#‘‘Leslie what is this?’’ good question! unfortunately I have no good answer. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thehangeddemon · 11 months

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Shards, Part I || Charleson, Captain Issott, Lawrina, & Xavier || July, 2023

Leslie: It was still morning by the time the witch awoke. The school was lively, but not as he was accustomed. Several children were still asleep, as expected.

This was a new, hospitable environment, but trust was going to be nearly impossible for some. Understandable, Leslie thought, but that wing of the school was off-limits for now. He wanted to reserve his energy for Charles, only then would he give what was left of himself to others.

If anyone was useful to the children, it was the man to have experienced their pain firsthand.

The memory of Charles strapped to that bed still haunted him, as he knew it would Charles' husband.

His roaming led him to the kitchen, of course, where he began rolling up his sleeves and taking inventory.

He wanted the advice of his daughters; their experiences in this situation were unfortunate, but vital. For now, his phone was squished between his ear and shoulder, ready to put his hands to work in the kitchen making breakfast. Despite only five hours of sleep, he couldn't just lay in bed doing nothing and wishing for more rest. He had to talk to Tristan.

Tristan: It had taken all the patience Tristan could summon, but he'd managed to refrain from blowing up Leslie's phone with concerned calls and messages. Charles had said Leslie was okay and although he had no reason not to trust that, he wouldn't be able to relax until Leslie was home and he was able to confirm it for himself.

The singular silver lining in all this was the fact that the girls had been asleep when Tristan had gotten the call from Charles and hadn't had to see his worried face. The same went for the hours since, with him off at work and his worry out of their line of sight.

Work was a welcome distraction, but there was only so much it could do. He was just about at the end of his rope.

Luckily, the universe intervened before that rope snapped.

"Are you okay? Where are you?" were given in lieu of a greeting when he answered Leslie's call.

Leslie: "Good morning," Leslie sighed. Hearing Tristan's voice was like a spray of cool water to his face. The reality of last night harsher.

"I'm at Charles' school. Making breakfast, gonna help where I can with - I'm okay." Perhaps he should have started with that.

Tristan: Leslie definitely should've started with that but even if he had, it would have done nothing to ease Tristan's worry because he had even more questions now than he had before.

"Why are you at Charles' school? Why didn't you call me when you left? I've been a basket case all morning, Les."

Leslie: "Well, y'all were with your mother and I didn't know I'd be that long. Didn't know I'd be here, after... "

For fuck's sake, they had performed magic together. He didn't have to treat this so delicately, did he? Charles was Tristan's friend, too.

"Charles was taken, last night. His family came to me for help. It was a lot at once."

Tristan: "What? Charles was taken?" Oh this was much worse than any scenario he'd been imagining for why Charles would feel the need to call him at the crack of goddamn dawn.

And now he was even more upset.

"Leslie Ethan Issott, did you really go off and do cowboy shit to help Charles without telling me? What are you, Liam Neeson?! What if something had--" Tristan took a deep breath. Two deep breaths. "Is Charles okay?" he asked, more calmly.

Leslie: The phone was pulled away by an inch, wincing at his scolding and feeling the difference in their ages as he hadn't felt in years.

"He'll be fine." That wasn't a lie. He just didn't feel a need to go into details and upset Tristan more. He wasn't very good at lying, so if he could just stick to what was truth, he could make it through this conversation.

"There were children there, just like Ruby and Ester. We didn't know until we got there. I won't be home until late. I wanna help where I can. Are you really mad at me?"

Tristan: God, it just kept getting worse and worse. How was that even possible?

“Fuck.” Tristan heaved a long sigh and leaned against the railing of his ship. “No, I’m not mad. Charles’ call just scared the hell out of me. Here I am thinking you’re safe at home and you’ve been off being a cowboy all night getting Charles and a bunch of poor innocent kids out of the dungeon of doom. Sure they’re all okay?”

Leslie: Normally Leslie didn't mind curses leaving Tristan's mouth. Some days it was downright sexy, but in this moment they felt like shame in his ear.

"I haven't got to see them yet. Making food for whoever wants some and - yeah. I need to find a node and have a long chat with Litha if I'm gonna be of any use. I dunno if any of these kids will... will have problems I've never felt before."

Tristan: “You and Charles will find a way to help if that’s the case. Don’t go worrying about bridges you don’t know if you’ll have to cross yet.”

Tristan sighed again, only this time it was to release some of the tension that didn’t seem to want to leave his body and wouldn’t until Leslie was home.

“Don’t forget to make food for yourself too, okay? You have to take care of yourself, especially since I know you’re going to be using a lot of energy. Don’t burn the candle at both ends. Please.”

Leslie: "When do I ever do that?" Don't answer that.

"I love you. I didn't mean to worry you."

Tristan: Tristan wasn’t going to answer that. His silence following that question was answer enough.

“I love you too, baby. I’m glad you’re okay and that Charles is okay and that those kids are safe. Just do me a favor and make sure you eat, okay? I’m begging you.”

Leslie: "I'm making breakfast right now! You sound like Myrtle. I'll eat, I promise. All the carbs."

He loved that Tristan cared enough to worry, but right now he didn't want that on his shoulders. And then he wondered, what was Tristan going to tell the girls?

"I'll call you back in a few hours."

Tristan: “You’re lucky I ain’t Myrtle, she’d do worse.” Blessedly, Tristan still had a few hours of work left to get himself together and figure out what to tell Ruby and Ester. Maybe he’d take them for pizza and go from there.

“Okay. I’ll let you get back to it.”

Leslie: Leslie was quick to work after hanging up. Nothing more straightforward than a massive scramble. At least this school was equipped with chafing dishes.

Cheddar cheese had been shredded and set aside. Prepped green peppers cooked separately and added with the cheese and a dollop of milk last minute. Toast stacked on the largest plate he could find between stirring.

Not his best work, but one less item of concern for staff and students. With breakfast out of the way, a piece of dry toast in hand, Leslie headed up the massive stairs to find Charles.

Charles: Leslie would find the telepath deeply asleep. His leg had been properly set, the bone forced back into place and his makeshift splint replaced with something sturdier. The hospital garb had been exchanged for soft, linen pajamas. An IV needle protruded from the crook of his elbow, but a glance at the bag would show that it was merely a saline drip.

At his side, Mason also did not stir. He hadn’t been redressed, but his shoes and shirt had been removed. The angry wound where his mark once lived had been cleaned and bandaged.

Frequent visits to the school should have made the broad, blue figure that filled the doorway familiar to the witch. Hank's shy smile was undercut slightly by the deadly sharpness of his canines.

"Hello, Leslie." His deep voice was barely above a whisper, its gentleness at odds with his size.

"They're both still out cold. Someone said you cooked breakfast? Thanks for that. We're all stretched pretty thin. How are you feeling? You seemed pretty out of it, earlier."

Leslie: Leslie remained in the doorway, hand on the knob and staring at the massive beastly figure before him. Of all of the magic he had grown up with, of all the transformations, no one had been blue. A cassowary didn't count.

"News travels fast," he smiled softly. His piece of toast was looked at, offered.

"You should eat, too. Got myself squared away. Low blood sugar got to me."

Charles was given a long look. Given Hank's size and authority, he pointed to himself and the professor.

"Mind if I... ?"

Charles/Hank: Hank raised a massive paw, gently dismissing the offer of toast.

"I'll have some after I've finished making my rounds. Thanks."

He gestured to where Charles and his husband lay with a nod. They were friends. If the professor trusted him, Hank had no problem with him.

His voice was still kept low.

"Just... try not to wake him. He needs his rest."

Hank had patients to tend to, and could not afford to linger. He slipped from the room without a goodbye, mind already on the new children.

Leslie: One patient at a time, Leslie told himself. But a part of him wanted to follow Hank. He was interesting, and his work was important.

But Charles was his first priority today, and quietly he knelt by his side of the bed, slowly pulling at the covers for a better analysis. Bruised anywhere else? It was then he remembered his head, the needles...

Carefully, oh so slowly, all ten fingertips pressed like feathers to Charles' forehead and temples. Eyes closed as he began his examination.

Charles: Indeed. Bruises lined his hidden ribs. The left side of his face was an ugly, swollen, mottled purple. A healthy dose of morphine kept the bulk of his pain at bay, but a headache was sure to rear its head when the drugs wore off.

Leslie: Litha leaned over Leslie's shoulder, draped her ethereal arms around him, and hummed.

"I know," he whispered. Perhaps he had just enough energy for one strong spell. A temporary setback. What he needed was the node hidden within the timeworn portal just beyond Charles' window. His usual way home would be repurposed today.

Don't wake up, don't wake up, don't wake up.

Not a prayer for Charles, but for the demon slumbering beside him. Please, don't wake to find a witch kissing his husband's forehead, breaking him in two on principle.

Just enough strength to mend Charles' unseemly and potentially excruciating wounds from the neck up. The longer his lips lingered the more he could take, and the more the spell took from him in kind.

Leslie stumbled back with a gasp, dizzy and starving. His piece of toast was taken from the bedside table and shoved in his mouth as he left the room.

Charles: Charles stirred at the surge of power. Just a soft mumble and a shift beneath plush blankets. When he stilled, he fell into a deeper sleep. Gentle relief.

A passing staff member watched Leslie stumble out of the bedroom, not quite near enough to steady him.

"You all right?" the blonde man asked, eyebrow raised.

Leslie: "Yeah," he breathed. Though feet away from the slumbering telepath, he kept his voice low just the same. "Just got dizzy."

He offered a smile and his hand. "Leslie."

Alex: He took the hand with a crooked smile, shaking it firmly.

"Alex. I've seen you around. Do you need to... sit, or something?"

It was as chivalrous as the mutant got. This was one of the guys who had saved the prof and all of those kids. He'd earned the respect.

Leslie: "I've heard your name." But his grasp wasn't long enough to notice anything other than decent health. Decent, but he couldn't put his finger on why it wasn't perfect.

"Thinking about going for a walk, actually. Don't worry about me. I'll see you around, Alex."

Alex: Well, he'd made the offer. That was as much as he'd do. He lifted a hand in goodbye.

"Sure thing. If you pass out, you didn't see me. Prof'll have my head."

Leslie: "Completely on my own," he smiled, waved, and turned, heading for the old porter's tree to reflect and if he could, extract.

Charles: Charles woke with a gasp. The ache in his head pounded in time with his racing pulse. He sat upright so swiftly his vision swam. He had to get out. Had to find a way past the blocking panels and–

The sharp protesting of his ribs subsided and his eyes refocused. It took a moment longer for his breathing to slow and his heart along with it.

He was at home. Safe. In his own bed, with Mason dead to the world beside him.

Taking solace in the steady rise and fall of his husband’s chest, Charles forced himself to calm. His mind sluggishly caught up with the rest of his body. Vague memories of the past several hours bubbled slowly to the surface.

Big, gentle hands tending to his injuries. Whispered conversation. A soft press of lips he was fairly certain he’d just imagined.

Forcing himself not to look at the bandage over Mason’s heart, Charles reached out to rest a hand against his scorching forehead. They were both fine.

His thoughts turned toward the children.

A mental nudge from Jean had Hank looking up from the young girl he’d been murmuring to. Breakfast had bled into lunch and he was urging the mansion’s newest young charges to eat something. He looked in Leslie’s direction.

“He’s awake.” An eyeroll. “And trying to move.”

He rose from the child’s bedside with a gentle order for her to finish the glass of water she’d been nursing and started for the door.

Leslie/Lawrence: The great tree was unfathomably old. Older than the house. Older than the man to have conceptualized the house, and older than the visionary’s conception. He was certain if he were to count the rings there would simply be too many to attempt. Too tight and too vast. These grounds belonged to the tree, and there was more than enough Quintessence to extract, but he could only take so much before yanking his hands away. Like drinking too much water too quickly, there were limits to his capacity.

Plenty of strength to aid the rescued children. Perhaps another attempt at Charles’ injuries, so long as Mason didn’t object. He could return to the tree again, and avoid the last of the shameful substance he kept in his pocket.

Another in the house stirred minutes before Charles. Mason had rolled to his side, curling over the edge of the bed, spilling out of his body that of his other half, only to return to Charles’ ribs, face pressed to his shoulder. He would only shift again when Charles woke, a rough hand grasping his thigh.

For a time, Lawrence sat slumped in silence on the hardwood floor, staring down at his hands. The deep wound of his calf muscle had partially healed. The bullet to his lung was nothing more than a nuisance scratch. Tired though he was, injured though he was, he couldn’t bear this room any longer. Charles was not his husband, and it had been too long since he had heard Gina’s voice. Days could go by when sharing time with Mason, both ways, but he had an opportunity to himself, and climbed to his feet, ready to find Leslie Issott.

By now, Leslie had made his way back to the children, ready to use his magic for the worst of injuries. To analyze the unseen and undiagnosed.

Leslie/Lawrence: Lawrence was not a new face in this school, but he was certainly a rarity, and even more of a surprise for Leslie when he turned the corner with Hank and bumped into his chest.

“Fucking – Lawrie?”

“I need to use your phone.”

“Uh… I didn’t – you – okay.” A quick glance at his battery life and his phone was given without question. “I’m gonna be – Charles.”

Charles: His good leg, thank goodness. Charles ignored Jean's mental protestations as he gently pried Mason's grip from his thigh. Close, even in sleep.

"I'm all right, love," he murmured, as he kissed that hand and set it carefully aside. "We're all right."

But he had to get out of the bed. He'd managed to get both legs over the edge when Hank barged through the door.

"What the hell, Charles? You couldn't give me five minutes?"

"No, actually. I need the toilet and it won't wait."

A similar conversation with anyone else would have meant a need for tact. Perhaps embarrassment. But this was Hank. When he’d had no one else, he’d always had Hank. He'd seen the telepath in far more shameful positions and had never batted an eye. A thousand lifetimes wouldn't have been enough time to repay him.

The furry blue mutant did not hesitate to cross the room, half-carrying him out of bed as he took all of the weight off his broken leg.

Leslie: Leslie kept his distance while Hank filled the role of nurse. Still flabbergasted by the appearance of a man from Edenton, he occupied his time crossing the room to Mason. What would he feel, touching a demon? Last night in the whirlwind of everything, being carried for mere seconds he hadn't felt a thing. Hadn't tried to.

He reached out, hesitant fingers placed over the demon's wrist, only to shrink back, pressing firmly over his chest.

Which is where he would be found when Charles returned.

"I'm... gonna make lunch. I just wanted to... see what else I can do for you."

Charles: Emptying his bladder was mercifully swift business. Hank was a good enough friend to keep him steady while averting his gaze.

They returned to the main part of the bedroom as gracelessly as they had left it, and Charles blinked to find Leslie there. A quick scan of Hank's mind filled him in on what he'd missed. He was in no position to scold, but that wasn't enough to stop him.

