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winterscaptain · 4 years ago

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Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: just in case you missed it, i published a family tree for the hotchners! at this point, jack is married to bella and living in d.c. she’s a journalist for the washington division at the new york times and is generally pretty awesome. as always, lemme know what you think!

words: 3.1k warnings: language, hospital setting, canon-typical injury

summary: “write your injuries in dust, your benefits in marble” - benjamin franklin. au!december 2035

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

“Come on, Soph! Go, baby, go!”

Your daughter is a vision. She streaks across the field, her green and yellow uniform almost melding with the grass as she keeps control of the ball. You can’t see her face too clearly, but you know she’s scanning the field with the same intensity you see in Aaron’s face beside you.

Isaac plops down on the bench behind you, home from Los Angeles for winter break. “How’s she doing?”

Aaron half-turns his head, keeping his eyes on the field. “Going for a hat trick - if she makes it, it’ll be her third this season.”

“Excellent.”

Caroline, down the field with her choir group, lounges happily between the legs of one of her friends, eating popcorn. When she sees you looking, she waves at you.

You wave back for a moment before your attention’s caught by a collective gasp and Aaron’s hand shoots to your forearm. You turn back to the field, but you missed it.

Everyone’s moving and you don’t know why.

With shocking agility for his age, Aaron all but leaps down the bleachers and onto the field. Your eyes search for Soph, but there are too many people on the field, all of a sudden.

Caroline’s standing on the seat of the bleachers, her friends steadying her with their hands on her arms and ankles.

There’s a hand, soft and scared on your shoulder. “Mom?”

You open your arms, and your nearly-grown son ducks under it, curling into you as you stand. “Do you want your earbuds?”

You feel him nod and you pull them out of your bag. His trembling quiets a little after he fits them in his ears.

There’s a clamber, and Caroline appears at your side. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t watching.”

She exhales, shaky and worried. “Where’s Dad?”

“On the field.”

But where?

You find Aaron, his salt-and-pepper hair stark in the autumn light. He’s talking to the referee, his brows low.

You hear sirens.

+++

“Oh, hey! What’s up, Mom?”

You almost hate to ruin his mood.

“Jack, honey, can you get down to the house at any point tonight?”

You try not to grip the handle above the car door too tightly as Aaron races through the suburban streets, following the ambulance. Soph was definitely lucid when they loaded her up, but definitely in a lot of pain.

“Ye - Yeah...Why?”

“Soph’s headed to the ER - something happened on the soccer pitch today and her knee…” You shake your head. “I dunno. Her knee looks really bad.”

“Fuck. Okay.” You hear him shuffle around and click his mouse - checking his schedule. “I can get down there after my last meeting at four - I’m headed there in a few minutes, but won’t be able to swing any earlier. I’d cancel it, but it’s literally SecDef and the Joint Chiefs and -”

“That’s fine - I just need someone at the house with the kids until one of us can get back. Elliot’s at baseball practice until six and I’m not sure if -”

“I’ll be there. I’ll get El and then I’ll swing by for Isaac and Caro if they’re still with y’all down there.”

You glance over at Aaron and nod. He heaves a sigh of relief and mouths Thank you.

“Thanks, Jack.”

“Yeah. See you soon. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

+++

When you’re finally allowed in to see Sophia, her eyes are red and puffy with tears. Her right leg is braced and elevated at the knee.

Her doctor explains the situation - dislocated knee and splintered patella with a torn meniscus and ACL. “This kind of traumatic knee injury poses a couple of issues…”

He explains that the rehabilitation and surgery needs for both the ACL and meniscus are exceedingly different, and “It’s entirely possible Miss Sophia will experience permanent joint damage. However, we won’t know that until we have an orthopaedic surgeon look at it tomorrow.”

“What about sports? Can I still play?” Soph tries to sit up farther, but Aaron’s arm shoots out, locking her against the bed across her shoulders.

The doctor looks hesitant, and it’s all she needs to burst into tears again. Aaron moves, sitting on the side of the bed and wrapping her up in his arms. He looks over her head at you and your lower lip disappears into your mouth as you meet his gaze.

You shift your attention to your other children sitting patiently behind you.

Caroline’s practically bit her nails to the quick - her hands looking more and more like her Aunt Emily’s as the moments pass.

Isaac’s been sitting in the wide windowsill for the entire afternoon, his headphones on, staring out the window, his mouth tight and fingers tearing into the foam stress ball you keep in your purse.

We’ll need another one of those. Or five.

You get a phone call, and you step out. “Hey, Jack.”

“Hey. Just got Elliot. We’re headed over to the hospital now. How’s she doing?”

You sigh and press a hand to your forehead.

“Oh, shit. That bad?” He asks.

You don’t comment on his tell pickup. It’s in his blood, at this point. “Yeah. She’s definitely out for the rest of the season, and we’re looking at some long-term stuff, too.”

“Fuck.”

“Hey! I’m still here and she’s gonna kick your ass if you keep swearing in front of me, dude.” Elliot shouts from the back and it almost makes you smile.

“I’m actually inclined to agree with you, Jack. We’ve got a dislocated and splintered patella in addition to a torn meniscus and ACL. It’s going to be a long rehab.”

You hear a deep sigh into the bluetooth system in Jack’s car. “Well, I’ll stay here for the duration.”

“No, no honey it’s alright. Your dad is home full-time and you’ve got a huge project reaching critical stages. Your room is all ready for you, but you really don’t have to hang around if you can’t manage the drive every day. And Bella -”

“Bells is looped in. She’s fine. She’s more than happy to tag out if we need to. Her deadlines are really loose right now what with the whole ‘nothing going on in Arlington’ thing this week. She’s heartbroken for Soph and wants to help where she can.”

“Alright.”

“Hey,” He huffs, sounding a lot like his dad. “I’ll let you go. I’ll text when I’m outside.”

“Okay. Thanks, bud.”

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Anytime.”

+++

Sophia’s sleeping when Alice and Hank come to visit later in the evening. Aaron went home a couple hours after Jack, planning to tag out with you later so you could get some sleep in your own bed before work tomorrow.

Alice immediately embraces you, all but falling into your lap as you hold her. She’s shaking.

“Is she okay?”

You push her back, smoothing some wayward edges at her hairline. “She will be.”

Alice’s dark eyes fill with tears, and you brush them off her cheeks as they fall.

“She’ll need your help, though. It’s gonna be a long time before we figure out what’s permanent and what’s not.”

Alice nods and retreats, sitting in the plastic chair by Soph’s side, folding her arms on the mattress and laying her head on them. “Hey, Sofa,” she whispers, though Soph can’t hear her.

“I haven’t heard that one in a while,” you tell her. Sofa is a nickname Derek gave Sophia when she was little. No big meaning to it, but it stuck.

You wouldn’t be surprised if she stayed there all night.

Hank lingers by the door. In the shadow of the room, you could easily mistake him for Derek, but that concerned pull at the corners of his eyes screams Savannah.

Eventually, he crosses the room and sits on the little lounger beside you.

He takes your hand and you kiss his knuckles. “I bet this isn’t how you wanted to spend your winter break, huh?”

A little laugh leaves him. “Maybe not, but little Miss Thing over here dragged me out the door before I could get two words in edgewise.” He gestures vaguely toward Alice and you actually smile.

“Yeah. In my experience, Morgan women don’t fuck around.”

“You got that right,” comes a voice from the doorway. It’s Savannah, fresh off her shift and still in her white coat and scrubs. She scours over Sophia’s charts and checks on her before sitting on your other side.

“Do you want the bad news or the good-but-also-kind-of-bad news?” She asks, almost inaudible. You glance up at Soph but Savannah shakes her head. “She’s out - those pain meds will leave this entire visit a blur.”

You sigh. “Fine. Hit me with the bad shit.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Savannah rests her elbows on her knees. “I’ve seen a knee injury like this exactly once before. No matter what you do, they can’t and don’t always heal right. She could need a mobility device permanently, even after she’s healed, and I can tell you now she won’t play again.”

That’s okay. She’s okay.

Better soccer goes than her life.

Soccer is her life.

You only know that Alice can hear everything when her shoulders start to shake. She doesn’t make any noise as she cries. She’s like her dad that way. Hank stands and places a hand between her shoulder blades, but says nothing.

“Is that the worst of it?”

Savannah nods. “Yeah.” She takes a breath. “The kinda good news is that she’ll be totally fine no matter what obstacles she may run into. She’s tough. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a Hotchner.”

She snorts. “Hell, I watched you bounce back from crazy life-threatening shit with a quip and a grin.”

You raise your eyebrows and shrug. “I do what I can.”

+++

Caroline curls into her father’s side, her double bed big enough to manage the both of them. It feels a lot like when she was little - she’d have nightmares or couldn’t fall asleep and Aaron would come and sit with her until her breath was even and slow.

“Dad?”

“Mhmm?”

“What’s Soph gonna do about college?” Caroline’s voice is small, nearly smothered in Aaron’s shirt. “She already has scouting offers and stuff.”

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “I’m not sure. We’ll all have to figure it out together, won’t we?”

+++

Aaron steps into the room, closing the sliding glass door behind him. Alice, just as you predicted, snoozes next to Sophia, her head pillowed on her arms. Sophia’s upper body almost arcs around her and she managed to snag one of Alice’s hands in her adjustment.

Those two…

Maybe he won’t escape the inevitable after all.

Morgan-Hotchner? Hotchner-Morgan?

He really only ever prepared to lose his name with Caroline. Soph always seemed far too… herself to take on a new one.

We’ll see.

You’re asleep in the pull-out chair, your brow drawn and arms crossed over your chest. He approaches you as quietly as he can, putting his go bag down and sitting beside you.

Much to his chagrin, you startle awake.

“Sorry,” he says in a whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shake your head. “You didn’t.” Talking through your yawn, you add, “Just had a weird dream is all.”

Aaron pulls you close and you relent, tucking into his side with a hand pressed to his chest.

“Did Savannah come by?” He asks.

You nod.

“What did she say?”

You sniff a little, more from the antiseptic smell than any emotional response - that will come later. “Soph won’t be able to play again unless fuckin’ divine intervention or some shit comes along and fixes her knee from scratch, but she’ll be able to move around just fine with a cane or brace or something after a while.”

Aaron can only imagine it now - fits and righteous anger about getting around the house, watching games from the bench - the list could go on forever. “She’ll hate that.”

You hum in agreement. “Just another parenting challenge. Already have the rest of the gamut covered neurodevelopmentally, so we were bound to get a physical challenge at some point.”

“Never more than we can handle.”

Shaking your head, you note, “This one just might do us in.”

+++

“I swear to God, if I see you in the office at all this week I’m gonna smash your kneecaps in.” Emily pauses. “Sorry. Too soon?”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You laugh a little and Soph sits up, her brow asking a question.

You answer, pulling the phone away from your mouth. “Your Aunt Emily told me she’d smash my kneecaps if she saw me at the federal building this week.”

Soph snorts. “Nice. We could match.”

You reach over and tweak her nose. “We already match.”

“Hey.” Emily grabs your attention again and you put your cell back to your ear. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to be here. Stay home for Soph right now and I’ll sign off on it and turn everything in for you.”

You roll your eyes. “I can’t believe you turned into Rossi, Miss I’m Past Retirement Age But Twisted the Bureaus Arm to Let Me Work Myself to Death.”

She laughs and hangs up, leaving you and Sophia alone again in the hospital room. She tucks back into her Jello, taking bites that are way too big.

“How are you feeling, bug?” You brush her cheekbone with your thumb and she shrugs.

“Can you hand me my headband?”

You reach over and dig around in her back until you find the wide swatch of colorful fabric. She takes it from you and shoves it over her head, pushing her hair back with practiced ease.

She’s just like her dad.

What? Loyal?

Yeah. But also chronically avoidant.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She huffs, playing with her fingers. “I’m fine. I think.” Her breath is shaky. “I can’t really tell with all the meds I’m on, but it feels… really bad.”

When she looks over at you again, her eyes are glassy, tearful. “I know I can’t play again, maybe not even run.”

You reach out for her hand, but don’t say anything.

“Momma…” She pauses, looking down at her blanket. “Momma, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I feel like I only know how to play soccer. I don’t know how - I don’t know if I want to do anything else. I’ve never thought about it before.”

You run your thumb over her knuckles. “Soph, you can do so much. You have a great strategic mind - you think in these big, creative webs. It’s such an asset.”

“Don’t profile me.”

“I’m not profiling you, baby,” you tell her with a smile. “I just know that about you because you’re my daughter.”

Her mouth twists. “Right.” She looks down when her phone buzzes.

“Who is it?”

The corners of her lips tip up. “It’s Alice. She’s asking me if I want anything from the drive thru.”

You mirror her little smile. “That’s nice of her.”

“Yeah.”

+++

“Alright so you have twenty nuggets, large fries,” Alice digs around in the bag, taking things out as she speaks. “And… a vanilla milkshake.”

“God, I love you.” Sophia wraps her hand around Alice's head and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Alice laughs, deep from her chest. “Shit, Soph, if all I have to do to secure your love is get you crap chicken, sign me up.”

“You could get damn close.”

Aaron watches the girls sit beside each other in the bed, taking turns dipping their nuggets in the sauce. They’ve always been this way, exchanging barbs and affection in equal measure. Symbiotic in the extreme, one is never far from the other.

You’re home, getting everyone else in bed and settled for the evening. Isabella drove in a night early - Jack’s headed back to D.C. apartment for a series of days-long meetings at the Pentagon regarding his latest project.

Aaron’s excited to see her. It’s been a helluva thing to see his son married, even more surreal to know and love his son’s wife like his own daughters.

His phone rings.

Speak of the devil.

“Hey, Bella.”

Sophia looks over at the mention of her sister-in-law, and Alice looks beside herself with delight. As well as being a hit among the parents, Bella’s a winner with the kids, too.

Some days, Caroline likes her more than she likes Jack.

“Hey, Pops. Want to tag out?”

“Sure. I’ll switch with you. How long do you want to be here?”

He can almost hear her shrug. “Eh. I’ll spend the night. My column isn’t due until the end of the week and I’ve got it covered. Don’t need to work, don’t really need to sleep. Win-win.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. I’ll be there in twenty.”

She hangs up before Aaron can respond, so he just pockets his phone and takes the loss. Sophia, after taking a sip of her milkshake, asks. “Is Bella here all night?”

“Yeah, bug. She’ll be here.”

Soph and Alice share a look.

+++

“Well, Bella has more patience than I do,” Aaron says, dropping his go bag at the bedroom door. “She’s stuck with H&M for the rest of the night at the hospital.”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m glad the girls have company, and fun company, at that.”

“Fair enough.”

The two of you quiet for a moment, and you tuck further under his arm, placing your hand over his heart.

“Aaron?”

His hand traces up and down your back, slow and steady. “Yeah?”

“What can we do for her? She sounded so… defeated today.”

And it’s true. You’ve never seen Soph like that, even at her lowest. If you were honest, it scared you a little.

“We can be her parents. That’s all. And she’ll figure something out. If she needs to take a gap year, she’ll manage. She and Alice can search for programs together.” He sighs before he continues, leaning back to look at you.

“All we can do is ask her what she needs and support her as best we can.”

+++

tagging: @avengersbau @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygranger @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @kerrswriting @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-dr-reid @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @reids-mismatchedsocks @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @venusbarnes @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me @itsalwaysb33nyou @finnologys @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hothothotchner @happyvol7 @ssa-holmes @mac99martin @ssahotchner99 @triangularroses @vagabond-ing @itsmytimetoodream @magic_in_the_eyes_of_the_beholder

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #tali talks cm #tali writes fanfiction #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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captain-cerrillo · 3 years ago

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Operation Asteria

from x

(he just wanted to chat with this justicar asdfghjkl sorry for the slow movement he's just enjoying being off the ship lmao)

“Why send a Justicar?” Luca peered at the shining disc in the Asari’s soft teal hand with eyes full of questions. “Is it dangerous? What does it do? How long have you had it? Where did you find it? Who-”

“Luc.” Isaac’s voice was gentle but firm. He let a gloved hand rest on the engineer’s armored shoulder.

The Asari flashed a blinding smile. “Razor Squad has chased me across the galaxy for this. It’s best to assume they will know of the exchange.”

“Razor Squad?” Ben asked, more curious about the Asari than the conversation.

“Part of CAT6. Mercs,” Eva offered.

“Disgraced soldiers, most of them,” Isaac finished. “They get their name from Category 6: dishonorable discharge from the Systems Alliance. They’re monsters and creeps, mostly. Effective, though.”

The Asari leveled a silent gaze at the Captain and he shifted under it, glancing to Eva who only smiled.

“We’ll get it to where it needs to be.” His gloved hand took the disc only to hand it to the engineer who had come equipped with an insulated carrying case that tucked into his armor. “Thank you for your assistance, Justicar Keros. Is there anything else we should know?”

“Only that we brought Irix.”

Isaac’s brow furrowed but Eva’s delighted squeal filled in the gaps.

“The infamous Asari tea!” Luca scrambled out from behind the paladin to throw himself into the lounge next to Eva. “It can make nonbiotics hallucinate!”

The fury sat with her legs folded under her, mirroring the Justicar until another Asari silently appeared to deposit a tray of silver cups and steaming pink tea with crunchy baked goods. Isaac and Ben both gawked at squealing Luca then shared a look.

“I’d kind of like to try it,” Ben said with a small smile and a half-hearted shrug, still chewing around a mouth full of fried eyeballs.

#operation asteria #isaac cerrillo #eva novakov #luca moreno #scooter roosevelt

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1989dreamer · 4 years ago

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FTH-2020-Seventy-Five Percent

For @fandomtrumpshate‘s 2020 auction, big thanks to @evanesdust for bidding on me and for being so patient.

AO3 link

Summary: Stiles and Derek are roommates at college, and living together is going well considering Stiles is harboring the hugest crush on Derek. When Derek needs an emergency date to his sister's tenth anniversary dinner, Stiles agrees. He doesn't expect it to get messy. He's kept his feelings in check for three and a half years. Spoiler alert: it gets really messy.

From this prompt. “We’re fake-dating and I’m supposed to publicly break up with you but you’ve been irritating me lately so instead of dumping you I publicly proposed to mess up your plan and now we’re getting married, fuck” au.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Fake Dating, Pining/Mutual Pining, Minor Misunderstanding, Human AU (full tags can be found on AO3).

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

“I need a date,” Derek says apropos of nothing, and Stiles carefully sets down his brush, leans across the aisle, and stares at his friend. Derek flushes. “I mean,” he all but spits out between gritted teeth, “that my sister is having her tenth anniversary dinner, and I am the only single one in the family. If I don’t have a date, I’ll spend the whole time being accosted by my relatives.”

“And that’s my problem how?”Stiles asks. He goes back to his painting. The life model flexes just a tiny bit, and Stiles rolls his eyes at him.

“It’s your problem now because I will pay you to come with me,” Derek says, an undercurrent of threat in his voice. Or tears. Could be tears. Derek sounds mad when he’s about to cry sometimes.

Stiles sets his brush down again. Of course Derek would hit him where it hurts the most. All of Stiles’ meager earnings from his part-time job go toward keeping his Jeep running so that he can make the trek back up north to visit his dad when he’s on break from school.

“How much?” he demands, hating himself for being this easy.

Derek looks relieved. It’s a good look for him. Although, Derek looking good is any day of the week. “Thanks. Like three hundred for the day of? Maybe fifty for each additional thing that comes up?”

“And how often will things come up?”

Derek shrugs. “Maybe once or twice. I’m sure at least some of my family will want to call you to make sure that you’re real.”

Stiles claps a hand to his chest. “You haven’t told them about me?” he asks, pretending to be scandalized.

It’s Derek’s turn to roll his eyes. “I have told them about you, but in the context that you’re my best friend at college and we live on opposite sides of the state.”

