#so weird :( wish I would’ve known that before I posted the listing and it IMMEDIATELY got removed!

[sanchoyo]

why…is anything tech related banned from being listed on depop if they have a tech section??? In their categories there’s a camera section??? Huh??? 🤔

[whaleofatjme1920]

Seeing Him Smile and Kiss Someone Else (Hoodie X F!Reader)

[Hoodie/Brian Thomas X F!Reader]

[Warnings: none]

[AN: Howdy! I cross post these on quotev under ‘Elsie I Guess’ and on AO3 under ‘Whaletales1920′ under the title ‘The Places You Shouldn’t Be’. Just thought I’d start uploading them here too.]

Part 2

Proxies aren’t supposed to do a lot of things: speak back to their master, challenge hierarchical roles, have relationships with each other of that caliber, and never, never ever absolutely never have romantic relationships with humans. 

Why? It’s a losing game. Everyone knows that. Should proxies seek any kind of attachment, platonic, romantic, even sexual, their best bet is to stay within their own kind: other proxies. It’s the polite thing to do. It’s the right thing to do. 

When you first came in, you bonded almost immediately to your group of four other individuals. There’s Masky, your group leader. He’s really sweet when he wants to be and seems to care the most about you - it’s probably because you’re new. Toby is akin to the middle child. He’s always buzzing around you a lot like a bumblebee. While he has his jerk moments, he’s got an eye out for you. So too does Kate, once the group’s newbie/runt. She’s the one you replaced. She’s relatively quiet and sticks to herself, but she’s never a stranger to helping you out and immersing you in the culture and world you’ve found yourself entangled in. 

And then there’s Masky’s right hand, a proxy named Hoodie, but you know him as Brian. Out of all your group members, Brian was the hardest to warm up to. He hardly acknowledged you when you were first placed in his group and was amongst the hardest in the hazing process (you’re still technically going through). But, after some time and getting to know each other, the two of you became the closest of friends, even going so far as to rival Masky’s friendship with him. It’s safe to say you got a bit of a crush on him, in simplest terms. 

Three times. Three times you felt you liked him.

The first time was when you were about to head out of your safe house on a grocery run. Proxies don’t have any leads, so cards are absolutely off the table. You walked out of the safe house, yawning slightly, and barely made it down the driveway when Brian had popped back out of the house. 

“Reader,” he called out, slowly moving to lean in the doorway of the empty house the five of you were squatting in. 

“Yeah?” You asked sleepily. 

“Forgetting something?” He holds up his hand - it’s the wallet. 

You feel heat rush to your cheeks as you speed walked back to the front door to retrieve it. “Guess I’m still kinda tired,” you admittedly awkwardly with a small chuckle. 

Brian shrugged slightly and threw you a smirk as he met you halfway, “Think I’ll accompany you this morning,” he said with a wink. 

The two of you began to walk as you mentally mulled over the man walking beside you - his hands in his pockets. You’d never really thought of him like that before, but the way he smiled and that wink… It planted a seed. You weren’t quite sure you were going to acknowledge it or if it was just a fluke, but the thought stayed, and then it remained. 

As the two of you traversed the grocery store for various things your comrades had asked for, you and Brian traded conversation about everything that popped into mind. 

“Oh, like you knew any better in high school,” you wheezed before tossing in a box of brownies. You’d just been discussing how terrible and how gods awful high school relationships can be and how at one low point, you got into one. Brian had said he knew better than to mess around in high school, but you had retorted that ‘we’re all young and dumb once.’ 

Brian raised a brow at the box but allowed it anyway. “I most certainly did and I knew how things were gonna play out before they even happened.” 

“On what basis? It’s not like you have future vision,” You snorted. You watched as he pushed the cart forward as you plucked items you needed from the shelves. 

He shot you a look. “I’m a guy, it’s practically flowing through our veins,,” he said as his eyes raked over the list. “I’d most likely be the reason those things are happening to begin with and knowing that is like it’s own future vision..” He flashed his smile at you. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever grew out of the dumb part,” he chuckled. 

Your heart skipped. 

The second time you thought you liked him was when you were in the car with him, heading back to your safe house (in an entirely different part of the country). The two of you were more than exhausted after clearing a house whose occupants the Operator wanted dead for one reason or another and Brian decided to steal a car. So, there you sat in the passenger seat. 

“Something on your mind?” He hummed, arm resting on the console. His hazel colored eyes flicked over to you with interest. 

You shrugged, “just thinking.”

“Dangerous for people like us,” Brian chuckled. “Care to get specific?” 

You sighed slightly and turned your eyes to the passing street lights overhead as the car pulled onto the late night expressway. “Thinking about all the things I’ll miss,” you admit. 

Brian nodded from the corner of your eye. “I think about that stuff too,” he said, a small frown pulling onto his face. “You were finishing up college?” 

“Yeah,” you said. “I mean, I guess I’m getting out of the college loan debt but… Y’know,” you trailed off slightly, your posture changing slightly. “Maybe I would’ve been normal. Get a cool job, live a non murderous life, have a family and a loving partner. I don’t know, like, whatever the American dream says we should have. Anything but this.” 

Brian laughed slightly, “sorry. It’s not - it’s not you,” he explained. “It’s just awfully similar to what I wanted.” 

You turned your attention from the passing lights over to Brian. “White picket fence is your thing?” 

“More or less,” he hummed. “Wanted to live the rest of my life like a normal person.

Certainly died like one, more or less,” he finished. 

You mentally hummed, already knowing what he was referring to. Died and got resurrected. “Don’t think falling from a floor up counts as normal.” 

“Hey, it worked out for…. Something nice,” he quickly chirped. “Fell and met an angel.” 

He briefly turned his head to look at you and flashed a grin. 

“Oh that’s so bad.” 

“You love it.” 

You really do.  

The third time was when the two of you were on the rooftop of some house you’d been spending a lot of time at. It was kind of nice to be able to settle down in one place for more than a month - it’d been going on close to a  year. It was your roof, the one you shared with Brian. Late in the night, when the crickets sang and the stars danced, the two of you snuck up against Masky’s best wishes to talk about the world and life before. 

When summer was giving way to autumn and sending cool breezes throughout the night, you and Brian had been up there once again. 

“You think EJ will be around?” You asked, looking up at the stars you barely knew the names to. “BEN did say he was in the area.” 

“Gonna say yes,” Brian hummed back, momentarily pausing to point out Altair. “He’s always had a soft spot for our group,” he noted. “Why? You looking forward to seeing him?” He chuckled, hand reaching out to ruffle your hair. 

You laugh as quietly as you can and shake your head, “we’ve hardly ever spoken!” You giggled. “I just think he’s cool.”

Brian snorted in response and nodded, “yeah, I think so too. Though, where’d you get the opportunity to talk with BEN?” 

“There’s a little computer cafe in town,” you said, eyes flicking towards the direction of said cafe. “I’ve been spending a lot of time there. Mostly to use the internet,” you admitted, a slight heat coming to your cheeks. Proxies really aren’t supposed to use the internet. “Toby also sometimes tags along.” 

“So that’s where he’s been getting those weird references from,” Brian said with a tone of understanding. “Next time you go, let me know. I’d love to see what you children are up to online,” he teased. 

You laughed again and nodded, “sure thing.” 

The two of you continued to talk before a particularly hard gust of wind came in. On instinct, you shivered - though you weren’t really cold. 

Upon seeing you shiver, Brian took no hesitation in taking off his hoodie, much to your chagrin. 

“Oh, you don’t have to-” you began as you attempted to push it towards him. 

“I insist,” he had said, already popping the thing over you. 

You relented and allowed the giant hoodie to envelop your form like a warm hug. It smelled just like him - something woodsy, smoke, and the faintest of graphite. When you looked back at Brian, he was staring up at the stars, a small smile on his face. His eyes did not leave the inky blueish-black, not even when your hand came within millimeters of holding his. 

All it took was three times. Three times to know you liked him, and once to know you’d lost him. 

As stated before, it is absolutely a losing game to get involved with humans. Humans are frail and prone to panic. They can’t understand the world the way you do, nor are they suited for life the way you are in their current form. In your society, humans are the lowest of the low, akin to cattle - albeit, sentient cattle. Only when they are lifted from their human status are they finally given the time of day. 

He never would have known about her if you never brought up that computer cafe. Truly, it was a mistake on your part. You didn’t mean to, but it had happened anyway. 

“Cute place, right?” You smiled, eyes traveling up and down the rows of tables. 

“The cutest,” Brian agreed with a small chuckle. “Do we go up to a counter and order or..?” He trailed off slightly as he inspected the place and took in all the minor details. 

“Just take a seat, a waiter will be around shortly,” you said, immediately pulling him to your preferred spot by the windows and tucked away into the corner. 

Brian followed your lead and took a seat next to you where he immediately powered on the computer. “It’s kinda weird that they let us have food this close to the electronics, no?” 

“Oh no, it’s super weird,” you nodded as you began flicking open tabs to get to the things you wanted - maybe say hi to BEN. “But, it works. So like, c’est la vie?” You giggled, fingers moving quickly across the keyboard. 

A few moments later, a waitress stopped by. You had already managed to pull up a chat with BEN and were so engrossed in catching up with him that you failed to notice her. You hadn’t even recognized she was there until you heard her giggling at something Brian had said. 

“Never thought I’d be that star struck,” Brian had finished the small anecdote with eyes that practically sparkled. 

Her smile only widened. “You? The star struck kind?” She teased lightly. “Have to see it to believe it.” 

Brian looked up at her, his lips now pulled up into a smile. “You’re looking at it right now.” 

It pulled you so hard out of your conversation with BEN that you’d accidentally sent him a half-baked thought. “Wait what?” 

Your sound of confusion had snapped the two back into reality. “Oh! I’m sorry, sugar,” the waitress apologized with a slight blush rising to her cheeks. “Was there something I could get you?” 

You blinked a few times, your eyes darting between the two before finally managing to stammer out your drink and pastry of choice. You watched as Brian’s eyes followed her out and when she came back in. 

Long after the two of you had finished, the two of you decided to head back. 

“That was fun,” you said. 

“It was,” Brian replied, thoughts drifting elsewhere. 

Ever since that moment, he’d been going to the café with and without you. Sometimes you’d find yourself heading there only to see him entranced in conversation with the waitress, and when that happened, you turned right back around. At first it was to give them space, and then it was to give yourself space. 

You wished you could allow yourself to weather through this one with grace and that it didn’t bother you, that it didn’t get on your nerves, but it did. Slowly but surely, it had chipped away at some odd part of you that you didn’t even know existed prior to. 

Masky was the first to bring it up. 

“Reader,” he began. “Can you wrangle Hood from that café? Operator wants us to do something - I just need him,” he said, barely looking up from his newspaper. 

“I can go if you want,” you suggested before poking your head back out from the refrigerator. 

“Hm?” That got Masky’s attention. “Are you sure?” He raised his eyebrow, giving you an inquisitorial look. 

“It’s no big deal,” you said with a small smile as you plucked your drink out from the fridge. “Besides, I think Hoodie’s busy.” You had to fight the unpleasant feeling that bubbled up in your chest after you said that. 

“Oh,” Masky gave a hum of recognition. “Toby did mention he was getting a little close to someone there,” he said in passing. 

You shot Masky a look. 

He shot one back. 

Internally, you both know that’s not the best thing - but Masky’s not going to stop his best friend. And you know you won’t either. 

Kate mentioned it next, though she seemed to be telling you that you’d get  over it. It came relatively out of the blue. See, the two of you were standing in the living room of a house painted in blood just chatting, waiting for the Operator to give you direction on what he wanted for the man he wanted alive when Kate got weirdly serious. She sat down on the sofa and invited you to sit down next to her. 

“You can’t keep avoiding him like that,” she hummed, her shoe digging into the man’s chest as he wriggled beneath her step. “I know it’s awkward, but he’s your comrade first.” 

You rolled your eyes and lightly pushed at her. “Come on, it’s not that serious,” you said, attempting to play off your feelings that were so gods damn obvious throughout the time you’ve been spending in this area. 

“Are you kidding me?” Kate chuckled. “Look,” her hand is on your shoulder as she digs her heel into the man’s chest, cracking his ribs slightly. “It’s uncomfortable. I get that. It’s why we don’t… Do that kind of thing.” She rubbed her thumb in little circles on your shoulder as she grounded you. “It’s probably for the best, even though you can’t see it right now.” 

You sighed and gave her a look of slight pain. “You’re probably right.” 

“I know I’m right.”

It’s not that Toby is bad at reading a room, but it’s that he’s really bad at reading a room. When the two of you went to the computer café for your outing, he was excited to see the girl Brian was ‘seeing,’ as he somehow managed to miss her from every other precious visit. It was so obvious that they had been - her perfume was practically embedded into his skin now - and his smile was brighter than the sun after seeing her. 

And here you were, not even wanting to know her name. 

It’s Fiona. 

“Toby!” She greeted as she bounded up to your table. “Reader! What a nice surprise!” There was no malice in her tone. She was genuinely happy to see you. “What can I get you two today?” 

“C-Chocolate croissant and some h-h-hot chocolate please,” Toby said. He then turned to you, and as if he read your mind, gave her your order as well. “H-How have t-things been?” He asked. 

“Really good,” Fiona replied. “He’s such a sweetie, got me this necklace.” 

Your eyes immediately left the screen and travelled to her neck. There it was. Beautiful necklace. Silver chain with a hunk of rose quartz at the bottom in the shape of a bullet.You remembered seeing that pendant. It hung on his mirror for such a long time. You once overheard him saying to Kate how it was your possible birthday gift. 

“It’s so pretty,” you smiled, eyes not quite following. 

You were damn certain if you were suffering from hanahaki you would’ve choked on flowers by now and died. The last nail in the coffin? 

Now. Right now. You came back to the safe house just wanting to relax, maybe star gaze for a bit and fall asleep outside - anything and everything sounded better than just being alone in your thoughts after the Operator had some harsh words to say to you on account of your performance slipping ever so slightly from his golden standards. You fix yourself a warm mug of tea and start making yourway to the rooftop. It’s the same path you’ve always taken: head up the stairs to the upper floor, last room on the left side of the hall, go in and open the study windows there and hang out on the roof. 

You make sure to take careful steps as you ascend, not wanting to spill any of your carefully made tea as you seek to unwind. With a deep breath, you start making it through the hallway, thankful no one else is here. Masky is away on business, Kate is doing something with Jeff and Toby left a few hours ago to meet with someone he deems important. Come to think of it, you haven’t had the house free in a while. 

But, as you step closer and closer to the last room on the left, you hear it. Giggling, whispers, conversation that’s so innocent and intimate at the same time. You notice the study door is closed. It’s never closer. You step closer. 