"Leslie, how much sleep did you get?" he began, as he was lowered onto the mattress. He'd manage the rest on his own, thanks.

"You ought to be resting! Did you eat enough? Have you been draining yourself this entire time?"

Leslie: "First of all," he chuckled quietly, "don't yell, he'll wake up and eat me."

Secondly, he was going around the bed to pull Charles' head into a hug.

Charles: Charles wrapped his arms around Leslie in turn, his voice affectionate, if muffled by the witch's shirt.

"I'm not yelling. I'm... scolding. On that note, have you called Tristan? I made him a promise!"

Leslie: "You're really not afraid of the big bad wolf," he laughed into Charles' hair. He didn't care that Hank was present, he was going to be himself.

"Yeah I called. Made breakfast, ate. Borrowed - I'm stealing from the tree, so it's gonna be out of commission for a while. Law - Do you know Lawrence Atlas?"

And then it dawned on him, the surname.

"Is he Mason's brother?"

Charles: "Of course not. You're perfectly safe."

Charles nodded. He didn't love that Leslie wasn't resting as he ought. But the witch appeared to be steady on his feet. And if he'd called Tristan, Charles knew he'd already gotten an earful.

He released his friend with a twinge of ribs and winced.

"I... something like that. He was there, last night. You didn't see him?"

His mind caught up with the suddenness of the question.

"Is he wandering about?" That would offer some explanation as to why Mason was unconscious.

Leslie: Leslie just shook his head. "Asked for my phone. My guess is to call Gina?" Wow, wow, wow. Did she know about all of this? This had to be an example of the phrase no such thing as coincidences.

"Lay back. Lemme finish what I started with your face."

Charles: Too much for him to think about, just now. He only hoped that Lawrence's absence wouldn't slow down Mason's recovery too much.

His face? Charles hadn't so much as glanced in a mirror in more than a day. But the ache he'd been feeling since his fight with Ian had subsided. Leslie's handiwork and not the morphine, then. He obligingly settled back against his pillows without complaint. The sooner he recovered, the sooner he could get back on his feet.

Hank looked between them with some concern, but didn't interject. If Charles wasn't worried, then he wasn't. But he was going to keep an eye on whatever went down, here.

Leslie: Leslie took a breath, smiled, and motioned to Charles' shirt. "Mind if I?" Skin-to-skin was required, and the closer to the wounds the better. His own on his palm had closed up, but nowhere near where it should be. He wasn't concerned with himself, knowing time would do its job.

Charles: "Oh!"

He trusted Mason not to hurt his friend, if he happened to wake. But there was no sense in prodding a sleeping bear if one didn't need to. He worked the buttons of his pajama shirt free himself, peeling it back to reveal bruises along his sides that were as ugly as those on his face had been.

"Looks worse than it is."

Leslie: Leslie rubbed his thumb over his own wound and waited. Charles was right, and the less he touched in Mason's presence the better. He got the feeling Mason knew what was going on despite being unconscious.

"Fuck," the witch whispered, staring in dismay. He had felt the extent of his injuries already, but seeing them hit differently.

All ten fingertips set to work, placed lightly over Charles' ribs, only to hesitate.

"Do you want me to focus on your leg, or this?"

Charles: Charles considered for a moment. The sooner his leg healed, the sooner he could focus on where he was needed. Broken ribs were painful, but at least with them he was still mobile.

He looked up to meet Leslie's gaze.

"How much would healing my leg take out of you, right now? Would it be worse than the ribs?"

Leslie: "Got every intention to drain the tree if I have to, today." No porter would appreciate him doing that, but oh well. "Don't think it'll come to that. No one else is gravely ill."

Charles: "My... magical transporting tree?" He didn't realize such a thing could be drained. Well, he wasn't using it anyway.

"You haven't really answered my question, Les. Is this going to hurt you?"

Leslie: "Did! I did!" he whisper-yelled. "I will be fine. You can button up your shirt. I'll work on your leg."

Charles: He searched his friend's expression for any sign of dishonesty. Leslie was a terrible liar. Satisfied with what he saw, Charles began fastening the buttons of his shirt.

Hank stepped in, placing a hand on Leslie's shoulder.

"Here. Let me."

Whatever healing was about to take place here, Hank was a physician first. He'd met mutants with such abilities, before, but he wouldn't have either of them mussing up his handiwork.

He carefully rolled up the leg of Charles' loose, linen trousers, exposing the neatly wrapped bandages. A single claw slid carefully up the bundle, severing the cloth as cleanly as any scalpel.

The wound beneath had crusted over, and the bone had been set, but the sight was far from pretty.

"You okay, Charles?"

"Fine. I'm fine. Let him work."

Leslie: Leslie took a step back, hands dipping into his back pockets as he waited. He suddenly smiled.

"Your tree?" Something about that amused him. He couldn't recall Charles ever phrasing like that before. For some reason, it made him happy.

Breaks were never a joy to look at, but this was yet another moment in his life he was grateful for being raised by Verbena, rather than Hermetic.

This he could do something about, and with far less strain on his body.

"Trust me?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing his hands together.

Charles: "I... yes?" He gave a small shrug. He hadn't even considered the phrasing, but he supposed he could stand by it. His land, his tree.

Charles gave a small dip of his head.

"With my life, Les."

Leslie: "Okay." Deep breath.

And a smile offered to Hank.

"Will you excuse us? This isn't going to be pleasant."

Charles: Two sets of eyes widened, at that, and Hank looked to Charles with no small amount of alarm.

"It's fine. I'll be fine. Go see to the children. They've been alone for a while."

Hank hesitated for a moment longer before nodding. He left the room more slowly than was necessary and closed the door with a soft, hesitant click.

Leslie: "Assuming you have a quieting spell in here?" Leslie whispered, glancing at Mason.

Charles: He snorted softly.

"Yes. What exactly is the plan, Leslie?"

Leslie: "Sexy," he snorted. A little cheer would do Charles some good, before the excruciating pain to follow. Being jovial didn't lessen reality. That is to say, it never made enduring any easier for him.

"You might not want to look, but I promise you'll be right as rain when I'm finished. Just... close your eyes and think happy thoughts."

Charles: Charles managed to crack a smile, at that. It felt like his first in a century.

"I certainly think so."

He gave a tiny shake of his head at Leslie's warning. The professor was much too curious to go averting his gaze. He'd deal with whatever this entailed.

"Go on. I'm ready."

Leslie: One final glance at the demon. He looked around the room and sighed, excused himself to the bathroom, and returned with a hand towel.

"Bite down. Happy thoughts."

What happened next might have been over in a flash, or felt like another century. Those very fingertips that had pressed to his temples hours ago now began seeping into Charles' skin. As unpleasant as knife wounds sans the bleeding. Not a tear in his muscles. He had to delve deeper. Eyes focused solely on his work as more and more of his fingers disappeared underneath Charles' flesh. Only when he felt bone could the real work begin.

Charles: He did as told, folding the towel over to give him a thicker biting surface and shoved it between his teeth.

That first plunge would have him screaming, the sound only barely muffled by the fabric. Curiosity was temporarily forgotten as his head fell back against the mattress and his eyes screwed shut against the pain.

Fuck.

Mason/Leslie: That was the one noise Leslie had feared, fighting with all of his remaining willpower when he felt the demon stir.

Each fractured centimeter of bone Leslie pinched fused good as new. He tried to work quickly, but his nightmare was coming alive in his peripheral, assessing the situation with heavy breaths and soft confused growls.

This witch wasn't that stupid nor was he suicidal, but there was a grasp on his throat just the same. Call it a warning.

"Swear I'm helping," Leslie gasped.

"Mm-hmm."

Charles: 'Don't.'

Because he couldn't speak, but he could feel the moment that his husband's mind sparked to consciousness.

Tears squeezed past his closed lids and he forced his scream to lower to a groan. It was the best he could do, under the circumstances.

A trembling hand extended for Mason to take.

'Please.'

Mason/Leslie: All Leslie saw was Charles' hand, and it was only that quiet gesture that saved his life. The grip around his windpipe softened when Mason laced his fingers with the telepath.

Softened, but lingered. Dark eyes watched, still wrestling with consciousness. A few more seconds passed before he yielded, holding his husband's hand in both of his.

One more inch and this would be over. His fingers would retreat as slowly as they had entered, mending and soothing along the way, mindful to take the same path or risk severely bruising his good work.

Once Charles' leg was his own, Leslie leaned forward, pressed his forehead to his knee, and said a prayer.

Charles: Charles couldn't relax. Not even when he felt that second hand join his. His grip on the first was tight enough to cause a human some damage. He didn't have to worry about Mason.

The relief that washed over him when the healing process had ended left him boneless. He sighed through his nose, grip loosening and eyes cracking open.

He had to free his second hand from its hold on the sheets before he could pull the towel from his mouth.

"Thank you." A breath. 'I'm sorry.'

He flexed his leg carefully, twisting his foot to and fro. As if it had always been whole.

"Thank you," he repeated, forcing himself to sit up. "How are you feeling?"

Mason/Leslie: Leslie's hands were shaking by the time Charles spoke, but most of his adrenaline had to do with the dazed creature by his friend's side. The one with very real Hell in his eyes, blinking like a man too tired for the attempt.

Mason said nothing, still holding firm to Charles' hand as he leaned against the headboard. More beast than man.

No thoughts were given in return. Only instinctual need to protect.

"Think I need a - carbs. Carbs sound great. Gonna see about carbs and lunch for everyone. You okay?"

Charles: "I'm fine," he assured. "Better than, thanks to you. Go and get your carbs. Reach out if you need help."

But Charles needed to soothe his protector, for the time being.

"Be sure to feed yourself first, Leslie. I'll be down... soon."

Leslie/Lawrence: "Take your time," which he knew he wouldn't if given the chance, but one could hope. No matter his unease with the man, he liked to believe Mason had his heart in the right place with Charles.

Lawrence had made his way outside. Beyond the great tree. He limped until silence became his company. A modest grove housing a family of birds lured him in. The journey was short but agonizingly slow.

At last, he slumped against a young tree with just enough age to withstand his weight.

For a time he stared off at nothing. Tried to remember his wife's number. Not a necessity in today's age, but eventually he recalled the pattern, and put the phone to his ear.

Gina: Although Gina was accustomed to being without her husband and worrying about him every second he was apart from her, that didn’t really help her miss him or worry any less. It just meant she knew what to expect.

She didn’t recognize the number calling her didn’t stop her from answering before the first ring had even completed.

“Hello?” she answered anxiously. “Is that you, honey?”

Charles: Charles would wait until the door shut to turn to his husband, studying those sleep-glazed eyes.

"You're going to topple over."

He used his free hand to rearrange the pillows Mason had abandoned and pull down the comforter.

"You need to sleep, love. Lie down properly. It's over. And I'm much better off."

Mason/Lawrence: For his first alarm to be his husband screaming. Awake to the trembling of tremendous pain with a witch, no less, hovering over Charles' injuries, was not an ideal start, and he could not compel himself to apologize. This was his beloved, after all.

But within moments his eyes drooped closed. His grasp remained firm to Charles' hand. He would not have him abandon rest so soon, either, and the rush of what he had witnessed had yet to dissipate.

"Hey, Gin," came a soft, quiet voice. "Gonna be a while longer. Everyone's fine." He would lie if he had to. There was no need to fill her in on what he had endured. Not if the wounds would heal by the time he returned.

Gina: Gina nodded and drew a long, grateful breath. Just hearing Lawrence’s voice was enough to start to calm her nerves; seeing him would get her the rest of the way there.

“I’m glad. What about you? Are you fine, too?”

Charles: Well. It seemed that his hand would not be surrendered anytime soon. He pulled the blankets up and settled back against the headboard.

"All right."

Lawrence: "I'm fine." Quiet and monotone had become his manner over the years. Easier to lie, though there often wasn't a need. Gina knew him almost as well as Mason after all this time.

"I'll explain when I'm home. I have to... get back to him."

Gina: Regardless of whether or not Gina sensed a lie, she knew that this wasn’t the time to push or pry. She’d leave the matter be and accept what he told her. If he wanted to explain later when he was home, he would.

“Okay, honey. Is there anything in particular that you want for dinner? I’ll make whatever you want.”

Lawrence: Lawrence stared off at nothing for a moment. A question hesitated on his lips, only to be swallowed down. It could wait.

"I dunno if I'll be home. Been a while since we merged. We're both, just, tired."

Gina: She nodded again, putting a smile on even if he couldn’t see it. Her feeling sad or disappointed wouldn’t do anything to help him.

“Okay, that’s okay. I can make you whatever you want whenever you come home. You just let me know.”

Lawrence: "Won't be too long, Gennie. Kiss our little fish for me."

Gina: “I will, I promise. We’ll be okay. Just take care of yourself.”

Lawrence: "Love you."

And he would probably never ask his question. A secret Mason knew. Perhaps Charles, but it was easy to push his thoughts away when he was this tired.

Perhaps, he could just... close his eyes for a few minutes. Lay in the grass and let the weeds grow over his body.

The phone was dropped by his side. The outstretched fluffy branches shadowed enough of the sun to prevent it from being a nuisance. He closed his eyes and breathed in perfect rhythm with his other half.

Gina: “I love you, too,” Gina said softly. “So much.”

And I wish to god I could be the one to heal you.

Charles: He couldn't sleep. With the worst of his pain vanished and the drugs flushed out of his system, Charles was left only with his thoughts. Every time he shut his eyes he was surrounded by mint coloured walls and icy air.

He felt pathetic. And with no one to bare his soul to, he couldn't lie staring up at the crown moulding for another second. He made to gently pry his fingers free from his sleeping husband's hold.

"I... I need to go and check on the children. I haven't seen Rory and Cee."

Barely a whisper. If he didn't have to disturb Mason, he wouldn't.

Mason: "Kiss our little fish," said Mason in the twilight of consciousness. Deep REM sleep eluded him, but much like his counterpart outside in the grove, he couldn't keep his eyes open to save his life.

Perhaps he had come to trust Leslie. After all, the witch was still alive.

Alive and busy in the kitchen, helping another staff member make the largest ziti and bolognese the deepest pot could handle.

Charles: "Pardon?"

It seemed that exhaustion had left his husband's mind muddled. Understandable. He needed rest, and Charles' own restlessness was likely no help in achieving that end.

He laid a hand over the bandage where Mason's mark should have been and pressed a kiss to his temple.

"I love you. Sleep. I'll be back to check on you."

But, first, he needed out. If his legs wobbled as he stepped out of bed, it was not from the pain. Agonising as the process had been, Leslie's healing was solid.

He left as steadily as he could, taking a direct route to his son's room. There, he had strength. Strength enough to lift the child into a bear hug, aching ribs utterly ignored.

