quickly melting snow.  And a pair of beaten up, black vans on their feet. His hopes rise, and yet again he is rewarded with the presence of the bar girl. She shakes out her hair a little as she pulls the hood off of her head. Nolan could swear his heart stopped right there. The evening sun shines through the window, making her hair appear as a halo around her. 

She hasn’t noticed him yet. So he turns and tries to calm his blush. The guy behind the counter has begun making his coffee so he doesn’t really know what to do. The bar girl comes up behind him. He can tell by the way the barista nods at her with a smile. 

“Hey Dylan, how are you today?” 

And Nolan is instantly a bit jealous of this Dylan, who gets to hear his name falling from her lips. 

“I’m good Rory, thanks, how are you?” 

Dylan answers, and it feels like his heart is in his throat. Her name is Rory? It suits her. 

“Could be better to be honest, this paper on existence due next week is really kicking my ass.” 

She answers as she comes closer, and Nolan moves further up the counter to give them room. 

“Tell me about it, you want the usual?” 

She nods and slings her backpack off one shoulder to unzip a pocket, and pulls out a card. Dylan finishes Nolan's order and places it on the corner of the counter. Nolan can feel his chance slip through his fingers and begins to panic a little. 

Until he spots a pen on the counter near his cup. Quickly he grabs it and scribbles his name and number on the cup. And he couldn’t have cued it better for AV to call him. He puts the cup down again and picks up the call. 

“Nolan, have you looked over the videos yet?”

Alain, straight to the point as usual. 

“Yeah, saw them yesterday, and I have some ideas in mind for me to improve.” 

He speaks into the phone, while he puts a hand on the back of his neck. 

“Good good, I will see you tomorrow then?” 

“Yes, sir. Bright and early.” 

And then they hang up. He sees that another cup has appeared beside his. He throws a quick glance at Rory, who is still talking to the barista,  and turns his cup the other way so the writing isn’t visible and grabs her cup. Then, he nods a goodbye to Dylan and exits the door. 

He’s almost half a block away when his phone rings. He hasn’t drunk out of the cup, but it smells a little sweet and enticing. He looks at the phone and sees an unknown number. He lets it ring twice more before answering.

“Hey, this is Nolan?” 

He tries to sound nonchalant. 

“Hey, Shy guy. This is Rory. You didn’t by any chance grab my coffee on the way out?” 

Despite the fact that he doesn’t actually know her, he swears he can hear a smile over the phone. And he is a little bit shocked by the nickname. 

“Oh, so this is who it belongs to?”

She lets out a little chuckle, before she answers. 

“Yeah, mind returning it?” 

He smiles at the laugh. 

+1

Nolan is different, not that he will admit it, but the team can tell. He seems to be more patient, more focused on practicing drills and getting them right, and also for some reason, more ready for practice to be over. At first it’s a subtle change, but after a while and two games where he plays over all very well, it seems to be more than just determination. It seems like he wants to impress someone. 

At first they shake it as him wanting to prove himself to.. well everyone. But one day when Oskar asks him who he is texting so frequently, Nolan can feel his cheeks and ears tint even more than usual. Damn her and the effect she has on him. He tries to play it cool with a casual shrug, but half the locker room seems to burst out laughing. Quickly he puts his phone in his pocket and heads for the door. 

“Have a good weekend guys!” 

He calls out behind him out of habit, as it is a weekend without games and he is taking a short trip home. Various chirps get called out behind him, but Teeks seems to be the loudest one. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” 

And all hell breaks loose as they all start on chirping Travis about how he can do anything then. With a fond smile, Nolan heads for his car, where he has a pre- packed bag as well as his passport and a carryon. 

He parks his car in the airport parking lot and he swears, there is something familiar about the truck beside his car. He shoves it to the back of his mind and starts crossing to the terminal. He’s late tho, and only half an hour to get on his flight, so as he anxiously stands in line for check in he pulls up his phone and sees a new text from Rory.

Hey, I’ll be gone for a couple of hours, text when I can:)

It was sent five minutes ago, and he groans a little at the fact that he has to wait faster, very bored. Finally he has checked in his bag and been cleared to enter the airport all the way to his flight. 

In a half jog, half sprint he manages to make it just shy of ten minutes before the gate closes. He pulls his cap further down on his head and puts his ticket and passport on the desk. The hostess scowls at him but lets him enter the already boarded plane. 

The smell of too many people and bad flight food smacks him in the face as he enters the plane with another nod to a different flight hostess. 

34B seems too far away, but he bites his tongue and keeps walking. He looks at the bald man in 34C and the hooded figure in 34A. He swears, there is something familiar about this too but his mind is a little fuzzy and he can’t quite place it. 

“Scuse me.” 

He mumbles to the man and he politely moves so Nolan can find his seat. The girl in the seat next to the window turns and looks at him, and finally it seems that he has steady ground under his feet. 

“Well, seems like I won’t text you in a couple of hours then.” 

Rory smiles at him. And he smiles back. 

“Nope you’re stuck with me for the next five and a half hours.” 

He teases and plops down in his seat. 

“What the fuck are you going to Winnipeg for though?” 

Nolan asks as he fastens his seatbelt and ignores the security instructions completely. 

“Oh I haven’t told you? My family lives there.” 

He feels flabbergasted, how in the living hell has he forgotten to ask? He always assumed she was from Philly.

“Why are you going there anyway?” 

Rory asks, but he sees the twinkle in her eyes, she’s just joking with him.

“I’m visiting my girlfriend.” 

He decides to reply dead serious. And the twinkle in her eyes disappears, a frown begins to form between her eyebrows and he instantly feels a little bad. 

“I’m- sorry, that was a really bad joke.” 

This time it seems, it’s her turn to get embarrassed. Neither of them get time to think it over though, because the plane starts accelerating and her hand immediately lands on his. He sees her jaw tense and feels her hand tighten around his knuckles. Nolan doesn’t want to comment on it though, and just lets her hold on. 

As they lift off the tarmac her hand slowly starts easing up and when they level out in the air, she seems to have realised that she’s holding his hand. Quickly she lets go, and Nolan already misses it. 

“Sorry about that, I get a little nervous about the take off.” 

She seems a little nervous to admit it, but he asks anyway. 

“How come?” 

“Oh, ever heard of the irresistible force paradox?” 

He shakes his head no, and that launches her into an explanation of what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. It’s obvious she loves theories like this, with the way she talks and moves her hands. 

“- which stems from both a chinese and a roman legend. The roman is about Zeus and how he fixed the Teumessian fox, who can never be caught, and the hound Laelaps who never misses what he hunts to the sky in constellations.” 

She stops, and Nolan really wishes she wouldn’t. Her voice is so calming yet enchanting at the same time, he could listen and learn every day for forever. 

“But wouldn’t that mean that the fox wins? because it never gets caught?” 

He questiones. 

“Exactly! I’ve been thinking about it for days now.” 

And the plane ride goes on like that, until Rory has heard of most of the flyers and Nolan knows the name of almost all her professors. It’s closer to night time when she starts to slur her words, because of tiredness. She ends up with her head on his shoulder and his hair a little bit in her face. But the weight of his head leaning against hers is priceless.  

Nolan wakes up a little bit before her and sees that they’re landing soon. So he shakes Rory awake with a promise of a date in the morning. Since they don’t live too far away from each other. And she agrees. 

They step off the plane together, collect their luggage together, Nolan’s arm slung around Rory’s shoulder, and hug each other so long, before departing to their own separate families. 

“Hey, see you tomorrow shy guy!” 

She winks at him, rendering him speechless in front of his family. His sister glances at him with a questioning look as she watches the other girl walk away. Usually few people render Nolan at a loss for words. 

[whump-it]

Rory Confronts His Boss

@haro-whumps @grizzlie70 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @comfortforthepain @shameless-whumper @iaminamoodymoodtoday @kawaiiloverofanimu @burtlederp @untilthepainstarts @my-whumpy-little-heart @moose-teeth @pepperonyscience @faewhump @saphemme @slaintetowhump @whump-tr0pes

What do you do when your chest wakes you in pain at 2am and then you finally calm yourself down and convince yourself that you're actually going to be ok and yes, you can breathe? You write this at 3am of course.

TW fit mentions of torture, some threatening posturing. Rory stress swearing. I think that's it?  Also Rory is actually a bit of a badass and I love him,

The locality training facility was dark and shut up for the night when Rory got there. The car park was empty save for his car and one other, much more expensive, much newer car. He pulled up into a space far away from it. For whatever reason, he didn't feel much like being close to it.

For the second time that day he thought back to the question that Callum had asked him when he had donated himself. Had Rory ever been to the facility. And the answer had been no because it was invite only. Both the interview to become an AP and the job training took place at the locality collection box itself. He certainly had his invite now. And he couldn't have wanted it less if his life depended on it.

Rory heaved a huge sigh out as he turned the ignition off, pulled up the handbrake, and stepped out of the car. He didn't know his way around here but the front entrance seemed like the most sensible choice. As he approached it, a light flickered on inside and the door swung open. His boss, Mr Newman, stood in the doorway. Arms folded. Frowning. Scowling. Foot tapping.

"Rory," Mr Newman said curtly as Rory drew level with him. "On your own I see."

"I told you I would be," Rory said. "I told you I wasn't going to bring him here and I meant it."

"Mmm. You always were a stickler," Mr Newman said, turning and walking back into the building. "Follow me. The door'll lock behind you."

With no other options, Rory stepped into the reception area and let the door swing shut behind him. It clicked as he did and he glanced back, relieved to see that there was a push button to exit as opposed to any sort of swipe or key card exit. He followed along behind wishing all the while that he could be at home with Callum instead. The thought of him being there on his own made Rory restless. He'd only just got him back. He'd made the worst mistake of his life when he'd followed the rules and let Callum donate himself. Callum had had the most terrible three years imaginable until Rory had got him back. The universe had somehow given Rory what he considered to be an underserved second chance. And he was at the locality facility instead of where he should be. At home. Holding Callum. Cleaning Callum. Feeding Callum. Comforting Callum.

He walked the barely lit corridors a few steps behind his boss until they finally stopped at a door. Mr Newman took a key card from his pocket and swiped it down a pad to the side of the door, lighting up a tiny green light and releasing the lock on the door with a quiet click. Inside the room was Mr Newman's lavishly appointed office. A name plaque on the desk. On the very large desk. Bookshelves and certificates and family photos. Two comfortable chairs near a huge window that showed nothing but darkness outside, and a small table between them with a vase of flowers. Mr Newman motioned to one of the comfortable chairs.

"Take a seat," he said, going to his desk to gather up a small stack of papers. Rory did as he was bid although he would have preferred to stay standing. To stay near the door. Every inch further away from Callum was an inch too far. Like a physical ache that his body was tired of feeling.

"So," Mr Newman said, sitting opposite him and looking at the papers. "Callum Morris."

"Morrow," Rory said.

"I'm sorry?"

"His name's Callum Morrow. Is that even the paper work that I submitted when he donated?"

"It's the paper work we have."

"Then I'm just going to go ahead and assume that it is, in fact, not the paper work that I submitted. You know something? It might have taken me more than a few days to actually find Callum again? But it's taken me all of one conversation with you to lose all faith in this system."

"This system employs you and pays your wages so if I were you I'd be keeping a civil tongue in my head," Mr Newman put the papers on the table with calm ease although Rory strongly suspected that it was because he now knew that it was a useless pile of paper. Rory sighed and bent his head forward to run his fingers through his hair. He was tired. He wanted to go home to Callum.

"I should've checked more thoroughly," Rory said, sitting back up straight. "Checked that he really wanted to go through with it."

"That wasn't your job Rory. You know that."

"Well maybe it should've been," Rory said, his voice a little louder. His fingers back in his hair and twisting a bit. Mr Newman stood and walked to one of the bookcases to take down a decanter and glass, pouring himself a drink of some sort of honey coloured liquor.

"Look," Mr Newman said, taking a sip of his drink. "It's the Titanic effect." Rory frowned at him from his seat. "You don't know there's a problem until something goes wrong. That's when you can make improvements."

"Improvements!?" Rory shouted, standing and shoving the chair back as he did, teetering it on two legs before it righted itself. "You think this needs "improvements"!?"

"I can see you're angry..."

"You're damn right I'm angry," Rory shouted, stepping around the stupid little table with its stupid vase of flowers. "Do you know how long Callum was out there? Do you? Three fucking years, that's how long..."

"... and he will be brought to the facility and reconditioned..."

"Like hell he will," Rory said, trying to control his temper and his voice. "He's staying with me."

"You can't do that Rory,"

"Can't I?" Rory shouted, entirely failing in his attempt to maintain his calm. "You show me in your fucking contract where it says what happens when a collector tortures the ever living fuck out of you for three years and then dies. You show me where huh!?" Rory breathed deeply in and out, his chest heaving from his sudden outburst of anger. He spoke more calmly. More quietly. "Just some compassion. Please. It's not as if he's in any state to be speaking out against your programme."

"It's not my programme Rory," Mr Newman said, as calmly as ever. He sipped his drink again and Rory imagined shoving the glass into his face with the heel of his hand.

"That's just splitting hairs," Root said. "You know exactly what I mean. He's hardly in a state to speak at all. And whenever he does it's to beg to go back to be tortured some more because he thinks he deserves it or some shit. So please. Leave him be. Please."

"If his selector is dead," Mr Newman said, draining his glass then refilling it. "Why does he keep asking to go back?"

"He...uh... he doesn't know."

"Well now that is very interesting," Mr Newman drank some more.

"Don't you even think," Rory hissed. "Don't you even think about putting this on me. I did everything by your book. I checked everything."

"And yet we have this poor boy being tortured, as you tell it, for three years by the Selector that you provided him to. And now he's in your apartment locked away and you're refusing to bring him to the safety of his locality training facility."

"I know the Programme inside out," Rory said, stepping closer to Mr Newman. "I have read and re-read every piece of paper work. I have checked every form. It all checked out at the time."

"Yet suddenly it didn't anymore," Rory stepped closer still, making Mr Newman break off his sentence with a nervous laugh. "You don't want to threaten me Rory."

"Like you threatened me on the phone? But you're right. I don't want to. I want to go back to Callum which is exactly what I'm going to do." Rory stepped back and felt the briefest surge of pleasure at the look on his boss's face as he did so.

"Have it your own way," Mr Newman said as Rory pushed the door handle down and opened the door. "You just be careful." Choosing not to answer, Rory stepped out if the office and resisted the urge to slam the door behind himself. He traced his way back through the corridors and out to his car, all the while resisting the temptation to check if he was being followed.

He barely remembered the car ride back to the apartment, the only proof that it happened being that he'd made it and not crashed his car doing so in such a rage filled haze. He fumbled his keys until he finally managed to get into his apartment, cursing at the keys for being so difficult and throwing his jacket on the floor in a fit of temper.

"Callum?" Rory called out. He couldn't see him but he could swear that he smelt food. He walked through to the living area and peered around the corner to see that his dining table had been cleared and cleaned. And that there was a steaming dish of pasta with sauce on it. Accompanied by what looked to be a tumbler of vodka, a glass of water, and a piece of kitchen towel folded neatly as though it were a real napkin.

"Cal?"

"Uh...uhhh....ummm.... I'm sorry...umm... I'm sorry," He could hear him but he still couldn't see him.

"Cal where are you?"

"Umm... I'm sorry. I'm...umm..." Callum peeked out from under the table, cluthing on to his filthy teddy tightly. "I mm... made you f...food and I've waited. I p...pr... promise. I haven't had any."

Rory crouched down and slowly worked his way towards where Callum was still half hiding.

"I've been good," Callum whispered. "M...m...mmm...master Hayden can know I've been good." Rory let his head fall forward as he sighed.

"Yeah," he said. "I know. You've been the best sweetheart. Ok? The best. What do you want me to do? You can say. I want you to say."