“You’re so sweet,” That’s Fiona’s voice. “You don’t have to get me all these things - I don’t even know where I’m gonna wear all of them.” She giggles. 

“Wear a different one every time I come to see you.” That’s Brian. “Gonna be burning through those things like crazy.” You hear the sound of a kiss. 

“You got a deal,” Fiona chuckled. Another kiss. 

You hear the roof shingles move slightly as they move closer together. Against your better judgment, you push open the study door slightly. Must you be so nosy?

There, sitting on the roof outside the window is Fiona and Brian. She’s wearing his sweater (it’s just polyester) and giggling as he peppers her face in kisses. When she’s decided he’s covered her in enough kisses for an entire year, she presses her lips to his. 

He smiles before kissing her back just as fervently. 

Without a sound, you begin to head back to your room. 

Perhaps tea in your room would be better. 

[falcon-eye]

Part 3? of the story for my OCs for @inexplicifics Accidental Warlord AU! I intended to only write like the opening paragraph for this today but now it’s two hours later and the whole thing is typed out. Oops.

At some point this will all be on AO3, I promise! But until then, should I do a tag list? Would people want me to tag them as I write these in the meantime? Please let me know!

(Also points to whoever can guess what Veko’s talking about when it comes to colors and smells and things! I also have it, though not exactly like Veko does)

(Also bonus points to wherever can figure out what real life goat Ren is based on lol)

———————————————

Unfortunately, Veko wasn’t able to return to Eloise for a few more years. Between simply not being in the area, not having time between hunts, his brother Hamra almost being disemboweled one year, and his own injuries, he just hadn’t been able to make his way to her little town in Temeria.

This year, he was determined to go back, though he wasn’t sure why. He chalked it up to being able to stay somewhere comfortable, with actual good food, for free, but even he knew that was a flimsy excuse. Eloise fascinated him, for lack of a better word. She hadn’t been afraid of him—quite the opposite! From the get-go it was like she had tried to intimidate him, and godsdammit it worked. But she was so nice to him, and despite what she said, her food was quite good. Or maybe everything Veko had been eating recently was just that awful.

Veko swung down off of Nine—his new gray mare after Eight became wyvern food (rest in peace you prick)—and hitched her to the fence post outside Eloise’s house. For some reason, he was nervous to see her again. Was it because it had been so long (for a human anyway) since he’d been here? He didn’t want her to think he wanted out of their deal or anything.

Veko brushed as much dirt and grime off of his armor as he could before knocking on the door. A moment later, it swung open and Eloise stared up at him with wide eyes.

Veko scratched his burns. “Uh, hello Elo—“

Eloise threw herself at him, arms around his neck. “Oh my gods!” she cried. “You fucking prick! Where have you been?!” Veko faltered for a moment before tentatively wrapping his arms around Eloise’s, but she immediately pulled back, giving him an icy glare. “Well?!”

“I, uh, I’ve been... busy,” Veko replied, but for some reason, Veko felt awful despite it being the truth.

“Busy!” Eloise exclaimed. Holy shit, she’d really been upset about this.

“I’m sorry,” Veko said, staring down at his boots. “I really am. And—and I really was busy. I don’t want you to think I was trying to get out of the deal or anything, cuz I wasn’t—“

“You think I’m upset because of the fucking deal?!” Eloise shouted. Veko blinked at her and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “For Melitele’s—get in here!”

Eloise pulled Veko into the house and slammed the door. Despite the few years that had gone by, not much inside had changed. There were more paint supplies strewn around the house than last time, but that was about it.

Veko scratched his scars again and Eloise slapped his hand away. “Sorry,” he said automatically.

“I thought you were dead!” Eloise shouted, poking a finger into Veko’s chest. “You’re a bloody Witcher! That’s what happens, isn’t it? You fight monsters, and then you die. Well godsdamn you I thought you died!”

Veko was horrified when the salty smell of tears began tickling his nose; something must have showed on his face, because Eloise rubbed her eyes quickly, not letting any of them fall.

“I’m sorry,” Veko said again.

Eloise glared at him again before suddenly hugging him. “Fucking git,” she hissed. “Send a letter or something, at least! I don’t know how to get ahold of you but I’m always here!”

Veko hesitated again but hugged Eloise back. This time, she didn’t pull away. “Sorry,” he said into her hair. “Just, every time I was in the area, something would come up, or my brother was hurt, or I was too injured to travel—“

“Are you ok now?!”

“Oh yeah, all healed up now.”

“And your brother?”

Veko smiled sadly, remembering the blood on his hands and the horrifying look of resignation on Hamra’s face. “Touch and go for a bit, but yeah, he also made a full recovery. I just couldn’t leave him like that.”

Eloise finally pulled away and crossed her arms. “Well damn,” she grumbled. “How can I be mad at you now?”

Veko chuckled, feeling like a weight had lifted off of his chest.

—————

During lunch, Eloise filled him in on how things had been going since they’d seen each other. Lennart was still a bastard, but after being slapped in front of the gods and everyone by a lady at the tavern, he’d been officially removed from his position. A local woman had taken the title of alderwoman now, and things had been a lot better. A few of Eloise’s goats had had multiple babies, though a wolf problem last year had taken a few of them. She still had one of her original nanny goats, though, and apparently this particular goat was about as stubborn as they come.

“She actually chased one of the wolves off, even!” Eloise explained. “Charged it head on. I’ve never seen a wolf roll like that in my life.”

“Remind me not to piss your goats off, then,” Veko chuckled.

Eloise seemed to pause for a moment. “I actually have to go feed them,” she said. “Plus, your horse has just been... well, outside tied to my fence. Come with me?”

So that was how Veko found himself leading his horse to the tiny barn behind Eloise’s house. He could see a couple goats that were obviously youngsters immediately rush over to the fence, bleating loudly. From within the barn, a huge tan goat trotted out and fucking screamed.

Veko flinched and even Nine pulled back. “Sorry, sorry,” Eloise said. “That’s Georgina. She’s... special.”

“I’ll say,” Veko grumbled. “This our wolf chaser?”

Eloise shook her head and pointed to another goat on the opposite side of the paddock. A little black thing, shorter than the others, with huge, curled horns. Eloise whistled and the goat immediately charged—and slammed horns first—into the fence.

“Ren,” Eloise said, crouching down to scratch the goat between the ears. “She’s harmless. Mostly.”

Veko looked at Nine and seemed to almost share a stare with the horse. A ‘can you believe this shit?’ moment that got Veko chuckling despite himself.

“Whatever you say.”

Eloise led Veko and Nine into the barn and into a small empty stall. “This was my father’s horse’s stall,” she explained as Veko began undoing Nine’s tack.

“Where is your old man, anyway?” he asked as he heaved the saddle down.

Eloise looked away. “He, um,” she cleared her throat. “He passed, um, a few months after you left.”

Veko dropped the saddle. “Fuck,” he said. “I’m—I’m so sorry. Fuck, if I’d known—“

“Veko,” Eloise put a hand on his arm, “my father was sick. Even I didn’t realize how badly until a week before he went. But it was... it was peaceful, at least. I’d made him dinner, he wished me goodnight, and I found him in the morning.”

Veko honestly didn’t know what else to say. Death was a weird subject for Witchers, after all. He continued grooming Nine while searching desperately for something to say that wasn’t ‘sorry’ again.

“Did he have... a funeral?” Veko asked. He could’ve slapped himself. Of course he had a fucking funeral.

Eloise seemed to sense Veko’s fumbling, because she smiled gently and nodded. “A very nice one, too,” she said. “I’ll go get some water for your horse.”

As Eloise walked away, Nine looked at Veko again. What was it with this horse? Veko pointed a warning finger in his face; Nine simply huffed and turned away. Somewhere, Hamra was laughing, Veko was sure of it. His brother had always had a good relationship with his horses.

Eloise returned a moment later with a bucket of water. Veko immediately took it from her and poured it into the empty trough.

“What’s her name?” Eloise asked. If he could blush, Veko would’ve been scarlet.

“Nine,” he said.

“‘Nine’?” Eloise repeated. “Does that mean something in another language or like, the number?”

“The, uh, the number.”

Eloise slapped Veko’s hand as it reached for his scars. “Why?”

“She’s my... ninth horse.”

There was beat before Eloise burst out laughing. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Veko smirked to cover his embarrassment. “So I’ve been told.”

Eloise rolled her eyes and headed over to the opposite end of the barn. The far wall was lined with bales of hay. Before she could even reach for one, Veko rushed over and hoisted one over his shoulder. Eloise put her hands on her hips.

“You know I’ve been doing this for years even before you showed up, right?” And she had a point; what was wrong with him?

“I, uh,” he looked anywhere but at Eloise, trying to find an excuse. “I figured it’s... been a while since I’ve been here so I, uh, owe you. I guess.”

“Are you telling me or asking me?”

“Yes.”

Eloise laughed. “Ok then,” she said, heading back out of the barn. “I’ll get the gate at least.”

Veko followed Eloise to the paddock and held Ren by a leather strap around her neck while he made his way through the gate. The other goats immediately began following him. As soon as the hay hit the ground, the goats descended. Eloise let Ren go and the other goats parted to let her through.

“I never realized how scary goats were,” Veko said as Eloise latched the gate closed.

“To be fair, I have quite the herd of characters,” she replied. “Most people have a rooster to wake them at sunrise; I have Georgina and her screaming. Ren is like my own personal guard hound. Sometimes she gets out and chases off anyone who gets near the house. The others are still young, yet, but they’re slowly starting to show their personalities.”

“I’ll stick with horses, I think,” Veko said. “They’re enough trouble as it is.”

“Apparently!” Eloise laughed as she and Veko made their way back to the house. “Seeing as you’ve had nine of them!”

“This is a dangerous job!” Veko defended, but the tone was joking. “Plus in the grand scheme of things, nine horses hasn’t been a lot for how long I’ve been on the Path.”

Eloise’s brow furrowed. “How old are you?”

“Old.”

Eloise scoffed and started gathering some of her paints. Veko followed her into her art room, not sure what else to do at this point, and found the walls covered in different paintings than the last time he’d been here. One in an ornate frame was her father, exactly as real as if he was standing before them.

Eloise picked up a few leather straps from one of the tables. “Help me with something,” she said. “I’m going to repaint the goats’ collars and I don’t know what color to give who. I want you to help me decide.”

“Ok?” Veko said, taking a seat. “Why?”

“Something you said to my father, when you saved him,” Eloise replied. “It always confused him. He told you he lived in the house with the blue roof and you said it suited him. Why?”

Veko went to scratch his scars, but instead balled his hand into the fabric of his pants. “Well, it’s, uh,” he hesitated. Of all things for that old man to focus on!

“My father was always fascinated with color,” Eloise said, as if sensing Veko needed a minute. “That’s how I got into painting. He was never content with something being the original color it was. Hence, the blue roof. He said that you saying the blue suited him kind of, I don’t know, validated him.”

Veko’s chest felt tight. Now he felt fucking terrible for not being here before. Maybe Eloise’s father would’ve understood, or at least found it interesting that—

Veko cleared his throat. “So, sometimes,” he began, staring down at his hands. “When I think of things, or names, or... well anything, really. I get these senses.” When he looked up, Eloise was enraptured. “Like, your father, just looking at him, the color blue came to mind. I don’t know why.”

“Just colors?”

Veko shook his head. “Smells, sometimes. Like when I think of you... I, uh, I think of the smell of your paints.”

“That’s... that’s fascinating, Veko,” Eloise said. “Tell me more?”

Veko gestured to the collars. “Well, you’re trying to figure out what color for what goat. As soon as you said Georgina, green came to mind. I don’t know why. And Ren is red, but not because the name and word are close. Uh, sometimes when I picture my supplies in my pack, I see them like they’re all laid out on the table, lined up side-by-side, despite the fact that I know damn well they’re a jumbled mess in my bag. And in my head, the order is always the same. I kinda do the same thing with months. I see them lined up like squares on a wall.” Veko grimaced. Fuck. “No, ‘see’ is the wrong word, cuz I don’t—I’m not hallucinating or anything!”

“I believe you,” Eloise said softly, taking one of Veko’s hands in hers. And she was telling the truth. Veko felt the tension in his body release.

“It’s weird, I know,” he said. “So I don’t normally say anything. When I was younger the trainers thought my head got fucked up by the mutagens but it’s just the way I’ve always been.”

“Does your brother have this too?”

“No,” Veko chuckled. “But he’s been the most receptive to it, even if he doesn’t understand it. Like, his favorite color is green, but when I think of him I think of like an indigo color. And I’m red, but I don’t know why.”

“What about me?” Veko met Eloise’s gaze and held it. The look on her face was one of honest curiosity and interest. She smiled at him and squeezed his fingers. “What do you see when you think of me?”

Veko swallowed. “I see turquoise, like the color your dress was the first time we met. I don’t know if it’s because that’s what you were wearing or what, but when I think ‘Eloise’ I think of that faint turquoise color.”

“Does it work for family names?”

“Sometimes. What is your full name, anyway?”

“Eloise Calold.”

Veko cocked his head to the side. “Yellow,” he said. “Calold is yellow.”

“But not because of anything I’m wearing,” Eloise said, gesturing to the paint-stained brown smock she was currently wearing.

“Guess not.”

“Veko,” Eloise breathed. “That is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever heard of. So you see colors? Or, think in colors? I wish I had that. I wonder how it would affect my art. I wonder how it would affect your art.”

Veko pulled away and put his hands up. “Hey, whoa, who said anything about me being an artist?” he said.

Eloise laughed. “I bet you’re better than you think,” she said.

“I bet not.”

Eloise smirked. “Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll drop the subject if you do something for me.”

“Name it?”

“Let me paint you.”

Veko again was struck silent. She wanted to paint him? Apparently his mouth was hanging open, because Eloise tapped his chin to close it. “Why?” he managed.

“Because,” she replied. “We’re... friends. Or I like to think we are. And in case... in case something happens to you...” she gazed at the painting of her father, smiling down warmly at them, “I want you to be immortalized with him.”

What the fuck could Veko say to that? “Oh. Ok,” he said dumbly. “Uh. How do you want me?”

Eloise jumped up and ran for a blank canvas. “Whatever’s comfortable!” she called. “It takes a while.”

Veko just... sat there as Eloise began setting up. He turned this way and that, never quite settling, before Eloise huffed and dragged an armchair over. Veko abandoned the stool he’d been on and sat back into the warn leather.

“Better,” he said. He turned, scar facing away, and immediately Eloise’s hand reached out to turn him back. Her fingers grazed the puckered mess that was his cheek and he flinched.

“I’m sorry,” Eloise said gently. “I just—I want to see it.”