"I've missed you, my boy."

Rory: Rory would have been utterly oblivious if not for his aura-reading ability. So much disquiet between staff and students that it had begun to rub off on him. His father was squeezed without a concern in the world for injuries he couldn't see. Only when Charles winced would his perceptive son notice something amiss.

"You were a hero again?"

Charles: Charles dropped a kiss onto the top of his head before setting him back down on the bed. He took a spot on the mattress beside him.

"No, actually. Papa was the hero, this time. He saved me. And he saved more than a dozen kids. You'll be able to meet them, soon."

Rory: As interested as he was in the new children, potential friends in his future, there was only one question on his mind.

"Where's Papa?"

Charles: A question he expected. He ran a hand over Rory's hair.

"Sleeping. You can go see him, but you've got to keep quiet, yeah? He's very tired from being so heroic. Let's go and get your sister. We'll pay him a visit."

Rory/Cynthia: "Did he get hurt?" There was something about his daddy's aura he couldn't quite grasp. There was sadness. That was a color he knew well, seen in so many. A color a mortal eye just couldn't grasp. He'd yet to know its name.

Cynthia had made her way to the busy wing, peeking around the corner of the hall to gaze at the newcomers.

Charles: And how to explain that missing mark. Too complex a topic for a child.

"A bit, but he's all right. Mostly just exhausted."

Charles would lead the way, seeking out the familiar timbre of his daughter's mind. He had a bear hug for her as well, his ribs continued to be ignored. His children were a steadying presence. For them, he'd always find strength.

"I've missed you, sweetheart. How are you?"

He'd release her, to give her the freedom to sign.

Cynthia: 'They're just like us?' She didn't feel a need to use her voice; she took it as a good sign that no one was severely injured.

One hand would remain on Charles' shoulder, keeping him close in her excitement.

'Are you looking for their parents?'

Charles: He nodded, smoothing down a flyaway hair. That was enough.

"Yes. Or, I will. I've just woken up. I need a bit to get my bearings. And I want to check in with everyone. Rory wants to check in with Papa. Would you like to join us? He's resting, but we can peek in."

Cynthia: 'We can go.' Dark eyes softly scrutinized, squeezing her father's arm. She didn't have telepathy or aura reading abilities, but she was perceptive enough to know something was askew.

'I'll take Rory.'

Charles: She was growing up much too quickly. Charles was unspeakably proud, but the pang in his chest was still difficult to bear. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"All right, sweetheart. He'll want to see you both, but don't disturb him for too long. He needs to sleep."

Cynthia: The same question her brother asked. 'Is he hurt?' Papa didn't sleep this late. When he was home, he was home. He was with Daddy, roaming the halls, or hiding in Daddy's office. She was aware this wasn't normal, and that concerned her.

Charles: "Small cut." A fucking understatement, but the details weren't her concern.

"But he's mostly just drained. Takes a lot to rescue eighteen children. He'll be fine after he's had a good, long sleep. But I know he'll want to see you both."

Mason/Cynthia/Rory: 'OK.' Small arms wrapped around Charles' neck one last time, giving a gentle squeeze. Charles wasn't the only one made proud today. She kissed his cheek for good measure and shooed Rory in Papa's direction.

Quiet was an understatement. Even Rory turned to signing once they reached the door. Wondering if Papa had eaten. A question Cynthia couldn't answer.

A few steps into the room, and Mason held his arm out, motioned them over. Rory's head was given a ruffle, and Cynthia pulled into little spoon.

"My babies. Being good?" He couldn't see, but he knew the answer.

"Show the new kids what's what. Be good."

Charles: Of course they were good. They were the best. But perhaps Charles was a bit biased. He focused his attention on the mansion's newest residents, speaking in hushed tones with Hank about their needs and progress.

He'd trusted his staff to do right by them in his absence, and they'd more than delivered. But his hands trembled with nerves. He spread his telepathic awareness out over the entire school, reaching out to encompass the grounds as well.

They were safe. Everyone was safe. And, there, he felt Lawrence out on the grass.

'You all right?'

Lawrence: Leslie was fine. Mason was fine. Their children were right as right. The school was safe. Though, Lawrence, lying in the grass, understood exactly what Charles felt.

'Join me,' was all he offered.

Charles: That he could do. Charles left Hank with a promise to return. He'd been running the infirmary more-or-less alone and deserved a break.

He ventured outdoors, welcoming the summer heat. No frigid air, here. He took a leisurely pace to Lawrence's little grove, letting his gaze sweep the grounds. Not a blade of grass out of place. Quite possibly the safest place he could be.

When he spotted Lawrence, he offered no proper greeting, simply claiming a spot beside him on the soft grass. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin on the shelf they formed.

Lawrence: There were no thoughts in his head. Whether intentional for Charles' comfort or not, there was nothing. The quiet and tranquility had been enough to shut his brain off for a time. Feeling Charles' approach, his arm fanned out. Offering a little nook between his arm and his chest.

You're not my husband, but you are mine, in a way I can't explain.

There he could sit. He didn't have to lay, but there beside Lawrence it was quiet, and he was protected.

Charles: He hesitated for a good long while. So long it might have seemed that he wouldn't accept the comfort at all.

But he did. He tucked himself into that nook and stared up at the sunlight through the trees. Breathing came easier in the fresh air. His hands were steady as he folded them across his belly.

"You should sleep." And recovery for both of them would go faster if they merged.

Still, he made no move to rise. Just a few minutes of steadiness. Of the ground not threatening to swallow him whole.

Lawrence: "If you carry any more on your shoulders, the ground is gonna cave underneath you."

Did he have to say anything more? Charles would know what he was thinking. He was no telepath, but there were no attempts at walls. He could have everything. The bleakness. The honesty. The concern. Not the same man he had met years ago, trying desperately to push him away. Trying to maintain the lie he had been fed.

This was an extension of his husband. Another version of the man he loved watching him in his peripheral.

And his thoughts said this: I wasn't the one stolen, broken, restrained, and tortured. You have to process this.

Charles: His mind was a blanket over nearly everything he held dear. He felt those thoughts and a lot more, as well. His voice was low. Peace like that shouldn't be broken.

"If I don't keep moving, I'll fall apart. I won't be able to hold onto anything. I can't afford that."

Lawrence: "You've got people to help put you back together if you do." You're not alone. Haven't been for a long time.

His arm came in. Not a hold, but splitting hairs.

Charles: He nodded and it felt like surrender. Time would tell, he supposed. His eyes slipped closed. With the tension at bay, the true weight of how little rest he'd gotten hit him.

He'd enjoy the dappled sun for just a little while.

"Don't let me fall asleep."

Lawrence: He didn't have to answer. Only, the gentle tilt of his head, his nose resting in Charles' hair his answer. He would continue to watch the sky, fighting sleep himself for Charles to have this moment of peace. He would have his own, eventually. Merging with Mason was inevitable, and returning to Gina's embrace was a promise. This wasn't about him, but the man he watched over while Mason tended to their children.

Charles: He fell into a doze. Not deep enough for any true restoration, but it helped to chase memories of the facility away.

A gentle breeze was enough to stir him into opening his eyes. He sat up, feeling a bit more anchored. For now.

"Thanks."

Was that appropriate? He didn't know and wouldn't dwell on it. He'd needed a steadying presence and was grateful for it.

"I think Leslie is done with lunch. I should help serve those in the infirmary."

Let Hank have a break.

Lawrence: Appropriate felt rather gray, and had for some time. He knew what Mason had called his children, and he had just given his husband much-needed comfort. This was complicated; this was their life. They made it work, and it didn't need overthinking.

"You want me back with him."

Charles: "Yes." What was the point of dishonesty, now?

"I'm not... I won't disturb you. You'll both feel better, and sooner, if you do."

And maybe Charles could actually manage to sleep, tonight.

"But the choice is yours."

Lawrence: Do you care? That gray that is sleeping with you when we merge. That Mason sleeps beside my Gina.

As time went on, the fire in Lawrence's chest had become embers. The tears he had shed for his independence and individuality had long dried up. He could, now, only embrace this shared life.

"If you don't get more rest, you know we'll find you."

With that, Lawrence forced himself to his feet, offered his hand.

Charles: He'd long since come to terms with the reality of their situation. The alternative to acceptance didn't bear thinking about. An occasional night spent with his husband in another bed was a sacrifice he'd make for peace.

How he'd manage, now, only time and trial would tell.

Charles took that offered hand and let Lawrence haul him to his feet, not hiding the wince from his jostled ribs.

"I know. You should be out cold, in the meantime."

Lawrence: Both men winced for different injuries. He had been selfish about healing. He'd needed this time in the grove, reliving the destruction he had caused until numbed by it. This had been his process, steeled by the reality of why it had come to pass. Killing not for pleasure, but for vengeance. For love. Familiar, but not.

"You should have seen Leslie's face," he forced a smile. Ah, that's right. His phone. Another wince as he retrieved it.

Charles: Charles held out a hand for the device. He'd happily return it on his trip to the kitchen.

"I did. I'd love to see his face while witnessing an actual merge. Then again, he had his hands inside of my leg about an hour ago. Maybe he'd take it in stride."

What was his life?

Lawrence: Lawrence just blinked. He hadn't gathered that much from Mason, yet. Only that primal need to protect. Must have been the reason right there.

"That explains the walking tall."

Charles: "Mm." He gave the leg in question a pointed shake.

"Good as new."

Lawrence: "Should we all be witches."

He followed in step with Charles until they reached the foyer. The bustling sounds were a comfort. There was life in this school, the way it should be.

He gave Charles' shoulder a squeeze goodbye.

Charles: "Sleep well." Was all he offered, before turning toward the kitchen and the witch within.

He was still grounded from his time in the sun. The hand that offered Leslie his phone was still.

"Thank you. For cooking, I mean. And everything else."

Leslie: "Walking around already?" Came out as a scold. He took his phone back and stared at it, forgetting why it wasn't in his pocket and then remembering.

"Never a boring moment." He smiled. "You're welcome. If you... don't mind, I think I'm gonna take a nap." Not that he wanted to. At this point standing was taking actual effort.

Charles: "Need to make sure everything is working smoothly." It wasn't a lie, if it was a joke. Right?

His small smile faded as his brow furrowed.

"Of course! You've eaten enough, yes? Go rest! Take as long as you need! The room you used before will still be empty."

Leslie: Leslie blinked hard. A terrible feeling when the eyes refused to focus. Truly annoying.

"Mhm." Didn't matter who was present, he was leaning forward and kissing Charles' forehead.

He was fine. He was safe. A feeling shared by so many, with every reminder of his presence.

"Won't be long." Because he wanted to be up and useful for dinner.

Charles: Charles didn't mind the gesture. Leslie had always been affectionate. He gave his cheek a pat in response and shooed him along.

"No rush. Sleep as much as you need."

Charles would keep himself busy in the meantime. The newcomers needed to eat and Hank likely could use a few hours of sleep as well.

"I'm a thought away if you need me."

Charles: -

Busy hands kept the memories at bay. He retreated to the gym for a quick shower and to change into a pair of school sweats and a t-shirt. Not his most polished look, but it was better than pajamas. Or disturbing his husband.

He sent Hank off for a nap with only minor grumbling, and handled the work of serving pasta to the newcomers himself. The opportunity to better get to know his young charges.

The business of getting those children uninjured enough into bedrooms was a burden he took on personally, as well. They'd need toiletry kits and gym wear until they'd had enough time to get them all proper clothing.

By the time he'd finished, it was early evening. That tremble had snuck its way into his hands, again. And the pain in his ribs had gone from background noise too difficult to ignore.

He retreated to the roof, the one place he'd always been able to decompress. There, he'd self-medicate while perusing files. The sooner he connected the children that had them with their families, the better.

Mason: 'Where did your need for control manifest?' Came a familiar voice. The owner of said voice was still beneath him, stripping his way across the bedroom to the already warming shower.

'I'd say join me, but you've beaten me to it.'

He refused to look himself in the mirror. Not to see Lawrence behind his eyes, barely conscious himself. His last memory had been of his children in his arms. Nothing of their merge and nothing of his children leaving.

Right now, Mason's mind was on the roof, catching up with what he had missed.

Charles: Charles blew a lungful of smoke into the cooling air. The evening was still warm enough to be a comfort to him, and he was utterly numb to any pain.

He frowned at the question. Unexpected, after hours of soothing silence.

'I don't know.' In truth, he didn't consider it. 'Is this a psychoanalysis?'

Mason/Leslie: 'Just concern, darlin'.' His voice, even telepathically, was calm and tired.

Another mind was waking up. Across the house, Leslie had rolled onto his stomach, his head hanging off the edge of the bed. Looking at the light coming from the window, the witch startled and rolled off the mattress completely.

"Fuck!" He hadn't meant to sleep this long. His own fault for not setting an alarm.

"This is why I don't nap."

Charles: 'I'm fine. Only keeping my hands busy.'

He flipped a page of the latest file and scanned it, taking absolutely nothing in.

'Have you gotten enough sleep, love? You still sound exhausted.'

The sharp flare of shock from Leslie had him looking up from the page, though he could see nothing but dwindling light shining off of clouds.

'Careful,' he said to the witch. 'Are you hurt?'

Mason/Leslie: 'Just your hands.' He could feel Charles' struggling attention span from the bathroom. The words on the paper might as well have been Dutch. Maybe an understood word here or there, but nothing retained.

'Yeah, well, so are ya.' And deserving of rest.

Leslie's mouth was dry. His eyes strained despite the hours of unintentional sleep. He knew why. A thought he had to quickly bury when feeling that now familiar sensation.

His first most forward thought was dinnertime. What was in the pantry. The fridge. And then finally, 'Fine. You ok?'

Charles: 'I can't.' He took a long drag from the confiscated cigarette and set the file aside. For the time being, it was a lost cause.

'I've tried.'

Holding two conversations at once was nothing unusual for Charles. At present, however, his response time was slower than normal. What was Leslie keeping from him?

'Managing. Are you certain you're all right? You can rest for a bit longer. I'll make sure you don't sleep for too long.'

Mason/Leslie: Mason and Leslie both shared the same concern. Why Charles was even awake after what had happened. Both understood varying coping mechanisms, but this nightmare was less than twenty-four hours old.

Invisible fingers brushed over Charles' jaw. Combed through his hair, visibly shifting silky brown strands. This was Mason's response, for now.

And Leslie's response was an outward concern. Did Charles nap, too? Had he been moving about with those bruised ribs?

"Gotta make dinner. A lotta mouths to feed." Oh. Right. Charles wasn't in front of him. He thought the same sentence.

Charles: Concerns that Charles would hear, and ignore. Leslie had done so much already, and was still on his feet.