"Umm..." Callum nudged closer to Rory, haltingly, stiltingly. An inch at a time and bending as he went until his cheek was pressed to the floor by Rory's knee. "Please eat... please... I'm sorry it's not better. I'll try harder next time."

Rory sighed and gently rubbed his fingers through Callum's hair. "No pain for this ok? And then I'll eat."

Beneath his fingers he felt Callum nod.

[incandcscent]

╰ ♡  MUSE  15 ,  CHRIS  EVANS ,  CIS  MALE ┊ have  you  seen  ARTHUR  FAULKNER  around  hillston ?  the  42  year  old  is  said  to  be  a  ACTOR ,  DIRECTOR  AND  PRODUCER .  the  neighbours  would  say  that  they’re  ASSERTIVE  and  IMPATIENT ,  but  they’re  actually  CONGENIAL  and  BENEVOLENT .  he  often  reminds  people  of  a  million - watt  smile  under  the  unrelenting  spotlight ,  untrue  tales  spread  on  cheap  tabloids ,  the  peaks  and  valleys  of  fatherhood .  watch  out ,  though .  you  wouldn’t  believe  that  HE  HAS  STARTED  DATING  AGAIN .

hello ,  friends !  it’s  rory   again ,  this  time  with  my  trying  his  best  dad ,  arthur .  if  you  want  to  plot  with  him ,  smash  that  like  or  message  me !

basic stats.

FULL  NAME :  arthur  thomas  faulkner .

NICKNAME :  art .

DATE  OF  BIRTH / AGE :  december  18th ,  1977  /  forty - two .

ZODIAC :  saggitarius .

HOMETOWN :  los  angels , california .

GENDER  IDENTITY :  cis  male .

PRONOUNS :  he / him .

SEXUAL  ORIENTATION :  bisexual .

MBTI :  enfj  —  the protagonist .

OCCUPATION :  movie  actor ,  director  and  producer .

for  full  stats  go  HERE  !

backstory.

arthur  faulkner  was  born  and  raised  in  los  angeles ,  the  oldest  of  the  three  kids  that  movie  director  thomas  faulkner  and  actress  and  screen writer  emma  faulkner  had  together .  despite  their  own  fame ,  his  parents  tried  to  keep  their  kids  out  of  the  spotlight  for  as  long  as  possible . 

other  than  a  minor  role  here  and  there ,  arthur  remained  away  from  the  show business .  he  had  a relatively  normal  childhood  all  things  considered .  it was  during  his  first  year  in  college ,  after  joining  a  drama  class  and  enjoying  it ,  that  he  realized  he  wanted  to  give  acting  a  try .

after  one  semester  in  columbia  he  dropped  out  and  moved  back  to  los  angeles .  he  had  the  right  contacts  and  it  wasn’t  hard  to  find  an  agent  that  wanted  to  represent  the  faulkners’  son .  his  first  movie  came  out  in  1997  and  almost  immediately he  was  promoted  to  the  role  of  teen  heartthrob .

the  years  that  followed ,  he  kept  working  and  trying  to  make  a  name  for  himself  instead  of  being  just  thomas  and  emma  faulkner’s  son .  the  most  important  thing  that  happened  during  that  time ,  though ,  was  meeting  the  young  actress  that  would  become  his  wife ,  isabella  osborn .

the  two  worked  together  in  a  movie  and  the  chemistry  was  undeniable .  they  dated  for  a  little  more  than  a  year  before  getting  married  when  she  found  out  she  was  pregnant  with  their  first  child .  the  news  broke  millions  of  hearts  but  he  knew  back  then  that  she  was  the  love  of  his  life .

not  long  after  their  wedding ,  their  first  child  was  born .  and  a  couple  of  years  later ,  their  second  and  last  child  joined  the  family .  all  the  fame  and  success  could  never  compare  to  the  happiness  that  being  with  his  family  brought  to  arthur .  they  were  his  everything .

despite  leaving  in  the  middle  of  the  craziness  that  is  hollywood ,  arthur  and  isabella  tried  their  best  to  give  the  kids  some  semblance  of  normal ,  much  like  his  own  parents  had  done  for  him .  of  course ,  it  was  impossible  to  protect  them  completely ,  but  did  their  very  best  not  to  let  the  kids  turn  into  another  hollywood  brat . 

life  was  great  for  the  family .  both  isabella  and  arthur  were  incredibly  successful  in  their  careers  and  still  madly  in  love  with  kids  that  were  happy  and  healthy .  of  course ,  when  it  seems  that  things  can’t  get  better  is  that  life  decides  to  throw  a  curve  ball .

a  little  over  a  year  ago ,  while  arthur  had  been  away  shooting a  movie ,  isabella  was  in  a  car  accident .  he  got  in  the  first  flight  back  home  and  for  the  next  week  or  so  he  was  by  her  side  at  the  hospital .  they  tried  everything ,  but  not  even  the  best  doctors  and  all  the  surgeries  could  save  her .

grief  is  a  terrible  thing  and  his  friends  quickly  noticed  the  changes  in  arthur .  the  way  he  started  to  withdraw  from  everyone  and  how  he  seemed  to  lose  his  temper  more  often  and  quicker  than  before ,  and  of  course  no  one  could  ignore  that  whenever  they  met  him  he  seemed  to  always  have  a  scotch  in  his  hands .

the  final  straw  was  when  he  got  into  a  fight  with  some  paparazzi  that  had  been  following  him  and  asking  questions  about  his  wife .  arthur  jumped  on  the  guy  but  his  agent  and  publicist  were  able  to  miraculously  keep  it  from  the  papers .  after  that ,  those  who  were  close  to  him ,  especially  his  own  brother , encouraged  him  to  take  some  time  away  from  los  angeles .

he  chose  hillston  because  the  small  town  been  a  family  vacation  spot  for  his  family  and  had  always  been  a  place  of  happiness  to  him .  of  course ,  he  had  his  doubts ,  and  his  kids  weren’t  thrilled  when  he  told  them  about  the  move ,  but  after  being  in  town  for  almost  a  year  he  knows  it  was  the  right  choice .

life  is  much  better  now .  he  feels  more  like  himself  than  he  had  in  quite  some  time ,  he  doesn’t  need  a  drink  to  get  through  the  day  and  he’s  even  gotten  back  to  work and  has  some  projects  lined  up  for  this  year .  the  biggest  change  and  the  one  he  didn’t  think  it  was  possible  is  that  found  love  again .

the  relationship  between  arthur  and  samantha  donovan  started  in  an  unusual  way ,  with  drunk  encounters ,  sex  tapes  and  blackmail .  they’ve  been  together  for  a  few  months ,  but  have  yet  to  tell  anyone  about  it .  his  biggest  concern  is  ,  of  course ,  his  kids  reaction .  he  doesn’t  want  to  hurt  them .

personality.

arthur  is  known  as  a  nice  dude  even  around  hollywood .  he’s  the  sort  of  actor  that  everyone  who  knows  him  or  even  just  works  with  him  has  a  good  word  to  say  and  it’s  not  without  reason .  he  is  very  genuine  and  benevolent ,  ready  to  help  when  needed  and  does  try  to  make  those  around  him  feel  comfortable  and  important .

despite  being  the  good  guy ,  and  being  considerate ,  he  can  also  be  very  assertive  when  needed .  arthur  knows  how  to  express  what  he  wants  and  make  himself  be  heard .  he  has  always  ( at  least  after  he  went  through  that  phase  we  all  go  through )  been  comfortable  in  his  own  skin ; he  knows  who  he  is .

he  is  very  communicative  and  has  a  witty  sense  of  humor  and  doesn’t  take  himself  too  seriously .  he  likes  making  people  laugh  and  even  if  he  doesn’t  desperately  need  attention ,  there’s  still  that  bit  of  enjoyment  in  having  it  that  most  actors  (  sagittarians )  naturally  have .

that  being  said ,  he  does  not  buy  in  the  whole  celebrity  status  at  all .  he  knows  it  comes  with  the  job  and  he’s  learned  to  deal  with  the  constant  scrutiny ,  but  he  does  his  very  best  to  keep  his  private  life  and  his  family  well  away  from  media  attention .  the  way  he  sees  it ,  this  is  just  his  job ,  not  his  whole  life . 

he’s  on  the  optimistic  side  of  things  and  has  the  gift  of  staying  calm  under  pressure .  he’s  learned  not  to  let  panic  settle  when  faced  with  adversity  and  just  remember  that  there’s  usually  a  way  out  of  whatever  problem  that  comes .  that  has  served  him  well  in  the  past  year or  so .

actually  a  guy  of  simple  tastes .  he  already  does  so  many  exciting  things  when  he’s  working  that  when  he’s  not  he  prefers  to  stay  home  and  chill  with  his  family  and  his  friends .  he’d  rather  have  some  people  over  for  drinks  and  a  game  night  or  watch  sports  than  go  out  to  a  part  or club .  he  says  he’s  too  old  for  that  anyway .  

a  family  man  through  and  through .  nothing  is  more  important  to  him  than  his  kids ,  especially  now  that  he’s  all  they  have .  even  when  he  was  filming  a  movie  somewhere  else  he  made  sure  to  come  home  as  often  as  possible  and  never  go  longer  than  two  weeks  without  seeing  his  family .  he’s  always  tried  to  make  sure  his  kids  knew  he’d  always  be  there  for  them .

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 18

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 18 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 18/? SUMMARY: A little girl escapes the Time War when the Timelord’s return in “End of Time Part 2″. The newly regenerated Doctor must now raise the little girl while trying to find out why cracks in time keep following them around.

[A/N - First chapter of “Vampires in Venice”!]

Elise woke up and ventured out of her room. Where was her father and Amy? Just as she was about to go looking for them, they came through the doors with a man following them.

It was Amy’s boyfriend.

What was his name again? Roger? Reggie?

The Doctor walked up to the small Timelord. “Elise! What are you doing? You’re supposed to stay in your room until I come and get you”, he scolded her.

Her bottom lip quivered as her eyes went wide.

The Doctor sighed and picked her up.

“Told you”, Amy sang.

“Shut-up”, the Doctor muttered.

“Um, who is she?” Rory asked Amy.

“The Doctor’s sort-of daughter. Elise, you remember Rory?”

The Doctor handed Elise to Amy as he went down below the platform to work on the TARDIS.

“Umm, hello?” Rory said to Elise.

Elise just smiled and waved.

“She doesn’t really speak. She’s trying to, aren’t you?” Amy said.

Elise nodded.

“But she’s what? 4 or 5? She should be speaking by now”, Rory said.

Elise, ashamed, hid her face in Amy’s red hair.

Amy rubbed her back to comfort her as she glared at her fiancé.

“What?” he asked. He hadn’t meant to upset the little girl.

“Oh, the life out there, it dazzles. I mean, it blinds you to the things that are important. I've seen it devour relationships and plans”.

The rotor sparked and let out smoke.

“It's meant to do that”, the Doctor told them, “Because for one person to have seen all that, to taste the glory and then go back, it will tear you apart. So, I'm sending you somewhere, together”.

“Whoa. What, like a date?” Amy asked.

The Doctor put his goggles away and made his way to the platform. “Anywhere you want. Any time you want. One condition. It has to be amazing. The Moulin Rouge in 1890. The first Olympic Games. Think of it as a wedding present, because it's either this or tokens. It's a lot to take in, isn't it? Tiny box, huge room inside. What's that about? Let me explain”.

“It's another dimension”, Rory said.

“It's basically another dimens…What?”

“After what happened with Prisoner Zero, I've been reading up on all the latest scientific theories. FTL travel, parallel universes”.

“I like the bit when someone says it's bigger on the inside. I always look forward to that”.

“So, this date”, Amy said, breaking up a fight she had feeling was about to start, “I'm kind of done with running down corridors. What do you think, Rory?”

The Doctor pulled a lever. “How about somewhere romantic?”

When they landed, Amy helped Elise into her new harness and they left the TARDIS. They stepped out into a busy marketplace.

“Venice!” the Doctor said, throwing his arms out, “Venezia. La Serenissima. Impossible city. Preposterous city. Founded by refugees running from Attila the Hun. It was just a collection of little wooden huts in the middle of the marsh, but became one of the most powerful cities in the world”.

The Doctor continued to rant as they walked. “Constantly being invaded, constantly flooding, constantly just beautiful. Ah, you got to love Venice. So many people did. Byron, Napoleon, Casanova. Ooo, that reminds me”. The Doctor checked his watch. “1580. That's all right. Casanova doesn't get born for a hundred and forty five years. Don't want to run into him. I owe him a chicken”.

“You owe Casanova a chicken?” Rory asked him.

“Long story. We had a bet”.

A man stepped into their pathway and stopped them. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Papers, if you please. Proof of residency, current bill of medical inspection”.

The Doctor pulled out his psychic paper and held it up. “There you go, fellow. All to your satisfaction, I think you'll find”.

The inspector snatched the psychic paper from his hand. “I am so sorry, your Holiness. I didn't realize”.

The Doctor made a cross sign over his chest. “No worries. You were just doing your job. Sorry, what exactly is your job?”

“Checking for aliens. Visitors from foreign lands what might bring the plague with them”.

“Oh, that's nice. See where you bring me? The plague”, Amy said, hitting the Doctor on the arm.

“Don't worry, Viscountess. No, we're under quarantine here. No one comes in, no one goes out, and all because of the grace and wisdom of our patron, Signora Rosanna Calvierri”, the inspector told them.

“How interesting. I heard the plague died out years ago”, the Doctor said.

“Not out there. No, Signora Calvierri has seen it with her own eyes. Streets are piled high with bodies, she said”.

“Did she now?”

Rory took the psychic paper from the Inspector. “Er, according to this, I am your eunuch”, he told Amy.

“Oh yeah. I'll explain later”, she said, hurrying after the Doctor and Elise.

They came to a stop and watched a procession of girls in white dresses and veils from across the canal.

A man ran up to them. He went through the girls yelling, “Isabella!”

One of the girls knocked him down and they quickly left.

Now that was odd.

Since this was meant to be Amy and Rory’s date, the Doctor decided to leave them and find out what was going on. Amy didn’t want to run through corridors? Fine. He’d do it himself, with Elise of course.

The Doctor and Elise waited in an alleyway not far from the canal. When the man walked by, the Doctor popped out. “Who are those girls?” he asked him.

“I thought everyone knew about the Calvierri school”.

“My first day here. It's okay. Parents do all sorts of things to get their children into good schools. They move house, they change religion. So why are you trying to get her out?”

“Something happens in there. Something magical, something evil. My own daughter didn't recognize me. And the girl who pushed me away, her face, like an animal”.

The Doctor through an arm over the man’s shoulder and said, “I think it's time I met this Signora Calvierri”.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Guido ran up to the gates of the school yelling, “You have my daughter. Isabella!”

The distraction allowed the Doctor and Elise to sneak around to the water gate and get in that way.

The Doctor had tried to leave Elise with Guido, but she screamed when he tried to hand her over. Maybe Wilf was right. Maybe she was too attached to him.

They made their way down a stone staircase into a basement. There was a mirror on the wall and the Doctor walked up to it.

“Hello, handsome”, he said, adjusting his bowtie.

Elise rolled her eyes.

“Who are you?” a chorus of voices asked.

The Doctor spun around and saw five girls standing there. He looked at them and then back at the mirror.

They had no reflections.

“How are you doing that? I am loving it. You're like Houdini, only five slightly scary girls, and he was shorter. Will be shorter. I'm rambling”.

“I'll ask you again, signor. Who are you?”

“Why don't you check this out?” He pulled out a black wallet and showed them. The girls just stared at it until he flipped it around. He groaned, realizing it wasn’t his psychic paper. “Library card. Of course, it's with….He's…I need a spare. Pale, creepy girls who don't like sunlight and can't be seen in…Ha. Am I thinking what I think I'm thinking? But the city. Why shut down the city? Unless…”

“Leave now, signor, or we shall call for the Steward, if you are lucky”. The girls’ teeth turned into needles and Elise whimpered in the Doctor’s ear.