“Why?” Veko whispered.

“Because it’s a part of you,” Eloise replied. “And gods know I’ve kept you from scratching it enough.”

There was a moment where neither of them said a word. Veko’s heart sped in his chest like it hadn’t in many years. Eloise gazed over his burn scars and gently brushed her fingers over them again. Veko didn’t flinch this time, but just barely. Her fingers were cool against the phantom heat of his burns, and as she traced the expanse of them along his jaw, he couldn’t hold back the full-body shiver the touch elicited.

Eloise pulled back and Veko scrambled to find something to say before she said anything else about them. “So—so how does this work?” he asked. “I, uh, I just sit here?”

Eloise nodded and finally pulled back. “Yes,” she said, not meeting his gaze. Now that he was out of his own head, Veko could hear her heart hammering in her chest. “Just, um, get comfortable, relax, and um, don’t... don’t move, if you can help it.”

Veko grinned. “Ok.” Eloise nodded and began mixing a few paints.

Veko just... watched her. As brush met paint and paint met canvas, he could almost see the cogs turning in her head. Instead of sticking her tongue out, like he’d heard some artists do, she made faces. A stroke here and her mouth pinched to the side; stroke there and her mouth opened in a little ‘o’.

Veko wanted to slip into meditation, as that would be the best way to sit still for her, but he found he just couldn’t. As much as Eloise was watching him for her painting, he wanted to watch her. He couldn’t help but think of the last time they’d seen each other, and what he thought of her then. She wasn’t all that attractive, merely plain by any standards. Her laugh was unladylike and jarring. She intimidated him. She swore. She—

She made him dinner. She let him sleep in her home. She told him stories and listened to his in turn. She wanted his opinions. She found his mental crap fascinating. She worried for him. She cried for him!

She called them friends.

As Veko sat, watching Eloise paint his portrait, a warm weight settled in his gut. He didn’t want to leave in the morning. Hells, he didn’t want her to ever finish this bloody painting. And although emotions aren’t exactly a Witcher’s strong point, he had a sinking suspicion that what he was feeling...

Fuck.

[kaitycole]

Shoulders Heavy with Guilt

This picks up after Broken Wooden Fence Posts, basically what Drake was doing as Riley spoke to Jackson.

Summary: Drake finally calls Liam

Word Count: 2717

Pairing (for this piece): Riley x Drake

Warnings: Mentions of a hangover and premarital sex. Pretty bland this time.

Part 8 of WP. To catch up read here.

Tag List: @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore  @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways  @bobasheebaby  @bascmve01  @burnsoslow  @the-everlasting-dream  @ao719  @sirbeepsalot  @janezillow  @i-bloody-love-drake-walker  @kimmiedoo5  @choices97 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite  @lodberg @edgiestwinter @marshmallowsandfire 

*I don’t own the characters, just borrowing them*

A/N: I do not condone the behavior of these characters. Yes, I am writing it, but that doesn’t mean I support their shitty behavior and poor choices. Just FYI. 

THUMP

A slightly hungover Drake falls off the couch after rolling too far to the right. Sitting up, he rubs his forehead and blinks before fully waking up. He checks the clock: 11:30AM, before heading into the bathroom to shower.

“Riley?” He calls out when as he dries his head with one towel while another is tied around his waist, “Ri?”

Where the hell is she?

He begins to walk around the house; checking in the nursery, office and out on the back porch but he can’t find his wife. It’s not until he gets into the kitchen that he finds a note stuck to the fridge door.

Meeting with Lynn to go shopping for the baby. Might be out late. – Riley

He’s a little confused on why she didn’t just wake him up and tell him. But he puts little to no more thought on the subject. Riley was strong and independent, so he wasn’t too concerned. Plus, he couldn’t blame her if she needed space from how he’d been acting the last few weeks.

Speaking of, there was someone that he needed to call, no matter how late it was there.

**

Rubbing his eyes, Liam notices that it’s close to 10PM and he’s still working on this trade deal. He told himself that he would attempt not to stress himself gray until after he found a wife; didn’t look like he’d keep that promise. Just as he gets ready to turn his attention back to the paperwork, his personal cellphone begins to ring.

“Drake?” He tries to hold back a yawn, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I know it’s late, but it’s been a while.” Drake lies, he knows that he should just tell Liam, but he’s not sure what mood Liam’s in or how to approach the topic.

He looks back at the paperwork, surely it could wait another day. Drake was right, the two haven’t really spoken in a bit.

“How are things? How’s Riley?” Liam asks, he pushes himself from the desk and begins walking through the room.

“Things are well and so is Riley. However, I wish she’d pick a paint color for the nursery.”

Liam laughs, “Her indecisiveness can definitely keep you on your toes. I’ll stick to trade deals.”

“Does that mean no royal babies are in the works?”

“I’d need a wife for that and I barely leave my office as it is. So, no. You and the rest of Cordonia are just going to have to wait a while.”

Drake chuckles, “I said baby, nothing about a wife.”

“Drake!” Liam laughs again, “The court always said you were a bad influence.”

He seems to be in a good mood, maybe now is the time?

“Yeah yeah yeah, but hey,” he pauses, “I need to tell you something.”

Liam immediately notices the dramatic change in Drake’s tone. It’s rare that Drake said or sounded as serious as he did in that moment, “I’m listening.”

Drake still wasn’t sure how to tell him and he knew that he should’ve told Liam as soon as he saw Jackson. That it was Liam he should’ve called for guidance instead of Leo, but he didn’t. At first, he felt ashamed that after all these years, his dad could be alive and maybe wasn’t the hero he grew to think he was. Then it became guilt, that he enjoyed the time with Jackson and that made him feel like he was somehow betraying Liam. There wasn’t anything the two had ever kept from each other and here Drake was with the bombshell of a century.

“I’m not sure how to say this, so I’m just going to say it.” He pauses, hoping for the universe to do something to prevent this, but nothing happens, “My dad is alive.”

It’s a few moments before Liam responds, “Forgive me, I haven’t had much sleep, it sounded like you said your father was alive.”

“That’s exactly what I said, Liam.” He takes a deep breath, “Jackson Walker, my dad, he’s alive, Liam.”

“That’s impossible. I was there when you buried him. I went to the gravesite with you.”

“I know that, but you have to believe me. He’s alive,” Drake feels a weight lift from his chest, “And it even seems that we have a younger brother.”

Liam’s world stops. Flashes of Jackson and his mother’s funerals resurface, “Who? You and Savannah?”

“And you.”

If it wasn’t for the wall he was leaning against, he would’ve fallen to the ground. There was no way. Jackson Walker wasn’t his father, how could he have another brother? He was Constantine Rys’ son whether he liked it not half the time.

Drake’s too relieved to have the guilt off his shoulders that he doesn’t hear the change in Liam’s tone. He doesn’t pick up on the fact that everything Liam’s believed in, has completely been turned upside down, “His name is Luke Rys Walker and man, Liam, he looks just like you.”

“Rys? You’ve seen my mother?” Liam can tell Drake is talking, but the sound of his heart thumping in his ears makes it hard to make anything out. His mother was dead. He buried her. He grieved her. There was no way that she was alive out there, right? She wouldn’t have left him for Jackson Walker, right?

“Not in person, but there’s pictures of her.” He leaves out the part where Jackson had told him that it’d just been him and Luke for a while. Drake never asked for more information and he didn’t want to tell Liam something he wasn’t sure of.

“I…I have to go.” Liam ends the call without letting him respond. He calls for Bastien immediately, fills him in and sends him away to gather everything he can about Eleanor Rys and Jackson Walker.

Drake looks down at his phone to see the call was ended before he heads back inside the house. He felt with all things considered, Liam took it well, but he was still going to give him time. Hell, he’d known for almost two months and he was still trying to wrap his head around everything.

**

He walks into the nursery and shakes his head, he wants to get started on painting and laying down the hardwood, but he refuses to paint it before he has Riley’s seal of approval. He wasn’t painting this room more than once and that’s exactly what would happen if he painted the original light gray they decided on.

**

Drake checks his phone and sees it’s close to 6PM and he’s yet to hear from his wife. It was rare that she’d be out this late, especially when she was adamant about dinner being at 5:30PM.

Within a few minutes, the phone is to his ear, ringing.

“Hey honey.”

“Are you okay? It’s getting late.” Drake asks, walking into the kitchen.

“Yes, I’m okay. Just got hung up with Lynn.”

Opening the fridge, he looks for something to cook, “Did you two find anything for the nursery? I was in there today, it’s a bit bare.”

“No, I didn’t find anything while shopping.”

“Oh, there’s always next time. I’m thinking of making spaghetti, when will you be here?”

“I’ll be home soon. Say thirty minutes?”

“I’ll see you then. I love—” Drake hears the beeping from the call ending before he finishes.

I wonder why she’s acting so weird today. Pregnancy, I guess.

**

“Drake! I’m home.” Riley says, closing the door behind here and hanging up her purse. She can smell the sauce from the doorway and realizes how hungry she is.

“Hey,” he kisses her forehead, “Did you have a good time with Lynn?”

“Oh, uhm, yeah I did.” Grabbing a glass, she fills it with water before taking a sip, “What were you up to?”

“Oh, I was going to paint the nursery,” he playfully cuts his eyes at her, “but I just called Liam instead.”

“How is he?” Riley feels like she’s about to burst. In their relationship, she’s never lied to him. A few small white lies about birthday and Christmas gifts, but never about something this big. She felt like a fraud.

“Good. No sign of our little having a cousin anytime soon though.”

“Drake Thomas, you did not ask him about that!?” She playfully hits him with the oven mitt.

“I surely did.” He stirs the hamburger into the sauce, “I don’t want our kids to be ten years apart!”

Riley rolls her eyes, “I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten at least engaged. It’s been, what, two years since the social season? Almost three?”

Drake shrugs, “He says he doesn’t leave his office enough to even look.”

“I mean, there were other women at the social season that he wouldn’t have to leave his office to meet.”

Drake raises his brow at his wife, “Such as?”

“Olivia.” She smirks.

“He,” Drake starts before Riley finishes.

“Sees her as a friend. Yeah yeah, I’ve heard that before. But something’s gonna happen where he stops seeing her that way. Bet.”

Drake shakes his head, “Come get a plate, Cupid.”

**

Drake flops down on the couch next to Riley after he’s finished cleaning the kitchen. She’s absentmindedly flipping through channels that he didn’t even realize they paid for.

“Earth to Ri? You okay?”

“Huh? Yeah,” She chews her lips, “Well no.”

“What’s wrong?” He springs into worry mode.

“Calm down, it’s not that serious.” She grabs his hands, “I wasn’t with Lynn today.”

“Oh? Then where were you?”

She bites her lip even harder, worried, “I went to see Jackson.”

“Jackson who?”

“Your dad.”

“How? How did you know where he lived?”

She lets go of his hands as she turns away from him. “I went through your wallet.”

“You went throu…Riley, what the fuck?” He shouts as he stands up.

“I wanted to know why you were acting so strange. You wouldn’t talk to me!”

“So, you went through my personal things? You couldn’t just ask me?”

“I tried! You just drank for days on end. When was I supposed to ask? Between Jameson and Jack Daniel?” She throws her hands up, annoyed.

He knew she was right. He could’ve handled the last few days better than he did, but it didn’t excuse her behavior in the slightest. He begins pacing the room, not sure how to continue the conversation, “You thought I was cheating, didn’t you?”

“What?” She snaps her head in his direction.

“You found an address and number in my wallet. Then you drove there, you thought I was cheating, didn’t you?”

It wasn’t until she heard him say it that she realizes she really did think he was. It had crossed her mind briefly when she initially found the paper, but didn’t dwell on it until she was actually driving towards the address.

He stood there, waiting for her to tell him he was wrong, that she knew that wasn’t even a possibility, but she didn’t. She just sat there, looking at him.

“Really, Ri? I moved across the world for you. I’d move the sun and moon for you. You’re having my baby and that’s the best you think of me?”

“No, Drake. I mean, maybe for a moment, but I didn’t know what to think. That’s why I went there.”

“But you still thought it. I’d never think that about you.” He storms into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Getting some more whiskey to deal with your problems rather than talking?”

“Sure am. It’s a new brand called H2O.” He rolls his eyes, “You tell my dad about how his son is a deadbeat that cheats on his pregnant wife?”

Riley glares at Drake, “No. I didn’t tell him I was pregnant. I thought you should do that.”

“Oh, so it’s not your place to tell him you’re pregnant, but it’s your place to go through my things and jump to conclusions?”

“Real nice, Drake.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?” He raises his eyebrows at her.

“What?” She spits at him.

“You went there to get answers, you find them?”

“Obviously since I didn’t know what to expect, I didn’t go looking for anything in particular.”

“Then what’d you do? Seeing how you opened the door to an old man instead of some young and hot raven-haired woman.”

Riley twisted her mouth up, she knew he made that jab on purpose; reminding her of the ridiculous assumption during Liam’s social season that Drake and Kiara had a thing.

“We just talked.”

“You talked? All day?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you talk about?”

She thought back on the nature of what Jackson had told her; all of it being things that Drake should hear from Jackson, not her, “How he and your mother met.”

“You talked to my dad about a story I’ve told you several times?”

But you don’t know the real story. “Amongst other things.”

“Such as?”

“I really think that you should hear it from him. It’s not my story to tell.”

Drake lets out a deep breath. He loves her to death, but she could really piss him off. Then he realized why he was so pissed off.

“So, you’re telling me that he met you and within minutes spills his guts out, but when I, his son, confronted him about who he was, got sent away? What bullshit.” He storms out of the room, slamming the backdoor on his way out.

Riley sighs, maybe going without Drake wasn’t the best decision. However, he did make a good point, but maybe it was easier for Jackson to talk to someone who hadn’t spent their life idolizing him, someone who wasn’t related to him, someone who didn’t expect anything from him. But she could still see where her husband was coming from, everything he thought was a lie which caused her to wonder, how Liam would handle the news.

**

“I’m sorry.” Drake says, rolling over to face her.

After he stormed out to the back yard, Riley had taken a shower and got into bed and it wasn’t long after that Drake got in bed. However, it had been an awkward 45 minutes before either had finally spoken.

“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve just asked you.” She turns the lamp on her nightstand on before looking at him, “I should’ve trusted you.”

He caresses her cheek with his thumb, “I should’ve just told you, even though it felt like no one would listen to me.”

“I hate that I was one of those people.” She presses her forehead to his, “I love you.”

“I love you, Ri. So, what’d you think of Jackson?”

“I think he deserves to tell his side of the story and I know he wants to hear yours.”

“Mine?”