The thought of dinner had the telepath wincing. He hadn't eaten a thing since waking. Since lunch the day he'd been taken, actually. Dinner was likely still scattered across that alleyway. The drugs that numbed his pain had also eviscerated his appetite.

Setting the thought aside, he leaned into Mason's invisible touch.

'I can come down, if you'd like. Or you can come up, when you're finished.'

Mason/Leslie: 'Ya come down. We'll eat together.'

While Charles kept quiet about his last meal, Mason was with him, in all things.

Leslie's mind seemed his own again. He would never actively attempt to throw Charles out. Especially not now, but there was a guilt hanging over him like a knife on a thread, and he didn't want his friend to bear witness.

A quick wash of his face and he was back in the kitchen.

Charles: Oh, indeed! It would have been just as long since his husband's last meal. Appetite or no, he'd get something into his system if it meant Mason did.

Charles gathered the files into the box where they'd been stored. He'd see to the rest of his mess, later.

Smelling of smoke, he made his way down from the roof and to their shared bedroom as sneakily as he could.

As soon as his husband was within reach, Charles would latch onto him. He didn't care if Mason was dripping from his shower, or if Lawrence was still with him. He craved the heat and strength that always kept him anchored.

Mason: Mason was indeed dripping. The shower curtain was just pulled aside when Charles made his entrance. Both hands were in his hair, squeezing out the last of the water when he was embraced.

"Mornin'," he greeted, resting his chin on Charles' head. Arms soon dropped, hugging his husband's shoulders to his soaked chest.

Charles: He released a small huff of air that couldn't quite be called a laugh.

"Good evening. Lovely to see you on your feet."

If he were to have his fill of their embrace, they'd be standing there for hours. For practicality's sake, he pulled away, grabbing a towel from the shelf and offering it.

Mason: Mason had every intention of giving him such an embrace in just a few hours' time. Though on his feet, it would not last long. For their children's sake, they needed some semblance of a schedule. Charles would sleep well tonight if warmth and security were what he sought.

"C'mere." His towel was left to drape over his shoulders, Charles held by his jaw as he was kissed between his eyes.

Charles: A smile. Genuine, if small.

"Leslie's making dinner. I don't know what."

But he could always check in to ask, and did just that.

'Only curious.'

Leslie: "Oh, shit," Leslie chuckled. "There he is."

'Chicken, broccoli, and rice casserole. Someone is on salad duty. If I have time, maybe a dirt cake. Saw y'all have gummy worms.' Anything to make the children smile.

Charles: 'Sounds delicious! I really do appreciate all you're doing, Les.'

He passed along the menu to his husband as he retreated to the closet.

It was time for proper clothing, even if he only wore them for a couple of hours.

Xavier: If it weren’t for the deep-seated fatigue, there would be nothing different about Xavier’s day whatsoever.

After leaving the facility, Ramsay had taken him back to the estate to be cared for and enlisted Rohan’s help to do it. None of the maids or even Hamilton had been made aware of their presence in a bid to keep from alarming them.

While one witch healed, another divulged the details of their evening and burned Xavier’s bloody clothes in the fireplace. Then, together, they’d bathed the slumbering demon and changed him into a pair of silk pajamas.

Abel had been informed and by the time the familiar had taken Xavier back to Bangkok and tucked him into bed, it was like nothing had ever happened.

That was exactly the way Xavier proceeded when he finally awoke the next morning.

He had breakfast with Devlin after hugging him a little too tightly and for just a bit too long and listened gladly as his son filled him in on everything he’d missed while he was away. He apologized for missing dinner and promised to take Devlin for ice cream later to make up for it. He answered questions about his whereabouts the previous day as delicately as he could.

As far as anyone would be able to tell, everything was absolutely normal. Everything was fine.

And when it came time for Xavier to get ready and go to the hotel, he pretended he didn’t see the concerned look on Abel’s face in his periphery.

His call to his brother wouldn’t come precisely when it had been requested, but it would come before Xavier’s mid-morning.

“Good morning, Mai.”

Mason: Xavier had been on Mason's mind for some time after fully gaining consciousness. Charles would have felt, of course, but nothing he felt the need to vocalize. There was work to be done, and his phone to locate. Only when dressed in brown and red was the annoying device found underneath his pillow.

Mason looked to his husband with a sigh.

"Afternoon," he returned.

'Want speaker phone?'

Charles: Charles had changed into a pair of dark jeans and a down-soft black sweater that may have belonged to Mason. He'd curled up in the corner armchair when Mason's phone began to ring.

"Evening," he said, again, voice too low for Xavier to hear and tinged with amusement.

At Mason's offer, he shook his head. His feelings about the previous night were still very mixed.

Xavier: Xavier closed his eyes and took a silent deep breath, bracing himself. His tardiness in calling could be excused away but absolutely nothing could save him from the lashing he was almost certainly about to receive.

Some things were simply inevitable.

“Are you and Charles and the children all safe? Has he been healed?”

Mason: "Shit's goin'."

In Xavier's bated breath, Mason had walked the few feet to Charles, cupped his cheek for mutual comfort.

"Guessin' you're put back together?"

Charles: Charles leaned into that gentle touch, reaching up to rest his hand against Mason's. If there was reprimanding to be done, it certainly wouldn't come from him. He had nothing to say.

Xavier: “I am, yes. Rohan finished taking care of my wounds when Ramsay brought me back.” Which had been news to Xavier. He couldn’t really remember having been shot, though that was probably due to the adrenaline keeping him from feeling it.

Mason: "Assumed someone would, or I woulda sent Leslie t'finish what he started."

Mason pressed his forehead to Charles', leaned away enough to sign, 'You need to eat.'

Charles: 'I will,' he signed back, but made no move to rise. He'd eat with Mason and the children when dinner was finished.

Truthfully, he still had no appetite.

'Go on.'

Checking in with his brother was important.

Xavier: “He did more than enough.” Xavier owed him a visit and a thank you. Not just for helping to heal him, but for pouring the last of his energy into doing so.

“…What of Haine? What’s to be done with him?”

Mason: Fine, but he was going to hold Charles' hand while he spoke.

"Alive," after a pause, "he's gonna stay that way. I made a contract. Ya know what happens when they break before they should. Don't. Fuckin'. Touch him." He was already staring at Hell's door. Didn't need his own brother to push him through.

Charles: Charles was happy to oblige him. He brought that hand to his lips in a wordless proclamation. Fathomless love and gratitude, both. No more bloodshed. And he knew how difficult restraint had been for his husband.

Xavier: “He’s being allowed to live? Why—mmm.” Xavier forced himself to take a deep breath so the seething anger he was feeling would stay on his face and not seep too much into his voice.

He hadn’t been chewed out yet but questioning the decision to keep that cowardly swine alive wouldn’t win him any points and given his and apparently Mason’s recent actions, an argument was pointless. It had already been done. Arguing would change nothing.

And besides, he didn’t need a reminder that it wasn’t his place to have an opinion.

“Very well,” he said, just managing to keep from gritting his teeth.

Mason: "Ya know why." He was certain if Xavier thought things through, he would find Charles' point of view. It wasn't easy to swallow, allowing scum like Haine to continue existence. It was agony with purpose.

He understood his brother's irritation; it was his own, and he had no intention to scold. Only to drag his brother with him back to Hell should he sever his agreement.

"We've got shit t'do here. Ya comin' t'help or keepin' away?"

Charles: He gave the hand in his a firm squeeze. They were fine. And Haine would get his, eventually.

Xavier: “Absolutely I do not.” Haine didn’t deserve ten more years. He didn’t deserve ten more minutes. There was nothing to be gained from his being alive that outweighed the punishment he deserved, not in Xavier’s view. And his view was very much the only one he planned to consider since he’d been denied the pleasure of dispatching that swine to the pit.

If Haine had any sense, he should’ve prayed to Charles rather than God because Charles was the only reason he yet drew breath.

“There’s nothing in my skill set that qualifies me to help handle the aftermath of this. Charles’ staff is better suited to the task.”

Mason: "Right." As expected of an Atlas. Hot enough to feel from across the world. Xavier was smarter than this. At least, that was what Mason was going to believe, and his brother just needed a minute to cool.

But heat upon heat was only going to cause an ignition.

"Ya can't entertain children? Clean somethin'? Get supplies? Anything?"

Xavier: Clean? Had Mason forgotten who he was speaking to?

But Xavier wouldn’t comment. He had wisdom enough to avoid anything he knew would light a fuse.

“Am I really the person you want to ask to entertain traumatized children? If you need extra hands, I can offer my staff.”

Mason: "Fuckin' Luci. I'll talk t'ya later." He would always love this infuriating man, but there were better things to do than spell out that he wanted his company. Like hanging up and tugging Charles to his feet. His husband needed a meal.

Charles: Charles would allow this tugging, but only until he was standing. He wrapped arms about his husband's waist before he could be dragged along to the kitchen.

"You ought to tell him how you feel. He's your brother. He loves you, too."

Xavier: “Right then,” Xavier sighed as he listened to the dial tone at the other end of the line. He hadn’t quite gotten what he’d expected but that just meant it was coming at a later point.

How marvelous. Something to look forward to.

Sighing again, he gathered his things and headed into the conference room for a meeting.

Mason: Charles' arms might as well have been steel bands. His intention enough to stop his husband short.

"He's not an idiot." He pulled the telepath in front of him, resting his face in his hair. "I'm sayin' it."

Charles: "No, but you're only just starting to rebuild your relationship. Sometimes subtlety isn't the answer. You may need to be a bit more direct."

But Charles would let the matter lie. He gave that waist a firm squeeze and kissed his husband's shoulder.

"Just consider it. Let's have dinner."

He'd try, anyway.

Mason/Leslie: Mason had nothing to reply. Charles was correct, as was often the case, but it was something he had to consider on his own time. For now, the kitchen needed tending, and their children needed much attention.

The casserole was still in the oven, leaving Leslie's hands open for dessert. Cynthia and Rory were enjoying their job of crushing Oreos into dust. Or in this case, dirt.

Charles: Charles dropped a kiss atop each of his children's heads before claiming a seat at the kitchen island.

"Having fun?" The question was directed toward the kids, but he cast a glance in Leslie's direction as well.

Mason/Leslie: Rory made an attempt to join his father. Just not quite tall enough yet. While Mason might have scolded the behavior, today he said nothing. Finding a bottle of water in the fridge and all but forcing it on his husband.

Leslie met Charles' glance and nodded. All was well; no need to worry.

Charles: It was fine. Charles was happy to have his children close. And he managed to suppress a wince and a grunt as he bent and lifted Rory into the chair beside him.

He took the offered bottle with a small smile of thanks and twisted it open. He drained half in a single drink. Not hungry, no. But apparently extremely thirsty.

"One more?" he asked, before draining the remainder.

Mason/Leslie: 'Your ribs,' as though Charles couldn't feel it. In a way, he was blind to the pain. Stubborn as usual.

All of the power of Hell behind him, and he was forced to pussyfoot around solutions.

Leslie was given a look. The witch needed nothing more.

"After dinner," said through a gummy worm. "I should go home, after."

Charles: 'I'm all right.' But offered the sensation of lips brushing over Mason's cheek. He really was. Only a twinge over the numbing drugs. He'd feel it, when they wore off, but that was a problem for later.

He nodded, brows tugging down in a frown.

"Yes. I can have Kurt take you. You've done so much, already. And we really appreciate it. But I don't want to send you home drained. I don't need Tristan biting my head off. I'll be fine."

Mason/Leslie: "He'd never do that." Or so he believed. "You shouldn't be feeling any pain, after..." A glance was given to the children, and he decided to end his sentence there.

"It's no trouble," was the last he would insist.

Invisible fingers brushed along Charles' ribs, and Cynthia was looking between the two while her little brother stared at their daddy.

Charles: "All right, but make sure you're well fed, beforehand."

He was too exhausted to put up a proper fight. He merely nodded, running a hand over Rory's hair.

"I'm fine, son."

And to prove it, he'd get up to fetch a second bottle of water himself, he supposed.

Mason: "Impatient," Mason frowned, but there was no venom in his words. Guardian of the fridge, handing out bottles of orange juice to a small group of students, one was offered to his husband. "Humans and mutants need vitamins, I'm told."

Charles: Perhaps. But he was thirsty. He accepted the juice with a gentle brush of fingers over Mason's.

"Indeed. Thank you, love."

He'd obediently drain every last drop. Nutrients were nutrients.

He reclaimed the spot beside his son.

"You should have something to drink, yourself."

Mason: A noncommittal noise was all Mason gave, shutting the fridge empty-handed.

'Catch me up. What's the worst injury so far?'

Charles: "Drink, love."

Charles was allowed to worry, too.

'Amputation. But he's already in the process of regrowing the tail. Another girl with regenerating powers has not regrown her kidney, but she's stable and we're monitoring the situation.'

Mason: Mason stared at the floor. Organs versus limbs. The doctor was truly a demon in the making. Crowley would have more interest in using Haine as his lab rat than a prodigy. Only time would tell.

"Want somethin' sweet."

Charles: He didn't. But he was determined to eat, even if was just to put his loved ones at ease. He nodded.

"All right."

Mason: His head shake was subtle.

'I think you're tired, baby.'

Charles: 'I am.'

There was little point in denying it.

'I'll try to sleep after dinner.'

Mason: 'Okay.'

Mason looked for a quick fix in the walk-in pantry. Was it any wonder the witch could make meals up as he went along. Some wrapped breakfast muffins were snatched, a choice between blueberry and cranberry offered to his husband.

Charles: He selected the blueberry, clumsily peeling the wrapper away. He forced himself to take a proper bite, chewing slowly and carefully. No sense in making himself sick.

'Thank you, love.'

Mason/Leslie: It was carbs and it was sugar. If Charles ate nothing else then at least he had that.

Leslie glanced at Charles' choice of muffin and made a mental note. There was every chance he would forget, the ringing oven interrupting his ideas.

"And that's dinner," he sighed.

Charles: "Let me help," he insisted, setting the muffin aside and sliding down from the stool.

"You've been cooking all day. You should sit for a while."

Mason/Leslie: "Just needs to cool before we call people. Don't need em burning the roof of their mouths. I'll never be invited back!" he smiled. Anything to keep conversation light, and any hope of Charles smiling in earnest. His friend dearly needed some levity.

Mason's sigh would go unheard as he looked for any means to be useful, bringing out utensils and announcing dinner.

Charles: "It'll take more than a scalded tongue to bar you from the premises, Les."

And Charles would offer a smile in turn. A small one, that didn't quite brighten his eyes. He crossed to the range and switched off the timer, grabbing a pair of mitts to pull the casserole out of the oven.

The idea of keeping that smile in place all night was exhausting. So, when the food had cooled enough to eat, and plates had been served to the littlest hands, Charles sought out his husband's steadying presence.