They started to come towards them, hissing.

“Tell me the whole plan!”

The girls continued to advance on them.

“One day that will work”, he muttered, “Listen, I would love to stay here. This whole thing. I'm thrilled. Oh, this is Christmas”. The Doctor turned and ran for the stairs.

Night had fallen.

“Doctor!” Amy yelled, running towards them.

“Elise and I just met some vampires”.

“We just saw a vampire”.

“And creepy girls and everything”.

“Vampires”.

The two jumped up and down with excitement, jostling Elise.

She whined and tapped the back of the Doctor’s head with her forehead, letting him know she didn’t appreciate it.

The Doctor stopped jumping as Rory finally caught up.

“We think we just saw a vampire”, Rory said.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Amy was just telling me”, the Doctor told him.

“Yeah, yeah. The Doctor and Elise actually went to their house”, Amy said.

“Oh. Right. Well…”

“Okay. So, first we need to get back in there somehow”, the Doctor said.

“What?” Rory asked.

“How do we do that?” Amy asked.

“Back in where?”

“Come and meet me and Elise’s new friend”, the Doctor told them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Elise sat in the Doctor’s lap as they came up with a plan.

Guido had a map of Venice laying out on the table. “As you saw, there's no clear way in. The House of Calvierri is like a fortress. But there's a tunnel underneath it, with a ladder and shaft that leads up into the house. I tried to get in once myself, but I hit a trapdoor”, Guido said.

“You need someone on the inside”, Amy told them.

“No”, the Doctor said.

“You don't even know what I was going to say”.

“Er, that we pretend you're an applicant for the school to get you inside, and tonight you come down and open the trapdoor to let us in”.

“Oh. So you do know what I was going to say”.

“Are you insane?” Rory asked her.

“We don't have another option”.

“He said no, Amy. Listen to him”.

“There is another option”, Guido told them. He pointed to the barrels behind where Rory was sitting. “I work at the Arsenale. We build the warships for the navy”.

The Doctor set Elise down on the table and walked over to the barrels, sniffing them. “Gunpowder. Most people just nick stationery from where they work. Look, I have a thing about guns and huge quantities of explosive”.

Rory got up and moved away from the gunpowder only to bump into a dead rabbit hanging near the fireplace.

“What do you suggest, then? We wait until they turn her into an animal?” Guido asked.

“I'll be there three, four hours, tops”, Amy told the Doctor.

He considered it for a second, admiring her bravery before he shut the idea down. “No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. It can't keep happening like this. This is how they go”. The Doctor sat down on Guido’s bed and rubbed his face with his hand. “But I have to know. We go together, say you're my daughter”.

“What? Don't listen to him”, Rory told her.

“Your daughter? You look about nine”. He barely looked old enough to claim Elise was his daughter and she looked like him.

“Brother, then”.

“Too weird. Fiancé”.

“I'm not having him run around telling people he's your fiancé”, Rory said.

“No. No, you're right”, Amy said, finally agreeing with him on something.

“Thank you”.

“I mean, they've already seen the Doctor. You should do it”.

“Me?”

“Yeah. You can be my brother”.

“Why is him being your brother weird, but with me, it's okay?”

“Actually, I thought you were her fiancé”, Guido said, gesturing to the Doctor.

“Yeah, that's not helping”.

“This whole thing is mental!” Rory told Amy, “They're vampires, for God's sake”.

“We hope”, the Doctor said.

“So if they're not vampires?” Amy asked.

“Makes you wonder what could be so bad it doesn't actually mind us thinking it's a vampire…”

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: In My Life

Sara Lance said goodbye to Leonard Snart nearly two years ago, before he sacrificed himself for his Earth-X self's future.

But goodbyes aren't always forever. And love doesn't always hurt. And, sometimes, even a crook and an assassin can get a happy ending.

*

This is for @larielromeniel​. <3

It's a sequel to "Did You Lose What Won't Return," and I highly suggest reading that first. We've planned a follow-up for a while, but life got in the way. (Who knows? There still might be more to come!) That story, I know, broke a lot of people’s hearts. I promise you, though, there’s nothing but happy CC endings (and beginnings) here. ;)

Many thanks to Pir8grl!

Read “Did You Lose What Won’t Return” here on AO3.

Read “In My Life” here on AO3.

*

Though I know I'll never lose affection For people and things that went before I know I'll often stop and think about them In my life, I'll love you more

-- “In My Life,” the Beatles

*

The Waverider looks the same.

Leonard stands there, in the empty lot the ship is parked in, and stares at it. It doesn’t seem like it should look the same. Nothing…nothing else is the same, after all. He self-consciously rubs his right hand up and down his left arm, noting that it, also, feels the same.

But it’s not.

“What’s the hold up, mate?” Leonard jerks forward as the trench-coated Brit pokes him in the shoulder, smirking as he turns to glare. “You’ve been gone a while, I get that, but I’d think you’d be running on board, not standing here staring.” The smirk modulates into a leer. “She’s on there, you know. Only one right now, with everyone else off on shore leave. You’ll have lots of privacy.”

He vaguely—very vaguely—remembers the man from before. From that interlude they tell him, now, was nearly two years ago. The span of hours his consciousness—his soul, they say—had surfaced, separate from the man called Leo.

The man who is now in possession of his…their…body, while Leonard…

He catches himself rubbing his arms again. Stops.

“She’s not expecting…me,” he mutters. “You really…you should have warned her.”

Those words do make the man—John Constantine—pause, an odd expression flitting over his face.

“Maybe,” he acknowledges, after a moment. “Maybe. But you heard Leo. Once the experiment worked…well, there was no good reason for waiting around and lots of reasons not to. Don’t you want to go home?”

Home. Leonard stares at the Waverider again, feeling totally at sea.

The man besides him sighs.

“Go on, mate,” he says, a little more gently. “Tear off the bandage. I remember how you kissed her, back when…well. You’ve got a second chance now. Take it, right?”

Leonard doesn’t move. “You said, though…there was someone…”

Constantine eyes him, pulling a cigarette out of nowhere and passing it back and forth between his hands.

“For Sara?” he says finally. “Yeah. After you…Leo…left. But that’s done now.” He winces a little. “Didn’t end well, really.”

It hurts. Of course, he didn’t want Sara to sit around pining, but… “So, what?” Leonard asks, knowing his voice is harsh. “I’m the consolation prize now?”

That gets a scowl. “Look,” the warlock says tersely, pointing the cig at him. “What and who you are now…it wasn’t without risk. To me, to…my counterpart…to Leo himself. A lot of people worked on this. You gonna throw it away? That’s up to you. But I think you owe it to all of us…and to yourself…to go talk to the woman on this ship. She deserves to know you’re back.”

“Kind of,” Leonard mutters despite himself, making a fist. Feeling the lack of scars on his palm.

“Kind of,” Constantine acknowledges. “In all the ways that matter, mate.” He sticks the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and shakes his head. “Well. Good luck. I’ll be back with the others in a few days. See you then.” He shrugs. “Or not.”

Despite how disconcerted Leonard is, and how irritating he finds the other man capable of being…well, he also didn’t think he’d be walking back on board this ship alone. “You’re not…”

Another flash of sympathy. “Mate, I think this is the kinda thing you need to do yourself.”

*

It’s not much of a surprise, really, that Leonard’s back on the Waverider only a moment when he hears a familiar voice lift to greet him.

“Mr. Snart,” Gideon says quietly, as he stops. “Leonard. Welcome back.”

He can’t help himself. “Is it back?” he asks her, knowing there’s a little bitterness there. “Really?”

The AI is quiet so long that he nearly starts walking again. But when Gideon speaks again, there’s enough irritation in her tone that Leonard’s taken aback.

“You ask me that, Mr. Snart?” she asks. “Me? Truly? Whether it is your…your shell…that matters or the spirit or soul inside? You know better than that.”

When she puts it like that… “I didn’t think of it that way,” Leonard admits, shrugging his shoulders uncomfortably. “It’s just…”

Gideon capitulates, tone gentling again. “…odd, I’m sure,” she acknowledges. “Especially as, yet again, you didn’t think you’d ever be returning here.”

“No. I didn’t.” They share a moment of quiet before the AI sighs.

“Captain Lance is in her office, Mr. Snart,” she tells him. “I have warned her there is a…a visitor…on the ship. What sort of visitor, well…”

“That’s up to me. Right.”

*

Gideon, having informed Sara that she has a visitor onboard, promptly refuses to say any more, other than that the person is not a security risk. Sara, irritated, nearly gets up to go investigate anyway, but eventually decides in a fit of pique that on the AI’s head (so to speak) be it. She stays in the office, going through Rip’s old papers, trying to decide which can be safely put in storage, which to digitalize, and which to keep in the file cabinets.

So, when there’s a hesitant step at the door, it takes her a moment to even glance up. Since they’re in Central City, it’s probably just a member of Team Flash. Maybe Iris, or Caitlin. Mick or Ray could have told them where the Waverider was parked.

Just about the last thing she expects to see is the tall, lean shape that pauses just inside the office, backlit just a little because Sara has the lights low, facing her but coming no farther.

Even now, her heart gives a single, painful “thump” at the sight, but her heart, Sara knows, is a liar. Leonard is gone, giving up his second chance so that Leo could live on with his Ray and his Freedom Fighters on Earth-X. He’s gone. And he won’t be back. She’s had nearly two years to come to grips with that, not to mention the time before that. After the Oculus.

“Leo?” she asks after a second, having hastily gathered up all those feelings and shoved them back in the mental box she keeps them in. “Are you OK? Is Ray…?”

The figure takes a step forward, and Sara gets to her feet, allowing one of her knives to slide from her sleeve into her hand. Sure, Gideon had said this…this person is OK, but Leo would have simply sauntered in, smiling at her, by now. And she remembers all too well the Legion Leonard who’d thrown things into such turmoil.

“Leo?” she asks again, tone tight. “Say something. What’s going on?”

Another step. And Sara blinks, as the figure’s face and eyes suddenly become more visible, as is the intent expression directed at her.

“Sara,” he says, voice low and uncertain. “I…”

The words trail off, but Sara is suddenly just as sure as she’d been back during the institution incident.

She’s looking at Leonard Snart, the one and only Earth-1 original.

*

Leonard, in the month or so he’s been “back,” has become quite steady on his feet. Certainly, they wouldn’t have let him go if he’d been as wobbly as he’d been at first.

But now, having subsided into a chair in the captain’s office…Sara’s office…on the Waverider, he feels every bit as shaky as he had when he’d first woken up in a new body, there on Earth-X, staring up at a face that was the twin to his own.

That was his own.

Sara, having made sure he’s steady enough in the chair, brings him a glass of water, but he doesn’t miss just how white her knuckles are as she hands it to him, nor how still her expression is. She sits down across from him, still silent, and watches as he takes a drink.

Leonard sighs. “I told them someone should warn you,” he says, staring down into the glass. “I know things were…”

Sara stirs, then. “Who’s ‘them?’” she interrupts, not without a thread of uncertainty.

“Leo,” Leonard informs her promptly. “Ray…his Ray. The Ray. That Constantine guy. The magician from Earth-X.” He glances upward. “And I’m told Gideon was in on it too.”

Sara follows his glance, but her expression is…well, murderous. Gideon must agree, to some extent, because she speaks up promptly, sounding a touch unsettled.

“Not…quite,” she says carefully. “I replicated and sent along some technology native to the Waverider, at Leo Snart’s request. He’d contacted Mr. Constantine and Mr. Rory,” she adds hastily at Sara’s continued silence. “And Mr. Constantine took it over with him on a visit. Neither I nor Mr. Rory know what became of the request.”

“Mick was in on it?” Leonard asks in surprise.

“Again, to some extent. He knew that Leo…”

But Sara holds up a hand then. “Just…before anything else,” she says, carefully looking elsewhere before letting her eyes dart over to Leonard. “I need…is it you? The real…”

She stops. Leonard hesitates. Is it? he thinks. Is it really him? But Gideon’s words from before stand, and he nods, meeting Sara’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

*

“How?!”

Sara just can’t help it. The single word explodes out of her, as she sits there and stares at this Leonard, who looks just the same and still somehow not, though she can’t put her finger on precisely how.

And this Leonard gives her a rueful smile. He puts down the water glass and puts his hands down on her desk, palms down, long fingers splayed, and stares at them.

“I’m...a clone, I guess you’d say,” he murmurs. “Product of Waverider tech and the Earth-X tech that helped create Red Tornado.” He glances up at her, eyes cautious. “And then...well, Constantine and their Zatanna went about, well, banging on doors in Leo’s head until they...woke me up. And they...shoved me in here.”

“He’s asleep,” Sara remembers Leo saying, all that time ago, after John had put Leonard’s reawakened soul back into hibernation inside their shared body. Leonard’s choice, that had been, well and truly, a sacrifice for his other self, but not without regrets...

“They didn’t ask?” she blurts out, thinking suddenly of how it’d felt to be pulled out of...wherever she’d been, after she’d died, and thrust back into a repaired body. “Are you OK?”

Leonard blinks and then looks...well, he looks gratified. Like no one else had asked that, expecting him to simply be grateful for all the trouble they’d gone through, grateful to be back. And to be honest, there are few people who get the other side of that better than Sara.

After a moment, he shrugs. “I’m...all right,” he says, watching her carefully. “They did ask, sort of, but I wasn’t very...coherent, at that point. And once they mentioned...”

He stops short, and Sara wonders...but only briefly, because he starts speaking again, glancing down at his hands. “I’m still getting used to it. Most of the muscle memory...it’s gone, and so are the scars.” His hands close into loose fists, and he turns them from side to side before looking back up at her.

“I’m younger,” Leonard admits. “Now. Physically, anyway. Closer to you. Lots of the damage taken over the years, it’s gone too."

And that’s good, that’s great, but...Sara nods, slowly. “But it was your damage,” she says, meeting his eyes. “And it’s weird without it.”

“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth ticks up, and for the first time, she sees him really relax, at least a little. “Shoulda known you’d get it.”

“You know I do, crook.” The nickname slips out before she can stop it, and Sara glances away, clearing her throat. “Why didn’t someone come with you?” she manages. “Help explain all this? That’s not much like Leo, honestly.”

Leonard makes a thoughtful noise. “He wanted to,” he admits. “But there was a bit of an uprising, some remnants of the Reich, I’m told. Leo said to assure you that they’ve got it, but they wanted me safely out of it for now.” His expression darkens. “Especially after they...put a lot of...work into me.”

Sara stares at him. “Leo didn’t say that.” It’s not a question, but... “Did he?”

He seems to shake himself, giving her another of those rueful smiles. “No. I guess I just...felt like a liability instead of a help, to them. Didn’t like it much.” He shrugs. “Your...Constantine came with me. From Earth-X. But he seemed to think I needed to do this myself.”

Sara snorts, an expression of exasperation that she knows she uses a lot when it comes to John. “Of course he did.”

They share a smirk, then, before apparently realizing yet again how awkward this all is. Leonard looks back down at his hands, and Sara looks too, realizing just how many tiny scars and lines have vanished.

“May I?” she murmurs, reaching out before she can stop herself.

After a breath, he nods, and Sara picks up his right hand gently, running her thumb across the palm, hearing his intake of breath. But it doesn’t seem to be an uncomfortable one, so she continues, gently stroking the long, nimble fingers, feeling the relative lack of callous and scar tissue.

Rebirth, she thinks. So like her own, in some ways. Another thing they have in common, now.

Eventually, Leonard clears his throat, and Sara glances up, realizing just how dark and intent his eyes are as they stare at her. Realizing she’s really, err, been making love to his hand, she drops it quickly, glancing away—and then gets up to cross the room again, pulling out two glasses and a bottle, one of the few remaining from Rip’s collection.

“Scotch?” she asks, staring down at the bottle, trying to calm her heart rate.