She turns red, she told herself that she wouldn’t go into too much detail. She really did want Drake to hear a lot of what they talked about from Jackson himself. Too late.

“Let’s just say that he didn’t know that your mom left you and Savannah in Cordonia and now he does…”

“He didn’t know?” Drake knits his brows together, “I don’t understand.”

“From what I’ve gathered he thought your mom was still in Cordonia.”

He sits up, his head in his hands, and thoughts clouded. How did he not know what happened? “I don’t understand anything, Ri. Did people really think he died? Or was that a ruse?”

She scoots closer to him, holding his head against her chest.

“Did he tell you? Please just tell me that.”

She runs her fingers through his hair, “He didn’t tell me that, sweetie. But he did want you to come and hear his story.”

He doesn’t respond. The weight of the situation is beginning to weigh on him. It was no longer whether or not this Jackson Walker was his father or not, Drake figured that out. But the heavy questions were starting to come front and center: Was his death faked? Did they know it was faked? Why was it faked if it was? He was too caught up in his hero of a dad being alive, that he didn’t think to stop and realize that maybe he wasn’t the hero he made him out to be.

[turning-dreams-into-chaos]

Lost without Her (Part 1)

*Not My Gif*

~Lost Without Her Master List~

Summary: It’s been 5 and a half years since half the world was snapped away, 6 months since her mom, Natasha sacrificed herself and the world came back, but how does she handle it after her world flips upside down?

Post Date: 10-15-19

Paring: Peter Parker x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Daughter!Reader

Word Count: 3K

A/N: This is like the introduction, if you wanna consider it that 😂

~Master List~

~Marvel Master List~

~Works in Progress~

The moment your mom got the call from Steve that the Avengers were needed you knew that things were going to change no matter what. You grew up with them, now being 12 years old if the avengers hadn’t broken up then in just a few years you would’ve joined them. But that’s not gonna happen.

“Just take me with you mom!” You pleaded as you held onto Nat’s neck, letting her wrap her hands around you before glancing up at Pepper.

“Baby you know I can’t. Peppers gonna watch you. Okay? Just listen to her.” You nodded and let go of her, watching her jump onto the jet before giving you one last look. “Try not to give her a hard time!” She yelled at you as you laughed away your sadness. Pepper came up behind you, draping her arms around your neck as the jet took off.

“I could’ve helped you know.” You mumbled as she led you back into the building.

“Your mom just wants to keep you safe. Come on, let’s get you settled in.” Pepper and you made your way to the guest room but the entire time you could tell she was preoccupied with something on her mind. “Hey Pep? Where’s Tony?” She froze a little before giving you a strained smile.

“He’s busy right now.” Was all she said as you furrowed your brows and realized that she was just trying to protect you.

“Pepper. I’m not a kid anymore. Yeah I might only be 12 but I’m strong like my mom. You don’t have to try and protect me all the time.” You told her as she smiled at you, kneeling to match your height.

“Tony went up to space. He called a few minutes before your mom did.” You weren’t quite sure how to feel about this. Your mom gave you a quick overview, basically everything Bruce told Steve on the phone but you didn’t know it would be so dangerous that Tony would actually have to go to space. You nodded your head and stayed quiet before Peppers phone rang, pulling her out of the room. Grabbing your own phone, you called the one other person you could think of.

You listened to the ringing from your phone before Peters voicemail came through and you groaned, hanging up.

“Peter you better not be in space.” You whispered into the empty room. Peter was your technical best friend, more like the person closest to you and still put up with you. You were more mature than most kids your age and whenever Peter was at the compound you found yourself enjoying his company. He liked your company as well, you were always up for messing with the others or just talking. It was weird, he never treated you like you were 4 years younger. He just treated you like Y/N.

The next few hours were some of the most excruciating hours of your life. Your mom had called to check up on you twice but the second time was cut short when she had to go fight. You told her to be careful before hanging up, hating the silence in your room so you turned on the news. That lasted almost two hours before the breaking news came on, making your stomach drop.

People were disappearing, no not disappearing, they were turning into dust right in front of your eyes.

“Pepper!” You yelled as you picked up your phone, dialing your moms number.

Voicemail.

“PEPPER!”

Dial.

Voicemail.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Peppers said as you rounded the corner into the living room, tears running down your face as you grab the remote and turn on the news. Pepper and you watched, both silently crying before your phone began to ring.

“Baby?” You whimpered at the sound of your moms voice, the exhaustion seeping through but it sounded like she was crying.

“Mom? Mom what’s going on?”

You heard her let out a sigh of relief and you did as well before you heard Pepper sob behind you, pressing buttons on her phone over and over again.

“We lost.” She whispered and you fell to your knees, not at all knowing how to deal with this information.

“Come home mom. Please?” Nat did as you asked and the next thing you knew all the avengers who survived the snap were standing in your living room. You found your mom immediately and jumped up to give her a hug, wrapping your legs around her waist as she cupped the back of your head and held you close.

“I’m so glad you’re safe Y/N.” She cried softly into your ear as you cried in hers. The rest of the reunions were just as tear filled. Turns out Bucky, Sam, Wanda were among the few who were dusted and some people from Wakanda you never met. Tony, Peter, and Scott (who you met a couple times and found hilarious) were all MIA. You tried calling Aunt May and Ned but neither of them answered, which led you to assume they could’ve only been dusted as well.

It hurt.

Seeing all the broken spirits and hearts from people you’ve always known to be so strong. You couldn’t take it and often found yourself hiding away in your room, staring out the big window.

“We’ll be alright.” Someone said as you turned towards the door, seeing your mom standing in the doorway with her arms crossed. Her eyes were puffy, matching yours, and it looked like she had been crying.

“I know.” You shrugged and turned back towards the window. Natasha let her shoulders drop as she moved to sit behind you, letting you rest against her back. “What are we going to do mom? I mean, are the Avengers even a thing anymore?”

You felt her kiss the back of your head, her way of telling you she didn’t know so you both sat in silence, coming to terms with the fact the whole world was changing.

Tony came down from space almost three weeks later. He brought along a woman named Nebula and both of them looked awful. Tony was barely able to keep himself up and he kept mumbling. It took you a minute before you figured out what he was saying.

“I lost the kid.” He repeated over and over again. You had always assumed Peter was dusted but you hoped when you found out Tony was alive Pete was with him. But now you knew he wasn’t.

5 years went by. The Avengers kept in touch and Natasha was pretty much running things. You did your best to train and help keep things afloat but after 5 years it became harder. Your mom was was always there to help with your depression, telling you that she was always going to be there for you, but you knew that wasn’t a promise that people could keep now a days no matter how much you wished otherwise. You sat next to your mom and scrolled through the list of missing people as she talked to the holograms of your team members, each one giving a status update before hanging up.

You weren’t at all paying attention before you heard your mom try to hold back her tears.

“Mom! Hey, it’s okay! It’s going to be okay.” You said as you gave her a hug, not seeing the figure looming in the doorway.

“You know I'd offer to cook you two dinner but you both seem pretty miserable already.” Steve says as you separate from your mother, giving the man a hug. “How you doing Y/N?” He asked sincerely as you shrugged, looking down at the ground.

“Just going through the motions. Same old same old.” You told him as he gave you a sad smile. You waved off the expression and let him talk to your mom for a little as you continued to thumb threw the list of people, not listening as your mom and Steve talk about moving on and why she’s still here. Natasha just looks at you, she does this, all of this for you.

“Uh guys?” You say to get their attention when the security footage showed Scott Lang banging on the door to the tower. Your mom was by your side faster than you thought possible but you didn’t turn your sights away from the screen. “Is this old?” You asked only to get a few shaken heads before you let Scott inside.

Time travel, that was a serious topic being brought up right now. Time travel. It’s not like it should seem impossible, it was just that you never thought traveling back in time was something you’d experience in your life. But if the team could figure it out then hooray for them.

Everything was put in place for your trips to the past, you donned on a suit and joked with Clint about his new haircut before your moms voice doomed into the room.

“No. You are not going. You’re staying here.” She said as you looked at her with a raised brow.

“Come on mom. I’m not a child anymore, you can trust me to be safe.” You told her with a sigh but she held her ground.

“It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s everyone else.” You knew what she was getting at. Sure now that you’re 17 you’ve been on loads of more missions but your mom was always by your side. And now she was supposed to sit by as you went with Tony, Steve, and Scott to steal the tesseract? It just didn’t sit well with her. But it didn’t matter as you all circled up, getting one last look at each other before your mom grabbed your hand.

“See you in a minute.” She tells you excitedly as you share her smile.

“I love you mom.” You tell her as your helmet covers your face, obscuring your view momentarily of your mother before you met her blue eyes again.

“I love you too Baby.” And with that you all entered the quantum realm.

It wasn’t at all like you expected and you wanted to remain close to your mom but one last glance was all you got until you landed in New York 2012.

Getting the stones didn’t quite go as planned. You came up with the idea of making Tony go into Cardiac arrest, to which he glared at you but you swore you saw the ghost of a smirk across his face. Then Loki managed to snag the tesseract right from under you all and Steve and Tony had to go even further back in time to get it, telling you and Scott to return to 2023.

You landed on your feet, a small grin on your face as everyone holds out the stones. You looked to your side to hug your mom but you met nothing but air. “Mom?” You said, glancing around the room before landing on Clint who knelt on the ground in tears. “Clint? Where’s my mom?” You asked him slowly, trying not to let your voice crack as he began to shake his head.

Reality struck you down as you realized what happened, Clint’s silence somehow screaming in your ears before you realized that you were actually screaming. A strong pair of arms belonging to Steve wrapped around your body, trying to keep you calm as you thrashed against him.

“NO! NO! SHE CANT BE GONE! I CANT LOSE HER LIKE THAT! NO!” You screamed as a few people choked back a sob. Clint watched with sorrowful eyes as the girl who was basically his niece, who spent the better part of the last 5 years building up walls, broke down and he blamed himself.

You could barely bring yourself out of your mess before everyone had to separate, the sight of you screaming at Clint and everyone too much for them to handle but you didn’t care. The moment Steve gave you enough leeway you broke from his arms, heading over to Clint as fast as you could. He saw the anger in your eyes and he couldn’t help but think you were going to hit him, or punch him, or kick him, anything! But you didn’t. Instead you stared at him, not moving or saying anything and for some reason that hurt him more. Your tears had stopped and you never felt more empty. Everyone watched you, not taking their eyes off you as you turned heel and left the room, ignoring the outstretched hand of Clint on the ground next to you and ignoring the pleads of Tony and Steve to stay with your family because as far as you considered it your family was gone. They all left you and your family as soon as Thanos won the first time. And who knew what was going to happen this time.

—-

You won. Tony snapped. Thanos was dusted. You won. Yet it didn’t seem like it at all. Everyone crowded around a dying Tony and there was another member of your team gone.

You did get people back though when Bruce snapped earlier. Bucky, Sam, Wanda, and the person you were most excited to see, Peter. He hadn’t changed at all, not that you expected him to really. He still looked like the same 16 year old boy from before. The only problem was he didn’t recognize you, you stood right in front of him and all he did was give you a glance before getting back to the fight. You were no longer that 12 year old who Peter would sit and watch Star Wars with, you were 17 and apparently your best friend couldn’t recognize you.

Everything happened so fast after that day and you found yourself standing in a black dress at Tony’s funeral. No one talked to you. Not that you wanted them too really. Nothing seemed real anymore. You and a few others put together something for your mom. Something small like she would’ve wanted, but that didn’t mean you were suddenly better. She was always there for you. After you were born she raised you alone with Clint’s help when he came along and when she became a part of the team they helped as well. Your mom was your life and now you didn’t really know what to do. The moment the funeral was over you snuck away, jumping into the car your mom got you and you just drove away. Clint and Peter watched as the back of your car disappeared amongst the trees, the slight roar of the engine echoing the woods before silence.

Peter didn’t know what to say when he saw you. It was you, he knew it was after Clint told him everything, only you were older, more mature, more... broken. The spark in your eyes was no longer there and since he came back he never heard the giggle you would give him whenever something funny happened. When he found out about your mom he wanted to comfort you, he wanted to be there for you and to tell you everything was going to be fine but when the moment he was able to bring himself together enough something got in the way. Peter was struggling through Tony’s death and you were struggling with your moms. It was like the world was working against you both in the worst ways possible and nothing could be done about it because without your mom you didn’t know who you were. You were lost without her.

Part 2

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[raywritesthings]

Wrong Road to the Right Place 4/?

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Oliver Queen, Laurel Lance, Quentin Lance, John Diggle, Thea Queen, Moira Queen, Joanna de la Vega Pairings: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: Laurel finds herself curious about the marks Oliver showed her that night in his bedroom - and the tattoo on his left shoulder stands out in particular. When she discovers its meaning, she finds herself questioning everything she knows about the man she doesn’t want to admit she still loves. AO3 link

Things had calmed down in her life compared to the past couple weeks. CNRI had a future, Tommy had given up his less than subtle attempts to get her to start seeing him again, and nothing odd was going on with Oliver.

And then Mrs. Queen was shot at.

“I wouldn’t worry,” her dad told her when she called. “She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Wasn’t even the target. It was a mob hit.”

Laurel gripped the phone tighter. “Mob?”

“Yeah, one of Bertinelli’s guys was trying to do a deal with them. It’s not gonna go anywhere, though. The Queens got more sense than that.”

“Mm-hm,” was all Laurel could really manage.

“You alright, honey?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

And it was fine. It had been the Italian mob, not the Russian mafia. And Oliver hadn’t even been involved, so it was probably just a coincidence. Right?

She was soon distracted by a different friend’s woes; Tommy’s father cut him off from his trust fund only a few days later. Knowing how much the CNRI benefit must have cost, Laurel couldn’t help feeling enormously guilty. Not enough to sleep with him, but enough to agree to dinner on her next free night.

Tommy recommended a new restaurant that was opening called the Cavalli, but if she’d known the wait was going to be so long she would have told him to take them somewhere else. As it was, they’d been standing there for about thirty minutes when a familiar voice hailed them.

“Hey!” Oliver appeared through the crowd leading a woman with long, dark hair. He was dating. Her mind went totally blank for a brief moment, and Laurel had no idea what to feel.

Then he introduced them all, and somehow it got worse.

Helena Bertinelli. Oliver was dating a Bertinelli. Laurel could scream.

If she didn’t know what she did, she probably would’ve overlooked it. It’s not as if Oliver would ordinarily have any reason to know whose families were or weren’t in the Italian mob. Not like her, cop’s daughter who was sat down and told who she couldn’t be friends with at school before she’d even reached the first grade. And the Bertinelli family was right at the top of that list.

Which, knowing what she did, Oliver had to be aware of.

“Nice to meet you,” Helena was saying to Tommy.