'Let's eat upstairs?'

Mason/Leslie: Leslie just smiled. Charles' smile was so subtle compared to what it used to be, but it was completely understandable. Understandable, but sad just the same. Humbling to think about what could have been. Of course they would have found him eventually, but had they been any later...

His desire to hug Charles was perhaps a bit too strong. He worried his friend might have felt his desire like a shove to his chest.

"Sorry," he whispered. Biting his cheek, he made sure to keep his back to the telepath and his emotion-filled face from view.

'Go ahead,' Mason motioned his head, cleared his throat. 'I'll make a tray.'

Charles: Charles clapped a hand on Leslie's shoulder, shaking his head.

"Nothing to apologize for. And I'm all right. I will be, anyway."

But he needed time. Casting a grateful look toward his husband, Charles slipped out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the solitude of their bedroom.

Being alone was worse, but at least he didn't need to wear a pleasant mask. He claimed the armchair and whichever book was on the table beside it. It didn't matter. He couldn't take in a single word.

Mason/Leslie: Leslie reached up to squeeze Charles' fingers before letting him go. He didn't know how much was too much right now. After fleeing the Charlotte coven, Leslie couldn't bear to be touched for weeks, not until his guardian angel Myrtle.

He assumed when Charles was ready, he would know.

A tray was set with an overstocked plate, salt, pepper, dessert, another bottle of water and napkins. Leslie agreed to watch the children and Mason excused himself.

Most of this would go uneaten, he assumed, but it was something, and if he made the attempt, perhaps Charles would make an effort.

He entered the room with a gentle warning, bringing the tray to the foot of the bed.

Charles: A gentle warning. Such a small gesture, after everything else Mason had done, but it moved Charles nearly to tears. He ignored the food briefly, opting for a lingering embrace.

But a few bites of muffin did not a meal make, and he was determined not to worry his husband any more than necessary.

"Thank you," he murmured as he released him, settling down cross-legged on the mattress before the tray. He grabbed a fork and scooped up a small bite of the casserole. He knew Leslie well enough to be certain the food was delicious, but Charles could think only of vital nutrients as he ate in slow, mechanical silence.

Mason: No sooner had the tray been placed down was Charles in his arms. He could hold his demon for as long as he required and then some.

He was joined in silence, sharing the plate for several minutes before he managed a smile, pulling one of the gummy worms out of the strange dessert.

"Gelatin was all the rage in my time. There's ya n'old sentence."

Charles: He looked up from his umpteenth tiny bite, eyes cutting to his husband and the gummy piece of candy he held. That dimple was enough to coax a smile out of Charles, as well.

"Such an old man. You know, I've seen recipes from that time. Makes me rather glad I was born when I was. Some of those dishes were abominations. Not everything should be encased in gelatin. Full stop."

Mason: "Had some, before... I liked. Mint and cucumber. Should try it."

Mason leaned back, let the colorful worm fall into his open mouth. "Then again, ya don't even like hot chocolate," he teased.

Charles: He lifted a shoulder. That wasn't so ridiculous a flavour profile.

"I've had water with cucumber and mint. Quite refreshing on a hot day."

With a soft chuckle that surprised him, Charles gently poked Mason's ribs.

"I love hot chocolate. As long as you don't go ruining a good thing with unnecessary spice. Whipped cream. Perhaps marshmallows, if you're feeling adventurous. More than enough."

Mason: "A little cinnamon and chili never hurt chocolate."

There was that laugh, and that modest smile. He reached out for Charles' hand, grateful for the privilege.

You're still in there. You didn't go anywhere.

"Ya know the first cold day, our son's gonna want some. Peppermint, probably. And cinnamon rolls."

Charles: He threaded their fingers together in quiet confirmation. Of course. Mason had saved him. And was saving him, still.

He grabbed a worm of his own and popped it into his mouth.

"Of course he is. And I'll forgive him for sharing your terrible taste. We..."

It was difficult to think so far into the future. Though, fall was only a few months away. He'd take each day as its own challenge.

"We'll make a day of it. Hot drinks and baked goods. As long as I don't have to bake them."

Mason: Charles' hand was squeezed between his pause. It was a lot to think about. Mason had no intention to pretend it hadn't happened, but offer an attempt at normalcy, just for a little while.

"At this rate, I don't think we're gettin' rid of your witch friend. I think we got ourselves a private chef."

Charles: "We were never getting rid of Leslie."

But he smiled at Mason's effort and pressed in close to his side. There was unspeakable comfort in his presence.

"I'd have to start actually paying him," he chuckled.

"Or we could always visit an actual bakery."

Mason: "So I've gathered." His chin came to rest on Charles' head, closing his eyes.

"Actual bakery? With humans and how-you-doin's? Be sociable?"

Charles: He hummed in confirmation. "Yes. I'm afraid so. But it can wait a couple of months."

It would, if Charles had to make the trip. He couldn't think about leaving the small bubble of safety created in Mason's presence. Not yet.

He stroked a thumb over his husband's, his grip on that hand still firm.

"I don't believe I've asked, since you woke up. I'm so sorry. How are you, love? Yesterday was difficult for you, too."

Mason: He would not have his husband wait so long for something so little, but he understood his reluctance. It had not yet been 24 hours since the ordeal.

"Don't apologize." He hadn't even considered himself. Not once. His thoughts revolved around only one, picking up others incidentally. Of course he loved his brother, but it had been Charles strapped down and silently screaming.

"I'm fine, baby."

Charles: Doubtful. But he could understand how Mason might be distracted from his own emotions, at the moment. Despite every effort to mask it, Charles was a mess. He could admit that to himself, if no one else.

Still, his husband's wellbeing was a priority.

"It's all right, if you aren't. Between your mark and... I don't know what I would have done, seeing you that way. It couldn't have been easy."

Mason: The mark. That tenderness on his chest, already on its way to healing. He felt at the area through his clothes.

"Had t'be somethin' I'd miss..." He'd already said as much, but he felt the need to explain once more. To remind his action had not been a mindless whim.

"It'll never happen." Not that he was superior to Charles, and never in dire straits, he just didn't want Charles to ever put himself in danger on his behalf. Not after this.

"I'm... sorry."

Charles: "I know."

As if anyone in the world could stop him, if the need arose. The night before had been horrifying. But fear didn't exist, where the safety of his family was concerned.

"Don't you apologise, either. You made a sacrifice to save me. How could I ever blame you for that? I'm grateful."

Mason: "Still hurts." Tender physically, but what he meant was, in his belief, more significant.

"I want it back." His mouth had tightened, face stern in an effort to prevent raw emotion. He didn't feel he had the right, sitting next to Charles after his ordeal.

Charles: "I know," he repeated, pushing the tray aside so he could properly situate himself in Mason's lap. He didn't need to bury what he was feeling. Not here. Not now.

"As soon as you're healed. Whenever you like, Mason. We can go to the cottage, just us."

Mason: Mason would never deny his husband the right to his lap. His hands came to rest on Charles' thighs, staring at his chest with a faraway look. He simply nodded. Greed was his circle of Hell; he had much to debate, much to restrain.

"Soon as you're healed."

Charles: "Yes. Yes, of course. Leslie has seen to most of that, already. I'm all right."

Charles took Mason's face in both of his hands, tilting it up to meet his eyes.

"Where are you?"

Mason: "Not what I mean." He began toying with Charles' fingers.

"Takes just... one decision t'be like them. Thinkin' of ya locked someplace safe. Just... thoughts. Just thoughts." Just a part of him, the demonic part of him, the persuasive, demonic logic.

Charles: Just thoughts. And thoughts were allowed. They didn't stop Charles from brushing his thumbs along his husband's cheeks, gentle as a whisper.

"Mm. That'd create more problems than it would solve, but I understand the impulse."

Understanding was different than agreeing, but Mason surely knew that.

Mason: Impulse. That was one way to phrase it. There was truth to the word. Charles was going to have his own hurdles going forward. Fears and irrationalities he would have to face. He didn't need the same from his husband.

"N'where would it stop? You? the children?" No, it was easier to kill everything else. Every last Haine on the planet.

Charles: Those thumbs continued to stroke along warm skin. This was better than burying everything. Draining, rather than leaving the thoughts to fester. He wasn't going anywhere.

"Again, we'd have more problems than solutions. There'd never be an end to it. I'm home. I'm safe. We'll recover."

Mason: Charles' hand was taken, flattened to his cheek. Those hands were so cold. He felt at the summons ring and frowned.

"Mm-hmm."

Mason peeled away long enough to move the tray entirely. Returning to the bed to lie back, offering his chest if Charles wanted another moment of peace.

Charles: He did, naturally. Even at the best of times, he enjoyed using his husband as a living pillow. His head came to rest over the pounding rhythm of Mason's heart, arms winding tight about his waist.

Charles didn't know how long they had, but he'd take full advantage of the quiet.

#Shards chapter #masonatlas #askprofessorx #leslieeissott #tristanseger #lawrenceatlas #ginalawson

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trekkele · 7 months

Note

"# i think If you want a genuine critique of Batman then Leslie and her pacifism is far more interesting"

So true. Unfortunately nobody's been writing her well since the 90s or '00s. At least, I didn't come across anything featuring her in a well thought out way.

I'm split on counting War Games because 'she would not fucking do that' as people say. However, it is her position on morality taken to the twisted extreme. Still, intentionally killing or faking it, is very emotionally hurtful, like trauma inducing hurtful. Both for Steph and the Batfam and her mother.

Looked up the exact definition of pacifism and, well:

"Pacifism is a policy or doctrine of rejecting war and violence in solving disputes"

She kinda did use violence (emotional and body violating and zero consent from removing Steph from her life) to solve a dispute. Or to "free" Steph of her bat-duties, but it still counts.

Would love for Leslie to go after other batfam members and not just Bruce and argue with them about their methods.

Actually i think Stephanies death, either by medical negligence or a failure of her support system, is a natural consequence of Leslies brand of pacifism and while “She, personally, might not fucking do that” her philosophy might so its not as ooc as id like it to be.

So to discuss Leslie i think i have to establish two things 1. She suffers from being a (mostly) anti Batman character in a Batman comic* and

2. She and Jason are actually on two ends of a spectrum, with Leslie being “it is better to be the victim of violence then the perpetrator of it” and Jason being “it is better to enact unspeakable violence then be the victim of it”. With Bruce in the middle like “can we please get some nuance in here can we please get some fucking nuance” which is. Very funny actually.

(Its funny because Bruce, by being Batman, has basically decided to become the nuance - he will be violent for you, and by being so good at violence he can minimize the amount of actual violence needed)

So by letting Steph die, Leslie is essentially saying “no amount of violence can save us, isnt it better to die then without having inflicted it upon others?” Which is so very Ghandi of her, but also fucking insane and yeah Bruce was 100% right to never trust her again after that.

She is also - ok so the thing is, in-universe, being a teenage vigilante is. It’s basically like being a dance kid. Its going to have a profound and everlasting effect on the kids mental and physical health, there are side effects we still don’t entirely understand, but for the most part its just. Something some kids do!! Some of them insist on doing it (dick, damian (<-i have thoughts about why Bruce didnt want to give Damian robin ok) some of them realize it isnt good for them but cant really give it up (jason, maybe tim?) some of them are in it just for their stage moms (cissie king-jones) and some of them suffer long term consequences due to insufficient parental supervision (kon, pre-nu52) etc etc. Leslie is the mom in the corner who thinks allowing her kid to perform or even learn ballet in a studio is a slippery slide to abuse. She thinks no kid should ever be in that environment, and by Bruce allowing Dick to do so, despite Bruces reluctance in the matter and almost oppressive supervision, he has doomed an entire generation of kids.

She is never going to criticize anyone else in the batfam, because to do so would be admitting that kids have agency beyond what adults believe is best for them, and admitting that means being unable to push her “correct” views upon them.

Leslie is actually a pretty good stand in for fandom in that way; refuses to allow anyone but Bruce agency and independent thought, refuses to place blame anywhere but Bruce, insists a difference of opinion is grounds for dismissal of personhood and respect, and believes Gotham would be better off if Batman never existed.

(Once again i have no idea if i answered your question/addressed your ask. Sorry)

#asks #leslie as the real world stand in actually works really well #i do have to clarify that i like her!! irl i would probably agree with her #but this is a power fantasy not irl

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allissonn · 2 years

Text

2008 vs 2016 vs 2019 vs 2022

Do you still talk to the first person you fell the hardest for?

2008 - Everyday :) 2016 – All the time 2019 - It’s all I want to do. 2022 - All of the above.

2. Have you ever seen your best friend naked? 2008 - Haha, no. And no thanks either. 2016 – You’d think so but nah 2019 - I consider Russel one of my best friends, the best of the best, so yes. 2022 - ^

3. Are you obsessed with someone? 2008 - Other than Edward Cullen? Nope. HAHAA! 2016 – Ew ^ 2019 - Hella ew to both answers. 2022 - Funny enough I just finished watching the Twilight series for the billionth time and y'all are lying if you think Edward Cullen isn't bae.

5. Do you like more than one person right now? 2008 - Nope. 2016 – Nah, I’ve never been so committed 2019 - Yes, ninety nine percent of the people in my life right now. Surround yourself w good people. 2022 - These questions aren't specific enough for me anymore, I need a more thorough one.

6. Name something that you would love to eat right now? 2008 - A poutine from New York Fries. Lol. 2016 – Pho from THDang. Best I’ve ever had and this cold is killing me right now 2019 - THDANG FOREVER. 2022 - Honestly anything right now, bc I'm at work and skipped breakfast.

7. Did you get any compliments today? 2008 - Mhmm. 2016 – Russel constantly reminds me how much he loves me everyday, if that counts 2019 - Russ called me beautiful otw to work this morning. He also told me he loves me, my favorite compliment of all. 2022 - Bro, it's 9 AM on a Sunday.

8. Last Person you talked to on msn? 2008 - Laika.. Hol. 2016 – RIP MSN 2019 - Lowkey miss the MSN days. 2022 - Rofl. Lol.

9. Who was the last two people to call you? 2008 - In person? Or on the phone? 2016 – My mom, to check up on my sick ass and Jeffrey asking what my Tim’s order was 2019 - My cousin Leslie, but I missed it. 2022 - Russel and mi madre.

10. If you could pick the temperature of the outdoors for the rest of your life would you? 2008 - No doubt. 2016 – Hell yes. Fuck this -35 bull happening right now 2019 - Absolutely, global warming is real and it’s terrifying. 2022 - Wow, how mature of 2019 me.

11. If you could have one super power what would it be? 2008 - To be able to read your mind :) 2016 – The power to heal any injured living thing would be nice 2019 - I’m honestly shocked that my answer in 2016 was so mature. I’m sticking w it. 2022 - I'm still so nosy, I'd love to be able to read peoples minds.