“So they don’t think I’m real?” Stiles asks, not sure if he should be insulted or not.

“The most common thing I’m asked about you is ‘What is a Stiles?’” Derek grins, private and sort of cheery. “I’ve kind of stopped referring to you by name now. Just easier that way.”

“Hardy har har.” Stiles pokes Derek. To be completely fair, their freshman year, when Stiles would go home, he’d complain to his dad about his unfairly attractive, selfish, loud, attractive roommate. His dad had been convinced that Derek didn’t exist until he met him when Stiles was emptying his dorm room.

Now he and Derek have an apartment off campus, and Dad keeps trying to get Stiles to invite Derek to Beacon Hills because he claims he should at least get to intimidate his son’s future husband before their wedding.

Never mind that Derek has never even been seen with any dates, much less given Stiles any hope that he could possibly have a chance with him.

Until now. Except not really, because Derek just needs a pretend boyfriend, not an actual boyfriend.

“Why me?” Stiles asks, squinting suspiciously at Derek as he tries and fails to draw the absolute lounge of the life model. Stiles is recommending that Isaac never model again. It’s too much ego and not enough clothes, although Isaac did keep his scarf draped artfully around his neck when he dropped trou. “Why not Boyd or Erica? I’m sure either of them would be pleased to play Derek Hale’s date for a night.”

Derek shakes his head. “Both of them have already met my family. And so has Isaac. We were all friends in high school. You’re the only one I talk about regularly. It’d seem too weird if you weren’t the guy I was secretly pining after all these years.”

Stiles intensifies his squint. “Am I?” he asks bluntly.

“Are you what?” Derek refuses to make eye contact, making quick lines with his charcoal across his drawing of Isaac.

“Am I the guy you secretly pine after?”

“No…?”

Stiles throws his brush at Derek, not even a little sorry when it smacks against his chest and Derek complains that he’s wearing his favorite shirt. It’s not his favorite shirt. Stiles stole that a year ago and has yet to return it.

He’s a bit of a stalker. It’s a habit he’s trying to break. He will break. When he and Derek have graduated and gone their separate ways. When all they’ll be in a few years is the occasional drinking buddy, living too far to justify visiting more than once every couple years, work and life getting in the way of their friendship.

Stiles shakes himself. “So don’t make it a question.”

Derek sighs in defeat, handing Stiles his brush back. “Look, Laura already thinks that you’re my secret boyfriend.”

“I thought they thought I didn’t exist,” Stiles says, bitterly. He takes the brush and lays it down, turning to face Derek. Then he gives Derek a tissue to at least wipe off most of the paint. Too bad it’s oil and will stain.

“Laura helped me move in this year. She saw you and your dad from a distance and I pointed you out.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “I could have met your sister?”

Derek squirms. “Yes?” he hedges. “But she was asking all these weird questions like our first kiss, where we go on dates, if we’ve gone all the way yet. I didn’t want you to deal with that, so I distracted her until she had to leave.”

“So I get to meet her now?”

Derek nods. “It is her anniversary after all.”

“Cool.”

Then Stiles ignores Derek in favor of finishing as much of his painting as he can before class lets out.

~ * ~

Lunch is leftover chili with homemade cornbread that Derek made earlier. Stiles taps a pen on some paper, thinking over all the things he knows he should put into a contract of sorts for his and Derek’s arrangement.

Stuff like pet names, PDA, just what they’ve “done” as a couple, how long they’ve been dating, and just how long they are supposed to be together before they break up.

Derek sees the list, scratches out pet names—“Trauma,” he mutters as explanation—and adds the terms of payment as well. He also writes down that the breakup should be public so that Derek can take time to “recover” without his family breathing down his neck.

Overall, there’s nothing really objectionable to pretending to date Derek aside from the fact that Stiles would much rather actually date Derek, but how to tell your presumably-straight roommate that you wanna suck his dick and kiss his lips?

Derek gathers the dishes and starts washing them. “Hey, so, my lab is today, so I’ll see you after 5:00. We can talk more when I get home.”

“Sure thing.” Stiles has to run himself or he’d stay and watch Derek clean up. It’s almost like a dance when Derek really gets into it. Stiles likes to park his butt on the couch and watch him while he pretends to do his homework. If Derek’s lab runs late, it explains why he’s cleaning now. Which means that not only will Stiles miss it because he needs to go to class, but it will be his turn to cook and clean tomorrow.

Ugh.

Stiles had considered Derek selfish freshman year because Derek hadn’t known how to share a room. He’s not sure why though, it’s not like they were each other’s first roommates either. Now Stiles feels selfish because he doesn’t mind cooking or doing chores but he had enough of that at home and was hoping to relax at college.

“Hey, see you tonight?” he asks, Derek waves in response.

Stiles goes to class, the pit of his stomach rebelling with every step. Why are things different now? Derek doesn’t want to date Stiles. He just wants to get his family off his back.

Concentration is out the window, so Stiles just spends all his class time thinking up the various scenarios that his and Derek’s plot could go so, so sideways.

By the time he makes it back to an empty and sparkling apartment, he’s nearer to a panic attack than he has ever been in the last three years including the whole fiasco with his first roommate during freshman year.

Stiles goes to wash his face, hoping that the cold shocks his system enough for him to stave off the attack, but Derek finds him there a few hours later, and Stiles has no memory of it.

Derek gentles him through the remainder of his attack, sets him up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate and his favorite movie, and then just sits in silence while Stiles tries to process the fact that he just had a goddamn panic attack over pretend dating his roommate.

After another movie, Derek moves onto the couch, letting Stiles snuggle into his side.

“All good?” he asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “I will be though.” He waits for a few minutes, long enough for Derek to lean against him and start drowsing. “Tell me about your family.”

Derek yawns. “Well, you know Laura, the one who’s celebrating. She’s older than me, by like a million years. Made her insufferable growing up. And then there’s Cora, who’s about four years younger than me. We were rivals growing up. Every crush I had, she had too. And she’s kissed about half of them. I have a couple older brothers who are even older than Laura and even more insufferable, but in the way that us younger Hales are the dirt under their shoes. Especially my youngest sister. She’s the baby of the family and the most normal. But I guess it’s because my parents were tired when they got around to raising her.”

“Hmm, so many Hales to meet.” Stiles’ heart beats extra hard at that. Not only does he have to pretend to date Derek, but he has to pretend to date Derek in front of—Stiles counts on his fingers—seven Hales that aren’t Derek. Five sibling Hales and two parent Hales.

“And my uncle Peter,” Derek adds, drowsily. “He’s a dickhead. He’s also as old as my brothers but he was far more invested in causing drama with the younger Hales.”

“Laura too?”

Derek nods. “Laura especially. He almost wasn’t invited to her wedding. I will be very surprised if he doesn’t do something that gets him kicked out of her anniversary dinner.”

“And you want me to meet them?”

“Well,” Derek hedges, and that hurts so much and so viscerally that Stiles climbs off the couch and goes to the kitchen to pretend to drink a glass of water from the tap. Derek follows him after a minute. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want you to meet them. You’re my best friend. It’s just that they don’t have the greatest track record with people I bring home.”

“What, like I’m not good enough for you?” Stiles fans the flare of anger growing in his chest. Anything but another panic attack is preferred.

Derek sighs. “It’s a dumb test. I think everyone goes through it, but I don’t know because I don’t participate. I mean, it’s dumb to make your sister’s boyfriend hate her family when before he wanted to be with her, right? It’s like we’re trying to scare them off.”

“So like they’re not good enough for the family,” Stiles repeats.

Derek’s shoulders fall. “I guess. I always hated it, so I wouldn’t bring anyone home so that they couldn’t do that to them.”

“Partners,” Stiles points out.

“What?”

“You said ‘sister’s boyfriend,’ so this assholery only happens with potential partners. Is that it?”

Derek frowns at him before nodding, understanding dawning on his face. “Yeah. That’s it.”

“So, I’ve never met your family because…?”

The absolute look of panic that flashes across Derek’s face is in parts thrilling and heartbreaking to see.

“I understand,” Stiles says. “Well, it just means that I truly am the right choice of friend to take home to mother.”

Derek barks out a strangled laugh. “Yeah, sure. Please don’t call my mom ‘Mother.’ It makes her unreasonably angry. I think she thinks it makes her sound old. I think she sounds older when my nieces and nephews call her grandma.”

“How many nieces and nephews do you have?” Stiles asks, suddenly, acutely aware of just how much he doesn’t know about Derek. It makes him feel like a chronic over sharer and like Derek doesn’t fully trust him.

Derek shrugs. “I think Laura has three kids and my brothers each have two, but that was last Christmas so they could all have more on the way. I have five nieces and two nephews that I know of.”

“And we’re driving down to Chula Vista, right?”

Derek looks relieved, grabbing at Stiles’ floatation device of a conversation change. “Yeah, yes! Definitely. I mean, it’s about seven hours. We could take a flight down, it’d probably be quicker, but more expensive. And besides, this means that we can leave whenever either of us want to.”

“Yeah, how’s that going to work?” Stiles points, and they head back to the couch. Derek sits, angled so that his knee is brushing Stiles’. “Do I just say, ‘Laura insulted me, I want to go back to college now’?”

“Absolutely yes. If any of my family makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, let me know, and we’ll leave as soon as possible.”

It’s a nice reassurance, and Stiles hopes to assuage all his fears as easily, so he and Derek spend the rest of the night, until Derek falls asleep, discussing the finer matters of how to “date” a Hale.

~ * ~

The rest of the week until Derek’s sister’s tenth anniversary dinner blurs by. Lots of packing for what is essentially just a day and a half, getting Boyd to agree to look in on the apartment even though they have no pets or plants that require sitting, and arguing over whose car they’re taking. In the end, Derek agrees to allow Stiles to drive his Camaro for a short stint, and they depart, happily, on Friday after classes.

The drive is uneventful, even when Derek oversleeps the first leg and Stiles ends up driving two thirds of the way to their destination. Derek doesn’t even grump about it, just smiles dopily until he notices Stiles looking at him, and then he steps on the gas.

They pull into the drive of an enormous house at about 11:00 pm. The whole house is lit up. Stiles snorts awake to stare at it.

“That’s your house?” he squeaks.

Derek shifts, uncomfortable. “My parents’ house,” he says. “They’re rich. I’m not.”

“It’s a big house.”

“Yeah. That’s because my uncle and his family live with them, and I think Cora still lives at home and so does Laura and her family.”

“And you? Are you going to live at home when we graduate come spring?”

Derek doesn’t answer. Instead, he opens his door, shuts off the engine, and pops the trunk.

Almost immediately, the door opens and a very pregnant woman waddles out to stare at them, her hands fisted on her hips. The light from the porch illuminates her perfectly.

Derek hands Stiles his suitcase and then starts up the stairs. When he reaches the woman, he takes a step back.

“Cora?”

“Yeah, dumbass. Who else would it be?”

“But aren’t you dating what’s-her-name?”

“Lydia, and yes. We decided we would use sperm donors.” Cora rolls her eyes. “You would know all this if you talked to us more than just at the holidays.”

Chastised, Derek ducks his head. “Sorry.”

Stiles thinks it’s been awkward long enough, so he sticks out his hand. “Stiles Stilinski. Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hale.”

“What kind of a name is Stiles?” Cora asks.

Derek clears his throat. “He’s my boyfriend. And Stiles is a nickname.”

Cora gives Derek a flat look. “Your boyfriend?”

Derek nods. He looks so nervous. He hasn’t looked this nervous since he and Stiles were paired together after the first rooming fiasco.

“Well,” Cora eyes Stiles with a disapproving glare, “I guess you’d better come in and meet the rest of the family. The ones that are awake anyway. Be extra quiet: the kids are asleep.”

Inside is just as opulent as the outside, perhaps more because inside is completely lit up and doesn’t have to battle the darkness of night.

There are portraits of what must be the Hales and their families everywhere, tasteful crystal décor, and polished marble floors.

It’s very austere, and Stiles understands why Derek said his parents were rich but not him. Stiles has seen how Derek chooses to decorate, and it’s in warm tones with soft surfaces and very limited bits of chrome.

Twin sweeping staircases stand guard at the end of the foyer, leading up to what presumably is more austere marble and crystal, severe lines of cold.

Two handsome people, the woman is an elgant black gown, the man in a black suit, Windsor knot in his silver tie, stand in front of the staircases. Cora stops next to them, says something lowly, and then heads upstairs. Nervously, Stiles clings to his suitcase and follows as Derek walks, spine straight, face blank, toward what must be his parents.

His mother lifts her head, and Derek stops in his tracks.

“Wonderful of you to join us, Derek,” she says, like she’s a queen surveying her subjects and finding them very lacking. Stiles had thought his clothing, a dark t-shirt covered with an open blue flannel shirt and khakis, was fine in Berkeley. Here, it’s completely out of place. Derek’s outfit of a maroon shirt and dark slacks looks a little less out of place, but far too casual for this foyer.

“Mom, Dad,” Derek returns, and it is so incongruous with the image they’re presenting that Stiles has to stifle a hysterical laugh.

After a few more moments, Derek’s parents break, and smiling, they all but run to Derek and hug him at the same time. Derek’s father disentangles himself first, turning to Stiles and offering his hand for a shake.

“So this is the man who’s caught our little Derek’s heart?”

Derek flushes at his father’s words, but he doesn’t disagree.

Mr. Hale grins, using Stiles’ hand to tug him into a quick hug. “Welcome to the family, Stiles.”

“Uh, thanks?” Stiles doesn’t wriggle free, but it’s a near thing. Derek must realize how out of place he’s feeling, still reeling from the complete change in demeanor, because he laces his fingers through Stiles’, grounding him.

Talia nods at their hands. “And how is the relationship? Single rooms?”

Stiles coughs to cover another laugh. He and Derek share a bedroom in their apartment—it was cheaper than two bedrooms—so they should be okay sharing a room. A bed might be another matter, but they’ve been living together at college, so if they’re dating, they should already be comfortable with seeing each other naked, having morning erections around each other, and all those other embarrassing things no one ever talks about happening when people start having sex with each other.

Derek blushes. “It’s a little new, the relationship, but it’s strong. We can be trusted to be in the same room.”

“It’s late,” Derek’s father says. “Let’s get you boys settled, and then we can all talk tomorrow.” He looks at Derek with kindness in his eyes. “I can’t wait to hear what you’ve been up to.”

The room he and Derek are deposited into is medium sized. Stiles would have thought all rooms in the house would be enormous. Derek watches him studying it before explaining, “I went through a phase where I didn’t want anything from my parents, so they moved me in here. It used to be a closet, but it was the smallest they were willing to let me be without me moving out.”

“How old were you?”

Derek shrugs. “I was ten.” He frowns at Stiles’ sudden chuckle. “I was very self-righteous. I thought we were bad because we were rich and I didn’t want to be.” Quieter, he adds, “I was very bullied in school.”

“So was I,” Stiles reveals. “I always pretended that it didn’t bother me, but it did. It’s why I chose Berkeley. Close enough to go home to see my dad, but far enough away that I didn’t have to see my tormentors again.”

“I’m glad we found each other,” Derek says. He points at his bed, a single twin. “You can have the bed. I’ve got an inflatable mattress around here somewhere. I can get that blown up and sleep on that.”

Stiles is too tired to argue. It’s only a little after 11:00 pm, but they’ve been driving for most of the day, and he just feels under stimulated and uninterested in anything except brushing the gnarly taste of garlic pretzels out of his mouth and collapsing into a deep, refreshing sleep.

“Bathroom?”

Derek points down the hall, and Stiles takes his travel bag with him. He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he opens the door, but it certainly isn’t a soft coral pink bathroom with matching rugs, toilet cover, and shower curtain. It’s hideous. Stiles loves it.

Everything was getting a little too marble for his liking. This shows a human side to the Hales.

Because he’s Stiles, he snoops a little. Finds magazines in a holder on top of the toilet. Gross. Finds extra soaps and feminine products hidden in the cabinet under the sink. Cool. Other spare products and towels are kept behind a closed door. Good.

Overall, the bathroom passes muster enough that he feels comfortable scrubbing his teeth clean, scraping his tongue, and washing all evidence down the rose quartz-colored sink.

Derek comes in before Stiles finishes drying his hands on the fluffy, rose-scented towel.

He does a double-take at the room, digs under the sink for a little while, and stands up. “We’d better leave no evidence that we were ever here,” he says, ominously. “The bathroom’s been redone since I was last here at Christmas. I think that means, especially because her favorite color is pink, that this bathroom is Lydia’s and we shouldn’t ever be caught in here.”

“How unhygienic,” Stiles replies, pointing at the magazines. Derek claps a hand over his mouth to stifle the sudden bark of laughter.

“I agree. But honestly, it’s probably a lot more hygienic than your phone.”

Stiles bumps shoulders and then heads back to the room. Derek has indeed found and inflated an air mattress. Stiles crawls onto it to test the bounce, and oh, there’s his pillow. For some reason it’s on Derek’s bed. He grabs it, tucks it under his head, and just like that, out like a light.

~ * ~

Stiles wakes up to a warm body next to his, someone’s leg wound around his, someone’s head on his shoulder. He blinks up at the ceiling, watching as the sunrise fills the room with a lovely, rosy glow.

Then he remembers where he is and what’s supposed to be going on and sits up, arms flailing as he tries to dislodge himself from a very deeply asleep Derek.

He hears a clicking sound, and his head snaps around to find an elegant strawberry blonde in very tight blue wrap dress aiming a phone at him.

“Whasit?” he grumbles, glad that both he and Derek apparently decided to sleep in their clothes. Usually, they’re both strip down to boxers kind of guys. It makes it hard for Stiles to sleep sometimes when he just really wants to lick Derek’s abs or jerk off over him. And apparently there goes his morning wood.

“It’s just payback,” the strawberry blonde says, loud even though it’s obviously early. Derek jerks awake, snorting, and gasping like someone doused him with cold water.

It doesn’t help Stiles’ inappropriate boner at all.

“Payback for what?” Stiles asks. He’s never met this woman. Why does she need payback?

“Oh hey, Lydia,” Derek says, gruff. Sexy morning voice alert. “What brings you to our room today?”

“Someone used my bathroom.”

“Didn’t used to be your bathroom,” Derek responds. He turns to Stiles. “Stiles, this is Cora’s fiancée, Lydia. Lydia, this is my boyfriend, Stiles.”

“Hmm, so he is real,” Lydia remarks. She snaps another picture, says, “Stay out of my bathroom or I’ll expose your sleeping arrangements to Mom and Dad.”

Derek yawns, lazily slipping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and using the lax grip to tug him back down. “Mom and Dad already know we’re sharing a room. It stands to reason that we’re comfortable sharing a bed too. After all, we’ve been living together for almost four years now.”

Lydia huffs and flounces out of the room, but Stiles saw on her face; she lost and she knew it. And she didn’t mind.

Derek adjusts his grip, nuzzles into Stiles’ neck again. “Hope this is okay?” he murmurs.

Stiles swallows hard. “Yeah,” he grits out. “This is perfect.”

Still, Derek rolls away from him. “I’m going to get up now. It’s the perfect time for a quick run. There’s a bathroom down stairs, third door on the left. Ask my mom or dad if you can’t find it. Don’t trust anything Lydia or Cora tell you.”

He grabs a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from his suitcase and heads out.

Stiles flops back on the bed, wondering if he’d done something wrong. Derek’s leaving feels like dismissal and Stiles isn’t sure if it’s because he was being a little too enthusiastic, i.e. the boner, or not enthusiastic enough.

It feels horrible, like a pit is growing in Stiles’ stomach, and he realizes that he won’t be able to maintain the charade of being Derek’s boyfriend without someone on his side.

But he’s in Chula Vista, not Beacon Hills. His dad is a whole ten hours away, and Stiles hadn’t realized that he only has one friend in the whole world.