“Please.”

When Sara returns to the desk, she doesn’t bother sitting down behind it again. Instead, she hands Leonard his glass and then hooks another chair with her foot, pulling it over and near his own, taking that one. This time, when she sits down, they’re close, more on an even footing, knees almost brushing.

More than close enough to touch.

They both drink, and Sara hears him sigh again, though it seems to be a content sound. Blue eyes dart to hers over the top of his glass, and she sees that rueful smile again.

“I heard,” he murmurs. “About Rip. I’m sorry.”

Sara sighs. She holds her glass up then, in a clear toast, and he clinks his against it before they take another drink together, a tribute to the man who’d once owned the libation.

“He wasn’t perfect,” Sara says quietly, looking down into the amber liquid. “But...none of us are. And without him, we wouldn’t...well...I don’t know where I’d be.”

“Same.” Leonard takes another drink, glancing over at her. “Mick,” he says suddenly, and it’s not quite a non sequitur. “Mick’s OK?”

“He’s fine.” Sara smiles a little. “I think he’s off rambling around with Charlie right now. Charlie...now, she’s an interesting addition to the team. I...” She catches herself. “Well. There will be time. Later.” She looks over at Leonard, who looks slightly amused. More like himself, really, like the man she remembers and less like the unsettled and unsettling stranger who’d first appeared in the doorway.

Maybe that’s why she takes that particular plunge next.

“Well. So. Ah,” she says, carefully if somewhat nonsensically. “You remember...what do you remember?”

The blue eyes grow a little hooded as Leonard studies his scotch. Then he sighs.

“Everything,” he admits. “I think. At least from when I was...me. I remember my life, up to...to the Oculus.” He glances over at her, and Sara throttles back the memory of desperation and the realization of what was happening…what she couldn’t stop from happening. And a kiss.

“The Oculus,” Leonard repeats, still holding her gaze. Is it her imagination or did his eyes grow darker? “Then...waking up after the weirdest dream, and…seeing you.”

His voice trails off. And his eyes are definitely darker, warm and intent on her. And Sara remembers.

“You gonna make love to me, Leonard?" she’d murmured into his ear, running her fingers down his spine and feeling him sigh under her touch. "You better be a hell of a thief."

Oh. He remembers too, remembers their night together, the gift Leo had given them. Sara feels her face heat again, but she holds his gaze a long moment before clearing her throat. The office feels a little too warm, a bit too stuffy, and she remembers so very clearly the taste of his lips, the feel of his hands on her body, the way he’d said her name as…

Sara tosses back the remainder of her scotch, then drags in a deep breath. “I…” she starts hesitantly, gathering her courage—only to realize that Leonard’s looking away again. And when he looks back a moment later, his eyes that seem to have their walls up again, walls she hadn’t yet seen in this new version of him.

“Hey,” he says, looking away, voice quiet. “It’s OK. There’s no pressure. I get it; things have changed.” He closes his eyes as Sara blinks at him. “I can head into the city, look into getting some ID, maybe...”

But he shuts up as Sara, unwilling to let this confusion go another second—hey, she’s learned something in the past few years--snakes a hand behind his head, pulls him toward her, and kisses him. Hard.

It gets out of hand pretty much immediately, but they’re both OK with that.

*

By the time they come up for more than a breath of air, Sara is sitting in Leonard’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck, their foreheads still touching. Her shirt is completely unbuttoned, and the skirt she’d been wearing is rucked up around her waist. Leonard’s hands are, at the moment, still, high on her thighs…where his questing fingers had accidentally brushed against a (fortuitously sheathed) hidden knife, drawing a startled oath from him and a peal of laughter from Sara.

He’s still mostly clothed, though he’s pretty sure Sara has definite plans for remedying that. For the moment, though, they’re just breathing, watching each other, unwilling to let go but needing that momentary break for, well, oxygen purposes.

Leonard can’t deny a sense of gratitude that Sara hadn’t let him persist in what had, apparently, been quite a misconception. He pulls back just a little, far enough to look in her eyes, marveling.

“Oh,” he says, finding a real smirk for one of the first times since his…rebirth. “I guess you want me to stay?”

That gets another ripple of laughter. Sara closes her eyes, a slow smile spreading across her face before she opens them again.

“What was your first clue?” she teases back, but then shakes her head. “Why on Earth would you think I wanted you to leave?”

There’s a little pain in the question, and the last thing Leonard wants to do is exacerbate it. He hesitates a moment, then sighs.

“There was someone else,” he says finally, watching her. “For you. Constantine said so.” He takes a deep breath. “And I’m not...I’m not the same. It’s been a long time. And I haven’t been here. For you.”

It’s halting and not very eloquent, but Sara, he thinks, gets it. She nods slowly, still looking him in the eyes, but her hands holding him close don’t loosen at all. And when she speaks again, her words are just as thoughtful.

“There was,” Sara says quietly. “Someone. It didn’t work out. She...we wanted different things, ultimately.” She moves just a little, looking around at the room and the ship around them before glancing back at him. “The Waverider...it’s my home, Leonard. My home, my life, and my responsibility. It took me a little while to realize that, to know that I couldn’t be happy going back to a...a more normal life.”

There’s a question in the words, too, though maybe someone else wouldn’t have heard it. Leonard thinks about what Constantine had said before, studying him as he’d stared at the ship and tried to figure out what he was doing here.

“Don’t you want to go home?”

Maybe, he admits to himself, that smartass Brit is more perceptive than Leonard had given him credit for.

“Never had what I’d consider a normal life,” Leonard admits finally. “Don’t think I’d know what to do with one. But going back to...well, being the criminal king of Central City doesn’t have the same allure to it anymore, either.” He offers her a sly smile. “And I figure...maybe...that a team of troublemakers set on protecting the timeline might still need a hell of a thief.”

Sara’s answering smile makes his heart contract. “Definitely,” she whispers, shifting in a way that makes him catch his breath. “Very definitely. And someone who makes the captain...happy...is always a good idea.”

The room is warm. Very warm. Leonard clears his throat again, trying to clear his thoughts a little, moving his hands up and over her skirt and around to the small of her back.

“Happy, huh?” he murmurs, adjusting her a little and smirking at the sound she makes. “Just...happy?”

Sara’s eyes flicker closed. “Content,” she purrs. “Pleased. Satisfied.” Her eyes open a little, heavy-lidded in a way that makes Leonard lick his lips. “Euphoric.”

“Hmm. Hope I can live up to those lofty goals.” With barely a momentary tensing of muscles to warn her, Leonard stands, balancing Sara against him as she laughs and wraps her legs around his waist. “I think it just might be a good thing I’m a little younger now.”

Turning, he carries her to the doorway of the office, pausing only a moment before Sara steers him toward the captain’s quarters. While he’d once cased them for valuables during Rip’s tenure, that’d been a while ago—and Sara is doing her damnest to distract him now, kissing his jaw and neck as he tries to navigate.

“Younger, hmm?” she says playfully when he pauses. “Interesting. We should have some time, here…are you suggesting you might be up for a bit of a…marathon?”

Leonard’s startled into a chuckle. “Hey, you didn’t have any complaints about the older model before,” he objects, glancing over her shoulder as they approach the door.

Sara hums thoughtfully. Leonard looks down at her as she gently places a hand on the side of his face, noting the affection and emotion in her eyes along with a healthy helping of lust.

“I liked the older model,” she says quietly. “I like this one, too. Or perhaps I should say…I like the driver.”

Leonard carefully puts her down on her feet, there outside the door to her room, and sets his hands at her hips, feeling—just about for the first time--fully comfortable in this new body he’s inhabiting.

“So, you want to take me out for a test spin?” he asks suggestively, letting his hands drift a little south.

A smile tugs at Sara’s mouth. “I was thinking more like a lengthy road trip, perhaps.”

Leonard responds in the only way he can.

Gideon opens the door for them without comment.

*

At one point over the next few days, Sara asks Gideon to remind her when the time approaches for the team’s return. Just in case.

In all fairness, she figures, padding to the galley for a tray to take back to the room, she should be allowed to lose track of time for this, of all things. Right? It’s a miracle, really, Leonard’s return. And soon, she’s going to have to share him—in some ways, anyway. Not that that’s a bad thing—she can’t wait to see Mick’s reaction—but it’s still a thing.

To Sara’s great amusement, there’s already a tray waiting for her in the replicator when she arrives at the galley. She regards it a moment, studying the perfectly ripe strawberries, the chocolates, the cheese and sliced baguettes. There are even two glasses of what appears to be champagne, along with some glasses of spring water. The AI, it seems, might have a romantic streak.

“Thanks, Gideon,” she says, collecting it, turning to head back to the room. “Appreciate it.”

“You are welcome.” Gideon pauses, then says, tentatively “Are you…well, Captain Lance?’

Sara blinks, pausing. “Don’t I…seem well?”

“I keep an effort not to…listen in…on moments that should be private.” Gideon’s voice seems a little prim. “And frankly, that’s all there have been on this ship, lately.”

The laugh bubbles up before she can help it. “I suppose that’s true,” Sara admits, continuing on. “Yes, I’m well. And so is Leonard.” She can’t help the smile that lurks around her mouth then. “I think he just needs…refueling. And maybe a little rest.”

“As you say, Captain Lance.” Gideon’s tone is rather definitely amused now. “As a reminder, you have about 24 hours before the others return. Enjoy.”

“Oh, believe me. I intend to.”

*

They don’t get 24 hours, though. Later, Sara will figure it’s rather early the next morning when she hears voices in the hallways outside and Gideon’s resigned voice interrupting their sleep.

“Captain Lance,” she says regretfully. “You have visitors. And they seem to be…”

A familiar voice in the hall cuts in before she can finish. A very, very familiar voice.

“Captain Lance! Sara! Are you here?!”

Sara sits bolt upright, startled for a moment before the true identity of the voice’s owner gets through. Then she sighs, smiling a little, and reaches out to put a hand on the shoulder of the man who’s been sleeping besides her.

“Len,” she says quietly. “Wake up. I think someone wants to check on you.”

“Sara!” she hears again, worry clear in the tone.

A moment passes before her lover opens an eye. He doesn’t seem horribly enthused about the idea. “They had plenty of time to make sure all the parts worked before they sent me here,” he mutters after a moment. “What now?”

“I think we’ve had plenty of proof of that, too.” Snickering, Sara gets out of bed, reaching for a robe. “C’mon. I think we at least owe him some thanks and some reassurance, don’t you?”

Leonard growls, but he does follow her. Sara waits only a minute for him to grab a sheet and…arrange it…before she crosses the room and throws the door open.

Right in Leo Snart’s worried face.

“What?” she asks innocently, as he blinks at her. “Who on Earth are you looking for?”

Leo’s mouth drops open…and then, as Sara watches, he clearly sees Leonard approaching from behind her—presumably wearing nothing but his sheet.

“Yeah,” he says, just as innocently, reaching out to put a hand on Sara’s hip. “Who are you looking for?”

Leo’s mouth snaps shut. For once, he actually seems speechless.

Behind him, Ray Terrill closes his eyes, clearly trying to hold back laughter, and not very well. Opening them again, he nods in a friendly fashion to Leonard, who nods back.

“He was worried,” Terrill notes with amusement, glancing at his husband. “Things didn’t go at all the way he was planning. For once.”

Leonard shrugs. “Well, you know. Make the plan, execute the plan, expect the plan to go off the rails…”

His doppelganger recovers enough to glare at him, though amusement clearly shows through around the edges. “That’s an awful motto!” He shakes his head as Sara laughs, then gives Leonard a more even look.

“Ah,” he says with a sigh. “I see you made it here all right. As soon as we had things sorted, I meant to follow, but then we weren’t sure where you were…”

Sara eyes him. “You were worried?” She folds her arms. “I figured sending him off alone with John Constantine, of all people, was maybe a little…”

A voice rises again, then, from farther down the hall, and all four of the players in the little tableau roll their eyes.

“Do I hear my name being taken in vain?” Constantine asks, strolling down the hall with an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. He spots and studies them all—especially Sara and Leonard in their state of dress, or lack thereof—and then smirks. “Ha.”

Leo sighs at him. “When I asked you to bring him to Earth-1,” he says, rubbing his face with a hand, “I meant to wait somewhere for us to help explain what was going on.” He points at the unrepentant warlock. “Not to abandon him here to fend for himself and then fuck off to a bar. But Zatanna said that’s precisely what you did.”

Sara decides she wants to know more about this Zatanna, but John merely grins around his cigarette.

“What’s all the fuss, anyway?” he asks, removing the cig and glancing around. “Clearly, things went…well.” He leers at Leonard, who looks evenly back, and then shrugs.

“They needed to deal with this on their own,” John continues in his world-weary tone. “The more people around, the more time they’d spend staring at each other and coming up with reasons why they shouldn’t just kiss and fall into bed.” He points at Sara. “Am I right?”

Sara opens her mouth. Closes it. And then sighs, thinking that John’s going to be even more insufferable for the foreseeable future. “Pretty much.”

Leo looks like he’d like to argue, but very obviously shakes it off. He gives John another piercing look, then glances back at Leonard and Sara. “Everything worked all right, I take it?”

He obviously means their relationship, but…Sara actually giggles as John guffaws next to her and Terrill sighs.

“Perfectly,” Leonard drawls back at him. There’s a light in his eyes as Sara glances up at him, and it gleams even brighter as he pulls her just a little closer to him. “I gotta say…thanks.”

Leo smiles in return, and while there’s something that makes them look more like, say, twins than the split souls (wow, that’s still a weird thought) they are, at that moment, the gleam is very much the same.

“Good,” he says softly. “Good.” He looks over at his Ray, smiling, then back. “You are so very welcome. Make the most of it, will you?”

Memory crashes in, suddenly, and Sara draws in a breath.

"This is a gift, Sara, the most precious gift I could ever have been given," she remembers that same voice saying. "And I swear to you I'll make the most of it."

And now, he’s given her, them, a precious gift in return.

Leonard may not remember that promise from before, but he’s not so unobservant as to be unaware of the undercurrent. “Promise,” he tells Leo in return, voice just as serious.

Sara eyes them a moment, then decides that’s enough seriousness for such an occasion. She looks back down at a (nonexistent) watch on her wrist, then back up at the men around her.

“Well, boys,” she says, in a bit of a drawl of her own. “We still have some time until the rest of my chaos crew gets back here. John notwithstanding.” She looks up, smirking at Leonard, as John makes a cheerfully obscene suggestion in the background. “Sorry, but I have more time to make the most of, right now.”

And with that, she grabs a handful of Leonard’s sheet in her hand, winking at them all before turning and hauling him back in the room with her. The door shuts behind them, and Leonard promptly turns her grip around on her, backing her against the bed while Sara laughs out loud.

He kisses her, then pulls back just a fraction, watching her, blue eyes dark. Different, but still so very much her crook.

“I love you, Sara Lance,” he murmurs.

Sara smiles up at him, as somewhere inside, something that’s been wounded and bleeding for years finally starts to heal. “And I love you too.”

[mbtizone]

Lorelai Gilmore (Gilmore Girls): ENFP

Dominant Extroverted Intuition [Ne]: Lorelai is all ideas and possibilities, all of the time. Most of what comes out of her mouth is speculation and fun. It’s not necessary for anything she says to be rooted in reality. Lorelai is extremely good at making connections, which allows her to come up with an endless amount of pop culture references in her witty, quirky sense of humor. She talks fast, leaping from one thought to the next, and, for those with lower Ne (or none at all) can sometimes have a difficult time keeping up with her. Lorelai is a free spirit and doesn’t like to make decisions or commit to things. She prefers to keep her options open for as long as she can and has a tendency to procrastinate. She can come up with a hundred different ways for something to go (whether positive or negative). These possibilities tend to range from highly unlikely to completely impossible because of her incredibly active imagination. Lorelai tends to be scatter-brained and rootless, which irritates her conservative, uptight parents. She can make even the most serious situations humorous with her gift for sarcasm, which usually comes across as charming, but can sometimes land her into trouble. Lorelai is comfortable with the unfamiliar and enjoys experiencing new things. She enjoys conspiracy theories and doesn’t need something to be proven to believe it.