“My pleasure.”

It took her a bit of a pause to reply, “Likewise.”

“You look beautiful,” Oliver told her.

“Thank you,” she said with surprise in her voice, not expecting the compliment. If he was on a date, it wasn’t exactly the done thing.

So what was really going on?

When Helena offered to let her and Tommy join them at their table, Laurel didn’t even feel bad saying yes. After all, if it prevented some sort of mob deal from going down, wasn’t that her civic duty?

Not that there was a deal. She had no proof. Yet.

And the dinner got off to a fine enough start. Catching up, reminiscing. And that part she did feel a little badly about, because it left Helena somewhat on the outs.

She seemed to realize it herself, because she asked, “So, how long have you and Tommy been seeing each other?”

“Oh, we’re not,” Laurel said, and she didn’t miss Tommy’s grimace or Oliver’s mouth dropping open soundlessly. Had he thought she was getting back with Tommy? Was that why he was dating? “We’re just friends. Have been for a long time. And Oliver, too.”

Both of Helena’s eyebrows went up. “So you all have known each other—”

“We’ve all known each other forever,” Oliver confirmed. Laurel nodded.

Things ended on an awkward note when Laurel found out Tommy hadn’t talked to Oliver about working at the club and Helena found out she and Oliver had used to date. Tommy stormed off, and she followed him only to be yelled at for making him some kind of project as well as being accused of still having feelings for Oliver. She should have realized he was sore about her turning down a relationship, but wasn’t this exactly the reason she’d done so? The last thing she wanted was some bout of jealousy to destroy the friendship Oliver and Tommy had had all these years.

He came back and apologized the next night, which she accepted easily enough since it hadn’t hurt her feelings too badly. Tommy was going through a pretty serious life change; some bumps and bruises were only to be expected. At least he was trying to do better.

“In fairness, I think we all weren’t at our best last night.” She still had no idea why Oliver had alluded to them sleeping together up at the Aspen ski lodge. If he and Helena were serious that was about the worst move to make, and if they weren’t then it didn’t look very good for whatever cover they were trying to pull off.

“Yeah, you seemed kind of tense at dinner,” Tommy remarked. When she didn’t immediately answer, he added, “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t talk to Oliver about working at the club. I guess I just thought it’d be weird, me working for him.”

Laurel waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Helena,” she answered.

“What, you didn’t like her? Or do you not like that Oliver is dating her?”

She wasn’t about to take that bait. Laurel had been the one to say she and Oliver could never be more than friends. It’d be crazy to be jealous if he’d decided to move on. He should be able to move on...just, maybe with someone else. And at a time when he wasn’t possibly engaged in mob activity. Was that so unreasonable to ask?

“You know what the Bertinelli family is famous for, Tommy? Being at the head of the Italian mob.”

He sat up properly at that. “Wait, really?”

Laurel nodded. “That’s why that motorcyclist shot at Mrs. Queen the other day. The man she was talking to was trying to broker a deal for Helena’s father.”

“Then what would Oliver be doing with her?”

“I have no idea.”

Tommy frowned, clearly not liking anything about this. “Maybe Helena’s different. Maybe she doesn’t have any part in the mob stuff.”

Laurel considered it. She really didn’t want to automatically assume the worst about a woman she hardly knew. But it was such a bizarre coincidence.

“Was I really that tense?”

Tommy chuckled. “I think it’s safe to say it was pretty awkward all around.”

“I should apologize. Or maybe that’d make it worse,” she amended when Tommy pulled a face. “I could invite them over? And maybe some other guests. Throw a house party.”

That got a full-blown laugh out of Tommy. “You’ve never thrown a party!”

“Well, maybe I want to,” she insisted stubbornly. “Or you could organize it, and I’ll pay you an hourly wage. Start you on a freelance career if you don’t want to work for somebody.”

Tommy held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, I get it. I’ll talk to Ollie about the club tomorrow.”

She smiled at him sweetly. “Thank you.”

“Are you gonna talk to him?”

Laurel sighed. “You don’t seem to think I should. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll wait and see how things go with Helena.”

It turned out she didn’t have to wait long.

—-

Joanna came back from a lunch late in the week with her brother in good spirits, but as she approached her and Laurel’s desks her smile slowly started to fade.

“I see,” Laurel was saying to someone on the phone. “Is there any chance you have their names or contact information?”

On her computer screen was a map of the North China Sea, the one the news had posted with that island they’d found Oliver on highlighted.

“No, it’s not for an interview. I just wanted to know if they had any information on comings and goings in the region. Groups, organizations. Uh-huh.” Her friend jotted something down on a notepad. “Yes, you can call me back at this number.”

“Laurel, what are you doing?”

Her friend jumped and spun around in her chair. “Nothing.”

Joanna nodded to the screen still displaying the article. “Yeah, that looks like nothing, alright.”

Laurel’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, I was trying to get in contact with the fishermen who found Oliver.”

“Why?”

Laurel didn’t answer.

“I really don’t think you should try to force this,” Joanna warned her.

“I’m not trying to force anything, I’m just trying to piece together what happened.”

“Well, I doubt they know what all happened in the last five years.”

“No, but they might know who does.”

“Yeah, we all know who does. Oliver.” Joanna shook her head. “But he’ll talk when he wants to.”

“That’s the trouble, Jo,” Laurel said. “I don’t think he ever wants to. And I’m worried what will happen if he doesn’t.”

“Is this because of what happened with Mrs. Queen the other day?”

“Partly,” Laurel admitted.

“Well, word on the street is that shooter’s with the Hood now.” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe what happened with Mrs. Queen was an accident. But I really don’t think every single problem in this city can be tied back to Oliver. Even if your dad wishes it could.”

Laurel allowed a smirk at that. “I guess I do sound like him, huh?”

“Just a little.” Joanna perched on the corner of her friend’s desk. “You’ve gotta learn to let these things go or people are gonna start calling you crazy, too.”

“Look, I would love not to assume the worst. To just let Oliver go on dating Helena—”

“He’s dating?”

“Yes,” said Laurel.

Well, that didn’t match up at all. Then again, Oliver didn’t seem to know what he wanted from Laurel any more than Laurel knew what she wanted from him. It was enough to drive the rest of them all mad from watching it.

“Okay,” Joanna said slowly. “Maybe some space is the best thing for both of you right now.”

“Tommy said the same thing.”

That didn’t surprise her.

“Well, give the research a break, too. If you really think there’s something more to all this going on, it’s more your dad’s kind of work, anyway. Let him handle it.”

“And have him haul Ollie down to the station on trumped up charges again?” Laurel shook her head. “No. This has to stay between you and me. Promise me, Joanna.”

She held up both hands. “Alright. But please consider letting this whole thing go.”

“Okay.”

That tone was not at all convincing. Joanna sighed and looked down. As she stood back up to head over to her desk, her eyes caught the word Laurel had written and underlined on her notepad: Triad.

She wasn’t sure what her friend was trying to dig at. The Triad had attacked Laurel last month, not any of the Queens. Oliver might have been there, but that was totally a coincidence.

The next morning she woke up to the news that a mob war had nearly erupted overnight between the Triad and an Italian crime family and that Helena Bertinelli was confirmed to have fled the city, her identity as the Huntress made public.

Maybe Laurel wasn’t so crazy after all.

—-

Diggle and Helena had both been right in their own ways, and Oliver should’ve known better. As it was, he could only be thankful the Huntress had elected to leave Starling City behind, even if he had given her the tools and training to make her far more dangerous than she’d ever been before they met.

And there was nothing he could do to block out her words.

I saw the way you looked at her. That kind of love doesn’t die! You still love her.

He’d told himself any sort of personal connection with someone would have to wait until after he’d completed his father’s mission. As a result, he’d had to push people — particularly Laurel — away. Helena had seemed like a way to feel less alone, and maybe that hadn’t been fair to her.

But what did it mean that Laurel was alone right now?

She’d told him nothing could happen between them, and Thea had seemed convinced the CNRI benefit Tommy had thrown had been his way of making his intentions clear towards Laurel. So then why weren’t they together? Laurel had said she didn’t need him to forgive her for sleeping with Tommy while he was away, and there was nothing to forgive, but maybe she did need closure. Proof that he was fine with never being with her again.

Was that something he was willing to give?

He wanted Laurel to be happy above all else. Whether that was with him or not. And right now he couldn’t be with her. All that would do was cause her more worry and doubt the more he had to lie. So maybe he did owe it to her to let her go. Even if it meant lying about how he felt.

He was chasing those thoughts around and around his mind as he drove home from checking on the club that evening. John had put his foot down on him going out as the Hood, so now he had nothing to do with his usually occupied hours.

Though it looked as though they were entertaining somebody by the looks of it, as he noticed a car pulled off slightly to the side when he came up the drive.

“Hello?” He called as he entered through the front door.

“Up here, Ollie!” Thea yelled back from her room. That was puzzling; Thea hadn’t seemed all that excited for him to meet her friends since he’d been back.

Nevertheless he climbed the stairs as directed and soon discovered why his sister was being so open: it was his friend in her bedroom.

“Hey.”

Laurel looked up with a little half-smile. “Hey.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m getting Laurel’s opinion on what to wear to your club opening,” said Thea from inside her closet.

“Who said you’re invited to the opening of a night club?”

His sister emerged, a superior smirk on her face she’d learned from their mom. “Tommy did.”

“Well, the ink hasn’t dried on his employment papers, so I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Come on, Ollie,” Laurel said as Thea scowled at him. “She just wants to be there to support you. Your mom and Mr. Steele will be there, too.”

He relented. Somewhat. “What kind of outfits has she been showing you?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” she said with a grin, which was likely the only thing that saved him from Thea’s rage. Laurel stood and added, “But that wasn’t the only reason I stopped by. Do you mind if we talk?”

“Of course not.” Oliver led her out into the hall and down a few doors, slowing as they approached his own bedroom. Laurel did as well, having fallen into step right beside him.

“I wanted to apologize for the other night. I shouldn’t have invited Tommy and I along on your date.”

“Helena invited you. And as it turns out, it really wasn’t meant to be anyway,” he remarked with a healthy dose of chagrin Diggle would have been proud of.

“Yeah, I guess not.” Laurel glanced up at him. “She didn’t mention anything about all that to you, did she?”

Oliver hid a wince. He knew it did not look good for him to be associated with the Huntress so soon after being suspected of being a vigilante himself. “You’d probably have better luck asking that Hood guy.”

“Right.” She leaned her weight against the wall and added in an offhand tone, “My dad said we got pretty lucky the Hood drove her out of town before the, ah, Bratva could get involved.”

That was something Oliver hadn’t even considered, but he certainly agreed with Lance. He also couldn’t remember if the Bratva were something he knew about before the island, but it was best to play it safe. “Bratva. Isn’t that a kind of doll?”

Laurel’s eyes narrowed. “It’s the Russian mafia.”

“Oh, yeah. That would make more sense.” He nodded a couple times for added effect. But it was best they didn’t dwell on the Bratva or the Hood for too long. “Hey, I actually wanted to ask you — what’s going on with you and Tommy? Or not going on?”

“Nothing.” She huffed at his disbelieving look. “Really. I mean, he asked me out on a date instead of for sex, and I turned him down. But we’re still friends.”

“Was there a reason you did?”

“Is there a reason I should tell you?”

Oliver shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Laurel, I’m not trying to — I want to be a friend to you, and that includes being there if you need to talk. Like you said at the CNRI benefit.”

“I said I wanted to be there if you wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, well that’s the thing about friendships. Sort of supposed to go two ways.” Oliver allowed himself the slightest smirk as she pouted. It was unreasonably cute. “So is something bothering you? Anything I can help with?”

A short laugh escaped her.

“What?”

“No, it’s — I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.”

“Well, why not?”

“Oliver, I’m not looking for a relationship. Haven’t been, not since...all that.”

His eyes fell to the carpet. He’d been right. “Laurel, I am sorry. And I never wanted to make you think a relationship wasn’t something you could have.”

“But it isn’t,” she stated so matter-of-fact it nearly made him reel back a step. “That’s not just romantic relationships, either. I think my family alone makes a great case for why me and long-term connection with another person doesn’t work out.”

He wanted to say something, knew he should say something, but his words failed him. How could Laurel think that about herself? None of what had happened the last five years was her fault.

Laurel shrugged. “Now I’ve made things awkward with Tommy, and then there’s you and me.”

“I thought you didn’t want there to be a you and me,” he said, just loud enough that it might be heard.

“There can’t be, because we’re not—” She cut herself off, looking away from him sharply.

In spite of himself, Oliver felt something like hope. “Not what, Laurel?”

She drew in and let out a breath. “There’s a lot that I’ve been trying to work through, to figure out, these last few months. And I think you have been, too. But there’s a lot we’re not saying to each other.”

His head bowed as reality caught up with him. The Hood. He could never really speak freely with Laurel as long as he was the Hood. And he had to be.

“I still — I want to be there for you. Even as a friend.” A confession of some kind was trying to claw its way up his throat urged on by some voice that sounded suspiciously like Diggle, why not just tell her? — but he tamped it down.

“I do, too,” she agreed softly. “I just don’t know how much it can help.”

“Laurel.” He caught her hand as she pushed off the wall. “You being there for me since I’ve been back, it means more than you could know.”

She gave his hand a squeeze before letting it slip out of hers, their fingers tangling briefly before their arms both fell back to their sides.

“Then I guess...I’ll see you around, Ollie.”

Laurel turned and walked down the hall to the stairs, and there was nothing he could do.

That was a lie; he could call her back, tell her everything about why he’d been so strange and secretive since his return, how it was all to keep her and his family safe — but that was it, wasn’t it? He loved Laurel so much that he wanted her by his side through it all, but he loved her too much to put her in danger.

As long as his mission lasted, he had no choice but to let her walk away.

[whatliesabove-blog1]

small, quiet room

Chapter fourteen | ao3

Hopper spends his time brooding around the cabin as soon as Joyce drops the news on him. 

After the initial revelation, he didn't know what to do with himself; he left the precinct, gruffly telling Flo he's taking a few days off before speeding home. Maybe taking a few days off was a bit rash, but he’s never been informed of a secret child before either, so what the fuck does he know?

He needs time. To himself, to stop. He may not be able to make time stop, but he can arrange to spend some time by himself. El's suspicion about his suggestion she spend a night or two at the Wheeler's is overpowered by the pure excitement over getting to have a sleepover, and he’s in the clear.

He calls Karen ahead of time and asks if it'd be okay, at least had the presence of mind to do that much, and though she's understandably confused, she thankfully seems to get the picture. He doesn't want to talk about it, and she doesn't ask. He just needs El out of the cabin and away from him, because he knows he isn't going to be the best of company.