12. Are you happy? 2008 - Not at the moment. 2016 – Happiest I’ve been in a ridiculously long time 2019 - Could be happier. 2022 - Yes and no. Considering I had a miscarriage 15 days ago, life has been brutal lately. But it's reassuring to know that I can and will be happier eventually.

13. What’s your favorite smell? 2008 - Vanilla :) 2016 – Still vanilla. It’s nice to know some things just don’t change 2019 - Russel’s natural scent mixed w some D&G Light Blue. 2022 - Avery. He smells like home.

14. Are you moody? 2008 - I don’t think so :S 2016 – Yeah, but I’m not going to apologize for it 2019 - Constantly. Right now even. 2022 - My hormone levels are so off right now, I'm blaming it on that.

15. Last person you hung out with? 2008 - Whoever was there afterschool. 2016 – Does Russel count if we live together? If not, his cousins at their annual Christmas party 2019 - Went to Activate w the Espiritu’s last weekend. Otherwise it’s been work and straight home since. Adulting sucks. 2022 - Other than Russel and Avery, and the work ppl, does Ashana in SOGH ER count?

16. Have you ever tried to NOT fall for someone? 2008 - Sadly, yes. Whompwhomp. 2016 – Apparently ^ 2019 - Every single person I’ve fallen for tbh. 2022 - ^

17. Have you ever toilet papered someone’s house? 2008 - I wish, ahaha 2016 – Still on my bucket list unfortunately 2019 - Haven’t done it, but no longer on my bucket list. Think green, you know? 2022 - In this economy?

18. Have you ever liked someone but never told them? 2008 - Hello Jr. High. Haa.. 2016 – Story time, I actually had a thing for Russ in high school but didn’t tell him until we were officially together five years later. Lol 2019 - I just realized I was already dating Russ in 2016 and holy shit that year felt like a lifetime ago. 2022 - Lol 2016 tho

19. Have you ever gone camping? 2008 - Yes. And I absolutely hate it. 2016 – Yes, and I still hate it 2019 - Yes. I’m also willing to give it another try. The growth is real. 2022 - I would love to take Avery some time

20. Are you a liar? 2008 - According to Roxanne I suck. Lol. 2016 – I’d be lying if I said no, so no 2019 - Yes, but terrible at it. 2022 - Aren't we all

21. Have you ever gone to a nude beach? 2008 - No. 2016 – Nah, that’s not a priority of any sort 2019 - Still a solid no. 2022 - No thanks.

29. Have you ever had a stalker? 2008 - In a way, yeah :/ 2016 – Story time part two: Yes, and the only way to get him to stop talking to me was to constantly remind him that my boyfriend was in jail. Which wasn’t a lie, not entirely at least 2019 - Wow, completely forgot I had a stalker at one point too. 2022 - Wild.

22. Have you ever gone skinny dipping? 2008 - No. 2016 – Still a no 2019 - This is definitely still on my bucket list. 2022 - Wow these questions make me realize how little I've done with my bucket list. I should actually start one.

23. Listening to music? What are you listening to? 2008 - Yes. Read the title of this note. 2016 – Starboy by The Weeknd 2019 - My 4.LT playlist on spotify for my emotional ass. Don’t Wanna Be Your Girl by WET. 2022 - Currently listening to the Kristin Cavalari, Stephen Colletti and Lauren Conrad podcast. Highschool me is screaming.

24. Have you ever been betrayed by your best friend(s)? 2008 - Mhmm. 2016 - LOL 2019 - The number of times this has come up today alone compared to the last year is insane. 2022 - Fuck 'em all.

25. Have you ever lied to your parents? 2008 - Yes :/ 2016 - Unfortunately 2019 - Wish I never did. 2022 - I mean..

26. Have you ever worn your best friend’s clothes? 2008 - Yeap. 2016 – If we’re talking about Russ, I’m wearing his shirt right now 2019 - Still wearing his shirt tbh. 2022 - There is literally no other way to answer some of these questions than how I already have.

27. Have you ever thrown up from working out? 2008 - Nope. 2016 – Thankfully not, although that makes me think I’m not working hard enough 2019 - Again, probably not pushing myself hard enough. 2022 - I read that as "from making out" and my first thought was, is that a thing? Is that possible? Bruh.

28. Have you had a bad haircut? 2008 - Tons -_-“ 2016 - Girl 2019 - Girlllllllllll. 2022 - Not recently, thankfully.

29. Where are your siblings right now? 2008 - One is upstairs? The other is who knows where. 2016 – I honestly don’t know. I haven’t seen either of them in weeks. Horrible 2019 - Living their own/best lives. 2022 - ^

30. Last place you cried? 2008 - In the car. Ha. 2016 – In my room, probably over some tv show for sure 2019 - Literally in this exact spot, minutes before I decided to do this to change the mood. Sheesh. 2022 - In bed a few nights ago. Still don't know if I've processed the fact that I had a miscarriage with Russel yet tbh.

31. Name three things you did today? 2008 - That stupid english essay, ran around in the rain, and survived the day. Booya. 2016 – I tell you three things I didn’t do today: Sleep, go to work and get some fresh air 2019 - Work. Eat. Sleep. 2022 - I'll tell you three things I really wanted to do instead: Sleep in, have breakfast, spend the day with Avery. Work sucks.

32. Last person you text messaged? 2008 - Jodianne. 2016 – Jodianne again. Crazy 2019 - My groupchat w Pacifico and Michelle 2022 - Russel

33. Future kids names? 2008 - Lol. Yeah, I’m gonna name my kid Lol. NAT. 2016 – I’m really feeling “Riley” because it’s unisex 2019 - Still into unisex names. Possibly something in connection w my grandparents’ names. 2022 - The fact that I actually did give my child a unisex name. Go me.

34. What are you doing tomorrow? 2008 - My eng exam :/ 2016 – Waking up at 530 just to pick up my work equipment even though my two week vacation already started. Shitty 2019 - Working. Eating. Sleeping. Repeating. Adulting. 2022 - Work, bitch.

35. Do you remember singing any songs as a kid? 2008 - Of course! 2016 – Anything Britney Spears was my shit 2019 - I miss the days when Allan and I would blast the radio in the living room at the Banning house. Running around and jumping on/over furniture. Singing at the top of our lungs. 2022 - Lol aw ^ Srsly though.

36. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? 2008 - Nope, sorray. 2016 – Over and over again 2019 - Until the end of time. 2022 - Who tf did I kiss in 2008.

37. Are you allergic to anything? 2008 - None what so ever. 2016 – Hair dye 2019 - Hair dye and AHA’s. 2022 - Bullshit.

38. What is your mood? 2008 - I feel so giddy, yet tired. 2016 – I feel like crap rn 2019 - Shitty as fuck. 2022 - Jaden Smith.

39. Is anyone jealous of you? 2008 - How should I know? 2016 - ^ 2019 - If they are, they shouldn’t be. 2022 - Dont know. Don't care.

40. When is the last time you got into a fight? 2008 - Yesterday. Not physically tho. 2016 – Got into a dumbass fight over being “the captain” with Russ a few hours ago. Lasted not even ten minutes 2019 - A few months ago Russ and I gave each other the silent treatment for almost three entire days. It was extremely difficult considering how entwined our lives are. 2022 - I don't even know.

41. Where were you 2 hours ago? 2008 - Finishing my essay. Yay. 2016 – Exactly where I am rn 2019 - I haven’t moved in three hours. 2022 - Work. Man fuck work.

42. Where were you 6 hours ago? 2008 - In eng class talking to Arlyn :) 2016 – Is it sad that I haven’t really moved all day 2019 - At work earning this comfy lifestyle. 2022 - Warm and cozy snuggled next to Avery in bed.

43. What does your hair look like right now? 2008 - It’s in a ponytail. 2016 – It’s in a messy bun 2019 - If I’m home, my hair is in a bun. 2022 - The same it's always been.

44.Has anyone ever told you that they like you more than as a friend? 2008 - Yeah. 2016 – I remember exactly what Russel said when he admitted he was into me haha 2019 - I remember every single time someone has told me. 2022 - I actually no longer remember every single time someone has told me, lol. I genuinely only care about remembering when Russel told me.

45. What have you eaten today? 2008 - Food. 2016 – Pancit, eggs, pizza bites, sinigang, and yet I’m so hungry right now 2019 - For breakfast I had a shitty Beyond Meat breakfast sandwhich and a coffee from Tim’s. I had a bagel w honey ham, mixed greens and sriracha mayo sandwich for lunch. For dinner, I picked up Tocilog and Sisilog from Mar’s Sisig for Russ and I. 2022 - Coffee.

46. Is your hair naturally curly, straight, or nappy? 2008 - Wavy? Wth is nappy? 2016 – Dang I was so uncultured ^ It’s naturally wavy 2019 - Wavy. Also, something worth mentioning, I haven’t blow dried OR straightened my hair all summer. Again, the growth is real. 2022 - It only took me 30 years to realize my hair is actually straight. Wow.

47. Who was the last friend you were in the car with? 2008 - Laika.. Hol. :D Hehee. 2016 – Pacifico most likely 2019 - Ashana drove me to Selkirk the other weekend, but she’s more family than friend tbh. 2022 - Michelle?

48. What are you looking forward to? 2008 - Tomorrow, I guess :( 2016 – it’s the most wonderful time of the year! 2019 - I need something to look forward to. How depressing. 2022 - Nothing, now.

49. What do you think about marriage? 2008 - Too young to even think about it. 2016 – I ain’t stressing it 2019 - Should it happen, it happens. But honestly, starting a family is more of a priority to me right now. 2022 - Again, if it happens, it happens. Not entirely a goal.

50. Any of your friends getting married? 2008 - Not that I know of. 2016 – I’m at that age where everyone I know is either engaged, married and/or having children 2019 - This^. Stil. 2022 - Bro we're in our 30s.

0 notes

ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

So Live A Lie, Just Tonight, And Burn Out Bright

Batsis x Hal Jordan One-Shot

Word Count: 3.8K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mature Themes

Author's Note: I decided to compile that one Batsis "story" into one doc, and I added the alternate ending for the one anon who asked! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

“Alright, easy sis, easy,” he worried, watching her carefully for signs of pain flickering across her face as he helped her off the bike.

She scowled, managing to drag her injured leg forward. “Quit nagging. I’m—ngh—fine.”

“You’re on emergency oxycodone and you’ve got a broken femur,” he retorted. “I’m nagging until you’re in surgery.”

“Ugh, stop reminding me.”

Someone hauled her off her feet with a quiet, “I’ve got you.”

She grunted in pain laying on the gurney. “Thanks, dad.”

“Miss Wayne, are you alright?”

Her eyes found Alfred’s. “I’m good. I just ne—motherfucker!” she yelped, glaring at her father who was squeezing her thigh. “Hey! That’s broken, jackass! Quit!”

Bruce grunted. “You need an ORIF now.”

A pinch in her arm made her twitch and she turned her attention to Alfred who was uncapping a needle. “Alfred, what’s that?”

He shook his head. “Nothing to worry about, Miss Wayne.” Smiling, he stuck the needle into the line. “You’ll feel better when you awaken.”

Her vision blurred rapidly, “Gonna take…a nap…now…” her head lolled, and Bruce met Alfred’s gaze.

“Call Damian. He’s got the steady hand we’ll need.”

***

“How’re you feeling?” Jason asked, setting a cup of juice on the bedside table.

She blinked slowly, staring at her fingers. “Why are my fingers like this?”

“Like what, Queenie?”

“Bendy,” she replied, flexing her fingers. “It’s fuckin’ weird.” She looked at him. “I feel weird.”

He snorted, nodding at Dick and the others who were walking in at the sound of her voice. “You’re on hydromorphone, sis.”

“Hydro—what-what?”

“Hydromorphone, sister,” Damian said. “It has increased your threshold for pain and reduced the perception of it.”

She stared at him like she hadn’t heard a word come out of his mouth. “I didn’t understand a single goddamn word that you just said.”

Snickers sounded around her, but her head was up in the clouds and she rested back against her pillow. Her family gathered around her, sitting up on the bed, and suddenly she cocked her head up, squinting at each of them.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” Bruce inquired.

“Where’s Dick?”

“I’m right here, sis,” he answered, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “What’s up?”

“Why’d you break up with Kori?”

His eyes widened. “I—what?”

“Kori. Tall alien with the shooty-hands.”

“I know who she is. What about our breakup?”

“Are you kidding me? That woman is spectacular, and you broke up with her. She’s gorgeous, wicked intelligent, fantastic in bed and—”

“Wait, back up there,” he interrupted. “Good in bed? Did you sleep with, Kori?”

“Oh yeah, totally. I was her rebound after you.”

Dick blinked while the others cackled. “Have you…have you slept with any other exes?”

“Of yours? Or in general with the family’s exes?”

“Wait,” Jason said. “Have you slept with any of mine?”

“Did you date Artemis?”

He shrugged. “Sort of?”

“Then, yes.” She looked at Bruce. “I slept with Selina too, but to be completely honest we were both drunk and I don’t think either of us remember.”

“I uh—” he started, then quieted. “I didn’t know you were gay, sweetheart.”

She let out a ‘pfft’. “I’m not.”

“Oh, you’re bi, then?” Dick smiled and she shook her head.

“Nah, I like the wine but not the label.” She grinned. “I’m a lover of people.”

“How many superheroes have you slept with?” Tim questioned and she pursed her lips.

“Uh…I dunno…kinda lost count.”

For a moment no one said a word, then Jason asked, “You know how we call Dickhead the fuck-boy? Can we refer to you as that now? I think you’ve topped his count.”

Her eyes narrowed into a glare and she pointed at him, though she was seeing double, so it was entirely possible that she was pointing at the wall. “Keep that up and I’ll sleep with your best friend again.”

“You slept with Roy?!”

“I was talking about Kyle, but Roy works too.”

“OH MY GOD! IS THERE ANYONE YOU HAVEN’T SLEPT WITH?”

She thought for a moment, then offered, “Diana. But I asked her out last weekend so it’s up in the air until our date.”

***Part Two***

There was only one rule that everyone collectively followed in Wayne Manor and that was: no excessive noise until after twelve P.M. It was mostly influenced by Alfred who’d more than once pulled out the shotgun but surprisingly, mornings were usually calm and quiet. Keywords: “Were” and “Usually”. There were some special cases.

An ear-splitting scream shattered the silence of the breakfast room and in an instant, everyone was jumping from the table, sprinting towards the staircase to find out what was quite possibly murdering their eldest sister. As they neared the staircase, they came face to face with her as she stood behind the banister, her hands gripping the railing until her knuckles started whitening.

“Sis, what’s wrong?” Dick worried, already starting to come up the steps, Jason and Tim close behind.