Auxiliary Introverted Feeling [Fi]: Because Lorelai’s values are completely different than the ones she grew up with, she rebelled… hard. She takes pleasure in doing things differently than her mother does. Lorelai is fiercely independent. She doesn’t want to rely on anyone and has a difficult time asking for help when she needs it (especially when her parents are the ones she needs something from). When she was in labor, she simply left her parents a note and drove herself to the hospital (despite not even having a driver’s license). She’s true to herself, no matter what, and doesn’t censor herself for anyone. Lorelai hates to feel like she’s being controlled. She has a strong sense of right and wrong, and can be quite stubborn and unforgiving if someone violates her moral code. She tends to judge people harshly if they make a decision that she is opposed to and can sometimes have trouble seeing things from other people’s perspectives. When Rory begins seeing Dean again while he’s married, Lorelai is extremely disapproving and cold towards Rory about it. She is guarded with her emotions and doesn’t usually like to talk about them. She’ll usually cover them up with humor, or by throwing herself into other things to keep her mind occupied. Lorelai forges her own path in life and doesn’t let anyone tell her how she should live it.

Tertiary Extroverted Thinking [Te]: Although she can be flighty, Lorelai has a head for business. If she sets her mind to something, she becomes sharply focused on achieving it. When Lorelai confronts someone, she allows her Te to shine and doesn’t hold back. She’ll say exactly what she’s thinking and she won’t hold back. Lorelai can be skilled at thinking on her feet and coming up with plans when things go awry. Though, the plans she usually comes up with have a certain Ne-creativity to them (such as when the inn catches fire and Lorelai has to find rooms for all of her guests). When she’s at work, she is comfortable being the boss and telling people what to do, though she typically does so in a light-hearted manner, unless she’s stressed, angry, or upset.

Inferior Introverted Sensing [Si]: Lorelai may mock some traditions and prefer to do things her way most of the time, but she enjoys her own, personal traditions (as opposed to the ones forced on her by society). One of the routines that she loves is her regular movie and takeout nights with Rory (where they typically watch old movies that they’ve seen many times before). She tells Rory the story of her birth every year on her birthday, with signature Lorelai dramatic flair. She becomes extremely distressed over not being able to have the apple tarts that are served every year at Richard and Emily’s Christmas party. Sometimes, she can have a hard time letting go of relationships and can be rather nostalgic and sentimental on occasion (such as her feelings about the doll house from her childhood). She berates Luke for taking the Monte Cristo sandwich off the menu, even though she’d never actually order it. It was just comforting to know it was there. When she and Luke decide to get a place of their own, she is unable to part with her house and they decide to just renovate her house instead of moving. When Lorelai and Rory are on the outs, Lorelai is upset that they won’t get to do all of the things they planned to do for Rory’s 21st birthday, and she remembers each aspect of their plan vividly. However, in most cases, Lorelai doesn’t like to get hung up on details and tends to be more of a big-picture thinker.

Enneagram: 7w6 Sx/So (Tritype: Possibly 748)

Quotes:

Rory: Sounds like you’re over thinking this. Maybe if you just put pen to paper. Lorelai: I tried that, I thought, “I’ll just sit down and write whatever comes – no judgment, no inner critic.” Boy was that a bad idea. Rory: Really? Why? Lorelai: Because my brain is a wild jungle full of scary gibberish. “I’m writing a letter, I can’t write a letter, why can’t I write a letter? I’m wearing a green dress, I wish I was wearing my blue dress, my blue dress is at the cleaner’s. The Germans wore gray, you wore blue, ‘Casablanca’ is such a good movie. Casablanca, the White House, Bush. Why don’t I drive a hybrid car? I should really drive a hybrid car. I should really take my bicycle to work. Bicycle, unicycle, unitard. Hockey puck, rattlesnake, monkey, monkey, underpants!” Rory: Hockey puck, rattlesnake, monkey, monkey, underpants?

Lorelai: Lorelai Gilmore: disappointing mothers since 1968.

Luke: Just order, please. Lane: Did you take off the Monte Cristo sandwich? Luke: Well, I , uh… Rory: No! Lorelai: You did. You took off the Monte Cristo sandwich. Luke: I ommitted a few obsolete dishes. Lorelai: I can’t believe Nicole made you take off the Monte Cristo. She’s got you menu-whipped. Luke: She does not have me menu-whipped. I took off a disgusting ridiculous sandwich that no one has ever ordered, including the three of you. Rory: But just having it there made us feel like we always could. Lorelai: It was comforting. Rory: Like soup. Lorelai: Exactly. It was comforting like deep-fried ham and cheese soup. Rory: And even though I never ordered it, I talked about ordering it. Haven’t I? Lane: On several occasions. Lorelai: So you’ve not only eliminated a sandwich, you’ve eliminated a conversation peice. Rory: Now what will we talk about? Luke: Fine. Here- old menus- everything’s there. Knock yourselves out. Lorelai: …How come everybody else gets a new menu? [Luke walks away] Lorelai: I feel much better now.

Emily:: It’s going to be fabulous. Isn’t it, Lorelai? Lorelai: Ab fab, sweetie darling. Emily:: Isn’t she hilarious? I never have any idea what she’s talking about, but she’s so entertaining! Like a chimp. Isn’t she like a chimp, Gypsy? Gypsy: Please make your mother stop talking to me. Lorelai: If only I had that power.

Lorelai: [Outside her parents house] Once upon a time, there was a big house with thick glass windows and heavy stone walls and a slightly pornographic fountain in the driveway. And all the animals in the forest were scared of the house ’cause they thought that the house was haunted, and so did all the villagers in the small hamlet of Hartford… shire… ville. “Maids go in, but they never come out,” they would whisper on the street. [to Rory] Lorelai: How are we doing? Rory: Keep going. Lorelai: One day, a beautiful young cowherderess walked by the house. Rory: Cowherderess? Lorelai: Hey, we could just go in, you know? Rory: Cowherderess is walking by. Lorelai: And suddenly she felt the unbearable need for a strand of pearls and a snifter of 100-year-old scotch. So, abandoning her cows, she climbed over the high walls and dropped onto the just-redone tiled walkway and rushed toward the enchanted French doors that the queen had never been happy with because the hardware was not what she had picked, and she refused to pay that idiot designer that she hired off of a recommendation, and [to Rory again] Lorelai: okay, seriously, this didn’t work when you were 4. I am not sure why you thought it would do any good now.

Lorelai: I hate when I’m an idiot and don’t know it. I like to be aware of my idiocy, to really revel in it, take pictures. I feel we’ve missed a prime Christmas card opportunity.

Emily: You took that girl and completely shut us out of your life. Lorelai: You wanted to control me. Emily: You were still a child. Lorelai: I stopped being a child the minute the strip turned pink, okay? I had to figure out how to live. I found a good job. Emily: As a maid. With all your brains and talent. Lorelai: I worked my way up. I run the place now. I built a life on my own with no help from anyone. Emily: Yes, and think of where you would have been if you’d accepted a little help, hmm? And where Rory would have been. But no, you were always too proud to accept anything from anyone. Lorelai: Well, I wasn’t too proud to come here to you two begging for money for my kid’s school, was I? Emily: No, you certainly weren’t. But you’re too proud to let her know where you got it from, aren’t you? Well, fine, you have your precious pride and I have my weekly dinners. Isn’t that nice? We both win.

Lorelai: Cold, cold, cold, cold, icy feet. Stupid, frozen tundra house. Honey, why are you sleeping in here? Your room is way warmer. Ok, here is the question for today kids: what the hell are the Eskimos thinking? I mean yes, the hoods are cute but it’s always cold, always! Plus you have to eat fish for breakfast, and you have to eat whales, and polar bears, and penguins and Santa Claus. Coffee’s on and Pop-Tarts are poptarting! If you’re just gonna lie there I’m just gonna have to sit here. I’m gonna have to make myself very comfortable on my nice warm Rory! Rory: Why is it so cold in here? Lorelai: Ahh! Rory: Ahh! Lorelai: But I was sitting on you! Rory: Oh, really, good trick. Lorelai: But if you were there, then who’s this? Rory: I don’t know. Lorelai: We’ve got a stranger in our house. Rory: Robert Downey Jr.? Lorelai: Or a murderer. Rory: Who needed a nap before committing his crimes?

Lorelai: What’s that? Sookie St. James: That is a vat of boiling oil. Lorelai: Really? Where’s Quasimodo? Sookie St. James: This is not a joking matter. Rory: What is the oil for? Lorelai: For pouring on Visigoths. Sookie St. James: Lorelai. Lorelai: When else am I gonna get to use my Visigoth material?

Lorelai: Okay, I think we just found the first room in the history of the world that would’ve made Liberace say ‘Whoa. Step back. No one’s that gay.’

Lorelai: We’re not gonna have this fight in a flowery bedroom with dentists singing “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves” in the background. It’s too David Lynch!

Lorelai: You don’t take off without telling Mommy! Rory: I love that I didn’t have to clear it with you to go on spring break but I had to clear it with you to come home. Lorelai: I had visions of you being swallowed by a whale, or taking off with some surfers to go chase the perfect wave and not inviting me.

Emily: I am reduced to calling you and asking are you coming? Lorelai: Uh-huh. Emily: Is that “uh-hu, yes I’m coming” or “uh-huh, I was reading while you were talking”? Lorelai: [throwing things at Luke] Tell you what, Mom. Plan on me coming, and if I don’t then it’ll just be more for everyone else. Emily: Lorelai, you know very well our dinners do not work like that. There is careful planning and shopping and preperation that goes into every meal no matter how boring or simple it may seem to you. Lorelai: Mom… [throws half a burger at Luke] Luke: Hey, what… [Lorelai smiles] Luke: Get off that phone! Lorelai: Oh, shoot, Mom. There’s no cell phones in here. I’ll call you back later. Bye. [hangs up/to Luke] Lorelai: And when I need you. Nowhere.

Lorelai: [Emily is reminding Lorelai of her DAR meeting on Tuesday ] It’s burned into my brain, it’s there forever. When I’m senile and gaga and drooling into a cup… and I can’t remember my name, I will still remember that your DAR meeting was on that Tuesday. I’m going to have to be deprogrammed by cult deprogrammers to get that Tuesday out of my brain.

Lorelai: You’ve been stomping around, barking at people for days. Luke: I have not. Lorelai: Yes, Cujo, you have. Luke: I always talk to people like that. Lorelai: No, Benji, you don’t. Luke: I’ll be fine tomorrow. Lorelai: Really, Lassie? Why is that?

Lorelai: [about Rory’s 21st birthday] We had plans. Luke: What? Lorelai: We were gonna go to Atlantic City. We were gonna sit at a blackjack table at 11:59, we were gonna order martinis, and we were gonna be playing 21 when she turned twenty-one. And then hopefully we’d win, and we’d take our winnings and we’d buy 21 things. And then there was a thing about 21 guys that wouldn’t really be appropriate anymore since the engagement, but it was a good plan. She probably doesn’t even remember the plan. Luke: She remembers the plan. Lorelai: It wasn’t like we talked about it every day. It was just something we thought of. Luke: She remembers the plan.

Lorelai: [Explaining her Halloween plans] I want to do a skit. Luke: Skit? Lorelai: Yes, I want to be a mad scientist. I’m gonna come out in a blood-stained white lab coat and freaky makeup and big, giant, Don King kind of hairdo, and I’m going to turn the whole front yard into my laboratory. Luke: Wow. Lorelai: Yes, I’m gonna have a huge electric chair and an operating table and test tubes and wires. Luke: Sounds elaborate. Lorelai: But you haven’t heard the half of it, okay? And so I come out and I do mad scientist “banter”, like, “Hey, who here is from Bellevue?” and “‘Girl Interrupted’? Now that’s my idea of a feel-good movie”. I’ll work on it. But anyway, after that, I’m gonna drag you out. Luke: WHAT? Lorelai: You’re strapped in an electric chair, and I’m gonna throw the switch and totally electrocute you. And you’re flailing around. We’ll rig something where smoke and sparks shoot out of your nose. And then once you’re dead, I’ll throw you onto the operating table and I’ll cut you open, and I pull link sausages out of you and throw them into the crowd. Luke: That’s it? Lorelai: Well, I mean, we can take a bow or something, but, yeah, that’s it. Luke: Okay. Uh, just a couple of questions here. Once you’ve electrocuted me, and I’m dead, um, how exactly do I get to the operating table? Lorelai: Huh. Good question. Maybe I can position the operating table like right near the electric chair so I can just flop you over onto it after you die. Luke: Okay, let’s say we work that out. Now I’m on the table. You’re gonna cut me open with what? Lorelai: A big, rusty saw. Luke: And then you’re gonna pull link sausages out of me. Lorelai: Real slow and creepy like. Luke: Okay, great. Last question. Uh, what are the odds of you getting me to do a skit where you electrocute me, cut me open, and pull link sausages out of me? ‘Cause I’m thinking they’re right up there with Pia Zadora making a big comeback.

Lorelai: Uh, so let’s get back to the party recap. Any details you wanna tell Mommy? Rory: Jess and Dean got into the fight. Lorelai: Over you. Rory: I was a contributing factor. Lorelai: Was anyone hurt? Rory: No. Lorelai: And that’s why the cops came and broke up the party? Rory: Yes. Lorelai: So not only did you go to a cop-raided party, but you started the raid? Rory: Yes. Lorelai: This fence is broken because of you. This crap is on the ground because of you! Rory: What’s your point? Lorelai: [sings] Did you ever know that you’re my hero, You’re everything I wish I could be, If could fly higher than an eagle, You are the wind beneath my wings!

Emily:: Why didn’t she just say ‘yes’? Lorelai: I think she’s not sure if she wants to marry him, Mom. Emily:: That’s ridiculous! He’s a Huntzberger! An offer like this doesn’t come around every day. Lorelai: It’s a marriage proposal, not a sale on linens!

Luke: There is no fate. Lorelai: What do you mean there is no fate! Of course there is fate! Luke: There is no fate, there is no destiny, there is no luck. Astrology is ridiculous. Tarot cards tell you nothing, you cannot read a palm, tea leaves make tea and nothing else. Jim Morrison is not hanging out with Elvis. And the Kennedys did not kill Marilyn. Lorelai: I totally knew you were gonna say that. Luke: I came over here, my fault. Lorelai: I read your mind! It spoke to me! We’re psychic! Luke: Enjoy the fries.

Luke: I mean you look distracted. Lorelai: Distracted? No, well, maybe, yeah, distracted, okay, sure, I’m very distracted. Luke: Anything I can do? Lorelai: You know there are very few times in my life when I find my self sitting around, thinking I wish I was married, but today… I… I’m happy, you know? I like my life, I like my friends, I like my… stuff. My time, my space, my TV. Luke: Sure. Lorelai: But every now and then, just for a moment I wish I had a partner, someone to pick up the slack, someone to wait for the cable guy, make ME coffee in the morning. Meet the stupid sink before it gets shipped back to Canada! Luke: What happened? Lorelai: I just thought I had everything under control, but I didn’t and the inn is just falling apart. This has been my dream forever and I have it and it’s here and I’m failing and I can’t handle it, I just spend every minute running around and working and thinking and I thought I would have help but Sookie has Davey and Michel has Celine and I’m… I can’t do it all by myself! And I don’t even have time to see my kid anymore, hell forget see her, just even talk to her and I miss her. And I sat there in my parents’ house just listening to my grandma basically call me a charity case and I couldn’t even argue with her, I couldn’t even say anything, because I am, I’m running out of money! And I was going to ask you for $30,000 at dinner tonight, that’s how pathetic I am.