In his dazed state he still manages to dish out some rules: no sleeping in the kid's room, and the rest of their little friends are going to be there too. It’ll be her first slumber party and she’s over the moon.

With her gone, he immediately goes for the fridge and pulls out a beer. He’s about to head back into the living room when he spins around again and grabs a second. The first will go down like water, he knows, and he’s just saving himself the time.

Two beers turns into three, three into four, and the cycle continues until he’s out of beer. He’s not smashed, but he’s drunk enough to know he can’t go buy some more from the store.

In the alcohol’s absence, he’s forced to drink water. Oddly enough, it goes down with more of a struggle than the beer.

Nearly twenty four hours later, a whole day between Joyce’s truth bomb and his current state, he still hasn't gone out to get more beer. It’s mostly because he doesn't want to leave the cabin, but the fact that he’s still slumped on the floor with his back against the couch also has something to do with it.

He's gone through an entire array of feelings in the past day. Anger. Confusion. Frustration. Sadness. Shock. All of them intertwine with each other, blend into one giant mess of emotions he doesn't know how to navigate.

A kid.

He and Joyce have a kid. Not just a kid, but a teenager. He has a fucking teenager.

And not just any teenager, but one he already knows. One he's watched grow and mature over the past two years. Jonathan. Joyce's boy, the one who stood up to him because he wanted to help find his little brother in the place of his mother. Only he isn't just Joyce's boy, he's his too.

His head is spinning.

He almost wishes it wasn’t Jonathan. Not because there’s something wrong with the kid, but because it’s so fucking weird. It’s jarring, completely surreal, and maybe if it was some random kid he’s never met before it’d be easier. A kid who doesn’t have an opinion of him already.

Jonathan doesn’t hate him, he’s at least fairly certain of that, but he’s under no impression that he’s on his top five people list either. He doesn’t have to be, he supposes, but knowing where he stands would be nice.

Hopper squeezes his eyes shut, pinches at the bridge of his nose until the dizziness passes. He should eat something, can’t actually remember the last time he shoved something other than drinks down his throat, but he doesn't have the energy to make it. Or microwave it, really, because hell if he'd actually cook something right now.

Jesus Christ.

Maybe he's stupid for not figuring it out sooner. Now that he knows, knows Jonathan's his son, he can see it. The teen looks like him in ways he doesn't look like Joyce or Lonnie, in ways that, to the best of Hopper’s knowledge, he never did. But until almost two years ago, he'd only seen the kid a handful of times.

The first time he saw him was when he was, what, eight years old?

He wonders if Jonathan looked like him as a small child. Maybe he did, and maybe if he'd run into Joyce earlier it would've been more obvious.

Maybe it would’ve jumped right out to him, he would’ve confronted Joyce, and the last fifteen or so years of his life would’ve panned out differently. Or maybe it wouldn't have. Maybe it would've just been another big mess of its own.

Hopper knows when it happened.

It was at Karen's post-graduation party, the night the two of them got sentimental and a little drunk and slept together in the back of his father's car. They were close enough to the house party to hear the music floating through the air and inebriated yells from their classmates, but far enough so that none of them even thought to wander to where he'd parked.

He doesn’t remember much from graduation but he remembers that night clearly, every moment of it. From the conversations they'd had in that car, to the first lingering glance and the way he'd leaned into her. She didn't tell him to stop, just sank into his chest, grabbed onto his hair and pulled him closer. It spiraled from there, the two of them lost in a haze of strewn clothing, messy kisses and sweaty bodies.

That night in the backseat wasn't the first time they'd slept together, but it is the only time that makes any sense for the conception.

The first time was under the bleachers in the start of junior year. It'd started as a dare he thought Joyce would be too chicken to follow through on—to kiss him. He said it as a joke, but he should've known better than to underestimate just how dedicated, and competitive, she was. She'd raised a cocky eyebrow and grabbed his face. The kiss turned into what was their first time, and looking back he can only laugh at how fitting it seems that it was under those damn bleachers.

The second time was after junior prom, after enough spiked punch to lower their inhibitions, to allow them to act on their shared desires, but not enough to render them incapable of remembering their actions.

“I know exactly what I’m doing, Hop,” Joyce had told him with dark eyes after he tried to slow it down, after he made the mistake of telling her you’re drunk, Joyce.

And maybe she did know exactly what she was doing. Hell, maybe she wasn’t drunk at all.

Who knows anymore.

But no, despite their reckless actions, neither of those would make sense. Joyce would've been pregnant senior year if he’d knocked her up either time, and she wasn’t.

So, Karen's graduation party is where it happened. They hadn't used anything and he curses inwardly, his head slamming against the couch cushion. They were too preoccupied with anything and everything else in that moment.

Hopper lets out a low groan, and then, despite himself, laughs. There's nothing he can do about it now, so grumbling over not using a condom seventeen years ago won't do him any good.

Doesn't mean he won't sulk, though.

And he thinks he has every right to sulk, thank you very much. He's never been this angry at Joyce, not ever, not even when she'd asked him to one of the dances sophomore year and then never showed. She never did tell him why, only that something had come up and she was sorry, but he felt like an idiot standing outside the school (because she insisted he not pick her up; it wasn't a date), dressed in a monkey suit with a stupid bouquet of flowers he'd picked up on a whim.

But now... now he's angry.

Seventeen years. She's known that he has another child, their child, for seventeen years and did nothing. Didn't tell him, not so much as a hint. He hates riddles but he would've preferred some awkward clues that led him to the realization on his own over... well, this.

Finishing off the soda in his hand, the second to last can he finds in the back of the fridge—he really needs to do some grocery shopping—he slumps down a bit more and leans his head back, eyes facing the ceiling.

"Fuck," he mutters to himself.

Hopper forces his eyes closed and tries to take a few calming breaths, but he feels nothing even resembling calm. Not even a semblance of calm anywhere in his body.

He's on edge, his heart racing and his mind whirling with thought after thought, each more confusing than the last.

He wants to know why. He wants to know if she ever planned on telling him, though he's certain he already knows the answer. On her deathbed, maybe, but before that seems doubtful.

He wants to know what the fuck he's supposed to do now.

It's not everyday you wake up with a teenager. With El it was different; it was a slow burn and months of searching for her out in those damn woods. He knew all along that he had the cabin, that if he could just get her to come out that he'd take her here to keep her safe.

He knew that; it was his decision from the start, and he had time to come to it.

This? No, this is nothing at all like El. This is like being doused in ice water when you least expect it. You stand there, frozen, eyes screwed so tightly you think they might push back into your skull. They don’t, but you wish maybe they would. You’re turned to stone, not knowing what to do. You could move, but you're in such shock that your body shuts down a little and refuses to function at all.

Except he can move. He has function enough to pull himself to his feet, stumble into the kitchen, and grab the final soda.

Jonathan.

Hopper wonders if she gave any thought to what he'd have wanted to name the baby. He doesn't dislike the name, and he doesn't actually have any better ones in mind, but he's curious. He imagines a young Joyce lying in a hospital bed, sweat peppering her skin and her hair, cradling a tiny bundle of blue in her arms.

He groans, digs the heel of his hand into his eyes. He regrets the thought as soon as it pops into his mind, but then it won't go away. Joyce, exactly as he remembers her all those years ago, but with a baby clutched tightly against her chest. His baby, their baby.

Fuck.

Swallowing half of the can in two quick gulps, he heaves out a sigh. The soda isn’t doing a damn thing to help, but he still doesn’t want to go to the damn store. There are people in the store and he doesn’t want to deal with people.

Instead, he goes for the next best thing. Unscrewing the cap from the bottle of pills on the coffee table, he pops two or three into his mouth and swallows.

He lost his little girl, his precious Sara, and he was sure he'd never have another kid. It's too painful, and if he's the reason she got sick in the first place, then he wouldn't dare risk that with another child. But he does have another; he's had another kid right under his nose this entire time.

One that isn't sick.

He doesn't allow himself to think about what that means about his role in Sara's death. Jonathan isn't sick, Jonathan is his. Sara got sick, Sara's also his. One healthy, one sick. The room begins to spin and he shakes his head, shakes away every thought about Sara. Now's not the time and unless he wants to drown himself in that entire bottle of pills, just as he did after her death, he can't even think about the correlation right now.

He missed out on all of the important years with Jonathan, and hell, he's not even sure if he'll be there for any of the rest. Not in any capacity that's more than it is right now. He doesn't know what the kid wants, and he sure as hell doesn't know what he wants either.

Coughing a little, he sits up straighter, peels his eyes open.

He blames Joyce for hiding this from him, for keeping such a huge fucking secret from him for so long, but as he wallows in his self-pity and stupid soda and pills, he tries desperately to imagine what it would have been like if she had told him.

He'd have been freaked out. He was just eighteen, she was seventeen, and he would've been in a foreign country when she found out. If she had told him when he returned, showed up on his doorstep with a baby, he might've passed out.

Hopper would like to think he'd have handled it well from the start, but he knows what he was like. He knows his mouth, and he’s not proud of the quip about how do we even know it's mine he no doubt would’ve made. Joyce would've gotten upset and hated him and he would've started off by fucking it all up.

That's not a reason to not tell him, though, and he's positive he would've come around. Once the shock wore off, he would've been there. Sure, they were both young as hell, and sure, he didn't plan on having a kid while still in his teens, but they would've made it work.

Joyce was his best friend and he wouldn't have turned her, or their kid, away. He's half the reason she even got pregnant, so there's no way he would have made her deal with it alone. He wouldn't have been the best father ever, not back then, but he would've tried.

Downing the last of the can, he decides that's what bothers him the most.

The lying and betrayal aside, he's pissed that she didn't feel it important enough to tell him, to let him be a father. Because he wouldn't have been good enough? Because Lonnie was a better choice? Jonathan grew up watching that rat bastard abuse his mother, punch her and toss her around like trash. The man he believed to be his father was shit to him and Will, too, if all the reports from before he came to Hawkins are true.

He’s inclined to believe them over the half-assed write-ups that document nothing but Joyce trying to cover for that jackass.

His fists ball at his sides. That boy could've grown up in a house with two parents who, while dysfunctional and a little out-of-whack at times, would've been a hell of a lot better and not at all abusive.

Shaking his head, he forces it all away. He can't do this anymore, can't imagine all of these what-ifs in his mind when it means fuck all. Joyce still lied, Jonathan's still his almost-adult son, and he still missed seventeen years of his life.

With a grunt he stands, tosses the can into the trash where it clinks off of the rest of the pile, and moves into his bedroom. Collapsing onto the bed, he shoves his face into the pillow with a silent prayer that he falls into a dreamless sleep.

[alexanderwrites]

The A-Z of TMBG

Introduction

They Might Be Giants have forever been one of those bands that, when asked my opinion on, I would say “Oh, I adore them”. But similarly to my relationship with The Mountain Goats, I have gaps in my knowledge of their history that are so big that they rival the amount that I do know about them. I always list them as a favourite band, but if I turned up to one of their shows I’d be the asshole excited by every other song, then trying to work out if I knew the rest, nervously mouthing the odd lyric here or there. “Duhh muhh duhh BAG OF GROCERIES duhh duhhh muhh muhhh EXPIRATION DAAAAATE”.

This is because I have a very silly way of listening to music in which I discover a band, love a couple of their albums to death, then struggle to move on from those because those are the ones that I love so much. Most people who have good critical thinking skills would say “Gee, I loved this album so much that I should probably try another of their albums”. Not me! Figure 8 by Elliott Smith, Entroducing by DJ Shadow and This is Our Music by Galaxie 500 are some of my favourite albums of all time, and guess what? They’re pretty much the only albums i’ve listened to by those artists. Now, I have listened to quite a lot of TMBG, but I haven’t often sat down to dig into their music (or stood up! I don’t exclusively listen to music sitting down on a couch like some record producer trying to feel the vision or fall asleep). It’s time to change that, and i’m going to be going through each of their studio albums over the weeks, one by one, and giving them a bit of an appraisal, and a bit of a praise, because, as hard and objective as I wish I was, i’m going to be gushing over TMBG a lot. But if any band, or any album, deserves a hot torrent of gush, it’s this band, and this album....

#1: Untitled, or, The Pink Album, 1986

“We were the most stoppable force in rock music”

- John Flansburgh

John Flansburgh and John Linnell’s (or the Johns as everyone, and now I, call them) first album is quite a rorschach test of an album. Whatever you see in it, and whatever you want it to be, it is. Musically adventurous and avant garde? Check. Goofy and hilarious? Check. The one thing I don’t think anyone could see it as is boring. It feels like an album that will elicit strong feelings and strong opinions from its listener, primarily because it truly does not sound like anything else. While Flansburgh self-deprecatingly refers to the band during their early days as a stoppable force, their music right from the off sounds determined, self assured and insuppressible. What Flansburgh means by stoppable is that they had no record label and no publicist, and that the only people who could really support the band were the few locals who’d catch their shows in Brooklyn. It wasn’t their music that was stoppable, but their situation.

In more ways that one, the music on this album is unstoppable. In their huge bursts of energy and ideas, and in how easily listenable the album is, it is unstoppable. Once I start the opening track on this album, I cannot and do not stop until the album is over, because it’s such a damn fun and specific world to be in. You know that feeling when you’re so deeply into a TV show that when the episode finishes, no other show on the planet can hit the spot? That’s how listening to this album feels.

I’d heard it a couple of times before, but sitting down (again, I don’t just sit down to listen to music! Sometimes I even have a nice little walk!) and paying proper attention to it really opened my eyes to what an incredible debut it is. Though it’s basically an adapted version of a DIY cassette, its distinctive sound is really professional and well recorded, and the songs themselves are fully-formed statements by a band who know what the fuck they’re about. Everything Right is Wrong Again is a legitimate contender for best opener on a debut ever, and it summarises everything that the band is about. It’s a mission statement and a litmus test; a song that, based on your reaction, tells you whether or not this’ll be your new favourite band. Linnell’s distinctive nasal vocals, the prominent drums machine patterns and a huge array of synthesised instruments underneath (is that a fucking harpsichord??) all tie together to make a pop song that sounds nothing like any other pop song around at the time. The lyrics on the opening track touch on a common theme for TMBG, that things feel out of step, and that confusion and even pain are weird damn things to deal with. I mean, take a look at the lyrics. It’s pretty unusual that such a fun and bizarro song would contain lyrics as precise as “The healing doesn't stop the feeling” and “Everything right is wrong again, every movement false, every four is waltz again”. 