How Derek is more sociable than him, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that if he doesn’t spill to someone, he’s going to break down, and the public breakup won’t be public nor a breakup.

He’s sort of saved when Cora knocks on the door and comes in before he can do more than say, “Yeah?”

“I just wanted to apologize for Lydia,” Cora says. She sits on the bed, cradling her stomach. “Mom and Dad are humoring her because her parents just got divorced and she’s not taking it well.”

Stiles studies her. “You weren’t this nice last night,” he says, hoping that she isn’t offended. When she throws her head back and laughs, he lets out a little sigh of relief.

“No. I’m not a night person.” She rubs at her stomach, catches herself, and sits on her hands. “Look, the baby likes to tap dance on my bladder, and whoever said morning sickness was only morning or just in the first trimester lied their fucking head off. I was startled when Derek brought you home. He’s been talking about his roommate nonstop. I actually thought you were dating before now, but he never said your name, always claimed we’d think you were imaginary if he did that.”

“I get it,” Stiles says. “Whenever someone stumbles over my real name, I tell them I go by Stiles, and every time, I get, ‘What kind of a name is Stiles?’ instead of ‘Cool, something easier to say.’ It’s discouraging.”

Cora’s hand comes up to pat at her belly, and she frowns down at it. “I swear I’m not usually this tactile.”

“It’s okay. It’s your body. Hormones and all.”

“Tell me why you decided to date my brother. Did he finally get his head out of his ass and ask you?”

Stiles coughs. “Uh, sort of?” He winces. “I mean, yeah, he finally asked and we made it official, but I mean, I haven’t dated anyone since high school, and Derek’s never been with anyone else as far as I know.”

“That’s it exactly.” Cora points at Stiles and he looks down at himself. He’s not bad looking—if his dad can be trusted—and he’s been making more of an effort with even his casual clothes since he and Derek began living together. “Derek doesn’t date. So why you? No offense.”

“Some taken,” Stiles replies. He shrugs at her. “I don’t know why.”

“Oh, I think you do.” Cora hauls herself up, shakes her head, and sinks back to the bed. She pats next to her, and Stiles hesitantly joins her.

She leans in close. “So, how much is he paying you?”

“Wh-what?”

Cora has a gleam in her eyes that makes Stiles entirely uncomfortable to be trapped here with her. “I’m guessing that you and he aren’t really dating, but since it’s Laura’s tenth wedding anniversary this weekend, he doesn’t want to be bothered by the copious aunts and grand-aunts that like to pinch his cheeks and ask when he’s bringing home his bride. Ergo, you, because my brother may be many things, a coward, spineless, and utterly useless at getting dates, but he does have a soft spot for you.”

Stiles stands up. “Derek isn’t spineless or a coward,” he says, angry at her. “Why would you even say that? Do you even know your brother? He was terrified to come to college. I don’t know why. He hasn’t shared that with me yet. But when I needed a roommate after my first roommate turned out to be the biggest bastard on campus, he stepped up. We’ve been friends since. It was a natural progression of our relationship because, yeah, we fell in love with each other.”

Cora grabs his wrist. “Don’t leave. Not yet. I’m sorry.” She tugs, and he sits. He’s breathing hard, heart beating a little too fast. He doesn’t know why he got so angry except for the fact that he knows the true Derek, the one who likes cooking and cleaning and studying microbiology and taking life art with Stiles just so he’d know someone in the class.

Cora takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I said that about Derek. I just needed to know.”

“Know what?”

“That you love him too.”

Stiles blinks. Derek doesn’t love him. Not like that.

“I can see that you don’t believe me, but it’s true. Derek loves you. He won’t admit it but it’s in his voice when he talks about you. It’s in the way he won’t let anyone call you imaginary but also won’t reveal your name, because he’s trying to protect you. I don’t know. I do know my brother, and I know that he loves you, and you love him too.”

Stiles doesn’t even know where the tears come from, but he finds himself sobbing on Cora’s shoulder as he confesses that Derek did actually hire him precisely for what Cora accused.

She listens patiently.

Then. “You’re both the biggest idiots.” She throws a roll of toilet paper at him. “Kleenexes get a little rough on the nose when you’re prone to hysterical fits,” she explains to his raised eyebrow. “Quadruple ply is a Godsend.”

Once he’s dried his face and blown his nose, Cora takes his hand again. “Look, I get it. I do. Our family can be overbearing. It was hell keeping them off Lydia’s and my backs long enough to have the discussion about children. And we’re not even married yet. But trust me on this: Derek does love you.”

“So how do I get him to ask me?” Stiles asks. “I mean, after all this. We’re supposed to have a public breakup after this weekend.”

Cora laughs. “Mom and Dad are going to be so pissed they let you sleep in the same room if you do that.”

“I’m serious. I’m supposed to break up with Derek so that he can, I don’t know, save face with his family. I guess because they’ll never see me again.”

She nods. “Makes sense.” She tilts her head, chewing on her lip. “Okay, I’ve got it: instead of breaking up with him, you propose to him. Confuse him. If he really likes you, he’ll probably say yes, and you can be engaged for however long you like. If he still wants to break up with you, then he can’t do it without a little shit sticking to him.

“Oh, I know! You can do it when we go to the mall!” To Stiles’ confused face, she explains, “It’s a tradition to do a scavenger hunt in the mall after a celebration. After we celebrate Laura’s anniversary, we’re going to the mall. It’ll be the perfect place to propose. Or breakup.Whichever it ends up being.”

“One problem: how am I supposed to live with Derek if he says no?”

Cora shrugs. “I don’t think he will, but you could make him move out if he does.”

“Another problem,” Stiles says. Cora rolls her eyes. “I don’t have a ring. I don’t even know Derek’s ring size.”

“That’s easy enough. I have everyone’s ring sizes. I’m the official jewelry expert in the family. That’s why.” Stiles nods. The Hales are so weird, but he finds it endearing. He supposes the Stilinskis would be just as weird to the Hales with their traditions. “Anyway, I’ve got the perfect ring for you to use.” She struggles up and then waddles toward a room three doors down the hall from Derek’s closet room. Stiles waits for her at the door. When she comes back, she tosses a small black box at him.

He flips it open and stares down at the silver band set with a single black cubic zirconium stone. Cora’s right, it’s perfect. It’s neutral enough to go with Derek’s wardrobe full of warm tones and dark pants, but also enough of a statement to bring attention to the fact that he’s wearing an engagement ring. Classy but not overstated.

Derek does have a few bright shirts mixed in, but he doesn’t wear them anywhere but around the apartment. Stiles thinks it’s because they’re gifts from him and Derek likes how soft they are. It makes Stiles unreasonably happy whenever he catches Derek wearing one of them.

“Are you positive he’ll say yes?” Stiles asks. He really doesn’t want to destroy his and Derek’s relationship. Although, he has a feeling that they’re already way past that.

“About seventy-five percent,” Cora says, and because they’re at her room, she shuts the door in his face before he can complain about those odds.

Stiles wanders back to Derek’s room. He keeps staring at the ring. It’s too soon to propose, right?

They’ve only just started dating, right?

They’re not really dating. It won’t be a real proposal. Right?

He closes the box and hides it in his pillow. Then, he grabs a change of clothes and his travel bag and heads to the downstairs bathroom for a quick shower.

~ * ~

Over the course of the day, Stiles is introduced to far more people than he ever expected to meet, and is frankly exhausted by the time they all pile into vehicles, he and Derek riding with Derek’s frankly frightening Uncle Peter and his partner, Freddie, to go to the restaurant.

The ring box is secure in his pocket, and he does his best not to touch it, aware that as the “new” significant other, he’s being subjected to a lot of interrogations, hugs, and all around suspicion. Through it all, Derek stays by his side, directing him away from the more prying of the aunts, or having him hide in an empty room until someone can make an announcement that makes Derek’s boyfriend seem like old news.

Finally though, they all sit at six tables pushed together, a buffet against the back wall of the room. The restaurant is owned by a pair of great aunts who insist on Derek and Stiles sitting next to them so they can gossip about the changes at California University-Berkeley.

“You know, Marsha was a co-founder of the first LGBTQ organization,” the more wizened one states. “How’d that go for you, dear?”

Marsha rolls up her sleeve to show off a large scar. “Thirty stitches and an expulsion.” She winks at Stiles. “And I’d do it all over again because it’s how I met the love of my life.”

He smiles politely. “I’m glad times have changed,” he says. “I don’t think I could scar as neat as that.”

“Well, that’s Diana’s doing. Such steady hands even as she berated me for putting my life in danger.” Marsha sighs wistfully. “Some things don’t change.” With sharp eyes, she pokes at Stiles’ soul, and he shudders at the sensation of being seen and known. “You may think you’re not scarred, but you are.” She turns to Derek. “Make sure you treasure this boy, eh?”

Derek nods almost frantically. He grabs Stiles’ and his aunts’ glasses. “Refills?”

“How long have you been together?” Marsha asks, and Stiles knows he should stick to the script he and Derek came up with, but he can’t. So, he leans in, like he’s telling a big secret, and whispers, “Three and a half years.”

Diana whacks at Marsha’s shoulder. “That means they’ve been steady since they met,” she excitedly exclaims. Stiles flushes at the sudden eyes on their end of the table.

“What I meant,” he stutters out, under the heavy, heavy gaze of, like, a million Hales, “is that we’ve been dancing around each other for years. We’ve only just decided to make it official.”

Derek plops down the glasses. “Don’t scare him,” he chastises his aunts, and by extension, all the nosy, nosy relatives. “I actually happen to love him, and I’d appreciate not having to find him again when you all chase him away.”

As if practiced, all the Hales go back to their own plates and conversation.

Stiles leans into Derek, gratefully sipping at his Sprite. Derek leans back a little, and they balance nicely. Until Stiles remembers what he’s planning to do during the after-dinner excursion. Then, he just sits there while Derek chats amicably, offers to refill Stiles’ plate, and almost holds his hand whenever he gets up from the table.

After the meal, Peter and Freddie give them a ride to the mall. Surprisingly, Peter hadn’t done anything to get kicked out, like Derek had predicted. Stiles thinks it’s because whenever Peter opened his mouth, Freddie squeezed his leg. Someday, Stiles thinks, if things work out, he and Derek could be like that, communicating with just a touch.

At the mall, Laura and her husband, Jordan, hand out a sheet of paper with things to find, and the Hales disperse, a literal army of at least thirty people, led by Marsha and Diana on their motorized wheelchairs.

Stiles allows Derek to hold his hand as they follow along more sedately. Stiles isn’t going to participate in the scavenger hunt, too nervous and afraid that if he uses it as a distraction, he’ll forget why he’s really here.

They get to the second level, and Derek points out a few things on the list, but Stiles has had enough. He sees Cora and Lydia in the crowd and makes his way toward them. Cora catches his eye and nods.

Stiles takes a deep breath, drops Derek’s hand, and then kneels down before he can think about it.

Derek turns to see what’s up and claps his hands over his eyes, like that’s going to make Stiles stand up again.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. “Derek, love, can you look at me?”

Derek shakes his head. He’s blushing, hard. Probably because they’re in the middle of a crowd. Apparently neither of them quite care for the public spectacle. Good to know.

Stiles pulls out the ring box. He takes another deep breath, teetering on the edge of backing out and letting Derek think it was a prank.

Behind Derek, Cora and Lydia both stand, hands clasped together, staring wide-eyed. Cora knows it’s not fake, so why does she look so invested?

Faintly, Stiles hears someone say, “Go for it!” So he gathers his conviction and opens his mouth.

“Please open your eyes,” he says, softly. When Derek does, Stiles is surprised to see tears there. “Derek Hale, I love you. I know we haven’t been dating for very long, but I already know I want to marry you.” And suck your dick, but Stiles doesn’t say that out loud. There are children present for God’s sake. “We go together like two things that you wouldn’t think would be good, but then they end up being the perfect pair. And I don’t ever want to give that up. Please say yes?”

Derek is already nodding, his expression goes from obviously embarrassed to fond and soft, in a way Stiles is entirely unused to seeing from him, even after living together for most of three and a half years.

Behind Derek, Cora and Lydia begin jumping up and down, squealing. Startled, Derek glances back at them before quickly focusing on Stiles again. He helps pull him to his feet and then wordlessly extends his hand. Stiles slides the ring onto his finger. Cora was right about the size and about the style. It fits perfectly, and Derek smiles at it.

Something warm blooms in Stiles’ chest, and it’s because he put the ring and the smile on Derek.

And oh fuck. Oh fuck, he just proposed to Derek fucking Hale and has gotten a yes. Fuck seventy-five percent. Fuck being unsure if his love is unrequited. Stiles leaps into Derek’s arms and is met with a completely off-kilter, totally unbalanced, completely perfect imperfect mashing of lips and noses, and they tumble to the ground, Stiles on top.

Derek is laughing, patting at him, but he also isn’t saying get up.

That’s Lydia, tugging at them. “Do you know how many germs are on this floor?” she grouses, but despite the hard edge from this morning, she keeps smiling at them like she actually likes them.

The rest of the Hales appear suddenly—probably summoned by a text—and all of them, not a one of them looks angry, they all look happy, pleased, already singing congratulations.

Cora raises her phone to show them that she recorded it all, everything, including what was their first kiss.

Oh shit. He’s so fucked. But he’s so happy too.

Cora’s right that they can be engaged for however long they need. At least they are engaged.

~ * ~

The rest of Saturday passes in a whirlwind, and Derek never stops smiling. The whole drive back to Berkeley on Sunday is spent in contented bliss, and when Derek isn’t driving, he just stares at the ring.

About an hour from their apartment, Derek pulls over, and Stiles jerks awake.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Derek says, but Stiles can hear it in his voice. Something’s wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asks again, gentling his tone.

Derek takes off the ring and hands it to him. “Thanks for that. I really liked it.”

“Liked what?” Stiles stares at the ring. It looks wrong in his hand and not on Derek’s finger. It’s only been there about twenty-four hours. It shouldn’t look wrong, but it does. “Is this about the agreement?”

“Yeah.” Derek clears his throat, a clear sign that he’s about to start crying. He looks heartbroken. “The agreement. I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this.”

“Do what?” Stiles asks. He turns the ring over, grabs Derek’s hand, and slides it back on. “Your sister already told me that you’re in love with me. I’m in love with you. I proposed-proposed to you. If you really don’t want to marry me, at least wait until we’re home before you break my heart.”

Derek just stares at him.

Stiles waves his hand by his head. Maybe he’s just too tired of this damn charade that they never should have done. Maybe he just wants something for himself for once and he’s willing to fight for it. “I know, you told me don’t believe what Cora says, but she also said you talked about me incessantly ever since you met me. Dude, we’re in love with each other, and yes it sucks that it took making up this fake dating thing for us to realize it, but if you think that I’m going to just roll over and say, ‘Hey, that was great, let’s never do it again,’ then you’re sorely mistaken.”

Derek covers the ring with his other hand, watching as it peeks through his fingers. “You’re in love with me?”

Stiles feels like snapping, but doesn’t. “Yes.”

Derek nods. “Thanks. I-I love you too.” He puts the Camaro in drive.

The rest of the drive is spent in silence. Stiles doesn’t feel relief at things being in the open nor at the sight of the ring on Derek’s finger where it belongs.

Instead, he feels dread rising. Something is going to happen when they get back to their apartment, and it might just be the end of them. Stupid, stupid, they just confessed their feelings for each other. Things should be looking up, not down.

Derek parks and immediately goes to grab their suitcases from the trunk. Stiles heads up the stairs to unlock the front door.

“So, I want a redo,” Derek remarks suddenly, his tone forced into easy and cheery.

Stiles pauses where he’s unlocking the door. “Redo?”

Derek moves closer, shoves the suitcases aside, and brackets Stiles’ head with his hands. He leans in until their faces are just an inch apart. “A redo.” And he kisses Stiles, and even though the doubt is still there, warring in Stiles with the warmth of knowing he has Derek’s love, it gets a little smaller when he falls back against the door and Derek follows him in.

“I am gonna suck your cock so good,” he murmurs against Derek’s lips.

“Not if I suck yours first,” Derek returns.

And that is the story of how Stiles and Derek finally stopped pining and started boning.

Cora tells the story of how they got together at their wedding five years later, conveniently leaving out the part about being seventy-five percent sure that Derek was in love with Stiles, but Stiles forgives her because while she may have been only seventy-five percent sure, he and Derek are both one hundred percent in love and getting married.

~ The End ~

#FTH2020 #evanesdust #Teen Wolf Fanfiction #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale

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eclecticanalyst · 3 years ago

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We’re Expecting You...To Boldly Go [part 2]

In my last post, I expounded on the similarities in the general premise and structure of The Love Boat and Star Trek: The Next Generation, two shows that on the surface seem not to have much in common but on closer examination have some unexpected similarities. In my follow-up post on this theme, I will be drawing parallels between the main/regular characters of both shows. The crew lineup on each ship can be broken down into six character functions/profiles: The Captain, The Captain’s Confidant, The Big Brother, The Two Buds, The Chick, and The Kid.

The Captain

Star Trek TNG: Captain Jean-Luc Picard

The Love Boat: Captain Merrill Stubing

“The Captain” is...the captain! Beyond his role as the primary authority figure, he can be characterized in the following ways. Being the one to whom the rest of the crew reports, he is a bit socially removed from the rest of the main characters. While they can pal around with each other, they still treat him with a bit more deference even as he comes to be just as integral a part of their found family as the rest of them. The Captain can be rather intimidating at times—especially in the early days, when he had a tendency to be overly gruff with his crew. Part of that gruffness is the fact that he has very high standards for the people who serve under him. At the same time, however, he cares deeply for those people and is willing to put himself on the line for them, even bending the rules a bit in order to help them out of a difficult spot. He’s full of thoughtful advice should one of his crew ask for it, and is the most likely of the crew to give speeches about moral responsibility. He also has a playful streak, which he keeps under wraps but uses to mess with his crew from time to time. In terms of appearance, he’s older than the rest of the cast and he is bald(ing). He’s played by the best actor of the cast—Patrick Stewart is, of course, Patrick Stewart, I don’t think I really need to say more there, and Gavin MacLeod was a veteran actor (probably best known at that point for his role as Murray on The Mary Tyler Moore Show), able to handle both the comic and the dramatic whenever needed.

The Captain’s Confidant

Star Trek TNG: Dr. Beverly Crusher

The Love Boat: Dr. Adam “Doc” Bricker

I could have called this character profile “The Doctor,” following the same pattern as “The Captain,” but there was another aspect to Beverly and Doc that I wanted to draw attention to, beyond their being the respective healers of their crews. Both Beverly and Doc have a slightly different relationship with the Captain than the other members of the crew. They are a bit closer to the Captain, able to address him easily as a friend instead of as a superior officer if the situation calls for it. Notice that when working, Beverly will address Picard as “Captain” and “sir,” but when it’s just the two of them chatting in a more intimate setting she calls him “Jean-Luc.” Beverly is also one of the few people on board that Picard is comfortable with opening up to regarding his own insecurities or worries, while he takes more care to maintain his “self-assured captain” persona with everyone else. The same dynamic plays out between Stubing and Doc: there are several instances of Doc addressing his friend as “Merrill”—which none of the other members of the crew would even consider doing—and the power difference between the two is not as pronounced as it is between the captain and the other crew members. Whenever Captain Stubing has a personal problem, he goes to Doc for advice, and vice versa. Dr. Crusher and Captain Picard have a history, having been friends long before he took command of the Enterprise. In the same vein, Doc seems to know Captain Stubing’s past more intimately than the rest of the crew, as there are a few episodes in which the two of them discuss Captain Stubing’s alcohol addiction and current status as a teetotaler as if this is something Doc has always known about Merrill.