Lorelai Gilmore (Gilmore Girls): ENFP was originally published on MBTI Zone

[thisinbetween]

Where Is Your Family From

—-I AM, I AM, I AM—Sylvia Plath

“Chester?” I called out, a little shy as always. Every time I come back home I remember that home isn’t quite normal: it was the way the air currents mixed, with the faint smell of whiskey and creativity. Or maybe it was that the man himself. Either way, I entered our apartment with my nerves behind me.

"Rory?” He called out from the living room.

"Yeah, it’s me Chester.” 

The difficult part, was going by his office.  It was an absolute mess, and the door was alwaus open to me. Manuscripts lay about, half finished, their emaciated paper arms reaching up to me, choking out old words as if little children inviting me to pick them up. 

I subscribed to a pet theory that if you were to collect some of these manuscripts and arrange them just right, you would be able to get a proper book out of it.

It was a current dream of mine, following theory, to put all these together for the sake of proving it myself, and for Chester’s legacy. Even if that legacy would sit, still reaching out to me, on my own dusty book shelf; rather than inhabiting bookstores and libraries with clones of itself. I stepped over a shattered globe.

"Well, hurry up; none of my dishes are done.” He said.  

I found a dismantled smoke alarm on his table.

"You’ve been smoking again, Chester.” I called out.

"Is that a problem?” He whined.

"No, as long as I can, too,” I challenged.

"You’re very forward today,” Chester joked.

"And it looks like you did jack shit today, so we can both be sinners.”

"I hear hell is balmy this time of year.” Chester sighws.

I snorted as I reached the kitchen. In the week I had taken off, Chester had made an awfully large mess. Another theory of mine, always proven, was geniuses were messy, in at least one way. For Chester, he was messy in his house keeping. For some, it was their handwriting. To each his own.  Chester’s messiness made me feel like I could actually do something for someone.  You might say being a live-in house keeper was not feminist.  But it was free room and board and food.  So, fuck you, too. 

I started with the dishes, humming a little with the soap and spuds. I liked doing dishes, though I would never tell Chester. It was the way the water colored and the bubbles gathered like seafoam, how I would inevitably get lost in the little circles I made on the plates, the scratching on the pans and the fights with dried food. I dried them carefully and put them away. I gave the kitchen floor a good sweep, which was nowhere near as enjoyable. Then it went to organizing the other rooms, quietly dusting, trying to vacuum a little before Chester got aggravated by the noise and called me in.

"Rory!” He yelled, covering his ears, “Can you not? Just get in here, I want a little company.” 

That was Chester. He was awfully scared of people, but he wanted nothing more than to be with them. He announced once that I was ‘too smart’ to kill him. I shrugged my shoulders and said I was ‘glad I could still fool him’. 

I rolled my eyes. He sat, taking up the whole good couch, smoking an unfiltered cigarette and looking at an old manuscript. 

"Where were you, Rory?” Chester asked.

"Are you kidding me?” I asked.

"No,” he said simply.

"I was gone to on vacation. And you didn’t notice.”

"I noticed you were gone, but I just can’t put it all together.” Chester laughed.  

I took one of his cigarettes and lit it, inhaling as I hit the wall, sinking down like the Titanic, falling apart and hitting the floor. I stared up at the sluggish ceiling fan.  “Work on your object permance, asshole,” I said, “you would drown in your own mess if it weren’t for me.”

"Exactly why I notice when you’re gone,” Chester replied. 

We both inhaled, sucking on the cigarettes, synchronized. I picked off a piece of tobacco from my tongue, breathing out heavy tendril of smoke. 

“Where do you go on vacations?”

"Me?” I asked.

"No, the other person in the room,” he sassed.

I shrugged. "I go home,” I answered, “where I always go.”

"Yeah, and I always forget,”

"You forget everything, even basic hygiene,” I responded. His clothes weren’t stained, like they could sometimes be, but his hair was messy and greasy, tell-tale signs he hadn’t taken a shower recently.

“You condense me down to some two-dimensional character of some dirty author.”

“Hey, hey, sometimes I throw a little genius in there. But, you’re always going to be grimey.”

“And you’re always going to be the sweet, poor college student that has to work with a crazy author.” He sucked on his cigarette.

“I don’t mind my label,” I smiled.

“So where did you go?”

“I was with my family.”

“But where were you?” He quizzed, again. I thought for a full minute, but had no answer for him. I shrugged in place of a proper response.

“You never know where you go,” he moaned.  “Not during the day, not when you leave for a week.”  

“That rhymed. Maybe you should write it down,” I laughed.

“Make some damn money?” He joked.  “You never eat anything, anyway. You don’t cost me much.”

“This place grosses me out too much to eat.”

“Speaking of which, I’m having some colleagues over tomorrow night.” He shrugged.

“That’s good.”

“Not for you,” Chester smiled.

“I have to clean, don’t I?”

“Yep.” Chester stared at me for a long while, as if he was looking right though me. I rubbed my neck and twisted my kinked hair, trying to ignore him.

That night I tried desperately to remember where I went when I visited my mom. I had no idea. I tried to call her, but the line was busy. It was two in the morning. Why would the line be busy?

I spent most of the day cleaning. It was just vacuuming and emptying make-shift ashtrays.  

At eight the people came, in wet boots from the rain outside, passing hands through their hair and shaking out their umbrellas. I opened the door for the first couple. 

“Hi, I’m Rory. Chester is in the other room, he’s setting up for all of you.”

“Chester?” The woman called out.

“He’s in the dining room, to your left.” I continued on.

“Chester?” She said again.

The man shrugged.

“In here!” Chester called out.

I slammed the door, which made the woman jump up, and look around.

“Sorry,” Chester said, coming around, “the door slams.”

“I slammed it,” I murmured.

“And it just opens?” The woman laughed.

Chester laughed too.

I went to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine. I downed it quickly.

More people came into the house.

The first man and woman came into the kitchen.

“Chester keeps the place nicer than I’d imagined.” She said.

“Yeah, I wonder if he has any help.”

“He does,” I started, joking, “this one mess he made. He’s sometimes the worst to live and work with.”

“He’s up for tenure,” The woman spoke over me.

“I hope the idiot gets it. He needs something, since he doesn’t have someone.”

“He does, I live here,” I echoed. I moved to leave and bumped into the woman. She started, “What was that!”

I sat down at the place I set for myself, ready to eat something, if the nausea from angst I was feeling would dissipate a little.

“You set an extra place,” a woman said, gesturing to me. Chester looked over at me, and we made eye contact.

“Chester, meet me in the kitchen.” I snarled, standing up.

“Excuse me for a minute.” Chester nodded, inclining his head toward his guests.

I stood alone in the kitchen, for a little while as Chester filled a pitcher for water. “What’s wrong with these assholes?” I snapped.

“They just can’t see you darling, not like I see you.”

“I’m not a damn window. Those awful fucks! It’s because I’m not an author, not a genius. I’m a glorified maid.” I yelled. My wine goblet smashed against the floor, somehow hopping off the counter. I began to shake, feeling quite odd and alone.

People came in when they heard. As they all cleaned it up he apologized, working on the floor with them, I cried very softly.

“Are you okay, Karen?” A woman next to the lady right by my feet asked.

“I’m doing fine?” Karen stopped and smiled reproachfully at her friend.

“Just thought I heard you crying is all,” the woman murmured, softly.

When the people left the kitchen, Chester stayed, tying a bag of the glass and paper towels studded with tiny blades and dusting together.

“What’s going on, Chester?” I asked him.

Chester paused, and spoke very quietly. “I moved here and you just showed up in the hallway one day. I figured you were some kind of delusion. But you seemed awfully nice so I never told anyone. In fact, you made me feel actually human.”

“What do you mean? You’re my favorite author and I went to school around here and I networked to find you,” I said. I felt like laughing. Maybe this whole thing was too much for him and too much for me, this whole dinner party.

“I don’t remember that,” Chester said, softly. “But with you around the apartment was cleaner. Maybe it was a very, very realistic delusion. But, but,” he stuttered as he spoke too quickly, “the guests heard you. They couldn’t see you. But they heard you every once and awhile. You bumped Dr. Jameson. And Lynn heard you crying. And you opened and slammed the door on the Mr. Jameson,” Chester mused.

“Because I’m here! Right here!” I whispered as harshly as I could.

“Where do you go when you leave?” Chester asks me again.

“To my family!” I said.

“Where? Who? What college? Which family? What state or town?”

I stared at the floor, suddenly very confused and very scared. I was scared because I couldn’t remember.

“Are you dead?” Chester asked.

[pviiitonmustdie]

Stella and Jenny

Stella and Jenny- Part 1 out of ? (It was originally only going to be a short story but I ended up falling in love with the characters and the storyline so this is going to be a whole series i guess)

Author: Peyton M. @hufflepuff-on-the-tardis @peys-shorts

Word count: 2,391

Jenny’s P.O.V.

I really don’t care if you re-blog so… here goes nothing!!

You know what is absolutely cruel? The way North Florida High makes me wait through multiple boring-ass classes that don’t teach me squat about actual things that I will need in life, all for the glorious thing that I call pizza, and then have it be the most shitty pizza on the planet. On top of that, they make me eat it in a room full of people. I hate it.

When I retrieve the shit pizza, I go and sit with my best (and only) friend, Max, who is already done with his pizza. Today his hair is a borderline neon shade of green, and only yesterday it was pink. I plop my rear end on the bench, and dig in. The pizza is doughy, greasy, and the cheese is totally fake, but right now, it is the best thing that I have ever tasted, I am so hungry. You see, I made the mistake of not eating breakfast this morning, which is in fact not good for a 16 year old girl who is only five feet tall but a totally kick ass skateboarder. Yep, that’s me, in case you were wondering.

As soon as I finish the pizza, Max stands up, and over all the noise, yells, “I’m going to head to the library.” I nod, and he walks away.

I hear someone calling my name, and turn around to see Stella Alden heading towards me, accompanied by her bratty bestie, Laura Jones. Laura hangs behind Stella as she comes up to me. She stops, and says, “Hey, Jenny. Do you know what the homework for last period is? I forgot to write it down yesterday…” Stella is in the same History class as I am. The thing about Stella is that she’s pretty, smart, has a great sense of style, and is one of the nicest people in the school. It just doesn’t seem fair to me, who is none of those things. It really pisses me off sometimes.

“Yeah. We were supposed to be writing an essay on the Trojan War,” I tell Stella. She smiles, thanks me, and then she and Laura saunter away, (this was mostly Laura) their long, blonde hair bouncing. I’ve never understood why Stella hangs out with that spoiled bitch. I sigh, and begin to stand up. Suddenly, I feel something hard hit the back of my head, and a cold liquid runs down my back. I whip around, and see a milk carton on the floor and Matthew Jackson and his entourage doubled over with laughter. He flipping had the nerve, I think. I start shaking with rage, and I’m seeing red. I’ve had to deal with Matthew’s shit since my freshman year, and I decide that I am done. I begin to storm up to him, but someone steps in front of me. It’s Stella.

“You asshole.” This was the first time I’d ever heard Stella swear, and by the astonished looks of everyone around me, it was their first time, too. Matthew stops laughing, and his mouth hangs open. “Leave her alone. If you’re going to bully her like that, you’ll have to do it to me.” Stella places her hands on her hips, waiting. We all know that he would do nothing to hurt her, seeing as she’s A) Popular and B) Naturally good-looking. Matthew grunts, and he turns around, and walks away, shoulders hunched, and his gang following close behind him. Stella makes a small hmph noise, and says, “That’s what I thought.”      

Laura looks back and forth between her friend and Matthew, then hurries after Matthew, yelling, “Wait up! She didn’t mean it!”

“Heck right I did!” Stella says. She turns around to face me, and begins to say something but I interrupt her, saying politely, “Thank you, but I could’ve handled it myself.” Her eyes widen, and she replies with,

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I mean… Sorry.” I tell her that it’s cool, and head to the bathroom to clean myself up. I wipe the milk from my short, red hair, and curse myself for choosing today to wear my favorite Paramore t-shirt. I throw away the poor paper towels, reapply another coat of plum lipstick, and am on my way to my next class.

When I get to my last class for that day, my History class with the ancient Mrs. Leeman, I sit next to Max after handing in my Trojan War essay. “I heard about lunch,” Max whispers to me. I shrug, and open my textbook to page 97, like Mrs. Leeman wrote to do on the whiteboard. On the top of the page, it says, “World War II.”

I look up from my book just in time to see Mrs. Leeman go up to the front of the classroom, and she says, “Today, I am going to be assigning partners for a group PowerPoint project on World War Two. I know, we’ve already gone over this, but you each will be focusing on a different part of the world during that era.” I groan. I hate group projects from the bottom of my heart, and if Mrs. Leeman will be choosing our partners, who know who I’ll end up with?

She begins to call out names. “Laney will be with Dillon, Rose with Rory, Jaiden and Terrianna, Amalia and Tyler, Parker and Haiden, Sadie with Sean, Taylor and John, Luka and Dean, Saniya with Harry, and Jane with Max,” Max stands up to go join his partner, and my heart drops into my stomach. “So that leaves… Stella and Jenny.” Shit.

I stand up, my face burning red. I go and stand with Stella, who gives me a large, blinding smile, and I give a small one in return. I realize that Stella is a whole lot taller than I am, and I try to stand up a little straighter, because I’m not about to be outdone by Stella Alden. I am still only as tall as her shoulders now. It’s okay. I’m used to being short.

Mrs. Leeman tells everyone which part of the world we would be researching for the WW2 project, and when she gets to Stella and I, she says America. I feel a bit better about this stupid project, since we wouldn’t have to do it on another country. We go and sit down at Stella’s desk, and divvy out responsibilities. I need to collect information on the military, and Stella would focus on the civilian aspect of things. We exchange phone numbers and E-mails, and I go back to my desk, and Mrs. Leeman tells us that when we have finished, we are dismissed for the day.

I go out the classroom door without looking back, and head to my locker. I grab my backpack and my gym clothes, which are in desperate need of a wash. I begin to hurriedly walk outside when someone taps me on the back. I turn around, and see that it is Max. “Hey,” he says.

“What’s up?” I ask. He smiles slightly, and I know exactly what he is going to say before he says it. “Nope. Nu-uh. Not again. I mean it. This is the fourth time this month.” Max has been trying to set me up with a boyfriend for as long as I can remember. He would set up dates for me with guys that I don’t even know, then expect for there to be some sort of spark or something. As much as I love Max, (platonically) I tend to get a tad annoyed whenever he does this. Just a tad. The last one went especially horribly after the guy who I was with tried to kiss me and I kinda freaked out and yelled, “HOLY FUCK NO!” way too loudly and got us kicked out of the restaurant. My bad, I should have known that explicit language was not allowed in that fine eatery.

“Can’t you just accept the fact that I’m perfectly fine being single?” And plus, I like girls. I don’t say that out loud, but I think it. I haven’t told anyone yet, not even Max. I figured it out after I saw this hot ginger in Publix a few weeks ago and had the overwhelming urge to kiss her. I didn’t, (sadly) and I ended up not even saying a word to her. On the drive home, I realized that this may be why I haven’t ever had a boyfriend. ‘Cause I’m a lesbian.

“Nope, I can’t accept it,” Max says, smirking.

“Have you ever thought about the fact you are single? You idiotic goose.” Max smiles.

“What a lovely name. I almost like it. Much better than the usual spread.”

“Shut your mouth, you filthy son of a bitch.” I sigh, and we go out to my car. I unlock the doors, and throw my backpack into the trunk. I am max’s ride to and from his house because he is still fifteen, thus he is not able to drive for another two months. As we pass the park, I turn down the radio, which is up all the way, and ask, “What time, and where? And what’s his name?”

“Five thirty, El Jalisco’s, and Dillon.” I nod, and turn into our neighborhood. I drop him off at his place, which is at the beginning of the six mile long drive to my house. I really like being in the car, the car radio blaring Twenty One Pilots, (ha-ha, get it??) and the bumpy road making my car shake softly.