TMBG are demonstrating that as silly and playful as they might get, they write real songs that sometimes touch on very real ideas and feelings. And then they have songs called Toddler Hiway that describes a highway of toddlers that leads to Toys R Us. Their ability to mix the astute with the absurd is unique in that they often do it at the same time. Whereas a more traditional band might have a track alternation of serious song - silly song - serious song - silly song, this album blends the two so idiosyncratically that it creates a flavour unlike any other. All their serious songs sound silly, and all their silly songs sound serious. The album takes musical influence from all over the place which results in tracks that boil over with the enthusiasm of two very smart music-buffs who know how to use their inspirations. Number Three has a bluegrass rhythm to go with its self-referential storytelling (”I got two songs in me, and I just wrote the third”), while Alienation’s For The Rich has a country swing to complement its lamenting lyrics. And while these influences are never repeated in a straight forward manner, they also are more than parodies or pastiches of a genre. They’re influences that are put on a conveyer belt and processed through a strange and beautiful machine that mashes them up, flips them upside down and releases them as strange mirror images of themselves. What makes the difference is the skill the Johns have as songwriters, and how intelligently they use references and influences. 

And so, accordions and harpsichords don’t feel parodic, or “how weird ARE WE”, but instead complementary tools used to build very specific little worlds. It might seem strange to start the song Youth Culture Killed My Dog with a James Bond riff (fittingly, TMBG would years later write Dr Evil’s Theme for Austin Powers) but it all gives off a mood, a vibe, and sometimes a good fucking laugh. The album feels like the Johns are saying “Look, this is the music we have to make. It has to have silly skits, it has to be ridiculous, because that’s what we care about.” Or as Flansburgh says in Put Your Hands Inside the Puppet Head: “Memo to myself: do the dumb things I gotta do”. 

The album is built on smart absurdity, a kind of dadaist desire to reveal the strangeness of its characters, and of the music itself. Youth Culture Killed my Dog seems to parody the conservative’s public to youth and counter cultures:

“Bacharach and David used to write his favorite songs

Never, never, never would he worry/he'd just run and fetch the ball

But the hip hop and the white funk just blew away my puppy's mind”.

They seem to be tackling the topic of music itself, and the expectations on what music is and should be. They subvert this by making music that doesn’t sound like what traditional pop music is supposed to sound like. You could call it experimental, but the Johns seem to know exactly what they’re doing. They’re art school weirdos who mercifully don’t take themselves too seriously, and instead have a post-punk, Talking Heads-esque idea of deconstruction and why-the-hell-not attitude. And like Talking Heads, aside from all the oddness and whimsy, what TMBG sound like on this album is a really, really good alternative rock band. Their guitars sounds consistently excellent; Don’t Let’s Start in particular has a great surfer-y guitar sound in the verses that sounds like Pixies’ Here Comes Your Man (but a few years before that song was released), and She’s An Angel, which is the loveliest track on the album, has gorgeous, almost slide-like guitars giving a wonderful texture to the song. And songs like Don’t Let’s Start and (She Was A) Hotel Detective speak to the fact that as well as being a niche, cult item, the Johns create songs that are indisputable alternative classics. The songs might not be as well known as the Blue Mondays and Killing Moons of their era, but they are just as important, clever and classic.

This album makes it clear that the Johns probably won’t go on to be the biggest rock stars on the planet, but it does make it clear that they are truly worthy of their cult status and their passionate fan base, and that they have a hell of a lot in them to look forward to. It’s an album that, if you’d heard it in 1986, you would’ve rooted for it. You would’ve gone up to your friends who liked Devo and Oingo Boingo and told them to please listen to this. You would’ve attended their shows and bought cassettes and written reviews, like the one i’m inspired to write now. The album connects to me in an immediate sense, the songs instantly working their way into my ears and heart. They’re songs that i’m always happy to hear, and to instantly incorporate into my life. Songs that I want to live with. What I mean by that is, there are songs that are always swirling around in my head, so that when something even tangentially connected to them is mentioned, the songs barge their way to the front of my brain. Someone on TV a couple of days ago said “Not to put too fine a point on it”, and I instinctively said “Say i’m the only bee in your bonnet”. Because that’s who TMBG are for those who love them: a band that are constantly right there, dancing around in your head and giving you a wealth of songs, lines and tunes to enjoy. 

And as an album, there really is no better example of their talents and their personality. It’s a surprisingly cohesive set of songs, the 19 of them flying by in just 38 minutes (they do have a lot in common with punk!). It strikes a good, even balance that spreads the tentpole tracks across the two sides, and though there are shorter songs that really are goof offs, they don’t feel like filler. It’s not like they’re saying “shit, we need to throw a 25 second a-cappella about a toddler highway in there to pad the album out”, they’re just giving you sort of...bonuses? Little treats, really. The album would be full enough without them, they’re just the weirdo icing on the cake. If the singles on the album are the equivalent of a comedian doing a longer monologue, then the shorter tracks are one-liners, and having both means you’re spoiled for choice.  A lesser band trying that might not be able to hold your attention for so long, but the Johns do it effortlessly. I kind of think of them and this album as Pee-Wee Herman: Self aware, subversive, a little anarchic, but also completely warm hearted. The kind of thing that those who love it, really deeply love it.

It’s hard to imagine them breaking the mainstream, but looking at the few videos they produced from this album, they begin to make a bit more sense. Because as goofy, nerdy and joyful as they are in these videos, they’re also really fucking cool.

They look like the art-school weirdos that they are, but the kind that like to have lots of fun and make fart jokes. In the Don’t Lets Start video, Linnell is dressed sharply in black and has his hair long and floppy, and he instantly looks like a dweeby counter-culture hero. They dance like David Byrne and seem to be having the most fun of any band in any video. In the Put Your Hand Inside The Puppet Head video, they look like Tears for Fears letting loose with an accordion, which sounds like the uncoolest thing ever, but The Johns pull it off. It’s their enthusiasm and sweetness that sells it.

(She Was A) Hotel Detective has some great vintage Nick-At-Night vibes which (pardon the pun) illustrates their playful style, which is interspersed with self-mocking clips of the Johns playing, with the word “MUSIC” hanging behind them.

Please, if you haven’t seen them and if you get a few minutes, watch these videos. There are not many examples this good of such pure joy and fun. And there aren’t many bands who have music videos that feel like such an accurate extension of their ideals, and it’s in these that you can start to see how they carved out their niche. 

Seeing this play on MTV would’ve been eye and ear catching to say the least, and though it might’ve made many ask “what the fuck is this”, there had to be those people in between who this connected with. And it turned out, there are a lot of those people, and they are now the TMBG fan base, as passionate and excited today as ever. TMBG don’t necessarily speak for them, but they speak to them. The Pink Album says it loud and clear “be weird, have fun, feel things, do the dumb thing you gotta do”.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Summer in the City - 4 (Flashwave)

Fic: Summer in the City - Chapter 4 (AO3 Link) Fandom: The Flash Pairing: Mick Rory/Barry Allen

Summary: Barry Allen is a good CSI, but this whole stupid Heatwave serial killer thing is just killing him.

Or, you know, people around him.

Luckily for him, he’s always got Mick to complain to…

—————————————————————————————————

"No surprise, absolutely nothing from Palmer Tech other than the small sample of the alloy he gave us," Barry tells Joe. "Industrial strength cleaner is a thing to be feared by us all."

Joe nods, looking unsurprised. He knows the drill. "So, nothing then?"

"Well," Barry says reluctantly. "There is one thing."

Ray was super nice, and Barry can't possibly imagine what he might have to do with a serial killer or whatever weird thing is going on here in regards to these thefts, but he feels he has to mention any oddities. It's his job. Joe's job is figuring out how all those oddities came together in a way that made sense.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Barry says. "I found absolutely nothing."

"You just said that," Joe points out.

"No," Barry says patiently. "Absolutely nothing."

Joe pauses. "I thought you said that was because of the cleaner?"

"It is," Barry says. "But there's finding nothing relevant or useful, and then there's finding nothing at all."

"Wait, you found nothing at all?" Julian says, looking up from where he's sitting on his side of the room. "In a working lab? During mid-morning? Impossible."

Barry points at him. "Exactly. I mean, unless the lab was scrubbed shortly before we arrived. Which, uh, they would probably have had time to do, if they wanted to."

Joe frowns. "You think they were hiding something?"

"I mean, yes and no?" Barry replies, shrugging helplessly when Joe glares at him. "Okay, let me rephrase. Yes, I think they were hiding something. No, I don't think it's really relevant. I mean, I don't really think they were hiding Heatwave in the alleyway out back or anything like that. It's probably nothing more than some run-of-the-mill labwork paranoia that someone's going to steal their work, or maybe some scientists they hired have a bad history with law enforcement, or something like that." He pauses. "Or, well, this is Central..."

He arches his eyebrows meaningfully. Joe nods thoughtfully.

"What does that mean?" Julian asks with a frown. He's good at his job, but he's not from Central; he hates it when everyone else just makes a reference to the city and share knowing nods like Barry and Joe were just doing.

Naturally, Barry makes a point of doing it as often as possible.

"Something they're working on for a Family," Joe clarifies. "Labs can process everything from drugs to explosives, and it's an open secret that running any type of successful business in Central - at least, running that business long enough that you want to keep it being successful - involves having an open mind in regards to the Families, if you get me."

"Though drugs have gone down since Snart came around," Barry comments, then flinches back when Julian and Joe both glare. "What? It's true! Palmer Tech could have a deal with the Rogues instead of a regular Family."

"I don't want to know what a guy who made himself the leader of a metahuman army wants with a lab, Bear, I really don't," Joe says.

"More parts for that cold gun of his, no doubt," Julian says.

"But the labs weren't working on cold, they were working on heat," Barry points out.

"Still, it's temperature related. Maybe Snart is thinking of switching it up."

"Seems like a stretch," Joe says doubtfully. "That bastard's pretty committed to his theme. Just last week he had snowflake-decorated hoodies delivered to the local children's hospital with a note saying 'when life's getting you hot under the collar, think Cold thoughts' - hoodies he stole, might I add, not that there's a public company in the world that's going to publically take clothing away from kids with cancer..."

Julian snorts. "What is he, running for mayor?" he says with a sneer.

"Don't ask me to understand Snart," Joe says. "If I were any good at it, he'd be in prison."

"Did Eddie find something in the logs?" Barry asks, thinking back. "He had his thinking-face on."

"He thought he did," Joe says. "Went down to records to check it out."

"What's left of records, you mean," Julian says.

To be fair, there wasn't much left after Snart's midnight raid. Of course, they couldn't prove it was Snart's doing, certainly without the relevant records, but the tell-tale thin layer of frost left behind made it pretty clear. Not that the policemen who'd first found it had thought to take a picture of it before it melted away...

The simultaneous electronic attack that ate away a big chunk of their electronic files and back-ups only made it more likely that it was Snart. He wasn't necessarily known for hacking, but simultaneous attacks utilizing all the skills of his subordinates were just his style.

Everyone just quietly hoped that it'd been a one-time job and Snart hadn't actually acquired a high-class hacker willing to join his Rogues.

"Well, hope Eddie's hunch gets us somewhere," Barry says. "Palmer Tech seems like a dead end."

"Except for the fact that the CEO, the COO, and the Head of R&D all flew over from Starling to show us around in person," Joe says. "They're staying on the suspect list."

Barry wonders if he should mention that he saw Felicity outside during their investigation - but no. There's no law against taking a smoke break.

"Anything from Mercury?" Joe asks Julian.

"Ms. McGee was outraged we were trespassing, interfering with delicate projects, etc., etc.," Julian says with a shrug. “The usual. Actually, it turned out that her stolen project related to tachyons, not heat tech. Their heat tech is, according to them, still secure – they’re developing a heat-sensitive trigger, designed to activate alarms once a certain heat threshold has been passed.”

“Alarms,” Barry says, arching his eyebrows, “or a fuse?”

“Given the prevalence of the word ‘trigger’ being used and the dearth of any additional details,” Julian says dryly, “I suspect the answer will be whatever pays more.”

“Still, strange that they weren’t hit,” Barry says, then frowns. “Wait. Were the other places hit around the same time, or sequentially?”

“Sequentially,” Julian replies, nodding in understanding already. Sometimes Barry wishes the guy wasn’t so competent, just so he could hate on him properly, but sadly, even Barry had to admit that having another brain to bounce off of has made them both more productive.

“What are you thinking, Bear?” Joe asks.

“That Mercury might not have a heat-tech related theft yet,” Barry says, gnawing at his lower lip. “If this guy is going after heat tech and given our suspicions that the leak might have come from Ramon’s Foundation – well, they just sent in a proposal, right? The guy might not know that it’s just a trigger system.”

“I’ll post some guards and tell them to keep an eye out,” Joe says. “If we can catch this guy breaking in on camera, that might be the key to catching him.”

Joe still lingers by the door a minute.

“Anything else, Joe?”

“Just – you’re going to this Ramon guy, right? The one we think the leak might've come from?”

“Tomorrow, yeah; after I finish up with whatever I get from STAR Labs this afternoon, yeah, with Ramirez and Stubbins,” Barry says, smirking at Julian’s quickly suppressed jealous expression at the mention of STAR Labs. “Why?”

“Be careful,” Joe says. “I’ve been asking around. No one’s said anything yet, but – well, Ramon is a non-police affiliated meta expert. And the biggest customer for that would be…”

“Snart,” Julian says. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Not least because Ramon wouldn’t be able to get easy access to test subjects without an illicit source, and his papers are –”

“Really good,” Barry interjects.

Julian looks sour. “Yes, unfortunately. The Foundation's very good. Though personally I think his associate, Ms. Snow, likely has more to do with it..."

"Julian's got a crush," Barry says wickedly.

"I most certainly do not!"

"On her excellent biomedical analysis of metahuman physiology, honestly, Julian, get your mind out of the gutter."

Julian glares, but there’s a bit of a blush on his cheeks.

Joe chuckles. "I'll leave you two to it. But seriously, Bear - be careful, okay? I’d rather Eddie and I went with you to Ramon tomorrow, but chance are we’ll be booked solid fielding calls about our investigations today."

"Relax," Barry says. "Heatwave's not after me, okay? It was coincidence. Now shoo, I need to pack up and freak out about going to STAR Labs before meeting you downstairs."

"I don't understand what you all see in Wells," Joe complains half-heartedly; it's an old argument. "He did cause the current metahuman crisis, you all remember that, right?"

"It's not technically a metahuman crisis," Julian says immediately. "It's just regular crime, as done by metahumans."

Julian had had a serious grudge against metahumans early on in his career, but after he'd nearly shot a kid pretending to be one, he'd gotten some serious therapy and sensitivity training.

"Plus, Heatwave's not a meta, remember?" Barry reminds Joe. "Can't say that one's a meta issue."

"Not that certain newspapers haven't tried."