“I’m late,” she whispered, and they leaned forward.

“What was that?” Bruce inquired, brows furrowing, and she looked at him.

“I’m late.” Her voice was firmer this time.

He blinked. “How long?”

“Two months.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Jason questioned, shaking his head and she scowled.

“My period’s late, jackass.”

She wished she’d taken a photo of their faces, because nothing would ever amuse her as much as the way their jaws went slack, eyes widening in total shock. Running a hand down her face, she groaned, “Oh my God. I knew something was up. I completely forgot about it.”

“Sooooo…” Tim drawled out with a recovered grin. “Who’s the daddy?”

Her eyes narrowed and she shot him a glare. “Shut. Up.”

“C’mon sis, someone—some guy did it for you.” Jason quipped. “Who’s the lucky man?” he paused, seeming to remember something. “How many superheroes have you slept with in two months? That have dicks, of course.” She clenched her jaw and his eyes widened. “Oh no. Oh no…is it, Roy?”

“It’s not Roy!” she hissed.

“Kyle?” Dick offered and she shook her head.

“No. I’ve only slept with one guy in the past two months.”

“Who was it sister?” Damian quizzed, placing his hands on his hips. “I have yet to meet anyone acceptable for you to populate with.”

“Thanks Damian,” she griped, then groaned. “Oh God, I know who it is too. And I wish I didn’t.”

“Why’s that?”

Her eyes found Tim’s. “Because we were drunk as hell after a League mission.”

“Who is it?” Bruce grunted and she met his gaze.

“You’re not going to like it.”

Something passed between them, and his eyes narrowed. “Please don’t say that’s who you slept with.”

She nodded, pressing a hand to her face, hiding her embarrassment. “Mhm.”

“You slept with him?”

“Unfortunately.”

Jason looked between his sister and father. “Wait, I’m confused. What’s going on?” A snort sounded beside him, and he looked over, seeing Dick in tears. “Why are you crying? What’s so funny?”

Dick cackled. “SHE SLEPT WITH HAL JORDAN!”

Another round of slack jawed brothers appeared in her sight, and she hissed. “It was an accident!”

“YOU’RE HAVING A BABY WITH HAL JORDAN!” Dick gasped, starting to drop to his knees from laughing so hard. “OH MY GOD, YOU SLEPT WITH THE GUY DAD HATES THE MOST!”

“You slept with Hal Jordan?” Tim gagged. “Ew.”

“Sister, I am disgusted in your choice of partners for children.” Damian noted and she scowled.

“I hate all of you.” she looked at Bruce.

He sighed heavily, a defeated father…or maybe a defeated grandfather. “I’ll go call Hal…and order prenatal vitamins.”

She ran a hand down her face. “I’ll call Leslie and get in for an exam.”

“Holy shit,” Jason gasped. “We’re gonna be uncles!”

***Part Three***

He shifted the phone to rest between his ear and shoulder, hands busy pouring coffee into his cup. “Hello?”

What are you doing right now?

“Bruce? Is that you?”

Answer the question, Hal.

He rolled his eyes and frowned. “Well, it’s nine A.M., I’m making a cup of coffee. I know bats are nocturnal, so this might come as a surprise to someone like you, but rest assured it’s a normal habit for us normal folks.”

How fast can you get to Gotham City?

“Willingly?” Hal chuckled, setting down the coffee pot to grab the phone. “What’s going on?”

I need your…help…with something. And I need you in Gotham as fast as you can get here…please.

He almost dropped both the phone and coffee mug. “Did you just say you need my he—” the line went dead with a click, and he pulled the phone from his ear. “Asshole,” Hal scowled and shoved the phone in his pocket, before putting the mug down. His body flashed green as he suited up and he sighed. “Can’t believe I gotta go to the land of the living dead at nine A.M.”

***

He rubbed his temples as he disconnected the call, barely suppressing the sigh that wanted to escape him. “Are you mad at me?” he heard behind him, low, scared, and worried; he shook his head.

“No.”

She leaned against the desk, staring down at the side of his head. “Are you disappointed in me?”

Bruce sighed this time. “At your basic lack of common sense and sleeping with a team member despite the fact that I’ve told you time and again that inner-team-dalliances only end badly? Yes.” He turned his eyes to her. “But for being pregnant? Never.”

“Doesn’t seem like it, dad,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest; he watched them lower to hold her stomach.

“I think Hal Jordan’s an idiot,” he stated. “If it seems like I’m upset, it’s because he’s going to be my grandchild’s father and I’ll have to be nice to him now.” She huffed a laugh and he reached over, placing a hand on her arm. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. We’ll take care of this.”

“I know, it’s just…” she sighed. “I never expected this to happen.”

“No one ever does,” Bruce answered. “Have you contacted Leslie yet?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’ll go see her around three.” Grunting, she muttered, “Figured if Hal got here in as soon as possible, we’d have enough time to sit and talk about this before we went.” She ran a hand over her face. “God, I can’t believe I Hal knocked me up.”

“Please don’t say that,” Bruce griped. “I don’t like that phrase.”

“But that’s what happened, dad. I got knocked up by Hal.”

“Why do you hate me?” he scowled, dropping his head into his hands. “How did this even happen?”

Sighing, she recounted, “After the mission in Brazil, Hal invited Barry back to Coast City for a drink and Barry invited me.” She shrugged. “I didn’t wanna be rude even if I am typically antisocial, so I accepted, and we got there and found a bar. After a couple hours, Barry had to get back to Central and we just decided to keep drinking.”

She grunted. “Hell, by seven thirty we were already gone so we got a ride back to his place and he offered to let me stay the night and one thing led to another and—”

Bruce raised his hand, effectively silencing her. “I can infer what happened after that.” He rubbed his temples. “Let’s just wait for Hal to get here, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, falling silent.

***

Alfred cleared his throat. “Master Jordan, is here, sir.” They both looked up from the Batcomputer at the test pilot.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce said, and the butler nodded, ascending the steps.

Hal walked towards them. “So, what’s the deal? Why do you need me?”

Bruce looked at her and she sighed. “Actually, I’m the one who needed you to come here, Hal.”

His brown eyes darted to hers, a flash, a recognition of something and he nodded. “Aright. What’s up?”

“Dad…give us a moment?” he nodded and stood from the Batcomputer, walking to the medical section on the other side of the cave. She waved Hal over. “You might wanna sit down.”

He did, albeit suspiciously. “Why are you acting so…weird?”

“Hal,” she said, then looked at her hands. “I’m…ah crap.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, brows furrowing.

She took a deep breath and admitted, “My period’s late and there’s a good chance I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, Hal didn’t say a word, then he burst into laughter. “Oh, that’s hilarious!” he held his stomach and wiped his eyes. “That’s a good one.”

“I’m not joking, Hal,” she spat. “In the last three months, you’re the only man I’ve had sex with. If I’m pregnant, you’re the father.”

He stopped laughing at that. “Are you being serious?”

“Dead.”

Hal ran a hand through his brown hair and let out a shocked breath. “Holy hell.” She watched him and he gaped at her. “W-what…what do we do?”

“I’ve got an appointment with Doctor Leslie at four. You’re welcome to come along if you’d like.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.” Swallowing thickly, he said, “Does he know?”

“Dad? Yeah. They all do.”

“They?” he repeated, eyes wide.

“My brothers.”

“You told them we slept together?”

She chuckled. “Apparently a year ago under heavy meds, I admitted I slept with Dad, Dick, and Jason’s exes.” She shrugged. “There’s not much I keep from them.”

Hal’s eyes shifted to Bruce’s back. “Can’t imagine the Big-Bat is happy about this.”

“Oh, he’s not. He thinks you’re an idiot, but judging by the look on your face, you already know that.”

He scoffed. “Your dad likes to think he’s smarter than everyone else.”

She cocked a brow. “He is.”

“And it seems like you’re following that strain well,” he shot back, and they glared at each other before cracking smiles.

“If this is real, we’re going to be some parents, huh?”

Hal could sense the fear in her voice, and he stood in front of her, placing his hands on her hips. “Hey,” he murmured. “No parents are perfect. And we’re sure as hell not.”

“If this is supposed to cheer me up, it’s not.”

“I’m not trying to cheer you up. I’m trying to reassure you,” he corrected, squeezing her hips lightly. “We’ll work through this, and we’ll do it together.”

She gazed at him then heaved a sigh and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thanks Hal.”

“Don’t mention it,” he chuckled, then murmured, “But if we really are going to be parents, should we tie the knot?”

“Absolutely not.”

***

“Hal, for the love of God, will you sit down?” she griped. “You’re starting to make me anxious with all that pacing.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before shrugging off his bomber. “I can’t help it,” he retorted. “I hate waiting.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” She rolled her eyes. “Leslie’s working as fast as she can. Just sit down and be patient.”

Hal paced for another minute before collapsing into the seat beside her; she took his hand in hers and rubbed her thumb on the back of his hand. “What are you doing?” he asked, and she hummed.

“Comforting you.”

“Why?”

She looked at him. “Because you’re worried.”

“How are you not?”

“I am,” she commented, and he scowled.

“You don’t look it.”

“Well, that’s because I was trained to retain my emotions a as child,” she retorted. “It helps when I’m dealing with children who are scared.”

“I’m not a child,” Hal hissed, and she snorted.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“You know what? I’m gonna—”

The door opened and their mouths snapped shut as Leslie walked in with a smile. “Good afternoon.”

“Hey Leslie,” she greeted, then glanced at the papers in her hand. “So? What’s the verdict?”

Leslie handed her the file and she looked it over. “Case of irregular period, dear.”

She blinked and said dumbly, “I’m not pregnant?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Our bodies act up sometimes, even when we’re grown. Irregularities can still happen even now.” Clearing her throat, Leslie added, “But your blood and urinalysis came back negative. You’re not pregnant.” She looked between Hal and her. “With the results, you’re free to leave.”

She stood to her feet, but when Hal didn’t, she tugged his hand. “Hal,” she whispered. “Come on.”

He staggered to his feet. “Yeah, I’m coming.” He disappeared out of the clinic room, and she sighed, then looked at Leslie.

“Thanks doc.”

“Of course.”

***

They were quiet on the park bench, watching the sun reflect off the water and listening to the birds singing in the sky. “So…I guess that’s a relief,” Hal stated, and she nodded.

“Yeah. I guess it is.” Laughing, she said, “I mean could you imagine if I were actually carrying your kid?” when he didn’t laugh, she looked over at him. “Hal?”

He blinked, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “Yeah, couldn’t imagine it.”

“Hal,” she plead. “Are you upset that I’m not?”

“What? No. No, I’m relieved you’re not pregnant, but…” he sighed and shrugged. “I dunno at the same time as scared as I was, I was happy, you know? Ready to step up and be there for you.”

She lowered her gaze to his hands and reached over, placing hers over his and he took it, squeezing. “Well, look at it this way. This was the universe telling you that you’re ready to be a father and this was the universe telling me that I’m not ready to be a mom or your baby’s mother.”

Hal gazed at her for a moment then chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He squeezed her hand again and climbed to his feet, flashing green as his suit appeared. “Now that everything’s sorted out, I should be getting back to Coast City.”

“Sounds good,” she agreed, standing to her feet.

“Can I drop you off anywhere?”

“Nah, I’m gonna walk around for a bit,” she said.

Hal took to the sky then looked down at her. “If you ever find yourself ready…call me?”

A shocked laugh bubbled in her chest, and she shook her head. “Not a chance in hell, Jordan.”

“Come on, don’t you think it would be fun to have the old Bat call me his son in law?”

Giggling, she waved him off. “Get out of here, Hal.”

Winking, he replied, “See you later, babe.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle and watch him leave, then she shook her head. “Ridiculous.” But a small smile was still on her lips as she headed down the street.

***Alternate Ending***

She gazed numbly out at the water, not sure if she should feel surprise or shock, but whatever emotion she was feeling had completely dumbfounded her. She was pregnant. Her hands had unconsciously pressed tight to her stomach, and she felt sick more than anything. Sick, scared, ashamed, every emotion that came with sleeping with a coworker—and every TV show and movie where the woman got pregnant from the affair.

How was she going to explain this to her family? To her friends? How was she going to face their scrutiny? Pregnant out of wedlock? With the biggest skirt-chasing, arrogant asshole in the galaxy? She’d take the brunt of their scathing opinions. He’d get off scot-free. He’d—

“(Y/N).” Someone’s hand rested on her shoulder, and she blinked, suddenly brought from her stupor and she looked over at him; his gaze was full of worry. “Are you okay?”

Instantly, she felt angry, and she jerked away from him, standing to her feet. “Am I okay!” she shouted. “You got me pregnant! Do you have any idea what this is going to do to us! To our reputations! To mine!”

Irritation etched across his face, and he stood to his feet, getting in her face. “It takes two to tango, (Y/N). We both did this—not just me.”

Her mouth opened to retort sharply, but damned if he didn’t have a point and she shut her mouth, tasting something bitter as she looked away. “I’m going home.”

She turned and his hand shot out, grabbing hold of her arm. “Wait, I don’t want you going alone.”

“Let go of me.” She hissed, trying to pull away, but he tightened his grip.

“No. It’s too dangerous for you to be out alone.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to Jordan. I’m—”

“The mother of my child.” Hal declared and she gaped at him. “I know what you and your family think of me. I know you think I’m an arrogant asshole and yeah, I’ll admit that I am.” He pulled her to him and wrapped his arm around her waist. “But if you think for a second, I’m going to let you wander around this bat-shit crazy city alone while pregnant, then you’re the one who’s being arrogant.”

He searched her gaze. “I’m many things, (Y/N). But I’m not going to abandon you or shy away from whatever this is.”

She swallowed thickly. “What do you mean ‘whatever this is’? Parents?”

“Us.” Hal said. “Maybe it’s just my big head, but I see the way you look at me. Yeah, I annoy the hell out of you, but you care for me.” He reached up, cupping her cheek. “And I care about you too. More than just what teammates should for one another.”

(Y/N) didn’t know what to say, because he did have a point. Hal was an annoying prick who at many times provoked her into physical confrontation, but on the other hand, there was nothing she loved more than fighting with him, because she knew he found it just as amusing.

Her gaze lowered and she felt tears well in her eyes. “I’m scared, Hal.”

“I know. I am too,” he murmured. “But we’re going to get through this.” He tipped her head up, catching her eyes once more. “We will get through this. Together.”

(Y/N)’s lips wobbled, and she tried for a lighthearted comment. “Isn’t fraternization against the rules?”

Hal grinned. “Only in the military.” He winked. “Last time I checked—we’re not in it.”

She laughed, leaning forward, and pressed her forehead to his. “How’s everyone going to react to this?”