The Big Brother

Star Trek TNG: William Riker

The Love Boat: Adam “Doc” Bricker

So this is cheating a bit because I already have Doc listed under a character profile above, but TNG’s main cast has more people than that of TLB, so a one-to-one mapping wasn’t going to happen anyway. Doc’s “Captain’s Confidant” role deals with his relationship with the captain, and his “Big Brother” role deals with his relationship with the rest of the regulars. The fact that Doc is a bit older than Julie, Isaac, and Gopher means that even though he, like the rest of them, is under the supervision of the captain, he has a slight position of seniority over the other three. He balances the by-turns mischievous and responsible aspects of an older brother figure—he’ll tease Julie about her latest infatuation, and set up elaborate pranks to mess with Gopher, yet whenever Gopher and Isaac get swept up in some not-well-thought-out scheme, he’s the level-headed one who tries to point out that they’ve gotten carried away—or sometimes refuses to get involved altogether. William Riker is, of course, first officer of the Enterprise, and therefore has the same seniority-among-underlings position (in a more official chain of command capacity than Doc does). His big-brother-ness manifests as the poker-playing, jazz-loving guy who will do things like give Worf’s son music recordings that he knows Worf will hate one day but get actively upset and almost personally offended at the idea of Data getting hurt the next.

Not necessarily related to the “Big Brother” role, but another little parallel between Doc and Riker that I would like to point out—they are each the designated ladies’ man of their ships, yet both are able to completely switch to focusing solely on their job responsibilities the moment it is called for. (Honestly, Doc always struck me as going beyond “ladies’ man” and skirting dangerously close to “creep” territory at times, but I did appreciate how he would always drop everything the instant there was any sort of medical issue on the Princess.)

The Two Buds

Star Trek TNG: Geordi La Forge and Data

The Love Boat: Isaac Washington and Burl “Gopher” Smith

Although both the TNG and TLB crews form a group of close friends, The Two Buds are best friends. They are the two most likely people to hang out together in their down time, the two who understand each other the best, the two most sympathetic to each other’s problems and most likely to indulge the other long after everyone else would have put their foot down. When Gopher gets some conspiracy theory into his head about a passenger, Isaac will hear him out and sometimes even help him investigate. When Data wants to do some questionable experimentation on his positronic net, Geordi is there with a tricorder making sure the whole thing doesn’t go completely haywire. Data once said that he didn’t know what a friend was until he met Geordi, and Isaac once told Gopher that he (Gopher) is the only one Isaac would resign in solidarity for. All four men/androids have a tendency to get a little too wrapped up in their obsession of the week—see Isaac’s novel-writing attempts, Geordi’s holographic Leah Brahms, Gopher’s conspiracy theories, and about half of anything Data does.

Each pair also consists of one white guy and one Black guy. (Obviously, Data is an android and therefore is not technically any human race or ethnicity, but he’s played by a white guy and his artificial skin is paler than anyone else’s skin on the senior staff.) The white guy representatives, Gopher and Data, are almost polar opposites—Data is calm and logical, and Captain Picard trusts him implicitly, while Gopher is a goof who freaks out easily and who is often upset with the way Captain Stubing dismisses him (those dismissals are especially prominent in the first few seasons—Gopher does mellow out later on). But they do have some similarities, one of the most striking being that they both struggle with appropriate social behavior as well as their own emotions. This is more readily apparent with Data, of course, who is literally not human and is trying his best to understand the nuances of things like humor and love, constantly asking his friends to explain behaviors they take for granted. Gopher’s struggles are more understated—he has a tendency to make comments and observations that the rest of the crew find slightly tasteless, he goes into several anxious tailspins over the course of the show, and he at one point believes his emotional attachments to his friends compromise his ability to fulfill his job duties. Both Data and Gopher use their respective best friends—each of whom are the more level-headed of the pair—as a steadying force.

Now for the characteristics shared by those respective best friends. The Black guy’s job responsibilities root him in a specific place and often set him slightly apart from the main action. While Geordi can and does go up to the bridge on several occasions, as Chief of Engineering he spends most of his time hanging around the warp core, communicating with the bridge over the com system. Meanwhile, Isaac can be seen wandering hallways and so forth, but he spends most of his time behind the bar, whether that’s in the Acapulco Lounge, on the Lido Deck, or in Pirate’s Cove. The rest of the crew, despite having nominal work stations like the Enterprise bridge or the Pacific Princess purser’s lobby, are seen to roam more extensively. (I’m pretty sure we never see Julie’s office.) Isaac is busy serving drinks in pretty much every episode while Doc and Gopher are chatting and dancing with passengers on the dance floor of the Acapulco Lounge. The Black guy also gets the short end of the stick in the romance department. When you see a Black guest actor on the opening credits of The Love Boat, it’s a good bet that Isaac will be involved in their storyline. If it’s just one Black woman, there’s a 99% chance that Isaac will be involved in her story, and his involvement will be as her love interest. I remember one particularly glaring example of the show going to extreme lengths to avoid even hinting that Isaac could potentially do something vaguely romantic or sexual with a white woman—Julie’s hosting her high school reunion on the ship, and there are a few scenes where everyone is discoing in the Acapulco Lounge. Isaac gets out on the dance floor, and conveniently some random Black woman appears out of nowhere as his dance partner. This woman is not named or acknowledged at any other point in the episode. Over on the Enterprise, Geordi isn’t restricted along race lines like Isaac, but I find it highly suspicious that the one Black guy is the least successful in romance out of everyone on the senior staff. Geordi struggles to even start up a conversation with women he’s attracted to, let alone flirt with them. Data has a better romance track record than Geordi does, and Data usually ends up in a romantic entanglement by accident! It’s as if the show was afraid to let Geordi enjoy those kinds of relationships to the same degree as the rest of the crew, which is a different kind of restriction than Isaac’s, but still a restriction nonetheless.

The Chick

Star Trek TNG: Deanna Troi

The Love Boat: Julie McCoy

The standard lineup for both TNG and The Love Boat consisted two female main characters, thus allowing the ladies to gossip about “girly” things in keeping with gender stereotypes, but Vicki was a preteen/teenager and Beverly had a sort of matron vibe going on, which left Julie and Troi to be the respective sex appeal characters out of the main cast. The Chick has non-standard dress that sets her apart from the others and their status as officers. While Doc, Gopher, and Captain Stubing wore nautical stripes and white uniforms (and Isaac usually had a variation on this outfit, wearing a red or blue jacket), with very little in the way of costume changes whether they were greeting boarding passengers, chatting on the Lido deck, or dancing in the Acapulco Lounge, Julie had no stripes to speak of. She would wear a (feminine) uniform at boarding, switch to a casual outfit during the rest of the day, and was always wearing a gown of some sort in the evenings. Deanna Troi for her part cycled through purple jumpsuits and asymmetrical dresses, her Starfleet badge precariously pinned to her neckline. We didn’t even get to see the pips indicating her rank until she was finally given (in story, ordered into) a normal uniform in season six.

The Chick gets saddled with way too many romance plots, some creepier than others. Giving Troi something substantial to do in an episode usually consisted of making her the love interest of whoever happened to be boarding the Enterprise that week, like the ambassador with the telepathic interpreters or the quarter-Betazoid interplanetary negotiator. Deanna also got her mind invaded by a man who was interested in her, prematurely aged by a man who took advantage of her, and kidnapped by Ferengi (who have a disturbing species-wide infatuation with non-Ferengi women). I’m not as upset about Julie having several romance-related plots, as romance was the name of the game on The Love Boat and the men on the crew had their own share of romantic entanglements—but I do find issue with the fact that when Julie was in love she always seemed on the verge of getting married and leaving the ship, which was a vibe we didn’t really get from, say, Doc or Gopher when their love lives turned particularly intense. In terms of creepiness, Julie had to deal with fending off the extremely aggressive advances of Captain Stubing’s uncle, a computer programmer who rigged his dating algorithm to ensure he matched with her, and a college acquaintance of Gopher who actually came to her door to badger her as she was getting dressed.

The Kid

Star Trek TNG: Wesley Crusher

The Love Boat: Vicki Stubing

For some reason, both of these shows thought it necessary to have a preteen/teenager in the cast whose character has way more responsibility than is realistic for either a cruise ship or a pseudomilitary starship. Instead of Vicki wearing a uniform and checking in guests on the Pacific Princess, we really should have seen Julie’s or Gopher’s staff fulfilling check-in duty (Doc and Isaac were also too often seen checking in passengers, which I will say again is a duty that on a real cruise ship would definitely not fall to either the ship’s doctor or chief bartender, but we’re talking about Vicki at the moment). Wesley, meanwhile, was made Acting Ensign on the Enterprise, saving the ship way more than he should have and probably earning the ire of all the official ensigns who actually went to Starfleet Academy and were losing precious time at the conn due to Picard’s favoritism.

Speaking of Picard, The Captain has a paternal relationship with The Kid—literally in Vicki Stubing’s case, emotionally in Wesley Crusher’s. He is very concerned with imbuing The Kid with strong morals, and has a vested interest in The Kid’s upbringing and making sure The Kid has a bright future. Meanwhile, the rest of the main crew are like an assortment of aunts and uncles, being the cool, approachable sources of advice when The Captain’s not around. In fact, The Kid hardly seems to have any friends their own age. Instead, they hang out with the adult crew members and get involved in their social drama, which may or may not have always been appropriate.

Isn’t there someone you forgot?

The TNG fans among you may now be thinking to yourselves, “What about Worf?” Alas, there seems to be no satisfactory Worf counterpart on The Love Boat. After all, there isn’t really any need for a tactical officer on a cruise ship, so a warrior-type personality is not represented on the Pacific Princess crew. Other Worf characteristics would be that of an outsider, or one who is occasionally not sure if they truly belong on the ship, but everyone on the Princess seems pretty happy to be there. I guess in a pinch I could say Ace, the late-addition ship’s photographer, might serve as Worf’s counterpart, but other than the fact that Ace’s family is rich and it is established that he doesn’t really need a job on the ship to get by, I’m not sure there’s much of an “outsider” status brought to the table here. I also haven’t watched enough Ace episodes to have a really good read on his character.

Thus ends my Love Boat/TNG comparison! It was nice to finally get this analysis out of my head and onto the page.

#the love boat #star trek #tng #comparison

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ikesenhell · 5 years ago

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Elysium

Elysium, Part One. You can find all other IkeSen/IkeVamp works of mine in my Masterlist. NOTES: Wow. I guess we’re here, huh? My first IkeVamp long fic? I’m not gonna lie, I’m sort of nervous--but here we go. Many thanks to @a-shout-to-the-void for being my Catholic resource, and @valkryie-nyte for characterization questions. Here we go.

---

By the time the sun rose on the Castle Elysium, the countryside was already awake. Shepherds tended their flocks in the rolling fields. Farmers milled their way between rows of wheat. In the city, the familiar hawking and hammering and clatter of cobblestones echoed up through the high walls. Scents of fresh bread and spices wafted into the windows and carried down the long hallways.

Peace. Beautiful, gentle peace settled over Napoleon. He lounged at his desk, a writing pen in hand, and gazed aimlessly out the window. A few years ago, he would never have believed it possible. As much blood had been shed--as many armies died--as much as it didn't feel deserved--

The people of Elysium were safe. That was all that mattered. He’d secured the boundaries of the land for them.

Someone rapped on his door.

“Sir?”

Napoleon smiled to himself and set down his pen. “Come in.”

The heavy wood door creaked open. Sebastian--ever his faithful butler--emerged with a tray of tea. “You’ve awoken early today.”

“It was too hot to sleep properly. Breakfast, then?”

“Yes. Will you be taking it here, or in the dining hall? There are some missives waiting for you.”

No doubt it was the usual. Napoleon stretched and brushed back his hair, relishing the warm sunlight on his skin. “I’ll take it in the dining hall.”

“As you wish, sir.”

The castle was bustling with activity. Maids gathered in the courtyard, beating the carpets with brooms to clean them, clouds of dust rising to the heavens. Some of the knights congregated in the main hall; their laughter warmed his heart. Peace! How novel and beautiful it was! Napoleon greeted them with a wave, never sitting on formality, and stepped inside the Great Hall.

He was not the first one there.

“Alright.” Isaac--one of his most trusted advisors and a genius in his own right--screwed up his eyes and squinted across the table. “Now you’re pulling my leg.”

“I’m not.” Jean clasped his gloved hands together, back ramrod straight, the ghost of a frown flitting over his mouth. “I haven’t touched you.”

“It’s an idiom.”

Jean stayed quiet long enough that Napoleon almost laughed and broke the silence. “Explain.”

“It’s just a saying is what he means.” Napoleon grinned at his general and advisor. “Reading lessons are going well, I take it?”

Jean slurred something in his provincial accent--it had never truly faded. Isaac slumped his face into his hands. “You could say that.”

Napoleon settled between them and swiped the cup of tea from Sebastian’s tray. Quiet returned once more; the trio brushed aside the reading materials and accepted the humble breakfast of bread and cheese with murmured thanks. Isaac tucked in, one eye on a new text. Napoleon drank down his tea first. Jean took a long breath and a murmured prayer of thanks before touching anything.

“Here are your missives, sir.”

He cracked into the first one between bites of cheese. The usual: trade route discussions with some neighboring provinces. He set that one in front of Isaac, ignoring the man’s faint hum of dissatisfaction. The next was on infrastructure. Isaac had shifted the first letter. Napoleon sat the second in its place. Jean lowered his head and snickered.

Isaac glared at him. “Did you say something?”

Jean buttered his bread. “I was enjoying my meal.”

The third one was different. It was of thicker paper than the other two and bore a seal that Napoleon knew he ought to recognize and didn't. He slurped down the second cup of tea and set it aside for Sebastian, breaking the red wax with his thumb. “Have I forgotten to respond to anyone important recently?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Mm.” Out came the letter itself. The edges were gold leaf. Expensive indeed. Napoleon frowned at it, inspecting the looping, perfect cursive. “What do we have here?”

Sebastian, silent until now, finally broke into the conversation. “It’s from the neighboring province of Penrith. We have a number of trade agreements with them.”

“Right. Don’t tell them I forgot their seal.” Napoleon scanned the contents, groping blindly for his mug until the butler pushed it into his hand. “Hm. Jean?”

The general barely moved. Sometimes, Napoleon wondered if he meant to become a statue. “Yes?”

“Have you heard reports of highwaymen? They’re having trouble with some in Penrith.”

Isaac blinked up from his book. “Bandits? I thought the roads were patrolled well enough that those attacks weren’t so common anymore.”

“In our region, yes.” Napoleon almost passed off the letter to Jean before remembering his illiteracy, covering for it by stretching the document awkwardly over to his advisor. “They fall significantly outside of our influence. The whole of the Great Forest is in the way between us.”

Jean hummed to himself. “Provides the perfect cover for attacks.”

“So it does. They’re saying that the brigands are sacking coaches, robbing people blind, killing innocents. They want advice on implementing the system we devised. I suppose we have time to go on a tour.”

Isaac stopped midway through a bite of the apple. “We?”

“Yes, we.” Napoleon grinned and stretched, ruffling his own dark air. “You were the architect of our checkpoints, were you not? And Jean has as good an eye for defense as any. Our region here is peaceful enough; we can take the time for a few days to go and assist our neighbor.”

Jean looked, as usual, unenthused. “If that is the order.”

Napoleon turned the letter in his hands, scanning it once more. It was signed simply: The Guild. Now he remembered; they were the merchant-elite of the province. “I don’t see why not. Between the three of us, we’ll handle anything that comes our way.”

#Ikevamp #Ikevamp Napoleon #Ikevamp Jean #Ikevamp Isaac #Elysium #my writing #ikevamp medieval fantasy au #Ikevamp jeanne #ikevamp sebastian

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bigskydreaming · 5 years ago

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But what does the economy of Faetown (or specifically the one Scott resides in as there are multiple similar settlements in the world) look like 🤔 These are all young adults who have up and relocated, running from home. Is there a bartering system, which makes sense since they're partly fey

What? Me, including the Fae folklore about their tendencies towards bartering and double-edged favors in almost everything I do? Pfft. What ever would give you that idea. Absurd!

LOL no, but yeah that’s definitely a thing, buuuuut because I do use that so often in so many things I wanted to make sure it was distinct from like….the barter magic system I used for that one Scackson, yknow? The tattoo magic thing.

So pretty much all the Changeling settlements operate off of some form of homegrown/naturally developing quid pro quo exchange. You need something from someone, you offer something in return. If you don’t have anything they need, you get it from someone else first in exchange for something you do have to offer, and so on and so on.

Precisely because most of these are young adults relocating with minimal resources and a lot of them only partway through schooling and such, its intentionally meant to be an unnecessarily, overcomplicated system at times. It differs from one Faetown to the next, but its never totally streamlined or the most efficient process because they’re literally making this stuff up as they go along. They haven’t figured out the most efficient ways to do things yet.

And in every Faetown there are those Changelings that anyone’s pretty much happy to give them whatever they need, for the most part. Kind of a “this person is always welcome to eat here for free” kinda thing, y’know? Because we’re talking about the Changelings who are basically built into the actual infrastructure of these Faetowns themselves, like part of the very reason they exist. So in Bordertown in SF, for instance that’d include Scott, but also the Ferryman, the Rose Garden, that one dragon Changeling and his Rider, etc. The ones whose magic is responsible for the protection and safety of the Faetowns, bringing Changelings to them in the first place, etc.

And then the rest of the Changelings in each settlement basically just put themselves out there and make themselves known as offering or available for whatever products or services their Changes make them best suited towards, in various ways. In Bordertown, there’s a central marketplace right smack dab in the center/most protected part of the town, near Rose’s Garden and the Aerie. But with some kind of Changeling-dug river that cuts straight through the town to it from the docks so the aquatic Changelings who live out there have easy access to it too. And they organically congregate in various clusters or ‘lanes’ of similar type of wares, so to speak.

So for instance, there’s a row of stalls or shops called something idk yet, but like, Answers Alley, something like that. And this is where the various Changelings who traffic in information can be found.

The diviners, seers, prophets, like Boyd and Alicia…..or the ones that have access to various forms of esoteric or ‘valuable’ information, like that one kid, the Archivist, the one modeled after Aaron idk if you remember. He’s the one whose skin is covered with constantly changing, flowing script like tattoos….writing that appears on his body and is endlessly replaced with new writing day after day. And all of the writing is straight out of various sources of ‘lost’ or destroyed knowledge, like the books or tomes or scrolls destroyed in places like the Library at Alexandria and similar places throughout history.

And also Lydia and her Whisper Lounge would be on this street, there’s a Changeling who specializes in memory retrieval and another whose Change lets them imbue physical objects with memories or feelings, like imprint them onto the object so anyone who touches it experiences that particular feeling or sees that memory. Etc, etc.

So basically, any Changeling who is looking for some form of information, be it a specific piece of knowledge, a way to check up on someone, finding someone or something that was lost, etc…..they go here and just start working their way down the lane til they find a Changeling who can help with what they need.

At one end of this street, it ends up at the warehouse that was converted into a lair for the dragon Changeling to live in, with the roof removed and replaced with a covering for when it rains but otherwise opens up to the air, so he can fly up and out as needed. But since he’s so huge and the city itself just isn’t really adapted to his needs, he really tends to stay put unless he’s needed somewhere for some reason, like to defend the town or do a warning fly-by overhead if for some reason they think outside forces are thinking of making some kind of attack or incursion. Plus, his metabolism is like, insane, and so he’s fairly sleepy and lethargic a lot of the time anyway, reserving most of his energy for spurts when he needs to be flying and fire-breathing and all that jazz.