"Man, am I glad Iris took the job with Picture News," Barry says. "Even if that tabloid probably would've paid better."

Joe glares the way he always does when someone brings up Iris, but Barry's working on wearing him down. It might take forever, but eventually he'll get used to hearing her name and maybe - just maybe - they'll be able to work their way to an apology.

Maybe.

Preferably without Barry screwing up in such a massive fashion that both of them have to forgive him because he's family, and then forgiving each other because they don't want to be hypocrites.

You know, like the last four times.

He's just about done getting his stuff ready when his phone beeps. Wondering who it might be, Barry scoops it up.

Making you something special for dinner, it read. No cheating.

Barry grins. He'd given Mick his cell number a while back, when he'd tried to order dinner on his commute home in hope that it'd arrive after he did (it arrived before, thus Mick's demand for a mobile number), but this is the first time Mick's just texted him out of the blue.

Even though his number's already saved as "M" in Barry’s phone.

Barry has a rich fantasy life, okay? And if someone - Iris - were to grab his phone now, she'd get the totally wrong impression.

Barry depresses himself for a few minutes, thinking about how he'd lure her into snatching the phone then tease her mercilessly about her misconception, if only they were still talking, but then he puts it out of his mind and focuses on the dinner Mick's undoubtedly making for him. Possibly personally.

Barry's imagination has decided to give Mick the shoulders from the guy he'd seen this morning, the hot one talking to Felicity in the alley, and for some reason he's decided to cook Barry's dinner shirtless. Mmmm, yes, please.

...make that a very rich fantasy life.

Barry sends an estimate of when he expects to be at home - around eight, barring surprises - and heads off to meet Joe and Eddie for their trip to STAR Labs.

STAR Labs is just as impressive as always: a giant, round tower, looming over mostly empty parking lots that circle it like a moat.

More impressive is what's inside.

Harrison Wells had initially gone into hiding after the explosion that created the metahumans, but he had reemerged with a fresh sense of determination and a hundred new ideas, and he was slowly building his reputation back up, one small piece at a time.

He sometimes said, in interviews, that science had gotten him into the situation he was in now and so science was the only hope he had left to get back out.

Of course, all the tabloid columns were more interested in what, exactly, had caused the final split between Harrison Wells and his former protégés, Cisco Ramon and Caitlin Snow, who had been among the only people to stand by him after the accelerator explosion. And then, a year or so later, they abruptly left him, both of them: Snow to return to medicine, Ramon to start the Ramon Foundation.

After the Foundation struck gold with a number of apps and assistive technology, not to mention a number of anti-metahuman defenses, Snow had left her budding ophthalmology practice and returned to Cisco's side. More intriguingly, they had been joined by Hartley Rathaway, another ex-protégé of Wells, and one whose parting of ways had definitely been on bad terms.

Yet no matter how anyone pressed, and no matter how upset the leading members of the Foundation became when Wells was discussed, they never said a word against him. A number of gossip columns - not that Barry read those, well, not too much - suggested that Wells still had some form of blackmail over Ramon, something to do with some technology he had developed while he was still with Wells.

Barry might be a little star-struck by Harrison Wells' marvelous brain, but he's not going to let down his guard. His dad had always said that if a teacher keeps chewing up and spitting out students, the problem's with the teacher.

He hadn't been able to see his dad in a while. Henry Allen had been hit by the accelerator explosion when he’d been given that day pass to visit Barry to watch the grand opening, resulting in a nine-month coma and speed meta powers, both of which had definitely taken a few years off Barry’s life, but he steadfastly refused to use those powers to escape prison, which didn't always make him too popular with the other inmates. That meant more solitary, which meant fewer visiting hours.

Barry missed him.

It’d be nice to have someone in his life that he could talk to about stupid things, like fanboying over Harrison Wells.

Huh, maybe he could talk about it with Mick over dinner. It wasn’t like it was police work or anything.

"Gentlemen, sorry to keep you waiting," the man himself said.

Barry jumps a little, not having seen him lurking in the shadows in his wheelchair. Though in fairness, Barry was also hanging back a bit.

He turns to look, and - oh, wow, it's really him.

Harrison Wells. He looks just as distinguished as on television - though he also looks just as gray and worn out as he did on television, too, which was presumably why the gossip mags had a field day proposing that he had any number of mysterious illnesses potentially caused by playing with dark matter.

"Not a problem," Joe says. "I'm Detective West; we spoke on the phone. We're sorry to take time out of your undoubtedly busy day."

Barry very carefully did not look around the virtually deserted labs.

"Not at all," Wells said. "You're here to investigate the theft of the thermal core?"

"Thermal core?"

"Yes," Wells says. "I've been working on developing energy sources - smaller, more efficient. Someone took a prototype and hid it somewhere."

"How do you know that they hid it?" Eddie asks.

"I went to look for it, obviously!" Wells snaps.

"And you weren't in the lab that night?"

"No," Wells says, regaining his composure by a visible effort. "I'm sorry, Detective...?"

"Thawne."

Wells' hands clench on his wheelchair. "I see. Yes. Of course. Welcome."

"And this is our colleague, CSI Barry Allen," Eddie adds. “He’ll be assisting us today.”

Wells' reaction is - well, Barry's going to have to go with weird.

He twists to look at Barry, and he's almost - hungry. But also like Barry's disappointed him, somehow, like Barry's a very close but not quite right reminder of someone he wanted to see.

Also, is it just Barry, or is his hair going blond at the roots and the tips? Like, not white or grey, but blond?

Weird.

Barry'd say that Wells must think that brunettes have more fun and forgot to dye his hair recently enough, but it doesn't explain the slight blond at the tips. Whatever, Barry's not here for hair styling advice.

"Mr. Allen," Wells says. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"I wasn't aware it was such an honor," Barry says, aiming for light-hearted as he shakes Wells' hand. He's mostly kind of creeped. "It's an honor to meet you. Sorry for imposing on you like this."

Wells' smile is tight-lipped.

"Not at all," he says. "I'll show you where the lab is."

The lab is stupendous, but Barry's got this weird feeling, like it was almost meant for something else before it got transformed into what it is now. There's a surprising amount of tech that he can identify as medical; he doesn't know what a physics lab would need with that. At least the speed measurement stuff makes some sense.

Wells goes away for a few minute, some excuse about putting something in order, and comes back refreshed, almost perky; he's charming and urbane, chatting lightly with them as they search his lab.

Barry doesn’t glance at Joe or Eddie, but he assumes they’re thinking the same thing (drugs) as he is. Possibly prescription, possibly not, but man, what a difference. The Harrison Wells that left them was erratic, irritable, eccentric; the one who returns is the one that made himself famous enough to sweet-talk the city into building his Particle Accelerator.

Charming enough to almost (almost) make them forget how weird his introduction was.

Amazingly enough, Wells seems to enjoy talking with Barry. He’s interested in Barry’s work, his projects, everything; he seems to think Barry’s got great potential, which, uh, Barry’s going to have to find a way to include in his official write-up because holy crap Harrison Wells thinks he has great potential and everyone, ever, needs to know about it.

Joe and Eddie don’t seem particularly happy about it, but whatever.

It’s probably just because they’re not finding anything useful.

“Perhaps you can stay behind, Mr. Allen,” Wells says with a smile. “I’d love to discuss your theories in further depth –”

“I’m afraid since this is an open investigation, it wouldn’t be appropriate for Mr. Allen to socialize,” Joe cuts in.

Barry gives him an injured look. Does he not realize this is Harrison Wells?

“There would be nothing inappropriate about it, I assure you,” Wells says smoothly. “Merely an academic discussion of mutual interests, which I believe is entirely permissible, even in an open investigation. After all, I’m not a suspect, am I?”

“Of course not, Mr. Wells,” Barry says, reaching for his phone in order to text Joe to shut up. “I’m sure that –”

His phone.

No cheating.

“– we’ll be able to catch up another time,” Barry finishes with a sigh. Damnit.

If it wasn’t the very first time Mick had texted him, he might have opted to cancel, but Barry’s lost too many friendships to his inability to schedule his life properly, and he’s not losing this one.

Wells looks disappointed. “Another time, then,” he says. Then he smiles. "We'll have to make sure of it."

[lushclementine]

Week 3 pt. 1

10.1 

I just had my Italian class and was getting ready for the film festival my internship was going to have the following day. Nothing too exciting. 

10.2  Ah day 1 of the film festival. Twas chaotic but in a good day. My internship if for an LGBTQ center so every year they host their annual queer film festival. NYU Grads and other judges come throughout the week to watch the films, judge and rank them. 

The first film I got to watch was called “Rafiki” and was about a young woman in Kenya who finds love with another young woman. They want to live their lives unhidden and happy. However, they face violence within their community and sacrifices around happiness and well being have to be made. It was a very emotional film, and I quite enjoyed the visual colors and lifestyle depictions. I did struggle though because part of the film was in the characters native tongue and there were no english subtitles for that. It was just a lot of guessing on my end. It was a fun challenge though. 

The film was followed with a series of short films, one called “Michael Joseph Jason John” which was about a man who has a one night stand with a man but never gets his name. The hookup has a switchblade in his pocket and you’re left wondering if he’s going to kill the man he’s hooking up with. The hookup leaves, leaving the guy to be haunted by the idea of “what if” their relationship continues. I won’t spoil out it ends but I was very entertained to say the list. The second short film was called “Fugaz” and was short, hilarious, and a good play on human desire. It’s about a man who makes a wish on a star and see’s his desire for a split second before reality comes back. 10/10 would suggest seeing when it’s released to the public (because I can’t find it on the internet). 

There was also a live performance by Letizia Fuochi and she performed songs in Spanish which I’m assuming related to Spanish culture and Friday Kahlo. Her speeches were all in Italian so again I had to go off by guessing the subject via her backdrops and her songs. She was amazing and her song choices left me feeling a little more connected back to back home. 

The final film of the night was called “1985″ and it was just flat out sad, a true tragedy. 1980 was the aids epidemic which you don’t pick up on till about mid film. The main character comes home to Texas for Christmas all the way from New York. His parents are very conservative and christian and his little brother is struggling with this. The son is balling out on gifts and trying to amend his relationships he had left behind when he left and uprooted his life as an adult. They keep talking about how he is always sick and how he seems sad and questioning where he is getting his money from. You realize that he is trying to tell them goodbye because he knows that he is dying. I was a MESS! 

This day I also went to McDonalds for the first time here and I was slightly disappointed but also not. They make you pay for ketchup which is weird to me because in the states its free. They’re also just very aggressive with customer service and not in a good way. I had a better experience in Rome (which I’ll get to at the end of this post lol) 

10.3  I went to the film festival early and it started off with a film called “killer plastics”. It was all in Italian no subtitles, and it was about this night club in Milan called Killer Plastics. It was wild, sweaty, colorful, and gritty. The woman interviews people who work or are regulars at the club. I had to infer a lot but I definitely want to see it with English subtitles because I feel like i would’ve enjoyed the interview portions had I known what was going on. 

Then the short film portion occurred: 

Chen Li (Sunken Plum): was about a trans woman in China who has to go back to her small town because her mother passed away and hid a bunch of money left for her. She struggles with going back because she has to pretend to be someone she is not, a man. You see her struggling with her identity and the strained relationship she had with her mom. She just wanted her mom to know the truth about who she was. There is a scene where she sees her mom as a ghost and her mother cries out that she accepts her and loves her. It’s very moving in a sense. She leaves the village appearing as the woman she is back in the city, she refuses to be ashamed of who she is. I found this short film captivating. At the end the directors shed light on the brutality many trans women face in China and give an homage to those lost to violence. 

Davy and Goliath: this one was funny and definitely sexually graphic. A man goes in to an adult video store and goes into the video booth to do his thing. He finds a hole in the wall and ends up hooking up with the man who owns the store. There’s a major plot twist at the end which is hilarious and I really don’t want to give it away. If you’re into raunchy humor and want to laugh and don’t mind the graphics I say go watch. 

Skai Blue: a British man has fallen into the same routine and is looking for company. He messages a man on a gay dating app and they immediately hit it off. He hesitates at first but finally caves in and hooks up with him. The man he later finds out needs help with finding a place to stay and eat. He takes him in and things are okay but he senses something is off. He finds his passport to realize that his lover is a refugee. He confronts him and the man explains that he knows nothing about the world he escaped and the man he left behind because he was afraid of the violence that would reoccur. The British man realizes her hurt the one he loved but realizes he also needs to let him go and help him return home to make things right. He does just that. It’s really bittersweet and I was left a little sad if I’m honest. 

 Violet and June: funny, quirky, adorable. Violent loves June who has a boyfriend. She tries to tell her and chickens out. She ghosts June to try and get over her but feelings catch up and she returns. Great ending, funny storyline and graphics. Wholesome. I loved it. 

Then came the full length film: Becks  This one was high budget and had well known celebrities like Hayley Kiyoko, Mina Suvari, and Dan Fogler. It was about a woman who gets cheated on and moves back in with her mother. She tries to get back on her feet by singing at her friends local bar and offering guitar lessens. She meets a woman who is married to a guy whom she hated in high school. She ends up falling for her and their relationship gets complicated. The movie was low key a mess and I did not know how to feel about it. 

Short Film followed called No Me Olvides: A woman is at a grave and talking to her lover and she sees another woman. They talk and it’s super cute. As they finally leave together you find that the first woman's lover is a woman. Plot twist~ 

Then the Gay choir performed and it was super precious and I loved everything about it. 

10.4 

FINAL DAY FOR ME AT THE FESTIVAL! It started off on a very sad film

Dear Freddy: was about this amazing man named Freddy who lived during the Holocaust as a gay man. He was a gym teacher and cared a ton about children and their well being. He did amazing things for his community and in turn they learned to accept him and appreciate him. Unfortunately though he dies a mysterious death where they can’t tell if it was suicide or a murder. It was TRAGIC! The whole theatre cried. The world is filled with some true evil. 

Short Films:  Satyagraha: It was in Italian but silent for a lot of it. Followed a dream sequence on love and desire. Not being to have what you truly want. Really wild, visually pleasing but also graphic at certain points. It was very indie. 

The Sermon: Very spooky for the season, about a girl who lives in an extremely religious small community. Her affair with an older woman is outed and her lover is taken and publicly and privately tortured. She exacts her revenge and lets just say it was wild! 

The littles Trampette: Funny, silent film, and theatrical. Sweet and was fun to watch after a series of serious films. 

Final film: Snapshots: A grandmother has her daughter and granddaughter stop by to visit. She is gifted film from a camera her granddaughter had found revealing pictures of the first woman she ever loved. It was funny, high budgeted, and explored multiple mother daughter relationships and desire. I liked it but also left early so alas i missed the end.