I pull into the driveway, and get out of the car. I grab my gym clothes from the trunk, but leave my backpack. I’ll get it later. I unlock the front door, and step in. My little sister, Jamie, and my brother, Joshua, aren’t home yet, because Jamie’s only in 6th grade, and Joshua’s in 8th. Middle school doesn’t get out until about 4:30, and they take the bus home, so that means they normally are home at about 4:50-ish, which is good for me, so I have some time to do my homework while the house is quiet, even though I have all weekend to do it. I get started with math, and then move on to science and English. Before I know it, it’s nearly 4:00. I decide to start getting ready for tonight, and head up to my room. I hop in the shower, then wrap myself in a fluffy towel and brush out my short, brown hair. I slap on some heavy eyeliner, mascara, and bright red lipstick, and decide to give whoever I’m on the date with tonight a chance.

I put on my one pair of jeans that don’t have holes in the knees, and a clean Twenty One Pilots t-shirt. In my opinion, I look pretty nice, at least, nicer than usual. I check my phone. 4:30. I go downstairs, and turn on the television. I watch Doctor Who, and Joshua and Jamie come home. They go right into their rooms and get started on their homework. They often complain about how much their teachers make them do, and it always takes all of my willpower not to say, “It’ll only get worse.”

5:15 comes before I know it, and I grab my keys and hit the road. The drive to El Jalisco’s only takes me about ten minutes, so I go ahead and go inside the restaurant. There is a server (who is my age and totally good looking) who shows me to my table. I order a Sprite, and wait for Dillon to show up. Five minutes passes, then ten, and twenty. My waitress keeps coming back and refilling my drink, giving me looks of pity. It takes thirty minutes for me to realize that my date fucking stood me up. I want to blame Max, but he isn’t responsible for the actions of his friend, who I’ve never met but I’m already assuming is a d-bag. I mean, who leaves an amazing girl like me hanging like this?

I pay for my drinks, and leave the restaurant. On the drive home, I think of what a crappy day today has been. I call Max. “Hey, Jenny. How’s the date going?”

“He didn’t show,” I say, stopping at a red light.

“What do you mean?” I don’t respond. “Oh my god, I’m going to kill that-“

“Listen, I have to go. Talk to you tomorrow.” I hang up, and pull into my driveway. I go inside, and see that my Mom is already home from work. She is sitting with Joshua and Jamie at the dinner table, dishing peas onto Jamie’s plate. “Hey honey. Where have you been?”

“Nowhere. I’m going to bed.” I begin to turn around, but my mom says,

“Jenn, why don’t you eat some dinner?” I tell her that I’m not hungry, and go up to my room. This has been a shitty day if there ever was one. I put in my earbuds and get on Tumblr. I have a new message from The_potato_171023, who’s real name is Lizzie. She is someone that I’ve been talking to for a couple of months now. She is my age, and runs a fandom blog, like me. I haven’t talked to her in real life yet, but she is easily my second best friend. She said, Hey. Five minutes ago.

I message Lizzie back, saying, Hey. Wuts up?

She responds immediately, Nothing much. U?

I’ve had a pretty crappy day. Date stood me up, I type.

Sucks. Theyre obviously not worth ur time. Don’t think about it too much. U don’t need them. Ur beautiful. I think about this, and realize that she’s right.

Thx, I type back. I turn off my light, and turn up my earbuds. It doesn’t matter. I’m a fabulous little lesbian, anyways. I decide to come out tomorrow. Look out, world.

There will be a part 2 in a different P.O.V.

[welcometophu]

Not Your Guardian Angel: Chapter 10

Marked Book 3: Not Your Guardian Angel

Chapter 10

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Hey. I overheard some of your conversation the other day. We were all at the same table. Anyway. You said your dad is part of the Church?

Pels frowns at Ángel’s text, not sure how to take it. I guess that depends on what Church you’re talking about but yes, my stepfather’s one is very capital C about it.

I’m Catholic, Ángel replies.

Pels snorts. She sits cross-legged on her bed, her homework spread out across the mattress while she tries to work through it. Jennifer has music playing on the other side of the room, but it’s low enough that it doesn’t bother Pels at all. If Nikita were here, she’d be angry about it, Pels is sure of that. But Pels doesn’t mind a little bit of noise. Besides. She can almost hear the music from Pat and Jackson’s room from down the hall, too.

Peter’s not Catholic, Pels replies. I don’t even know what kind of Christian he is. We all just call it the Church. It’s very… old-fashioned.

Our parish back home is pretty good, but there are some people in the Catholic church that aren’t as open or accepting. Is your—Peter, is he okay with Talent?

Not really, no. He preaches against it all the time, Pels sends it, then adds, What about your priests?

I don’t think they care. I mean, our parish has a lot of Mages and Lince, and I always thought they were fine with it, that they knew God accepted us, whether Talented or not. Then I found out there was a small part of the Catholic church that called themselves something like the servants of the cross. I didn’t really go digging into it more than that once I figured out they weren’t my real problem at the time, but when I heard you talking about your—Peter. I thought of it.

Pels makes a face at her phone. Are you trying to tell me you’re worried about me?

Yes.

“That’s weirdly sweet,” Pels murmurs.

“Isn’t it?” Dad agrees. He picks up her papers, waves them until they crinkle. “Homework, Pels. You’re getting distracted, and you don’t have chaos to blame if your assignments go missing.”

No, but she could blame Dad, if anyone—well, anyone other than the few who do—knew he existed.

I’m okay, she promises Ángel. I know how to stay out of Peter’s way, and that’s part of why I came back early. But if you ever hear anything about your Catholic cross people breaking off to create a fundamentalist Christian sect that hates Talents… let me know, okay? I’d be curious to hear more about it.

I can do that.

Her phone goes silent, and she drops it on her pillow. After a moment, she reconsiders and shoves it under her pillow, just in case.

At the knock on the door, she gives up, piling her papers neatly and setting them off to the side. “Come in,” she calls out, as the music goes off and Jennifer turns to face the door.

“Hey,” TJ says. He smiles, but there’s no light in it, which seems strange. He stands in the doorway with it open, but doesn’t step into the room. “I just heard from Student Life, and I wanted to let you know what’s going on.”

He looks a little like he can’t decide whether to come in or run away, and when Dad pulls the door wide, TJ stumbles. Pels can’t remember ever seeing him caught flat-footed before. His cheeks go a warm rose flush, bright against his fair skin.

“Maybe you should sit down?” Pels suggests. Jennifer sinks back into her own chair, as TJ pulls out the chair from Nikita’s desk, turning it so he can sit and face them, creating a small triangle between them all.

“On Saturday, during an authorized Coven ritual, something appears to have gone… wrong.” TJ pauses between words, licking his lips as he picks through them. Pels’s stomach twists, and she makes a small noise. “No one’s dead,” he says quickly. “Just… missing.”

“Missing,” Jennifer says slowly. “How?”

TJ shakes his head. “I don’t know. Apparently Pawel was doing a ritual of some kind, and his son went next door with a friend. When his son came back, Pawel and the others were gone. That includes both Nikita and Alaric, along with a few others. Obviously it’s being looked into, but the person they would normally call is—”

“Professor Szczek,” Pels supplied.

“Pawel. Yes,” TJ confirms. “I’m sure Nikita and the others are safe. There’s absolutely no evidence at the house that anything’s wrong, and while Pawel’s son is worried, he seems calm. They said he’s not that surprised. I don’t know what that really means,” he admits. “It does mean that all activities that Pawel runs on campus—Coven and taekwondo—are canceled until he returns. And if you can think of anything Nikita might have said that would help the investigation, Student Life is collecting information for the investigation.”

Pels looks down at her papers as if they hold an answer, then slowly shakes her head. “We don’t really talk about things like that. And her and Jennifer—”

“We don’t talk. We yell,” Jennifer says dryly. “Which you already know. But you’re right, Nikita always had something going on, and she and Alaric were definitely involved in something major. I’d think Rory would be likely to know more about it.”

“He’s going to talk to a friend of his, if he can get in touch with her.” TJ rises carefully, the chair sliding under the weight of him leaning on it. “If something does come up, let me know. And if I hear anything, I’ll let you know, too.”

Missing.

TJ shutting the door seems like the period on that sentence, a moment of finality.

“I just thought she was with Heather,” Pels murmurs.

“She probably is still with Heather. Those two are glued together, aren’t they?” Jennifer points out. She starts to gather up her notebook, then pauses. “If Nikita’s not going to be back, I can probably cancel my study date and just work here. I was only going to the library so I could focus.”

“Aren’t you worried?” Pels blurts out. She can’t stop thinking about it. Missing. Disappeared. Just… not existing in this space anymore. She glances at Dad, and he spreads his hands.

“I don’t have answers for you,” Dad replies.

“What good are you,” she mutters.

Jennifer snorts. “Seriously? You’re angry at me because I’m not crying that Nikita hasn’t made it back from whatever magical shit she’s doing this time? You’re talking about our roommate who spins up catastrophic winter weather on a whim. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“What if she’s not?”

“There’s nothing you can do about this one,” Dad points out. “Pels, this isn’t something you can—”

She makes a frustrated noise at him and he thankfully shuts up.

“Pels.” Jennifer pulls her chair over, sitting with several feet between them. “I am not so cold that I hope something happened to Nikita. We don’t get along. That’s obvious. But she’s still a person and I don’t wish her ill. But at the same time, it’s kind of nice right now. Like a little mini vacation.”

“A mini vacation,” Pels says slowly. “I just.” She picks up her phone, then sets it down before she can text anyone. Who would she text? “There’s nothing we can do. I feel helpless. And there are a lot of times when I feel helpless, but this is worse than usual.”

“I’m guessing she’s going to come out of it just fine. She always does,” Jennifer says. “She’s one of those people who just brings chaos everywhere she goes without thinking about how it affects the people around her.”

“Her innate Talent is as a Weather Witch, not chaos.” Pels is pretty sure she knows the difference, although she might have to admit that Nikita feels more chaotic than Shane to her. Shane’s methodical. He’s careful, like he knows the rug might be pulled out from under him at any moment, whereas Nikita just keeps pushing through things, no matter the barrier.

“To me she feels like chaos,” Jennifer says bluntly. “And her particular kind of chaos is as loud as an orchestra to me.”

“That’s a new one,” Dad says.

“Yeah,” Pels replies. “I have not heard that analogy before.”

Jennifer sits upright, her chin lifted and back straight. “I am not mundane,” she says stiffly. “But my Talent isn’t particularly useful, either. Or at all. I hear sensations. It might be a form of synesthesia, but the specialists I’ve spoken to aren’t familiar with it at all.”

“Am I going to offend you if I say I have no idea what you’re talking about?” Pels isn’t used to Jennifer opening up and offering information, and she’s not sure if she should just listen, or offer something of her own in return.

“It’s—” Jennifer falters. “When she’s here, her Talent kicks up, and it’s like sandpaper on my skin, and I hear these discordant sounds rising up. She’s deafening. Every second around her is like chaos, and those winds whispering aren’t fun. I don’t like the way they feel or sound. It’s too much.”

Dad is standing by the door, far from where Jennifer sits. Pels glances between him and her. “I’m surprised I don’t bother you. I have my own weird brand of chaos.”

Jennifer laughs at that. “You’re incredibly peaceful, actually. You’re quiet. You sit there and do your work. You don’t try to touch me, and you don’t throw Talent around the room like you’re trying to blanket us in snow. You avoid people and nothing strange ever happens around you.”

Pels narrows her gaze. Is Jennifer just not seeing things?

“I don’t touch her either,” Dad says quietly. “Nikita, on the other hand, must touch her all the time, even without meaning to.”

In this case, having a Talent with a mind of its own—literally, not figuratively—might be a good thing. Rather than simply having a Talent that she can’t control, like Nikita.

“Anyway.” Jennifer turns her chair, leaving her back to Pels, and switches her music back on. “I’m worried. She’s human, and I hope she’s okay. But I just can’t—I can’t let her chaos get to me even when she’s not here. If there’s anything I can do to help out, I’ll do it. But right now, I’ve got an assignment due by midnight, and it’s actually peaceful in our room, so I’m going to get that done.”

“Why?” Pels wants to bite the word back as soon as she asks it. “Not why are you doing your homework—that’s obvious. There must be something good about your Talent.”

Jennifer hunches over her desk. “It’s not always unpleasant,” she admits. “Nikita’s grating, and I think that has a lot to do with her lack of control. Some soft things sound like a lullaby. Jello tastes like water sounds, which is strangely peaceful. I can tell where I am with my eyes closed, by how the air sounds on my skin. And if someone uses Talent to touch me, I always know. Talent is louder than anything else, and there’s a tone to it. It’s different for every person, and sometimes it changes with intent.”

“That sounds like a lot,” Pels says quietly.

“It is a lot.”

Pels looks to Dad, who is keeping his distance from Jennifer. “Well. I can promise that I will never touch you with my Talent, to the best of my ability,” she says solemnly.

Dad places a hand over his heart and nods his agreement.

“Thanks.” Jennifer waves a hand, and Pels feels a little like she’s been dismissed.

She’s not going to get her work done right now anyway; she’s not in the right frame of mind for it. She pushes past Dad to get out of the room, closing the door carefully behind her.

“That was a bonding moment,” Dad observes.

“Was it? Because a part of me feels like she told me to push me away and get me to stop bugging her about Nikita,” Pels says quietly.

“You could be right. But the point is, she trusted you enough to say it.” Dad leans against the wall when Pels raps on Rory’s door. After no answer, she knocks louder. Sharper. Dad catches her hand before she knock again.

“I don’t think he’s there.”

Pels pulls her hand from his. “He’s probably with Kit.” It only makes sense, since Carolyn was one of the people at that thing Professor Szczek did, along with Alaric. She’s not going to go chasing after him, but she does send a quick text to say, TJ let us know what’s going on. You okay?

She didn’t grab a jacket when she left the room, and while the weather’s improving as spring wears on, it’s not really warm enough to go anywhere without one. She gets as far as the stairs and hesitates there, glancing back to find her dad, half-expecting him to tell her what to do.

He’s not there.

It’s rare enough to be alone, and rarer still when there’s something going on. Apparently for once, Dad is out of opinions.

There’s a sudden shift in sound—raucous guitar cutting off and shifting into jangling circus music. Pels takes a slow step to the other half of the floor, hesitating before committing to the thought.

She shouldn’t.

But why not?

She lets her feet carry her to the slightly cracked door of Pat and Jackson’s room. She raises her hand to knock just as her phone buzzes. She wrangles it from her pocket just as Jackson pulls the door open and leans on it, staring down at her.

Not really, but we will be, Rory sent. It’s not like there’s much we can do about it now except wait for them to come back from wherever they’ve disappeared off to.

Pels shoves the phone back in her pocket, taking a step back to look up at Jackson. She can hear the game music in the background, where Pat and TJ both sit on the floor, controllers in hand. She hooks her thumbs in her pockets like this is totally normal and not weird at all. “I came over to lose,” she says.

“Eloquent,” Dad replies.

Because of course, now he’s back.

Pat raises one hand and waves without looking. “Hey, Pels. Come on in. Soon as I kick TJ’s ass, we’ll switch to four player mode.”

Pels blinks, because that’s new. She slips past Jackson, crouching down next to Pat. “More than two people can play?”

“You really don’t know anything about games, do you?” Jackson says, falling onto the bed behind them. “I thought Pat was exaggerating.”

“Wasn’t a thing in my house. I’m pretty sure as sins go, it’s worse than lying, but nowhere near as bad as being Talented,” Pels deadpans. “I know nothing. But….” She lets the word trail off, exhaling softly.

TJ glances over at her, and Pat takes advantage of the distraction to do something that sends one of the karts on screen spinning. TJ’s attention turns back to the game. “Oh, it’s on,” he says.