Basically, his very presence is a deterrence to a lot of threats and he’s one of the primary defenders of the town, and that’s a contribution in and of itself the rest of the town tends to be very appreciative of. So they always make sure he has plenty to eat, but more than that, like, the big drawback to his size and shape is that he misses out on a lot of day-to-day activities and is limited in where he can go and what he can experience firsthand….his magic and that of his Rider sync up in such a way that like I’ve mentioned, they can see through each other’s eyes and kinda share experiences that way….but along with that, the one big thing about the dragon is that he’s actually fairly young, was early teens at the most when he was Changed, and he loves stories.

And so that’s the reason his lair is located along this particular street….because along with housing him, it ends up becoming like a central gathering place for storytelling and theater, performing arts, etc. Changelings flock here pretty much 24/7 (given that there are as many nocturnal Changelings as there are diurnal), and its basically like….the entertainment hotspot, sprung up around the Changeling who is most land-locked and who most benefits/is ‘compensated’ or appreciated via a constant revolving door of storytellers. Changelings just sharing personal stories or weaving tales out of their journey to Bordertown in the first place, or making up stories and kinda bringing back a resurgence of storytelling as an oral tradition, etc.

And then pretty much anything related. Here’s where you’d find the Changelings who use illusion magic to make three dimensional movies, shapeshifters reenacting any number of plays, Changeling singers, bands made up of those whose music or art has nothing to do with their Changes, is just their own hobbies and interests separate of that, as well as the Changelings with actual magic that manifests via singing or music in some way.

Then on another street tentatively called Mercy Row, you have the healers. Isaac would eventually end up here once he was settled in, for instance, but also ones like Brett who can purify toxins and poisons, and part of the river/canal would cut across this street so the aquatic Changelings with healing powers could be found here as well.

Because the aquatic Changelings have such variety and there are some who are just totally undersea 24/7 vs the ones who are more amphibious and can have a presence both underwater and above it, down in the adjacent sub-aquatic settlement by the docks where they all congregate, there’s a separate Market just for the always-underwater Changelings to go to.

And occasionally there are Changelings here who never go above the surface but have specific Changes or magic that the surface Changelings might need or want to seek out. So for instance, there’s one Changeling in the surface market whose magic lets her produce these pearls…that when held or worn allow an air-breather to survive underwater until the pearl finishes magically dissolving. So between her and some others, there’s a few different ways that surface Changelings can take like, day trips to the underwater village.

At the very heart of the Market, the part that intersects/butts up against the Rose’s Garden, you have the various Changelings with nature magic or elemental Changes. So that’s where they go to trade for most food, with the Garden and its various flora-related Changelings able to grow year round pretty much any fruit or vegetable known to man and a number that aren’t. Plus stalls from the various Changelings who trade in food of various types made or obtained via other kinds of non-plant based magic. And then the various weather workers are gonna be situated here most days they’re at the Market, with them usually to be found up in the Aerie the rest of the time (given that the vast majority of the weather workers are flight capable as well).

And then scattered throughout the various streets and lanes specific to their kind of offerings or services, there are various Changelings whose magic creates or provides the stuff the town as a whole trades with either other settlements or with mainstream humanity - which has as much to do with people leaving them alone and there being no official responses to their presence/settlements as the threats/warning of weaponized Changeling magic acting as a deterrent.

So on one street, Kid Midas has his shop, the gold-skinned Changeling with ruby eyes, who can turn anything into some form of gem or precious metal with just a touch. And sure, there’s the occasional Changeling looking to make or give someone some kind of jewelry or gift, of course there’s a ‘demand’ for his talents in that respect, but honestly not that much of one. Changelings are still for the most part the same as they were before they were Changed, so its not like there’s not still a bunch of them who like jewelry and pretty things as much as anyone, but there’s not a hugely pressing need for those things due to the things that are most prioritized in Bordertown. And its just…not the direction the still forming, still young Changeling society is taking, even as its still being formed day by day. So yes, there’s still plenty of individual Changelings who like the things Kid Midas makes and are willing to trade for them, but nothing he can’t ‘fill to order’ on a day by day basis without breaking a sweat.

But in contrast, the gems and metals he can make out of anything do still hold quite a bit of value in mainstream society, so he’s one of the primary figures in Faetown providing the various trades they offer people outside Bordertown in order to keep people off their backs. Like, there’s the idea ‘okay but why wouldn’t someone outside just try and have this particular Changeling kidnapped and thus have a constant source of free money’….but the thing is, when the various Changeling settlements first started springing up as central gathering places, and there were skirmishes, and efforts to abduct and exploit individual Changelings….like, the Changelings worldwide made sure to impress upon people that for every Changeling with a ‘valuable’, exploitable Change or magic….there were just as many whose magic was dangerous to others or outright fatal, and many of these Changelings had instinctive defense mechanisms they didn’t even need to be conscious to deploy.

Like y’know with how the Rose’s skin is like smooth mahogany wood to anyone who touches her with her consent…..but any hand that touches her without permission or being invited to is inevitably going to find itself stabbed by poisonous thorns that can kill with a single prick of the thumb.

So…..there are plenty of Changelings any of the seedier elements of society would love to snatch up and exploit as their own personal golden geese, but there are just as many where anyone who tries that with them, they’re going to regret it. And due to the sheer breadth of Changeling appearances, and how so many of their appearances don’t directly or obviously correlate to their magic……good luck trying to figure out at a glance whose magic is ‘valuable’ and whose is going to kill you if you so much as look at them the wrong way, like the Basilisk and Devil-Eyed Johnny and assorted others. Or Lydia, if she so much as takes off her sunglasses in your vicinity, lol.

All of which means that anonymity is one of their greatest protections. As long as they’re safely within their particular Faetown, and they’re not directly associated with those who go to trade these various valuables with the outside world, some random criminal looking to kidnap the Changeling who makes precious gems and metals wouldn’t even know where to start even if they got someone within Bordertown itself and was able to hunt around looking for which Changeling that might be. Kid Midas is far from the only Changeling whose Change is related to precious minerals or kinda of artistic statuary, etc, and there’s several who look not too dissimilar to him but where touching their skin without permission is just as likely to turn you into a statue yourself.

So basically, as much as different people outside Bordertown gnash their teeth at not being able to just have direct access to any one particular Changeling on their terms, so long as they have something of a pipeline to the valuables they’re being offered in trade on the Changelings’ terms, its counter-productive and not worth the risk to most to possibly end up losing even that and gaining nothing to show for it, if they tried storming Bordertown and either accidentally killed the very Changeling they were looking for, or just ended up driving all of them further underground and into complete hiding instead. Doesn’t mean nobody’s ever tried or isn’t going to at some point, but for now, that status quo is holding.

And as such, even though what Kid Midas has to offer isn’t something that most of Bordertown is hugely interested in or in need of on an individual level, he’s still one of the more crucial Changelings in town, due to his role in keeping their emerging society the way it is and largely autonomous.

And then there are various Changelings whose magic lets them create artifacts or items with different kinds of imbued magic that can be utilized by others, plenty of potion-makers of different types, you’ve got that one Changeling with the magic tears and different kinds of teleporters/transportation magic, so on and so on.

Plus there’s also a thriving black market, since even within Bordertown and the various other Faetowns, there are divisions and internal strife…..plenty of Changelings are far from perfect angels, and as stated, there’s plenty of ways in which Changeling magic can be dark and dangerous and deadly, and there’s obviously a market for those things as well. But obviously none of the Faetowns really have distinct marketplaces or shops dedicated to these things, and its more sort of a ‘you have to know who to find/look for’ kinda thing. So for instance, within Bordertown, we’ve talked about how Theo is the largest presence in that kind of vein, and he has his group he’s gathered around him and they all operate out of that one restaurant he kinda called dibs on in the early days of Bordertown, so that’s where you go if you’re looking for something a bit more ‘frowned upon’ than the wares or services you’d find in the central market.

I tend to picture Theo’s restaurant as being on the outskirts of what the Changelings have kinda claimed as officially within Bordertown’s borders, making it easy for him and his people to duck in and out of town and meet with people outside the settlement, because they know there’s definitely a market there for them and many of their skills and magic…and they feel pretty safe and confident in doing so, because trying to snatch up one of them just because they’re outside the safety of Bordertown is a bit like having a deathwish. These tend to be among the most deadly of the Changelings and most of them would be more than capable of protecting themselves anywhere….they come to various Faetowns for the community and so they don’t have to constantly fend off attacks, but its not remotely because they can’t. So a number of the Changelings Theo’s surrounded himself with are in high demand as assassins, poison-creators, etc.

So among these you’ve got like, the Doppelganger, and Garrett with his autonomous shadow, and Tracy’s feathers that allow her to kill people in their dreams and Violet who’s a constantly shifting mix of human flesh and hallucinogenic cloud, almost impossible to keep your eyes on, let alone know where to even aim when trying to kill her or defend against her.

And last but not least, each of the major living spaces throughout Bordertown have a large floor to ceiling painting in the main area of their home. So like, there’s one in the Aerie, Scott has one in his ‘sheriff’s station’, Lydia pulled some strings and arranged to get one in her bar, as did Theo in his restaurant….Danny’s got one painted in materials expressly meant to be protected from underwater damage, in the heart of the subaquatic village. There’s one in Rose’s Garden, about a dozen others in all, scattered throughout the town and kept in the homes/care of the Changelings who all in all are considered the most influential, well known, most-looked to, and well, powerful and dangerous. They’ve deliberately spaced themselves out throughout the town so there’s one for every several streets or blocks, meaning in an event of an emergency, one of them is in fairly close reach to any and all Changelings and no one has to go far or run for long before reaching one.

The significance of these paintings is they were each painted by a Changeling named Paul, whose magic makes each of them a permanent portal or doorway to the scene/landscape depicted by the painting. They look like ordinary, albeit beautiful paintings, but any Changeling who knows what they are knows that the second they touch it, their own magic will resonate with the Changeling magic imbued in the painting. Which in turn turns it from a two-dimensional image to something that magically gains depth and perspective as the surface of it becomes intangible while the Changeling walks through it, until they emerge out the other side and it becomes just a painting again.

So each and every one of the paintings in question is an image of another Faetown, somewhere elsewhere in the world. And the unofficial leaders of Bordertown, basically everyone who has one of these paintings, offered the same in trade to any other Faetown that allowed them to paint one of their city/town. To be used as a last resort escape hatch should the Changelings in their town ever need to flee somewhere safe.

And each of the other Faetowns agreed, and so in return they got their own paintings by Paul, paintings of Faetown….depicting the very rooms that each of these Bordertown residents kept their own paintings in. So that they too could use their own paintings to escape to Bordertown if they needed to instead. By mutual agreement, every Changeling in possession of one of these paintings, across all the various Faetowns that have one now, all agreed that they never change hands from the Changeling they were initially given to, without notifying all the others first.

Thus, everyone who has one of these paintings acts not just as a guardian of it, ensuring the preservation and safe-keeping of a valuable escape hatch in case of emergency….but by the same token, they act as a first line of defense in case of anyone coming through a painting from the other side, that shouldn’t be.

Like, just in case worst ever comes to worst, and a Faetown was overrun by hostile forces who somehow found out what the paintings truly were and how they worked, and forced a Changeling to touch one to open up the way to an adjoining Faetown….even if some enemy somehow managed to hijack a painting portal and use it themselves, they’d still be emerging right in full view of basically the very Changelings who are most capable of defending themselves and just destroying any attackers, the second they determined “this is not a Changeling who should be using this doorway.”

Like, Lydia’s magic makes it pretty much impossible to catch her unaware, thanks to her constant retinue/crowd of Whispers, meaning anyone trying to coopt the portal leading to her bar is likely to find her already waiting for them, just standing there with her arms crossed and sighing because of how tedious this all is….before just taking off her sunglasses and annihilating them all with a look, lolol.

Also, being not just powerful but influential and in a leadership role in their Faetown’s society as well, the caretakers of each of the paintings are also the best positioned to immediately take charge of coordinating and helping Changeling refugees that suddenly start spilling out of the painting in their home without warning.

Anyway, so that’s the basics as of right now….with one addition. So going back to how I said the barter system as they have it right now is somewhat more complicated than it needs to be and can turn into a pretty intricate web of trades upon trades, even favors or debts made to one Changeling just to obtain something that they in turn can trade to the Changeling who has something they actually need?

Well, as I said, that has a lot to do with their ages and the fact that they’re just making this all up as they go along and don’t always have the best idea what they’re doing or anywhere to really look to for precedence.

But only part of it. There’s another way in which the very complexity of these arrangements is entirely intentional, as a kind of….test many of these Faetowns are conducting in concert.

See, like you suggested, it makes sense for the Changelings to naturally fall into a kind of barter system, given that they’re part Fae…..but that begets the chicken or the egg question.

Nobody knows why these particular kids were taken and Changed, let alone by whom or why, though Faeries is just as popular a theory as aliens. And the way so many Changelings seem predisposed to bargains and debts and trades is something others have noted and taken into account and added to their list of why they think Faeries have something to do with it, assuming that the things they can do now really are magic and not just Sufficiently Advanced Technology.

So nobody is oblivious to the possibility of Fae-involvement in this, least of all the Changelings themselves. I mean, there’s a reason Changelings so quickly became the most widely used slang to describe them.

But anyway, even noting they have that common personality trait among them, it still begs the question….which came first? The personality trait or the Change? Meaning….was the fact that they were all already predisposed to things like that, had a certain way of thinking along those lines, was that part of the reason why they in particular were taken and Changed in the first place? Was that part of the criteria for whomever took them, were they looking to Change individuals of certain mindsets, personality types, perhaps those with outlooks or perspectives or ways of thinking similar to the Fae folk of old?

Or was it the other way around, and this tendency of theirs is an addition or alteration of their pre-existing outlooks and personalities, a Change every bit as much as their physical Changes and magical gifts? The end result of some forces trying to make them more like the Fae, in mind as well as body and magic?

The thing is, even the Changelings themselves don’t know….and they don’t like that. Many of them are constantly looking into their origins, trying to figure out what happened to them, who did it, and to what end, using their magic, combing through ancient lore from various cultures, etc. The one thing most all of them agree on is that they very much don’t like this blindspot hanging over them like a Sword of Damocles. There’s a lot of cynicism in various Faetowns, due to the circumstances that led most of them to run away or seek out a community like them rather than stay where they were in the first place.

So the popular sentiment is that nobody tends to do things for free, and they’re wary of anyone who has the power to take them and Change them on such a massive scale, worldwide, imbue them with such vast powers themselves in a lot of individuals….without a clue who that anyone might have been and why they did this. What do they want out of the Changelings themselves, or want them to do, because….who knows if its something the Changelings are going to be on board with…or have the power to resist, given the likely power of whomever their unknown ‘benefactors’ might have been.

And in the very early days of the Changeling settlements, when they were first seeking others out and coming together in large numbers, sharing these concerns with each other….their tendencies towards making barters, trades, deals….that definitely was something they’d noticed by now, once they had enough other Changelings to compare and contrast themselves too. Most agreed that they didn’t feel that different in that regard than they had before their Changes, like they felt like the same person as always so they didn’t think it was some new trait transplanted to all their personalities….but they also agreed that with that said, there was a slightly more…intense nature to it now. Not just like they were naturally inclined to barter and make deals and take a quid pro quo outlook to life….but there was a vague….something underlying it now, like an additional instinct almost.

With them also noting to each other, on a related note, that they’d pretty much all universally disliked ever being in someone’s debt…owing someone something….but since they returned Change, there was an added intensity to that tendency of theirs too. It was almost like they each felt an instinctive…revulsion, to the idea of being in someone’s debt. It wasn’t a full on compulsion or anything, it didn’t override their decision making or anything like that….but it was just this gut feeling most of them had that for some reason, it felt unnatural to be in someone’s debt. To owe someone for something. On a bone-deep level, they all seemed to instinctively shy away from that, as though their bodies and minds were warning them for some reason that wasn’t good for them.

And this too matched up with a lot of lore about Fae in various cultures, that part of the whole reason behind Fae gifts was that the Fair Folk can’t stand being in a mortal’s debt, that its a form of powerlessness for them….debts unpaid held some sort of magical significance to them, not just cultural….so they would try and resist or refrain from being in another’s debt by any trickery or other means possible.

So when running through the various possibilities as to the origins of their Changes and who might have done it and why, and what they might want from the Changelings in the long run, like when building their various settlements around the world and birthing their own new and distinct societies….it was agreed this was one of the possibilities at the top of their lists for various reasons, and so they factored that in.

And so the overly complicated barter system and web of favors and bargains and debts they all developed some form of, became a kind of….longterm test and the foundation for a possible defense against their unknown benefactors trying to exert control over them at a later date. Just in case. With the Changelings leaning into offering each other favors, bargains, putting themselves in debt to each other as part of their barter system, just as often as they kept things simple and even one on one trades.

Like, even though this defied their very instincts, that they all felt that instinctive revulsion each time they made a bargain, agreed they owed another Changeling a favor, bound themselves to another with a promise to come to their aid if they should ever need in the future, in exchange for the other doing this thing for them now….

This offered them two things:

First, it allowed them to use themselves as a kind of group experiment, a trial run testing out how far this dislike of longterm bargains and debts went with them, and what the potential longterm consequences were, of say, having a longstanding debt to another, a favor they’d let go years without paying in full, a promise with no real and definitive end date, etc. They figured they’d rather find out any potential consequences this held for them, by not following their instincts and shying away from these sort of arrangements….like, if anything was going to manifest further down the line as an actual consequence to things like being in someone’s debt or owing someone a favor or promise….

Well, it seemed to all of them it would at least be better to have the individual on the other end of that debt or favor or promise or oath be a member of their own community, in the same boat as them, with mutual understandings that it was in all of their best interests to not try and utilize these hypothetical consequences against them, or exert any power being in each other’s debts held over them, if it turned out to hold real, magical power over them in some fashion.

And secondly, again - they’d been discussing among themselves all along, what would be the potential endgame of their Changes, what would anyone stand to gain from just….bestowing them with all these various magical Changes and abilities, making some of them extraordinarily powerful, with magic that theoretically could be turned on the gift-givers themselves if they ever came calling and wanted something of them that the Changelings did not want to give.

With it occurring to some of them, in these hushed councils among themselves in those very early days post-Change….that suppose favors, bargains and such did hold magical significance for them now, thanks to their Changes and their own magic. Suppose that being in someone’s debt was something they instinctively felt resistant to, that it was best to shy away from if at all possible…..that like those stories about the Fae Folk, debts could be a kind of binding, that owing someone or something could turn into an obligation to see them paid back in full for whatever they’d given you first...

That because they were in some way or to some degree part Fae themselves now, assuming that there was some connection between them and whatever beings were chronicled in these old legends and stories…..that their new Fae natures were the part of them that was trying to tell them body and mind that they absolutely did not want to be bound to anyone, be obligated, to owe anyone in some form...

Because, following that train of thought….if that were true to any degree, on any level….imagine some beings of some kind imbued you with great powers, magic and Changes that made you stand out as different, but also made it possible to find others like yourself, form communities of yourselves, pool your various magics to decisively protect yourselves from those who would seek to harm or exploit you because of your new gifts. Gifts which you in concert with others like you could use to further empower yourselves and build lives and communities for yourselves that left you vastly better off than you were before, or would be without them. Given that all of you that found yourselves Changed still only wound up having to leave home and seek out others like yourselves because your home was less than inviting to begin with, and actively hostile or apathetic after your Change was revealed.

Well, they concluded, if those beings were to then just sit back and wait while you utilized the gifts they’d given you to empower yourselves and enrich your own lives, build communities far more to your benefit than those which you came from…..

It seemed the longer those beings waited before revealing themselves, the more you became accustomed to using their gifts and becoming one with them, just as you became more accustomed to being one with your new communities….the more you felt grateful for being who you were now, post-Change, with your true potential revealed, with your magic making you autonomous, capable and powerful, with your community now one you couldn’t imagine being without….

The more in debt you would end up being to these mysterious gift-givers.

And once someone arrived at that conclusion, the mere possibility of it was unsettling to every single Changeling who heard it theorized. It wasn’t at all an implausible scenario, even if they certainly couldn’t prove it true or rule out other possibilities….but they pretty much all agreed it was a possibility they had to prepare for…..because if it did turn out to be realized, if being in these beings’ debt did end up binding them to them, making them obligated to them….well, how would they be able to fight or resist that?

It wasn’t like they could pretend they hadn’t already been given great gifts via their new magic, or like they could just refuse to use these gifts, especially since many of them were needed in order to defend or protect themselves from those who viewed them as targets or prey because of their Changes, many of which weren’t easy to hide.

And so they eventually came up with their ‘overly complicated’ barter system with its sometimes completely unnecessary web of bargains, promises, favors and debts owed all throughout their communities, seemingly baffling in its complexity and intricacies…all while leaning into these natural or amped up tendencies towards barters and bargains and just with the spillage over into the unnatural debts and binding promises plausibly seeming to be just the unintentional results of their youth and lack of knowledge or experience with such matters.

While in reality….the Changelings have this whole time been using their barter system and promises and debts to each other to quietly test their own natures and possible ramifications these things had on their magic…..trying to little by little feel their way through the ins and outs of the ‘rules’ that might come with or govern the magic they’d been given without an actual manual to go along with it. Using themselves to test the limits of their magic-imbued bargains and how far they could stretch things….and to practice the trickery the Fae in all the old stories so often employed to try and weasel their way out of their debts or promises.

And underlying all else….their ultimate Hail Mary, should their mysterious benefactors ever appear at some point and try and exert power over them by ‘calling in their unpaid debts’ for the gifts given to them,’ cite that as proof the Changelings all owed them their allegiance or obedience and potentially back that up with magical compulsions or bindings….

Because should that day ever arrive, the Changelings of various Faetowns all across the world were prepared to fight anyone trying to claim they owed them anything, for gifts they’d never asked for and certainly hadn’t been offered guidance on how to make the most of, even while they’d been made targets just for having them….

And their weapon of choice for fighting any possible coercion later down the line, any claims towards owing mystical unpaid obligations….

Was to be prepared to have counterclaims in place to push back with….to weaken the hold initial and unasked for debts held over them….by drawing upon the strength of the bonds and favors, promises made and debts owed….

To each other. Members of their own communities. To their communities as a whole.

So at the end of the day, the barter system isn’t just their quid pro quo arrangement that acts as their own particular version of their economy.

Its also their protective armor of obligations they willingly and with full knowledge of what it meant, made to each other and their communities.

That they were prepared to uphold as more powerful, binding, and compelling than any other debts others tried to hold over their heads. Try and call in past favors we owe you all you want, they decided in regards to their mysterious ‘benefactors’ years ago. Guess we’ll see how much weight that holds compared to what we owe each other, who have been right here at our sides helping us, building with us, the whole time.

#changelings 'verse

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peace-love-piper · 6 years ago

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I want the K

6. Gentle Peck

(Sometime circa Fifth Year, Ravenclaw Common Room, Late)

Ravenclaw House may not have been known for throwing epic ragers like some of the other, more rambunctious houses, but let it never be said they couldn’t have a good time. It seemed like a tradition that happened every other week this year in particular, wherein students from the upper years and a few bold young outliers would take over the common room until the early hours of morning, filling it with music and laughter and revelry befitting the inherently elevated mindset of the blue-and-bronze.

On one such night, Piper Oliver with her purple-and-pink hair was lounging on a cushy chaise-style couch, flushed and giggly from a few glasses of Italian wine, watching Isaac Ortega spinning a seventh year brunette across the common room to a Caribbean dance beat that reverberated from the well-worn record player. The low smoldering embers from the fireplace illuminated their bodies as they swayed pressed together like a scene straight out of Dirty Dancing—all hips and zero polite space; Piper felt her face get hot watching, but maybe that was just the wine.

Piper tumbled lightly to the left, draping herself over the boy seated beside her—Wynn Quirke, who wrapped an arm around Piper’s shoulder with dreamy tenderness. She breathed in his energy, soft and fluttery as a butterfly in flight, and a moony smile spread across Piper’s face. Wynn’s legs were stretched out in front of him leisurely, and Piper tickled the patch of skin on his ankle that peeked out beneath the bottom of cuffed jeans with the toe of her fuzzy orange sock; he chuckled breathily into her hair, the warm air creeping down her neck, making Piper shiver and tuck in just a hint closer. Her head was all warm and fuzzy and after a moment, giving the idea hardly any thought at all, Piper tilted her flushed face up to look at him and said, “I have an idea.” The corners of her lips were tinted a deep crimson-merlot, and when Wynn cocked his head ever so slightly and said, “What’s that Pip?” Piper stretched up the small distance between them and touched her lips to his, soft but purposeful.

She felt a flurry of his feelings tingling irresistible and innocent through her system. Wynn humored her for a moment before pulling away, barely, timid and unbearably considerate of Piper’s feelings. “N-not here…?” he managed to say apprehensively, gaze fluttering around the room—which was much emptier than it had been several hours ago but did still contain a few late-night stragglers. Piper rolled her eyes but her smile was all kindness and understanding as she stood up, a little wobbly, taking both his hands to pull him up with her.

Piper led Wynn down a darkened hallway, his fingers twined with hers, to a back corner where a bust of Rowena Ravenclaw sat next to a tall oak bookshelf. Piper pressed her back up against the books, inhaling the rich musk of leather and parchment. She took his hands and placed them on her waist, looking up into his eyes like there was nowhere else she could possibly look. Brows raised, Piper whispered with a light smirk, “Better?” Wynn made to glance around again but Piper reached up to gently grasp his chin and hold him in place, and then his face cracked into a smile and he leaned in to kiss her, all tucked away and quiet.

(shoutout to @theisaacortega)

#meme #ship #headcanon #wynn #alcohol cw #fml i still haven't even touched all the ones i have of these for nate lmao #fractiondq

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cyborgmagpie · 6 years ago

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I dream of vivid Crystals

". . . everyone has their own dreamscape, each dreamscape with its own terrain, I'm sure you all know the terrain of your own dreamscape. Mine for example is a field of wheat and barley. Now, ones dreamscape always has a link, or a doorway, that leads through into terrain that is not our own. This, as I'm sure you all know, is the dreamscape of your soulmate. . ."

Anti yawned as the professor that the school had brought in droned on about dreamscapes and dreamscape curtsey such as not wondering into a soulmates scape without permission, or not looking into the hidden parts of others dreamscapes. Then the professor went on about how not all dreamscapes were vast open spaces.

It was all common knowledge, ask anyone and they'd be able to tell you it, but for some reason, the school had felt the need for this lecture anyway.

He zoned back in just around the end where the lecturer was summarizing some stuff.

". . . and so it is possible to visit a dreamscape that isn't yours but it often takes both emotional and physical closeness. Now, how about a quiz, turn over the sheets on your desk."

Half of the class, including Anti, internally and collectively groaned. Ant flipped over the sheet and started filling out answers.

'When you sleep will you always end up in your dreamscape?'

'No.'

'If not in their dreamscape whilst sleeping, where can people be?'

'Nightmares, other peoples dreamscapes.'

'Are soulmates able to enter eachothers dreamscapes if far away?'

'Yes.'

He sighed. Filling out the finishing few before the lecturer started asking for answers.

"If not in their dreamscapes, where can people be?"

A girl who Anti had never taken time to acknowledge stuck her hand up, "In an actual dream, or away visiting other peoples dreamscapes."

Anti zoned out until the bell rang, then he packed up and headed for the cafeteria.

---

"Honestly, its stupid, the automatic assumption that soul mate means lover, it can be for friend too, I mean, how must the aromatic people feel."

Anti nodded along to Chase, at least someone had some passion about the lecture.

"Its stupid, me and Marvin are soul mates but I'm fed up with being asked if we'll hook up or anything. Just because Stacy broke up with me."

Anti squeezed Marvin's hand under the table, giving him a sympathetic look, before looking back at Chase, "Dude, there's no need to flip your cap, she was toxic and you know it, okay?"

"Yeah, you've said, but my point was that Marv and I aren't destined for some beautiful wedding or whatever."

Anti squeezed Marvin's hand again, looking around, "Hey, uh, Chase, Bings waving you over."

"Is he? Probably for the skate park later, see you guys." And with that, he got up and went over to the other, Anti waited a moment before leading Marvin to some less crowded space of the school, before hugging the boy just as he broke down.

"I can't take this much longer." Anti ran his hair through Marvin's hair in response, admittedly Marvin's hair had gotten a little curly, but the long curls suited him.

"I get what Chase is saying, but it hurts." His voice sounded so raw and broken, and Anti just rocked them both from side to side.

"Its okay Marv, he doesn't know, and he would never want to hurt you."

"That's what hurts. He's so fixed and I don't have a chance in hell and it tears me up inside."

"Because you love him."

Marvin nods and continues to cling to Anti like a lifeline, no longer sobbing but his throat still felt tight and his eyes were still streaming. "When your ready to go, tell me, I have tissues in my rucksack."

"Thanks. . . Anti." Marvin took a moment before stepping back, giving Anti space to take his rucksack off and offer him the tissues. Anti waited as Marvin sorted himself out.

"Hey, after school do you wanna come over and play video games or something?"

"Your foster carers won't mind?"

"No, Doc's just glad I have friends."

"And the uhh-"

"Don't worry, Isaac isn't as scary as you think, he's fine."

"He's blind yet he knows when we're there."

"Because he can hear us talking and breathing Marv, neither of my carers are scary, okay?"

Marvin nodded, "yeah, I'll see you later."

---

The rest of the day had passed, well, more dragged on, Anti had sent Doc a message so that he knew Marvin was coming over. He didn't expect a reply since he was probably in clinic. At the end of the day he hung around the gates and waited for Marvin. Upon spotting the taller lad he waived. Marvin's face lit up when he spotted Anti and he made his way over.

"Your mum knows you're going home with me over doesn't she?"

Marvin nodded as they started to walk side by side towards where Anti lived, "Home, huh? You've really settled in with these carers haven't you?"

Anti rolled his eyes, not answering the question directly, but Marvin could tell he'd hit the nail on the head. He smiled a little.

"Its nothing to be ashamed of, you don't need to keep your tough demeanour up with me buddy, come on, we've worn skirts together."

"Because Chase wanted to buy one for Stacy."

"We looked better in skirts than she would." Marvin grinned, anti smiled, glad Marvin had overlooked the subject of Stacy in favour of having fun. He opened the gate for Marv, although they could just step over it, it was waist high, but this was less odd. They walled up to the front door and Anti walked in.

"Don't you lock the front door?"

"Doc said we can if we want, but he doesn't tend to unless its night or the house is empty."

"Odd."

"Yeah." They dropped their rucksacks in the hallway, Anti peaked into the dining room, smiling at the sight of a stripped shirt and books. "Hey Robster."

"Hi Ati."

"Doing homework buddy?" Anti walked over and peaked over his shoulder whilst Marvin stood in the doorframe. "Maths, ouch. Fassbinder isn't feelin nice huh?"

Robbie gave a humm and nodded in agreement, "Pops help once I'm stumped."

Anti sighed, "Robbie, what has Doc said about developing your speech?"

Robbie grumbled, "To use full sentences cos then people'll-" Robbie stuck his tongue out when Anti nudged him, "people will take me seriously."

"There you go. And hey, we still know you're adorable. Good luck with devils subject." Anti lead Marvin to a lounge with an L shaped sofa, a rocking chair and a small TV, he sat down in front of the TV, turning it on and passing Marvin a games console remote.

"Have a look and pick out a game." He motioned towards a box with a variation of video games in it.

The two ended up playing smash bros until one of Anti's carers suggested Marvin should get home before it got dark out. Marvin had left feeling pretty happy that he had beat Anti fair and square, not knowing Anti had just picked a weak character and then played as them so Marv had better chances.

"How come you invited Marvin over?" Anti looked up from his food, fishfingers, potato wedges and peas since Doc insisted they be healthy, Isaac had asked.

"Chase went on one of his 'just friends' rants."

Isaac shook his head, eating another bite of fish. At first Anti had found it weird, how easily he got around, almost creepy, but Doc had explained that it was a combination of leaving things in the same places, and the fact that Isaac could still see shadows of things. It didn't explain how easily he ate, but Anti had decided not to ask.

Anti liked Isaac, he told stories and good jokes. Sure, the tinted glasses and cane could be a little intimidating at first, but he had gotten over it.

Isaac finished chewing, "Chase's lose tongue is going to crush that poor boys heart."

"I'm doin' my best."

"We know." Doc responded. "Have you got any homework to do?"

"Done it."

"Really?" Doc raised an eyebrow.

"Chase was going to the skate park later so he did his at break. Me and Marv figured we should just do the same."

"Smart move kid. And you Robbie?"

Robbie hurriedly chewed his food, swallowing, "Done it all."

---

Anti woke up, or fell asleep into- he had never really worked it out, and for the sake of simplicity woke up was close enough. Anti woke up in his dreamscape. A humid cave full of warm pools of water that created a layer of steam across the floor and walls full of glowing crystals, they were an aurora of green and blue still. It felt as if they were stuck like that, Anti knew they were beautiful, but he tired of green and blue.

Anti got up and headed to do what he did every night, first he went to a low down exit of the cave system. There were only two but this one was lower than the other and so, being simple minded as he was, he called it such. He also referred to it as the candy exit.

Upon reaching he looked out to pink fields, lollipop trees, chocolate rivers. The whole place was some form of willy wonka realm. Anti spotted that yet again, someone had put a chocolate bar at the cave entrance. He smiled, whoever lived in the candy land, they were a giver. Anti picked it up, pocketing it and walking down a different tunnel to the one he had come from, arriving at a dead end with a mine cart in it. Anti looked through the cart, pulling out several rocks and crystals before settling on one. The crystals in the cart always mirrored the ones in the cave. Anti was sure the candy person would be sick of green crystals. He placed one in the exit of the cave regardless, before walking up another tunnel, up and up until the cave grew cold and the winter exit came into view.

Anti wasn't sure of this exit. The evergreen forest cleared several hundred meters from the cave entrance and the whole land, as far as Anti could see, was covered in snow. Once Anti had went out into the snow, he had found a sled and gone down a hill. The whole experience had felt wrong, as if he was trespassing in another persons dreamscape. Anti wasn't sure, it was unlikely he had two soulmates.

Anti put the chocolate bar down in the snow, along with a crystal. There were never any footsteps in the snow but something always came and took them.

He smiled. He had done his routine, now he could lay in a dreamt up hot spring until morn.

#anti #antisepticeye #marvin the magnificent #marvin the magician #marvin #chase brody #chase #i dream in vivid colour #dream au #undedicated writes #robbie the zombie #robbie zombie #the host #dr iplier #dr. iplier #dr host #dr iplierst

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morganeuk · 6 years ago

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Trapped between Madonna and the Solar System.

Chapter 3 : Aren't you too old to be member of a fan-club?

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

At the back of the car, Sherlock is fuming! How can his brother - it's got to be Mycroft! - had the nerve to interfere in his life like this! I'm not a child and anyway if he wanted to save me so badly he could have arrived sooner in Serbia. Oh God, I stink... The day can't possibly get any worse!

In the front of the car, John and Mary were discussing the situation as discretely as possible.

"One month, Mary, it took only one month for him to go back to... GOD I'm furious, I can't believe it, what a waste. I should have seen it coming and..."

"It's not your fault, he's a grown man. You can be responsible for all his actions... Maybe it's not what you're thinking. He talked about what? Undercover work? Maybe he's not that high, wait for Molly before making assumptions."

John looks at Mary with a "are you serious?" expression. He's a bloody doctor and she's a nurse. Sherlock was high as a fucking kite, no doubt about it. "Yeah, let's wait for Molly" he says with an unconvinced tone.

"Could you please stop talking about me as if I was deaf?" Sherlock shouts from the backseat, still energetically trying to untie his arms to be able to remove the security belt and get out of this damn car. "Hey, you idiot! Where's my phone? Give it to me! I don't know why you are in charge, soldier usually only good for following orders. I certainly hope for you, madam, that you're not planning to have a baby with him because..." At these words, John turns around and tries to knock some sense into Sherlock but wasn’t able to touch him because the bastard had scooted as far from John as possible. "Don’t act like you can do anything that you want with ME! I'm fully here you know!" the detective shouts.

Yeah, we know... that's the problem. John replies silently disgusted by his friend's attitude but still trying to act like a doctor should in front of an intoxicated patient. It's not personal, it's not personal, it's not personal he repeats to himself as a mantra...

They leave Isaac to his mom and go directly to the hospital after, the sooner this ridiculous situation is over the better.

In the lab, Molly is finishing the analysis on Sherlock's sample. Only the soothing but 'business as usual' presence of Molly makes it possible for Sherlock to calm down enough to cooperate. Asking ME to get out of the washroom but being ok with Molly! I can't believe it! I'm his bloody doctor. John mutters to himself. Or at least, I was... He trusts her far more than me. It's true that MOLLY was part of the big scheme while I was pushed away like a liability.

Sherlock is standing as far away as possible from John and Mary and mumbling "The man refuses to give back my phone, it's inconceivable! Why are they still there, can't they just go away? This is none of their business... Molly, could I use your phone?" the last words are spoken louder but still only for the woman's benefit. She puts her phone away in her lab coat and looks at John.

"Well? Is he clean?" John asks, certain of the result anyway but still hoping for a miracle. I never so wanted to be wrong.

"Clean?" Molly explodes as she walks to stand in front of Sherlock.

To the surprise of everyone, she slaps the tall man hard. A few times. Sherlock makes a face but says nothing. "How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with? And how dare you betray the love of your friends? Say you’re sorry."

"Sorry your engagement’s over – though I’m fairly grateful for the lack of a ring. But I don't think Lestrade or Mrs.Hudson will feel betrayed if they learn about this. They both have seen me in far worse shape and will know that this is a controlled usage. And you... you should know better... I was undercover for God sakes!"

"Stop it. Just stop it. You know we all care about you so much!" Molly insists, nearly crying.

John pulled Sherlock aside to try to put some sense into the man. "If you were anywhere near this kind of thing again, you could have called someone." You could have talked to me. Even if you don't consider me on your select list of friends apparently...

The tall man looks at him with a hint of distaste in the eyes. "Please do relax. This is all for a case. Give me back my phone and tell Mycroft to back off, I don't need a babysitter or a bodyguard."

"All that for a case?" he gives the phone back to Sherlock, there's no point keeping it now, "What kind of case would need you doing this?"

"You won't understand, it's far from your league. If you want to play mind games I might as well ask you why you’ve started cycling to your unsatisfactory workplace."

"No. We’re not playing this game." John says, walking away and shaking his head at the nerve of Sherlock.

"Quite recently, I’d say. You’re very determined about it."

"Not. Interested."

Looking at his phone, Sherlock exclaims. "Ah! Finally! Oh, excellent news – the best. There’s every chance that my drug habit might hit the newspapers. The game is on." He heads for the door with a wave of the hand and a "See you later Molly!". As if the others two weren’t in the laboratory. "He's not going anywhere alone in this condition. Not if I can stop him!" John kisses his wife rapidly and starts running after the madman after a reassuring glance to Molly.

In the taxi, Sherlock focuses solely on his phone, taping rapidly. At a light, he raises his head and looks to his right, and realizes with astonishment that the strange man that keeps interfering is beside him.

"Hang on – what are you doing there. And weren’t there other people? A woman?"

"I’m taking you home. We did discuss it." In fact, John simply followed a distracted Sherlock in his taxi without saying anything.

"I must have filtered. I have to filter out a lot of witless babble. I’ve got Mrs. Hudson, my landlady, on semi-permanent mute."