“He gets it,” Dad murmurs.

Yeah, Pels is pretty sure he does. She also assumes Pat and Jackson know what’s going on—maybe there will be a floor meeting about it, or maybe not. Sometimes it seems like the wilder something is, the more PHU just accepts it.

The game ends, and Pat nudges Pels with his elbow. She settles in on the floor next to him, while Jackson moves to the edge of the bed, his legs dangling where Pat can lean against him. TJ plugs in two more controllers and they get the game started.

Pels is going to lose, and that’s fine. They guys are loud, while she’s focused intently, leaning as she maneuvers, like she can somehow control her kart with her body. It allows her to let go and not think for the blissful minutes of the game.

As they ready for another round, Pels glances at Pat. She catalogs the heavy rings stretching his ear lobes, and the ink she can see along with other piercings. He’s everything she’s been protected from, and one of the nicest guys she’s met here. “Thanks,” she says quietly.

Pat flashes a quick grin. “Anything for a friend,” he says, rocking gently to knock into her shoulder.

There’s no more time to talk after that, as the game begins again amidst noise and chaos.

Yeah. This is just what Pels needed.

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[welcometophu]

Not Your Love Song: Chapter 6

PLEASE NOTE: The text in this post looks messed up with strange characters due to a bug which shows it incorrectly on your dash. If you click through to read the post on the Welcome to PHU blog, it will show with correct, readable formatting.

Marked Book 2: Not Your Love Song

Chapter 6

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Rory wakes to the rhythm of Alaric’s breath nearby, and a sound that he swears is Thorne taking pictures. He cracks one eye open, shakes his head before Thorne snaps another one.

Thorne raises an eyebrow. “It’s like a sleepover.”

“It’s exactly a sleepover,” Rory whispers. “Everyone crashed on the floor and I didn’t bother to leave since you had the keys to the apartment. We slept over, therefore it’s a sleepover.”

“Shut up, pillow,” Stormy mutters, swatting him on the chest. She’s curled with her head on his shoulder, one leg across his. Alaric butts up against his other side, curled away and Rory guesses that he’s facing Chris. Rory can’t remember who else decided to crash on the living room floor, but he sees Mac’s hand hanging down from the couch where she’s curled into a tight ball.

He has a vague memory of late night discussions about whether they should leave, but Thorne was warm and slightly drunk, Stormy was already half asleep, and everyone just gave up and found space on the floor. Rory’s hip aches—he’s too bony for this—but otherwise he feels fine.

Thorne’s phone starts playing classical guitar, quietly at first but quickly escalating while he fumbles it, trying to press the answer button and whisper, “Hey, Dad.” By the time Thorne takes a step back, Alaric is sitting up, and TJ has thrown a pillow at him.

Rory catches Thorne’s eye, and Thorne nods. Rory manages to slip out from under Stormy and threads his way between the people to follow Thorne into the kitchen.

“I’ll put you on speaker, okay?” Thorne says, touching the button without waiting for an answer.

“—Benefit concert,” Dad says.

“Hey, Dad,” Rory calls out to let him know he’s there. “What about a benefit concert?”

“We’ve been asked to play a benefit concert with you on the twenty-first,” Dad says. “Apparently the requester researched when the semester starts, and asked if we’d be willing to do it on the Saturday before since we’ll be bringing you two back to school anyway.”

“Here?” Thorne asks, and Rory imagines the way Dad nods while he paces.

“At the Whitman Center in Valiant, yes.” A shuffling of papers in the background. “It’d be just us and you, and it’s to help pay for the medical costs of Lorraine Barr. She was injured in a magical accident last fall and is still in the hospital. Her ex is donating the venue, and her friends reached out to us.”

Rory exchanges a look with Thorne, not sure if he remembers the name. “We’ll do it,” Rory says, and Thorne’s eyebrows go up.

We will? He mouths, and Rory nods.

“She’s a VIT student, like my roommate’s best friend,” Rory adds. He doesn’t say Corbin knew her, but he manages to imply it, and Dad won’t ask for clarification. Thorne’s eyebrows go a little higher at the implied lie. “Just get us the information, and if there’s anyone we need to talk to here. You guys can use the van for equipment, and we’ll just take more than one car out here. I think it works for Stormy and Andy’s schedules, too. Don’t we all start back at the same time?”

It takes a moment for Thorne to realize that’s his cue. “Yeah,” Thorne says. “I mean, Dad, let us talk to Andy and Stormy to confirm it for sure, then we’ll get back to you. I’ll email you later, but I’m pretty sure we’re all in.”

“I’ve already talked to the guys here, and they’re in. It’s fun when we get to have our kids open for us.” There’s a smile in Dad’s voice. “We’ll see you guys again on Sunday, right? Rich asked when Stormy’s coming home.”

“Sunday, yeah. We had a good time in Vermont,” Rory says. It’s Dad, so it’s safe to say that. As long as Rory doesn’t mention the mark, Dad won’t pry, not like Mom and Dad would. “We’ll tell you all about it when we get home. And we should rehearse, too. Maybe we can all do a song together.”

“We’d like that,” Dad agrees.

Thorne spreads his hands, mouths, what are you doing?

Rory holds up one finger for him to wait.

Noise on the other side, a door opening and closing, muffled voices. A low huff, before Dad says, “I’m told it’s time for breakfast. You two have a good weekend, and drive safe. We love you.” There’s an echo in the background as Dad calls out loud enough to be heard through the phone.

Rory raises his voice, Thorne matching him. “Love you!” they call together, before the call ends.

“What was that about?” Thorne asks, sticking his phone in his pocket.

“She’s the girl who was attacked by the Shadowwalker and ended up in coma rather than dead,” Rory says quickly. “That’s who Lorraine Barr is.” He heads back to the living room, because Alaric’s going to be interested in this.

Everyone has moved and rearranged before they get back. TJ and Jackson are gone, and Mac’s sitting up, curled into the corner of the couch, cuddling a throw pillow. Stormy sits on the floor, her back against the couch where Mac sits, while Alaric and Chris have taken over the other couch. Carolyn looks sleep-tousled and barely awake, sitting in the chair, idly shuffling a deck of cards. Drea and Corbin come down the stairs as Thorne and Rory walk in, and Corbin shifts to fly across the room, resolving back into human as he drops onto the couch next to Alaric.

“You didn’t need to go that far,” Rory mutters. It was showy and rushed, and Rory knows it was solely so he couldn’t take the seat on that couch. Which doesn’t matter, since Rory was planning on sitting right where he does, on the other end from Mac, his legs stretching out so he can poke Stormy.

“I know why we’re up, but why is everyone else up?” Drea asks as she joins Corbin. She sits back, feet up on the couch, knees bent tightly. “Nate said he’s on the early shift, and so’s Serina, if you want to join us going to Teas Please.”

“Alaric,” Rory says, waiting until he has his attention. “Do you remember Lorraine Barr?” Alaric’s brow furrows, so Rory elaborates, “she’s in a coma.”

Alaric’s nostrils flare and he nods sharply. “She’s the one who survived. Her friend’s dead and Dax can’t reach him, and the other guy was cleared of suspicion. The Deathstalker attack after Orson.”

“They’re the ones from VIT,” Corbin adds. “Not the boyfriend. He’s a local teacher. Why?”

“We’re playing a benefit concert for her medical costs in a couple of weeks.”

“We’re what?” Stormy asks, quieting when Thorne touches her shoulder.

This is the part where Rory should apologize for putting the mystery of what happened before the band. He should, and he will, but he’d do it again because he’s still certain that whatever is going on isn’t over yet. “This is about what happened to Alaric and Drea’s brother,” he says quietly. He nudges Stormy with his foot. “And when Alaric and Mac were attacked by the shadow, and the shadow we caught. Someone died from VIT and there’s a girl who’s been in a coma since. They want Dad’s band and us to do a benefit show, and well, (a) it’s the right thing to do, and (b) maybe we’ll find out more about what’s going on, in case it happens again.”

Stormy pinches her lips together for a moment, lets her breath out in a small explosion of sound. “Well, Andy’ll love that short notice and decision making on his behalf, I’m sure. He’s probably got plans with his girlfriend.”

They can’t really play without Andy.

“I’ll make sure he comes round,” Thorne says. “Rory’s right, it’s what we should do, and Dad’s doing it anyway, so it’d look weird if we didn’t. I mean, all our dads are there, and we’re saying no?”

“I’m not arguing, I’d just like to be included in the decision making next time,” Stormy says patiently, arms crossed tight across her chest. “I have a life outside the band. I have my own education and it’s three hours from here. I need to be able to make plans.”

Rory slides off the couch, edges closer to her and tilts his head to lean against hers. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, and Stormy relaxes. She threads their fingers together, and accepts the apology with a squeeze of her hand.

“Even if the shadow isn’t coming back, these people are involved and they don’t really know it,” Drea points out. “Dax tried talking to Noah’s ghost, but that didn’t work. Corbin talked to Darrik, but there really wasn’t much said. Darrik’s not really a talkative guy, and I don’t think he knows much anyway. So maybe making contact with them—getting to actually know them—is a good idea. For their safety as much as ours.”

“And we get to play before we have to stop until the summer tour,” Rory adds. “Which should be being nailed down soon and we’ll get the dates for that set, but it’s going to be a long time between now and then.” January to May seems like forever when it comes to performing.

“Time enough for new music,” Stormy says.

If anything comes of the little bits and pieces wandering around Rory’s head, sure. Or if he can nail Thorne down long enough to work together. Maybe now that Thorne isn’t having his thing with Alaric, he’ll be a better music partner.

Then again, it’s Thorne, and he’s easily distracted. So maybe not.

“What ended up happening with the vote, Ric?” Thorne asks. “Should we be worried about having to go to war?”

Alaric’s jaw goes tight enough that Rory can see it from across the room. Chris settles a hand at the nape of Alaric’s neck, fingers pressing tight against his skin, and there’s a faint puff of smoke from Alaric’s nostrils.

“That bad?” Rory asks. His fingers itch, and he flexes them, silently asking if Alaric’s upset enough that he needs help to quiet his ability. Alaric shakes his head slightly, and Rory takes that as an answer.

“It was long,” Alaric mutters. “Really long. My father didn’t like the way the vote went, so we had counter-arguments, and another vote. It took three tries before we convinced him.”

“No war then,” Thorne says, voice tight.

“Dayton’s alliance came through.” Alaric looks over at Thorne. “No war. But we’re revisiting it if anything else happens, especially anything around my home or family. He believes in protecting his community, and that means everyone. Drea and I need to go back again, after this.”

“I’m heading back to Massachusetts for a couple of weeks. Theobald made it clear that the human’s not welcome right now,” Chris says dryly.

“Just have Rory come visit for a week next. One Mage in the house and Theobald will forget all about the fact that his son’s sleeping with a human,” Corbin suggests. Rory would take offense, but he sees a wicked glint in Corbin’s eyes, knows that he’s joking.

Besides, Drea swats Corbin hard enough that his expression fades and he quietly apologizes. She has it under control.

“The point is, besides putting the threat of war on hold, nothing’s changed,” Alaric says. The smoke has faded, and he leans back against Chris. “My father wants someone to blame for Orson’s death, and he lost the shadow. He won’t believe that Mages aren’t doing this somehow, he won’t look outside his worldview.”

“So if we make contact with the people having this benefit for Lorraine and start looking at the problem from that angle, it could help,” Rory says. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Thorne nodding, and Stormy pats his head. Of course he had a plan; they need to learn to trust him.

“It could help,” Alaric agrees.

“Thanks,” Drea says. “For us. For Orson.”

“For Dax, who is still under whatever geas type thing that the ghosts do to him because Orson’s not satisfied yet,” Chris adds. “Best I can figure out, it makes his brain itch.”

“Sounds annoying,” Mac comments, idly scratching the side of her head, and Stormy snickers.

The background noise of cards shuffling abruptly stops. Carolyn sits up, back stiff and straight, looking at the door. When it doesn’t open, her brow furrows and she doesn’t relax.

“Is there a reason why you’ve got your cards?” Drea asks, and Carolyn looks down at them like she didn’t even realize they were in her hands.

Carolyn shuffles them again, spreads them out and offers them to Drea. “Take a card for the coming year,” she says, as Drea leans forward, one hand on Corbin’s knee to balance herself as she reaches across the space.

Drea plucks a card out of the fanned set, and holds it up, facing Carolyn. It looks like a mandala on a clock face, the numbers represented by runes.

“Wheel of Fortune,” Carolyn says. “The year ahead is going to be one of change for you. Lots of change, and very fundamental change. But it’s going to be good, and you should be ready to roll with it.”

“I think we already knew that,” Alaric mutters. “Everything’s been changing already, maybe too much.”

“Maybe not enough yet.” Drea’s tone is light, but her expression is serious. “What about Alaric?”

Carolyn pushes the card back into the stack and shuffles again, before fanning them in front of Alaric. He considers it, brow furrowed, but doesn’t sit forward until both Drea and Corbin encourage him.

“I’ll take one after you do,” Corbin offers. “If that’s okay with you.” He nudges Alaric, who slowly slips a card from the set.

Carolyn looks at the card Alaric holds up—two men sparring with wands in their hands, another one lying on the ground in front of them. “Yeah, that’s fine,” she says, although Rory’s not sure Carolyn realizes what she’s agreeing to. She raises her gaze to meet Alaric’s. “This matches with Drea, and with what you’re going through. Find your passion, Alaric, and fight for it. Drea’s going to go with the change, but you’re going to create it. Just remember: when you’re fighting for change, there’s someone else on the other side. Don’t steamroll them, don’t go too far. Fight so that it’ll happen in a positive way.”

Corbin claps Alaric on the shoulder. “Our fearless leader, bringing our Clan into the modern century. It’s only a few years late.” He leans past Alaric, wiggles his fingers impatiently while Carolyn shuffles again.

The others rearrange, and Rory realizes that the focus is on Carolyn. That everyone will ask her for a card, perhaps for the new year rather than their birth year, but it would still work. There’s still a precedent for the predictive magic.

He tunes out as Carolyn tells Corbin about creating a comfortable, sustainable life for himself. That he has the opportunity to create the future that he desires, and to live it in peace and harmony. He dimly registers that Drea answers it with a kiss for Corbin, and that Stormy laughs as she reaches for a card next.

Rory rubs at the mark on his wrist, then very carefully stops doing exactly that. He pulls out his phone, busies himself making a note in his calendar so he doesn’t forget the show, and texting the band’s group chat to say that they have a gig planned for Valiant.

He puts his phone away before Andy can text back, just in case he complains.

Stormy pats his knee. “Rory. Take a card.”

The deck is fanned right in front of him, and Carolyn waits. It’d be odd if he doesn’t take one now, but he isn’t sure he wants to know the cards will say, either. He tugs one free, jerking it when it seems to stick, then turns it around without looking at it first.

“The Queen of Swords,” Carolyn says. She takes it and shows it to him, the woman on the card severe and strong, looking away from the lovers that embrace in the distant window behind her.

“I’m not sure how that fits into my future,” Rory says, making an effort not to rub at the mark again. “I can’t think of any women I know like that.”

“Well, if it means a woman, she’s a strong one,” Carolyn says. “When this card refers to a person, she’s the kind of take-no-bullshit woman who gets things done. But since we’re looking at a card about you, and your year to come, I think it means that you need to be like that. Make your own decisions, and stand on your own two feet. Don’t be dependent on anyone else.”

Stormy stifles a laugh, and Rory nudges her shoulder with his foot. When he glances up, Thorne is watching him, and offers a small smile and shrug.

The card may have a point. Rory’s the youngest. The one who’s followed behind all along, and who has always relied on his older brother, on his best friends. He wouldn’t follow them blindly, but he would follow them.

On the other hand, he did just take charge in agreeing to this benefit concert, right?

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he mutters, sinking back against the couch. It’s just advice, after all.

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