Not stating the fact that he knows who Mrs Hudson is, John studies his former flatmate as discreetly as possible. What's wrong with him? Drugs may change how the mind thinks, cause paranoia... But how come he reacts like this only to Mary and me... What have we done? What went wrong since the wedding? The last time we talked was... at the reception. Have I really not talk to him in a month? My best friend? Culpability was slowly replacing anger. What can be done now, not much. It's no use to talk to him as long as he's high anyway.

The car stops in front of 221b, "What is my brother doing here?" the detective explodes getting out of the cab.

"So I’ll just pay, then, shall I?"

"Put it on your expense account, I'm certain the government won't fuss for 10 pounds."

Before John can scream a "What's your bloody problem Sherlock!" the door opens to reveal Mycroft. The man, who was sitting on the stairs, puts a slight smile on his face before he says "Well, then, Sherlock. Back on the sauce?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I phoned him. ’Course I bloody phoned him." John explains.

"Of course, part of the job. How does it feels to be a sniffing dog, probably wasn't your aspiration when you left Afghanistan!"

Mycroft interrupts, not liking the direction of the conversation. What's wrong with his brother? "’Course he bloody phones me. Now, save me a little time. Where should we be looking?"

"We?" Sherlock responds before then hears voices upstairs. That voice... Anderson!

"Mr. Holmes?" Anderson asked while opening and closing all the cupboards in the kitchen.

"For God’s sake! Get out of my kitchen!" Sherlock shouts before throwing himself into his chair to sulk.

"I’m sorry, Sherlock. It’s for your own good. Hello Doctor Watson." he replies with an apologetic gesture.

Mycroft follows his brother into the apartment. "Some members of your little fan club. Do be polite. They’re entirely trustworthy and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat. You’re a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can’t afford a drug habit."

Sherlock jumps from his chair to scrutinize John who is talking with Anderson. "Is this what you are finally, a groupie? Aren't you too old to be a member of a fan club?" Looking to his brother he adds "I do not have a drug habit! Get out!"

The doctor's attention is focused on his missing chair in the lounge, so he does not hear the detective's outburst. Turning toward Sherlock, he asks "Hey, why only one chair? The place is big enough for two..."

"It was not useful and blocking my view to the kitchen." Sherlock snarls.

Hurt by the comment, John muttered to Mycroft "Well, it’s good to be missed!"

"Anderson, what have you found so far? Clearly nothing. But... Your bedroom door is shut."

Sherlock let go a profound sigh, no chance he misses that!

"You haven’t been home all night. So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion?"

He walks to the bedroom and puts his hand on the knob waiting for a reaction from Sherlock. "Okay, stop! Just stop. Point made."

John stares at his friend "Jesus, Sherlock!"

"Have to phone our parents, of course, in Oklahoma. Won’t be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line-dancing."

"This is not what you think. This is for a case."

"What case could possibly justify this?" Mycroft asks.

"Magnussen. Charles Augustus Magnussen."

Looking to Anderson and the woman that was with him with a dark gaze, Mycroft declares, "That name you think you may have just heard – you were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you – on behalf of the British security services – that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don’t reply – just look frightened and scuttle."

They both leave as quickly as possible and close the door of the flat.

Sherlock opens the door and scream in the stairway "Anderson! You've forgotten someone." motioning his hand to John who (asking help to all the deity he can think of) merely rolls his eyes at Sherlock's inconsiderate words. God, I need a pint!

Mycroft looking strangely to his brother moves where John is standing and slowly adds, "I hope I won’t have to threaten you as well."

"Well, I think we’d both find that embarrassing." John chuckles.

Sherlock let go a little laugh, looking at the ex-army-doctor with a new appreciation.

"Magnussen is not your business, brother"

"Oh, you mean he’s yours, Mycroft."

"You may consider him under my protection. If you go against Magnussen, then you will find yourself going against me."

"Okay. I’ll let you know if I notice." He walks back to the door "Hum, what was I going to say? Oh, yeah. Bye-bye."

He opens the door widely for Mycroft. Before he leaves, the older Holmes faces Sherlock one more time to profess a menacing "Unwise, brother mine."

Not realizing the degree of exasperation of his brother, Mycroft found himself slammed on the wall with one of his arm twist forcefully under his back.

"Brother mine; don’t appall me when I’m high."

John runs to the brothers quickly. "Mycroft, don’t say another word. Just go. He could snap you in two, and right now I am slightly worried that he might. Don’t speak. Just leave."

The minor government official lefts the two men together and nearly run down the stairs.

"Magnussen?" John asks hoping that being alone with the detective may help to sort out all this awkwardness.

"You're still there? You'll never give up aren't you?" or maybe not, John sighs internally.

"I’m meeting him in three hours. I need a bath. Just leave or I will have to call NYS on you for trespass and harassment." Sherlock declares to the short blond man who remains exactly where he was without any movement toward the exit.

"It’s for a case, you said? What sort of case?"

Frowning in exasperation, but curiously and strangely happy to have someone to talk too, Sherlock affirms with an irritated voice "Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in."

"You trying to put me off?

The detective stops in front of the bathroom and turns to check the man who has been intruding in his life since the morning. Ex-army, sergeant or captain. Doctor. Husband. Choleric. Not as idiotic as the others. Courageous. Reckless. Loves the danger. Sassy. Not afraid of Mycroft whatever the connection is between them. Loyal... "God, no. Trying to recruit you." the detective says before closing the door behind him with a crooked smile.

John lets go of a breath he doesn’t realize he was keeping and walks around the flat, waiting for Sherlock. A case. A case is good; if something can put everything right it is a case!

The door of the bedroom opens quietly, turning on his feet John stares with incredulity as Janine walks out of the detective's private room. Janine. Mary's friend. What the bloody hell, this day will never end!

"Oh, John, hi." she laughs; trying to pull down a bit the shirt (Sherlock's!) she was wearing. "How are you?"

"Janine?"

"Sorry. Not dressed. Has everybody gone? I heard shouting."

"Yes, they’re gone." The wonder still tainted John's voice.

"God, look at the time. I’ll be late. Sounded like an argument. Was it Mike? They’re always fighting. Oh, could you be a love and put some coffee on?"

"... Sure, right, yeah."

"Thanks." She lefts for the bedroom but add quickly "Ooh, how’s Mary? How’s married life?"

"She’s fine. We’re both fine, yeah." he walks to the kitchen looking for the coffee. Everything can't be in the wrong place, it's only been a month for God sakes since the last time I was here!

"Oh, it’s over there now. Where’s Sherl?"

John can't keep inside an incredulous "Sherl!" before explaining to Janine that the man was having a bath. What the hell, a woman, Janine! in the flat... It can't be... I must ask Mary if Janine told her something about this during their "girly talks".

His mind returns to the present time when he hears Janine knocks on the door and GOING INSIDE THE BLOODY BATHROOM WHILE SHERLOCK WAS IN THE BATH!!

"Morning! Room for a little one?!" after that, John can only hear the detective's deep laughs and Janine's giggles.

Oooooh! Did I fall into a Twilight Zone episode!!!

"What the hell is going on!" John nearly shouts for the hundred times in the last few hours.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10958313/chapters/24462282#workskinComplete on AO3, next chapter “Pressure point: John Watson (status to be clarify)”

#sherlock #fanfic #season 3 episode 3 rewrite #His Last Vow re-write

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architectnews · 4 years ago

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Optimist Hall, Charlotte, North Carolina

Optimist Hall, Charlotte Redevelopment , NC Commercial Building, Architecture Images

Optimist Hall in Charlotte, North Carolina

Apr 16, 2021

Optimist Hall in Charlotte

Architects: Square Feet Studio

Location: Charlotte, North Carolina, USA

The Food Hall at Optimist Hall is part of the larger 60,000 SF adaptive reuse of the historic North Highland Mill in Charlotte, NC, which specialized in textile manufacturing from the 1880s through the 1990s. Perkins + Will was the architect for the core and shell and we were engaged to design the common areas of the food hall, including stall layout, FF&E, and design of the courtyard dining area. Our design draws heavily from the history of the building and the ghostly memories that permeate its spaces.

The primary design challenge was to scale the large open historic factory floor down to the experience of the individual patron, while also respecting the historic building and avoiding interventions into the original architecture which might leave a permanent trace.

For this reason, we used furniture to create architectural experience and effect. Picnic tables made of reclaimed heart pine factory flooring are integrated with an overhead armature to create smaller dining spaces within the larger building.

Repurposed old factory windows found in the basement along with light translucent woven scrims are used to create partition screens around intimate 8’ x 8’ “micro lounges,” utilizing the building’s original structural module designed to fit common weaving and spinning equipment of the time. Decorative lighting in the food hall is entirely composed of reclaimed factory pendants, also found in the basement, which are rewired and otherwise largely left in their found and aged condition.

The courtyard features an array of decidedly southern Magnolia trees planted in herringbone-patterned wood planter boxes. Hand-crafted cypress furniture lines the exterior edges of the old mill building while lightweight and playfully colored metal furniture is scattered within a central graveled area, making sweet subtle reference to an image of 20th century post-war yard parties conjured by the gingham fabric traditionally produced in the factory.

Scope of work details • Optimist Hall was once a gingham textile mill and later a pantyhose factory • We salvaged the composite cylinders used in the hosiery manufacturing process and repurposed them as planters throughout the project • We repurposed existing RLM pendants found on site, cleaned them up, rewired them and got them up to code for reuse • We salvaged the building’s old wood windows, stabilized them with new steel frames and repurposed them as partitions between dining areas • We master-planned the food hall, including reviewing food stall design from local architects • We laid-out all food stalls, indoor and outdoor dining areas, and circulation spaces • We designed the courtyard, including the lighting system, and specified the outdoor furniture • We designed custom furniture pieces for the dining and lounge areas • We selected and specified antique, new, and custom lounge furniture in the retail and restaurant wing • We designed the built-in wood canopies around the dining areas • We designed two-layer sheer scrims between dining areas with a ‘gingham effect’ that provides privacy and pattern, allowing light to pass through. These scrims recall the hosiery once produced in the building. • We designed the Archer Paper retail space within the complex • We provided overall design direction and consulted on the landscape design as well as the signage design, reviewing design by others on the owners’ behalf

Optimist Hall in Charlotte, NC – Building Information

Design: Square Feet Studio

Project size: 60000 ft2 Completion date: 2020

Photography: Keith Isaacs

Optimist Hall, Charlotte, North Carolina images / information received 160421

Location: Charlotte, North Carolina, USA

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Walnut Cove Residence , Arden Design: Samsel Architects photo : Todd Crawford New Residence in Arden

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North Carolina Museum of Art Building Thomas Phifer and Partners picture © Scott Frances. Courtesy NCMA North Carolina Museum of Art Building

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Website: USA

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confusedunit · 4 years ago

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A Faint Divergence - Day 8

12 Days of Ficmas - Day 8 Gen, as always. Fluff Characters: Tommy, Bubby, Dr. Freeman, Dr. Coomer, Isaac, Eli, Barney Calhoun, Mr. Coolatta, Sunkist

Most nights at the Morally Gray, Tommy was more than content to take part in the festivities. But sometimes, he liked to sit back and just take in the vibe, and the memories.

The Morally Gray was what the guards had named the under the table bar they'd put together in the lower levels, named in 'honor' of the scientists above. 'Because the Morally Bankrupt didn't roll off the tongue as well' had been quipped more than once, but each time he thought it was funny. They'd stocked it with resources they gathered on their own, though once Tommy had found out about it he'd put some of his own money into it. He liked their entrepreneurship!

Drinks had a cost, but just for them to be able to pay for more alcohol. And non alcohol, of course, mostly mocktails. But the guard who ran the Morally Gray half the nights made sure she always kept a stock of soda for Tommy. He stirred his drink with a smile, a 'Sunkist on the rocks', with an umbrella and an orange twist. Not too much ice, of course, so he still had room for his silly straw.

Sure, he technically worked in some of the more administrative areas of the building, but like, he wasn't a cop about it. His job was to keep people safe, which is why he'd invested money into the little bar, to make sure it was up to code. After that? Literally not his department's problem.

And how much it had grown. It was one of the most bumping places on the lower levels, though it wasn't quite difficult to manage that. They'd covered the windows to the room with blackout paper and curtains, hooked up neon lights of various colors and shapes, and had even managed to install some tables and seats. The bar was still left over from built in storage cabinets and two desks put together, but Tommy had put in a work order to his father, which they both planned to have filled by Christmas. There were two TVs near the bar, but neither were on. They tended to only get turned on when someone brought their game systems in for community tournament night, or if someone brought a VHS tape to watch.

Tommy sighed, content to watch and listen from his booth near the door. Sunkist was with him, lying down on the booth and his lap, also watching the people. He was a curious pup, but well behaved, especially when he wore his Service Dog vest. He wasn't allowed in the upper levels, other scientists getting upset about an animal in the labs, and Tommy hadn't known enough about the ADA to argue his case at the time. Now that he did, it wasn't worth the trouble. At least he could have Sunkist in his dorm, and he could come with him here.

He took another sip of his soda, looking to the table pulled up against the bar. Dr. Freeman and Calhoun had fallen into their usual pattern, slowly having drinks while playing poker and trash talking each other. Bets were between the two of them, but they always played with chips regardless. They usually operated on a 'whoever has the most points wins' kind of thing for their bets. Dr. Freeman laughed and ran a hand through his hair, which was loose that night, and sipped at his second rum and coke of the night. Calhoun groaned and complained about something or other, sulking a bit dramatically as he drank some local craft beer from the town far above.

Bubby was with the two this time, hollering and cackling as he cheered on whoever was actively winning at the time, moving over to stand behind whoever actively had his support. His drink often varied, though it was always alcohol free. They weren't entirely sure if it was safe for a guy who could just make fire to drink flammable liquids, and no one wanted there to be a night they really tested it. Usually he went for a lemonade and iced tea drink, but that night he was drinking a Shirley Temple, with extra cherries.

Dr. Coomer was at another nearby table, talking with Isaac and Eli animatedly about some recent research he had done. Isaac was already drunk on Manhattans, but he was always just happy to be out and spend time with people he cared about, and relaxing had always been hard for him since he was so high strung. When he was able to actually just loosen up, he was happy to just listen. Eli on the other hand was still drinking his first, and likely only, tequila sunrise of the night, and gladly talked with Dr. Coomer about his most recent hyperfixation.

Dr. Coomer himself was drinking the bar's most recent attempt at a 'punch'. Every month they would mix up a new batch of punch with different flavors, originally wanting to figure out something that could stick on the menu, but ending up with a rotating monthly pick which people liked anyway. He laughed, holding his mug with both hands to keep it steady. That month was fig punch, and the purple liquid would definitely stain if it spilled.

Eventually, Eli stood, holding out a hand to help Isaac to his feet as he invited Dr. Coomer to a Virtua Fighter 2 battle. Dr. Coomer laughed, standing and accepting his challenge. They both moved over to the more 'lounge' part of the bar, Isaac held up between them, before they got him situated on one of the nearby couches so they could play.

Calhoun finally gave up on their poker game, tossing his chips into the middle of the table and slowly standing with a stretch of his back. Bubby moved in to taunt and banter, and quickly challenged the other man to a few rounds of Area 51, while Dr. Freeman almost laughed himself ill. Calhoun moved over quickly to help steady him from his wheezes, before grinning at the other and accepting his terms. The three moved across the room, Dr. Freeman lying down on one of the other couches to recover from his laughing fit. He occasionally would whistle to get the two's attention, signing something to them that they would respond to, otherwise slowly playing with his Tangle.

Tommy closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the joy in his chest. When he opened them again, the world was blue, and his father was sitting across from him. He smiled. "I thought you didn't like bars?"

"Usually...I do not." He reached out to where the bartender was frozen, taking the seltzer water she had poured and taking a sip. "But I wished to...see where you, have, been...spending your time."

He smiled brighter. "It's- it's really great. They're- these humans are more resourceful than a batch of honeybees!"

His father's mouth twitched slightly, the closest to a smile he ever usually got these days. "They really, have...made a place for themselves, here." He took another sip. "Likely why you, spend your time here, correct?"

He laughed. "Am I really that- that obvious? I can't help it!"

"I know, Tommy. It's one of, your, more wonderful...traits. Your awe, with humans, and their...ability to, persevere, against all...odds."

He finished his soda, hand bouncing a bit as he set it back on the table. "They're just- just so- they're so interesting!"

"I know." His mouth twitched again, before he looked around the room. "The, supply request, will...be completed soon. I, look forward to...seeing how this looks, after, they have them put, in."

"Thank you, dad. They- they really need this." There's more meaning to his words than just the words themselves. They both know that.

"I know." His mouth twitched once more, and the two of them sat in silence in the frozen bar for a while, enjoying each other's company. Eventually, however, his father finished his seltzer, and set the cup down on the table.

"...Heading back to work?"

"Un, fortunately...yes." He reached out a hand to ruffle Tommy's hair. "However, I...hope you enjoy, the, rest of your...evening."

"Thank you, dad. I will."

The world shimmered and twisted, and the blue faded away. The bartender looked for her glass and blinked, confused as to where it had gone. Bubby turned to call for Tommy, complaining about Calhoun having cheated at the arcade cabinet. Calhoun and Dr. Freeman laughed, almost falling to the ground and off the couch respectively.

Sunkist hopped down off his lap, staring up at him with a calming but encouraging look.

Tommy smiled and stood, walking over to join his friends.

#*confused fanfiction noises*#UoU AU #A Faint Divergence #12 Days of Ficmas #12 Days of Ficmas 2020

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northcountryschool · 4 years ago

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October 16, 2020

Photo: Bryan helps Ella carry a turkey.

At North Country School, the concepts of community and sustainability are woven into the fabric of our everyday lives. We honor these values in many ways, but they are particularly evident during our community farm harvests. This week our campus community took part in several different autumn harvest events, including the picking and storing of our annual carrot crop, as well as the harvest of the turkeys and chickens that will provide us with meat for the upcoming year.

Vegetable harvest days are fun and joyful community events where we can enjoy the fruits of our hard work and patience, while the days we harvest our farm animals are filled with reverence, reflection, and respect. During our bird harvests, we recognize and appreciate the turkeys and chickens that our community has raised from chicks and cared for during daily barn chores. Bird harvests are “challenge by choice” opportunities, which allow students to be involved to whatever extent they feel able as they learn the steps that bring humanely-raised meat to our plates. They are powerful days for everyone, where students and teachers work together as we are reminded of the many hands it takes to support a community, the ever-changing cycles of farm life, and our own connection to the animals that help sustain us.

To learn more about this year’s harvests, see this week’s Farm and Garden section at the bottom of this post.

To get on our NCS mailing list, email [email protected].

ACADEMICS

Top: Grace and Steven in Global Issues class. Middle 1: Nate in Global Issues class. Middle 2: Azalech and Teagan in Global Issues class. Bottom: Ella and Bing in Global Issues class.

In 9th-grade Global Issues class, students have been learning about the United Nations (UN) and that international organization’s Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs). The SDGs are seventeen interconnected goals that the UN has determined would serve as a “blueprint to achieve a better and more sustainable future for all.” This week, students met in Walter Breeman Performing Arts Center (WallyPAC) with their teacher, Isaac, to practice their active communication, listening, and presentation skills during a “Face-Off” exercise. Students spoke with their partners about which SDGs they believed to be the most pressing in today’s world, offering their reasoning behind this belief. Some of the timely SDGs students chose to discuss with their peers included climate action, ending poverty, ending hunger, establishing strong national and global institutions, and ending corruption and establishing just political systems.

Top: Teagan watches a presentation in English class. Middle 1: Cocona presents her fallacy project from China. Middle 2: Landon watches a fallacy presentation. Bottom: Julia and Raia with their Title Trekker bookmarks.

This fall, as travel restrictions have limited the ability to host some of our international students with us on campus, we have had to adapt certain academic and arts courses to accommodate dual-format education. One such class that engages students both in-person and remotely is 9th-grade English, where NCS students in China join in each day via Zoom to collaborate and interact with their on-campus peers.

This past Friday, our 9th-grade English students—including those international students attending remotely—shared what they have learned about cognitive biases and fallacies in presentations given over Zoom to students in the NCS 4th-7th grade cohort. The younger cohort was able to watch presentations and ask questions of their older peers from their own on-campus classrooms, which allowed our students to connect and collaborate while maintaining the space necessary to prioritize health and safety. Using slides, comic strips, scripted conversations, and short original videos, the 9th graders presented their selected cognitive biases, which are thinking errors that are often subconscious, and fallacies, which are logical errors that destabilize an argument. The student-presenters also fielded questions about how those errors can lead to mistakes in reasoning.

ARTS

Top: Larry talks to students in Design and Build class. Middle 1: Intern Marcos helps Zachary with treehouse construction. Middle 2: Isha and Alejandro work on the treehouse. Middle 3: Colton and Koga cut tree branches by the treehouse. Middle 4: Design and Build students stand on their in-progress treehouse structure. Middle 5: Courtney talks to her Impact theater class. Bottom: Impact students work on choreography for their original play.

For the past several years, one of the dynamic art electives offered to our older students has been Design and Build class, where students are able to work together to create and construct new additions to the NCS campus. Past Design and Build projects have included the Community Lounge climbing space, the Glass House playground and low ropes course, and the bridge over the stream in Dexter Pasture. This year’s Design and Build students have been hard at work alongside teacher Larry to take down and rebuild the campus treehouse—a longtime favorite play-space for NCS students and Camp Treetops campers that was beginning to show its age. The group has been using entirely reclaimed materials to rebuild the treehouse, starting from the ground up as they work on their new structure. This week we saw quick progress being made on what will surely be a beloved addition to our campus woods.

One of the many performing arts electives offered at North Country School is Impact class—a social-justice focused course where students work together to write an original play on subjects they feel passionately about. This week our Impact students, along with theater teacher Courtney, began to choreograph a scene for this year’s play where they will be using Janelle Monáe’s song “Turntables” to address the Black Lives Matter protests and racial justice issues taking place in the United States today.

OUTDOORS

Top: Hiking the Mount Van Hoevenberg trails. Middle 1: Students on the Mount Van Hoevenberg summit. Middle 2: Langlang draws on the Mount Van Hoevenberg summit. Middle 3: Dance club meets outside. Bottom: JT bikes during out-time.

This past weekend saw a group of students hiking to nearby Mount Van Hoevenberg, a beautiful Adirondack summit located across the road from the North Country School campus and surrounded by miles of wooded trails. The group explored the autumn woods around the summit before spending time at the mountain's rocky landing, relaxing in the sunshine, enjoying the views, and doing some drawing. Students also enjoyed the sunny outdoors during out-times this week, with one group congregating on the outdoor stage for the first meeting of a dance club, and another group skateboarding and biking by the tennis court’s new skate park.

FARM AND GARDEN

Top: Tess explains Carrot Harvest. Middle1: James and Lucy harvest carrots. Middle 2: Harvesting in the carrot field. Middle 3: Monty picks a carrot. Bottom: A bin of harvested carrots.

Fall at North Country School brings with it the need to harvest many of the vegetables grown on our farm. Over the past few weeks our students have helped harvest and store onions, herbs, potatoes, and sunchokes, and this week our younger cohort of students worked alongside Garden Manager Tess to pick and store the remainder of our farm carrots. Planted from seed in July, the carrots were weeded and cared for throughout the summer by the faculty and staff living on campus, and this past week our students spent a beautiful fall afternoon picking the remainder of the crop. The 800 pounds picked this week were added to the carrots picked last week by a smaller out-time group, bringing the total harvest weight to over 1,000 pounds. The bounty of carrots harvested will be stored in our campus root cellar and used by our kitchen staff to cook up nutritious meals throughout the year.

Top: Erica explains Turkey Harvest to the 9th-grade class. Middle 1: Wyatt carries a rooster. Middle 2: Katie helps Raia pluck a bird. Middle 3: Anatomy labels for the 9th-grade biology lab. Middle 4: Ani and Mia clean a bird. Middle 5: Elyssa helps Leo with a final bird cleaning. Bottom: Azalech weighs a cleaned and bagged turkey.

The days when we harvest our farm chickens and turkeys are filled with mixed emotions for every member of our community. They are days when we come together with kindness, caring, and patience as we process the many birds that will help feed us throughout the coming year. Though traditionally our bird harvests have been all-school events, this year we restructured our harvests into smaller group sessions in order to prioritize the health and safety of our community.

Each harvest began with barn manager Erica gathering the students and teachers, grouped together by cohort, to discuss how the morning would look. She outlined what everyone could expect to see and experience in the hours ahead, and made sure that students knew that they would be able to choose their level of involvement. Erica explained the various stations, which include plucking, cleaning, bagging, and weighing birds, and reminded students that each station would have several adults there to support and work alongside them. For our 9th graders, the harvest also included a turkey anatomy lesson led by their biology teacher, Colin, who previewed what they would be seeing when they examined each bird.

Many students chose to take birds through every step of the harvest process, while others spent the morning at the stations where they felt most comfortable. Students who decided to opt out of the bird harvest also spent the morning working for the community, moving and stacking the firewood that will be used to heat our buildings throughout the winter.

For many North Country School students and teachers, this was their first time at an animal harvest, and the day brought with it many thoughts and feelings that were shared in conversations that followed. For others, the event has been a part of their lives for many years. For all members of our community, these harvest days are powerful reminders about how we can come together and support one another, and about the importance of taking the time to appreciate the many animals that help sustain us.

Check back next week to see what we’re up to on our mountain campus.

For more information about the #ThisWeekAtNCS blog, contact Becca Miller at [email protected].

For general school information, call 518-523-9329 or visit our website:

www.northcountryschool.org

#ThisWeekAtNCS

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captain-cerrillo · 3 years ago

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Operation: Asteria

“A couple of days ago we received an intel tip from HQ. There’s a migrating broker - see also shady black-market dealer - with a Priority Resource on Asteria, Hades Nexus.” Isaac had regretted agreeing to try poker night in the starboard observation lounge as soon as he’d done it, but he doubled down on that regret when Davis marched in with her datapad, mouth moving a mile a minute. “We’ve already made contact with intent to purchase, we’ll just need to rendezvous for collection.”

“Sounds good.” Isaac’s voice didn’t betray his exasperation with the idea that there really were no ‘off-duty’ hours outside the privacy of his locked quarters. “I assume we’re in route?” He didn’t look up from the splay of playing cards in his hand.

“ETA this time tomorrow,” Lt. Ryan replied easily, laying his hand of cards flat on the table between them. “It’s on the outer reaches of the Attican Traverse – backs up to Geth space. It’s an Asari colony, right?” Thurman huffed a knowing chuckle and nudged the pilot playfully from his side. Ryan squeezed the soldier’s thigh and lowered his gravel voice as he leaned to bite at his boyfriend playfully. “Like you don’t keep me busy enough.”

“Asteria actually has pretty well-developed agrarian colonies, both Asari and human,” Davis continued, apparently unbothered by the casual air of the room. “Though we’re meeting the broker at a market in the capital of Blackdamp.”

“Asteria?” Eva said around a protein bar. The boys played poker quietly enough for her to pretend like she was alone with the stars as she stared out the wide windows of the lounge, but Davis had ruined the peaceful moment. Though, an opportunity for action wasn’t too much trouble. “I’m going. I’ve never been and I have got to get off of this ship.” Luca chuckled and she looked to Isaac with a sheepish smile. “With approval, obviously.”

He only smiled at his cards. “And Asteria’s Reaper situation?”

Davis, as usual, had an answer for that. “Oddly enough, the Reapers seem to have left the Hekate System relatively untouched. Bigger fish, maybe?” Isaac quirked a brow and Davis backtracked to the safety of her statistical data. “We’re not expecting any Reaper interference, but the Alliance has a standing travel advisory limiting civilian travel due to Geth activity.”

“Well I guess we should be glad that we are not civilians.” He laid his hand on the table closer to Ryan’s with a weary side-eye because it was suspicious how the older man was always so damn lucky with cards. “You know what they say about a gift horse.”

“No I don’t,” Luca panned plainly. “Am I supposed to?”

“It’s just a saying.” Isaac shook his head and wanted to ruffle the engineer’s curls. “I really gotta get you back to Earth.”

“Should let the kiddo run the shuttle,” Ryan said, stretching out and wrapping an arm around Thurman who had been out of the last hand for nearly half an hour as the game trickled down to a familiar, silent standoff between the captain and the pilot. “Not a lot of chances for a quick pop and stop on the edge of space and he could use the flight hours.” He gestured to Luca with his free hand. The engineer glowered at him over his varied usage of the word kid. “He’s really not bad. A+ in the sims with a particular proficiency for the Kodiak.”

“What are we collecting?” Marie asked as she crossed the threshold. Her brow was furrowed and her face glowed orange as she squinted at her omnitool. “I know you’re not officially on deck, but I need your help,” she gestured to the captain, and he tried not to imagine all the things he’d like to do with a cloak of invisibility. “Sorry,” she said with a light shrug but, she didn’t look very sorry.

“It’s some sort of Prothean relic,” Isaac answered, pulling what he could remember from the datamine attached to the vague mission directive. “Our orders are to hold it on the Berlin until they send someone to pick it up. I’m not allowed to bet but, I would expect special forces.”

“Aren’t you three special forces?” Luca sat in one corner half-heartedly strumming his guitar. But he made sure to pepper the conversation with all of his relatively relevant questions. “That seems a little vague.”

“An N7, Luca.” Isaac shot the engineer a weathering look but it didn’t reach his crinkled eyes. “If they’re having us go through all of this trouble, they’ll send someone capable of protecting it. Whatever the hell it is.” Isaac scrubbed a hand over his face at the idea of all the unknowns before he pushed them aside to focus on the things that did fall under his control.

“Who’s on collection?” Marie asked just before she sighed at the ping of another incoming message.

“Eva, I guess.” Isaac smiled and it was brighter in the safety of close friends. “We’re not expecting trouble?” He cast a heavy look to the Ensign who answered him quickly.

“None on the ground, Sir. Like the Lieutenant mentioned, the mission doesn’t meet the markers for a high probability of major disruption. Statistically speaking.”

“Hey.” Luca strummed a long note on his guitar but didn’t look up immediately. “Can Ben- Phoenix Roosevelt- or um. Hurricane, I mean.” Luca cleared his throat and adjusted the guitar strap around his neck. “Can he come? For like. Back up?”

Marie looked away from her omnitool just to blink at Luca, who glanced to Isaac next.

Isaac waved him off, gesturing to Marie. “I don’t get paid enough to deal with Phoenix problems. You’ll have to talk to the Commander.”

“He can,” she finally said thoughtfully before she turned her surprisingly uncomfortable gaze to the captain. “You should go too.” She spoke quickly and raised her voice to cut off his inevitable protest. “It’s just a quick thing. Four hours tops. It will do you some good to get off the ship. Everything will be fine. You can trust me.”

“You know that I trust you. But th-”

“Then it’s settled. You enjoy a lazy afternoon exploring the markets and I will be the one stuck on the stuffy ship.”

“Marie-“

“I’m kidding. You’ll go.” Her tone was final.

#isaac cerrillo #eva novakov #luca moreno #marie miller #scooter roosevelt #thurman #davis

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oneletterwrites · 7 years ago

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Self Fulfilling Prophecy

Summary: Roman accidentally says the wrong thing, and it sets off a panic attack. Now it’s up to the rest of them to calm down the only person who can calm down Thomas.

Pairing: Platonic or romantic Polyamsanders

AN: I have a simple headcanon that while Virgil is the one that causes panic attacks, he’s also the only one can make them stop.

“You want a villain so badly?!” Virgil’s screech could be heard throughout the entire mind palace. Roman who has been needling the darker side sits frozen on the long lounge couch in the main hub, stuck in his spot. Patton and Logan cautiously come from their rooms at the noise to see what is going on.

Virgil doesn’t pay them any attention. His hands are in his hair, pulling and twisting the strands. He’s shaking and darting his eyes every direction. When he finally looks up his eyes are dark with determination and the eyeshadow he adores is running down his face.

Without word he marches over to the screen they use to see through Thomas’s eyes. It blinks to life when he gets close to the panel they fight over to dictate who has the most control. Thomas is doing homework by the looks of the notes and textbooks. He’s listening to music. Virgil sends a wicked look Roman’s way.

“What are you-” Roman’s question is cut off by Virgil smacking his fist down hard on the panel right over a red button in the far corner. Lights flash in an array of red, alarms blare through unseen speakers, and Thomas stops working.

“Well you got one!” Virgil yells again with a strangled tone to his voice. Panic. Thomas is hyperventilating, his lungs constricting refusing to give the right amount of air. His hands shake and his vision swims with the onslaught of sudden terror that erupts inside him.

The others are rushing about but there’s nothing they can do. No happy thought, no dream of the future, no logical process can make it’s way to Thomas to get him to calm down. He’s stuck. Soon he’s running upstairs, finding blankets and curling them around himself. The screen gets blurry as the boy begins to cry.

“It’s too much. It’s so much, it’s never enough,” Thomas’s sob stricken voice hits them as the boy talks to himself. His tears come harder and he curls up in on himself. There’s nothing they can do. No matter how much they plead and say sweet words to him, it’s not enough.

“Virgil stop it!” Roman snaps at him. Virgil shakes head defiantly, hand still in a fist pressing down the red button. His own breathing is harsh and choked. The panic attack he set off very much a mirror to his own.

“Virgil sweetie please,” Patton does his best to reason. He’s crying too but mostly because he can’t do enough to make Thomas not sad. His positive thoughts can only do so much to calm Thomas down.

“There is no reason for this out burst, me and you have gone over a specific plan to keep Thomas from worrying over his work load.” Logan adds in. For all he prides himself of being the level headed one, there’s an edge of bitterness in his tone. Thinking through this, trying to find reason, does even less for Thomas.

Virgil glares hard and dangerous, as dangerous as one can while panic floods their system, at Roman. Roman grits his teeth and glares back.

“I thought we’ve moved past this!” Virgil screams at him, his voice shrill and cracking. Panic breaks way to broken. The hub is silent save for Thomas’s sobs mixed in with Virgil’s. Roman deflates from his bravado. Tentatively goes forward, reaching out slowly for Virgil who has smacked a hand to his face to rub away the frustrated tears.

“I’m sorry,” Roman says plainly. Virgil shakes his head hard, body shaking. He flinches when Roman touches him and is enveloped in the bold hold. Another heartaching sob rips from him and his hand comes off the button. The lights stop and the alarms cease but leave a ringing in their ears.

“I’m sorry,” Roman says again softer.

“No you’re not,” Virgil says back to him angrily. Still he clings to Roman, hands digging into claws on his back and refusing to let go. A dramatic single tears drips down Roman’s face.

“I am,” He says again but his voice cracks to shatter his confidence. Patton comes closer, rubbing Virgil’s back to soothe him. Logan joins in, placing a hand on Virgil’s low back, counting a slow rhythm for him to follow along with. Only once Virgil’s breathing is back to normal does Thomas’s follow. Lungs open up and the blankets are off his head to get fresh air.

“Easy there love, you need some water,” Patton finds some for him, forcing him to drink it but he refuses to let go of Roman. Thomas searches around him. He finds a water bottle and chugs half of it.

“It’s okay darling, I’m sorry,” Roman says. Virgil takes a shuddering breath, burying his face in Roman’s chest once more. Thomas flops down on his blankets staring at his ceiling. He’s calm now.

“What happened?” Logan is the one to ask. Virgil whines. Roman sighs.

“I had.. admittedly pushed him too far, talking about grand future adventures we’ll take Thomas on,” Roman curls Virgil in tighter. “I made the mistake of saying Virgil might try to stop it.” Patton whines sympathetically and wiggles himself to hug Virgil from behind. Logan pushes up his glasses and gives Roman a chiding look.

“Even if I intended for it to be a joke, I should have known his frazzled nerves over the homework might set him off,” Roman goes on to explain himself a little more. Virgil had been a wreck on the couch, trying to get himself together for Thomas’s sake so he didn’t mess up his answers. Roman thought distracting him would help. It did, until his rueful comment.

“It’s okay now sweetheart, we’ve got you,” Patton coos nuzzling his head into the Virgil’s back. He whimpers at the action but doesn’t move from his spot. Logan lets them hug while attending to Thomas, making him take a shower to stop his frazzled nerves and then go back down to see if he still feels up to completing his work.

“I’m sorry,” It’s mumbled and muffled but they hear it all the same. Patton goes back to saying his loving words and Roman rocks them back and forth. They do their best to help calm Virgil down.

“Well,” Logan adjusts his glasses, making sure Thomas has on comforting music that Patton has deemed the ‘after episode playlist’, while he sits back down to look over the rest of his works. Only a few more problems. Thomas takes a deep breath and nods his head. He can do this. Roman releases the small button he managed to press and soon Thomas is working again.

“While I understand you were trying to make a point, a self fulfilling prophecy isn’t something I would recommend again.” Patton gives Logan a fierce look for his words but lets it go to help guide Virgil to the couch and swallow him in comfort. Logan keeps his eyes on the controls knowing after an attack the mind tends to be foggy and Thomas might need him, but he makes sure to run his hand through Virgil’s hair when gets the chance.

“I did not mean to upset you my dear,” Roman says again, holding Virgil almost in his lap. After that they sit in silence. Thomas finishes his homework and they deem it appropriate to take a nap. So Thomas crashes right on the couch. His head feels foggy but sleep should clear him right up.

“I’m sorry too,” Virgil mutters apologizing as well. He’s cooed to and cuddled. It helps him release the last of tension he holds, the last of the tension in Thomas to let him drift fully off to sleep.

“I know you didn’t mean it like that and I still freaked out anyway,” Virgil whimpers into Roman’s chest. The royal shushes him and Patton plays with his hair.

“It’s over now,” Roman reassures him.

“It’s over, isn’t it, isn’t it, isn’t it over,” Patton whispers. Virgil snorts and gives Patton a dumb look.

“Well it is!” He reasons. He fakes a pout and only smiles when Logan presses into him, pushing him into Virgil, and making them all fall down like dominoes onto the couch. There’s a giggle and a snicker and lots of shifting and shuffling to get comfortable on the couch.

“Don’t do that again,” Virgil says. Roman hums thoughtfully, bringing a hand to rub at Virgil’s hair. He ended up on the bottom with his head resting on the arm of the couch. Virgil lies cuddled into his chest with Patton smushing him from behind.

“After today I highly doubt Roman will,” Logan butts into the conversation. Patton giggles at the glare Roman sends him but there’s no malice in it, especially cause Logan can’t see with himself facing away from them all yet still resting on Patton. He’s reading a book that looks strangely like the homework Thomas had been working on.

“Excuse you Isaac Nerd-ton,” Roman huffs. He tries to reach for Logan to do something though all of them on him makes it hard. Patton reaches and ‘boops’ Roman’s nose officially sealing his reigned fate. There’s a slight temptation to roll them off him but there’s a sigh from Virgil, a sleepy something that causes them all to relax as well.

“Nap time, had been a good idea,” Logan contemplates, closing his book softly. He shuffles into the others and Patton snuggles more so as well. Roman smirks happily at the sight of them all wrapped in his arms, or for the most part they are. It’s how it should be in his mind. A yawn makes itself known. Logan usually is right, and a nap had been his idea. With another whisper to Virgil promising to protect him, he shuts his eyes to join the others in a peaceful sleep.

#polyamsanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #thomas sanders #drabble #not hetalia

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