He shrugged. “Probably with shock. I mean about me getting a girl pregnant? Not likely. Getting you pregnant? More likely.”

“Shut up.”

“I think we should consider getting married though.”

(Y/N) pulled away and stared at him. “Excuse me?”

Hal looked at her. “(Y/N), we should think about getting married. I mean, we’re gonna have a kid together. Might as well tie the knot while we’re at it.”

She merely blinked and spun, walking off. “Nope. Not happening. I’ll be your baby-mama, but I am not marrying you.”

“Hey! Wait up!”

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deadletterpoets · 3 years

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Saw someone on reddit pose the question of “What are you looking forward to/want to see in the Batgirl movie?” as they wanted to present more positivity about the movie after the negativity from the suit reveal. And I was gonna answer since I do like to try and be positive as I can be critical and negative too often. However thinking about I actually don’t think there’s much I’m looking forward to/want to see in the Batgirl movie.

First off I immediately take Cassandra Cain off the board. Even if she’s in it the odds she’s not just a continuation of BoP!Cass (since rumors has it Black Canary might be in the movie) doesn’t leave me much hope for a good Cass/Babs mentorship relationship in the live action Batgirl movie or sequel or at any point ever if I’m being honest. So my big *want* is already gone. I’ll admit to not being a Stephanie Brown stan, but I do like her character, however it is definitely not a want of mine for them to skip over Cass cause she’s a Harley character now and push Steph more with Babs. That’s just me though.

So right away my wants for legacy with the Batgirl mantle is gone. And tbf I don’t expect to see them mess around with the legacy anyway. For whatever reason that is such a taboo subject with DC. It took them till 2019 to finally start doing it in the comics again and then another year before they released a series for it. (and I still have some questions on exactly how the series is gonna hold up in a favorable light by the time it ends for any of the characters, but you all are having fun with it so I’ll let you come to those questions on your own time.)

So then I think more about just what we know/is rumored about the movie and it’s just Babs being Batgirl. And I can’t get myself to care or have a specific want when it comes to that. I do know that under the assumption it does well enough to warrant multiple movies that I DON’T want them to adapt The Killing Joke. I sincerely hope Leslie Grace shines in the role, and ppl that like Babsgirl enjoy it. That’s about all I can want cause I know, unfortunately much like the current series, I’m not the Batgirl fan this is being made for so I can only hope the audience it’s for likes it.

#barbara gordon #batgirl #dc #dc comics #cassandra cain #stephanie brown

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takerfoxx · 4 years

Text

In response to JK Rowling and Joss Whedon, my (former) idols

I really didn’t want to have to do this.

So in addition to…=gestures vaguely=…all of that, the last few months have been kind of sucky when it comes to learning some really unpleasant things about artists that I looked up to, admired, and was in fact inspired by. I’ve already spoken about the Speaking Out movement revealing a lot of ugly behavior from various wrestlers, some of which I was big fans of, and then later we got Chris Jericho being a full-on MAGA. Yeah, that all sucked. But those were just performers whose work I enjoyed watching. The one that really hurt were writers who I deeply admired, whose stories I love, and who I was heavily influenced by.

The first, of course, was finding out that JK Rowling, the author of perhaps the single biggest YA fantasy series of all time Harry Potter, is a TERF. This really sucked for a number of reasons. Firstly, I really like Harry Potter! I mean, I’m not a super fan or anything. I came into it when things were kind of dying down, like the whole book series had already been released and there were only a few movies left, but I still really enjoyed it, have all the books and movies and a fair amount of merchandise swag, including a nifty wand I got at Universal Studios. Shit, I got two replicas of the Sword of Griffyindor, thanks to them screwing up my order in my favor and sending me a duplicate! They’re on my wall right across from me as I type this!

But in addition to writing a book series I really liked, JK Rowling was supposed to be one the good guys. She’s been vocally progressive, often openly comes down on British right-wing nonsense, has supported various persecuted minorities, and is on record as being one of the few self-made billionaires to actually stop being a billionaire for a time because she donated so much money to charity. And while we mock it now, her revealing Dumbledore as gay was a huge deal at the time. Plus, she cultivated this reputation as Auntie Jo, that cool, supportive aunt we all wanted.

But for a while her stock has been dropping. Her preference for confirming “representation” via tweets instead of explicitly putting it in the text of her stories has raised the question of queer-baiting, especially with a whole-ass movie with a young Dumbledore and Grindelwald to make their relationship explicit but failing to do so. The whole Nagini thing from the latest Fantastic Beasts movie was pretty gross. And re-examination of various problematic elements from the original novels has rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. Now, none of these really looked to be intentionally malicious, of course. Just about everyone’s early work will have problematic elements; that’s just how people work. And the later stuff smacked more of ignorance than anything. But after all this time, it’s like, c’mon. You should know better by now.

But the biggie came when her transphobic views finally came to light. Now, this one had been brewing for a while, due to some questionable likes and statements on her twitter. But then she decided to just go public and published what essentially amounts to a TERF manifesto, one with a very “love the sinner, hate the sin” condescending attitude and had a real persecution complex air to it.

Now, I’m not going to go into detail about what the manifesto was about, what the circumstances surrounding it were, or how wrong it was. It’s already been raked over the coals, dissected, answered, and debunked in detail by people far more qualified than me, so odds are, you’re already well aware of its contents and the subsequent rebuttals. But the gist of it comes down to her basically believing that transwomen are actually cis men claiming to be trans so as to infiltrate and invade female-only spaces.

Yeah.

Okay, that’s gross, but…why? Why is someone so noted for being progressive and wanting to foster an inclusive environment making this the hill of exclusion that she wants to die on?

Well, that’s where things get tricky. She mentions that prior to Harry Potter, her first marriage was highly physically and sexually abusive, and when she escaped from that, she had no place to go, leading her to be homeless for a time.

Oh.

Well, that makes sense. Someone goes through a highly traumatic experience with a member of the opposite sex, has no support structure when she escapes it, is left to fend for herself, only to suddenly get rocketed into fame, fortune, and influence, which in turn leads to a Never Again mentality. She was hurt, no one was there to help her, and now she’s afraid of men invading women-only spaces to victimize others like she was victimized. So…literally transphobic. Literally a Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist.

Guys, this is so fucked up. Like, how do you even approach something like this? She’s a victim in every sense of the word, so of course she’s going to have physiological damage and a warped view of things. I mean, if I found out that a close friend of mine went through the same thing and had the same prejudices, I would be nothing but sympathetic! I mean, I’d still do what I can to convince her to overcome those prejudices, but I’d still show sympathy and support for what she went through.

Abuse warps people. There’s a reason why so many abusers are abuse survivors themselves. It makes you terrified of being hurt again and often causes people to adopt toxic behaviors, beliefs, and reactions to protect themselves. I’ve already talked about it at length while discussing She-Ra and its own handling of the cycle of abuse, which included franks discussions of Catra’s horrible behavior, why she was the way she was, while never losing sympathy for her and rooting for her to overcome it. So if JK Rowling is an abuse survivor, is it really right to come down on her for having warped views because of that abuse?

But that’s the problem. See, she isn’t your troubled friend that you’re trying to help. She isn’t your cousin Leslie who’s a really sweet person but unfortunately adopted some bad ideals due to trauma suffered. She JK freakin’ ROWLING, one of the most famous, wealthy, and influential women in the world. She has a platform of millions, if not billions, which means her voice lends credibility to her bigoted beliefs. Alt-righters and other TERFs have already swooped upon this for giving validation to their awful beliefs, which puts trans people even more at risk. And as horrible as Rowling’s experiences might have been, the trans community is often the victim of far worse, and they don’t have a mountain of money and an army of defenders to protect them like she does. I’ve said it time and time again: just because you’re a victim, that doesn’t give you the right to victimize others! And bringing things back to Catra, as much as I loved her redemption in the final season, she was still a TERRIBLE PERSON for a huge chunk of the show, one that needed to be stood up to and stopped.

So yeah. That’s the messiness that is JK Rowling.

Now, let’s talk about the one that really hurts. Let’s talk about Joss Whedon.

I’ve made no secret of what a huge Whedon fan I am. Unlike Rowling, I was a HUUUUUGE superfan. Seeing Serenity for the first time in theaters was akin to a religious awakening to me as a storyteller, making it one of my top three movies of all time. Firefly is my favorite show ever. And I adored Buffy, Angel, and Dollhouse as well. I love Cabin in the Woods and The Avengers. The very first fanfic I ever wrote was a Firefly fanfic that disappeared along with my old laptop. I know his style isn’t for everyone, but I cannot understate how much of a personal inspiration he is to me as a writer.

And like Rowling, Joss was supposed to be one of the good guys! Buffy was monumental in pushing the needle when it came to female empowerment. Will and Tara were groundbreaking as a gay couple. He’s been outspoken for years about his feminist views and beliefs and was seen as one of the most prominent and influential feminist voices in Hollywood!

And then things started to go bad.

One day he was on top of the world, the mastermind behind the first two Avenger movies. And the next, it seemed like he was in freefall. It’s hard to really pinpoint exactly when the change took place. Some would say him being brought in as a last-minute substitute for Zack Snyder to take over on Justice League after Snyder had to leave due to family tragedy, and the subsequent awful critical reception to that film tarnishing his image, even if those were very unique circumstances that couldn’t really be blamed on him. Others might point to Age of Ultron’s less than stellar reception, as well as criticism of some questionable jokes and certain creative decisions regarding the character of Black Widow, which then led to a more critical examination of how Whedon continues to write female characters, as while his work might have been revolutionary in the 90’s, his failure to evolve with the times had meant that many of his portrayals are now woefully outdated and problematic, with his vision for a Batgirl movie getting hit with a lot of backlash as a result.

Again, I’m not going to go into too much detail, as this is all public knowledge and can be easily looked up, but overall it seemed that Whedon entered into a period where he was getting criticized more than he was celebrated, and his image of a guaranteed hit maker was now in doubt.

But all of this wasn’t the big problem. All creators go through rises and slumps, and everyone hits points where they get hit with a barrage of criticism; that’s just part of being a public creative figure, especially a progressive one. And had nothing happened after, it would have probably faded, got forgotten, and Whedon would have moved onto the next project with no fuss.

But as it turned out, it wasn’t just a minor slump in his career. Instead, it was the priming of the pump.

In 2016, Whedon divorced his wife of sixteen years, Kai Cole, and in an open letter, Kai Cole accused him of being a serial cheater, who would have affairs with a great many women, from co-workers, to actresses, to friends, to even his fans. And in addition to raising questions of him possibly abusing his position as showrunner to elicit sex from those working on his projects, there also is the ugly question of how could someone who speaks so highly of women then go and backstab the person who was supposed to be the most important woman in his life, as well as lying to her and denying her the autonomy of deciding whether or not she even wanted to continue to have a relationship with him?

Furthermore, Whedon himself has not explicitly denied these accusations, and comments made by him seem only to confirm them.

Now if you’ll recall, I reacted publicly to this news, and despite my admiration of Whedon’s work, I came down on Kai Cole’s side, and stated that while things like marriage issues and infidelity were no one’s business but that of the couple’s, it did raise a lot of uncomfortable questions about how Whedon treated the women in his life and he really needed to get his shit in order.

But hey, a messy private life and a guy falling into temptation isn’t that big of a deal, right? Plenty of creators also go through multiple marriages and have problems staying faithful and still continue making great art. We’re all human, it’s a stressful job, and this shit just happens, right? Sure, it’s gross and a shitty thing to do, but ain’t no business of ours, right?

In late 2020, actor Ray Fisher, who played the role of Cyborg in Justice League, openly accused Joss Whedon of fostering a hostile work environment, claiming that the director’s behavior was abusive and unprofessional, and that Whedon in turn was protected by DC executives.

DC and Warner Bros. came down against Fisher, claiming they had done an internal investigation that turned up no evidence of wrongdoing (yeah, sure they did), and soon Fisher was out as Cyborg, apparently for rocking the boat.

But then Charisma Carpenter, noted for her important role as Cordelia Chase in both Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, then spoke up, claiming to be inspired by Fisher in doing so. She described Whedon did indeed foster a hostile work environment on his projects, that his often acted in a toxic manner, from asking incredibly invasive and inappropriate questions regarding her pregnancy to insulting her on set. She said that she made excuses for him for years, but after undergoing a lot of therapy and reading what Ray Fisher had to say, she felt compelled to speak out.

And this just open the floodgates. Other actors and actresses also came forward, some with stories of their own, others to offer support. Even Buffy herself, Sarah Michelle Gellar, confirmed Carpenter’s stories and said that she no longer wanted to be associated with Whedon. Michelle Trachtenberg, who played the character of Dawn, stated that she also experienced toxic treatment from Whedon despite her being a minor at the time, and says that the set had a rule that Whedon wasn’t allowed to be alone with her again, which really raises some sickening questions of what happened the first time. Even male stars have spoken out, from words of support and apologies for not speaking up earlier from Anthony Stewart Head and David Boreanaz, to an earlier interview with James Marsters, in which he described being terrified of Whedon, mainly due to an instance when Whedon was frustrated with the popularity of Marsters’s character of Spike messing with his plans and physically and verbally taking it out on the actor. There have been many corroborating stories of Whedon being casually cruel on set, on seemingly taking delight in making his fellow show writers cry, and even the man himself admitting to enjoying fostering a hostile work environment during his director commentary of the Avengers. We’ve joked about Whedon’s supposed sadism for years, but that was in regards to how he treated the characters in his stories, not the people helping him make them!

So yeah. That’s the problem with Joss Whedon.

So, do I think that Joss Whedon is somehow some kind of sociopath who lied about his feminist principles and deliberately put on a progressive façade specifically to get into a position of power so he could torment people? No, of course not. I think he was sincere about his beliefs, and I do think he didn’t realize the wrongness of his behavior. But that’s kind of the problem. See, it’s one thing to have kind of a trollishness to your nature, a sort of sadistic side. No one can help that. But when someone with that quality gets put into a position of power in which they are protected by both the higher-ups and their legions of fans, they are allowed to mistreat and continue to mistreat people. And by never suffering any consequences, that sort of toxic behavior becomes internalized, becomes a habit, becomes their moda operandi. And when you’re constantly getting praised as a creative genius and a wonderful feminist voice, any self-criticism just gets wiped away, and you think yourself above reproach, leading to what Joss Whedon became and went on being.

And you know what scares me the most about this particular issue? It’s not that I am a fan of his stories. It’s that I can so easily see myself turning out the same way.

Look, I’ll be upfront about it: I’m kind of a sadist myself. You’ve seen it in my stories, you’ve seen me gloating after a particularly dark plot twist makes my readers freak out. That sort of stuff is fun to me. There’s a reason why I have a much easier time in the dark and violent scenes, because I’m channeling something ugly within me. We all have a dark side, and this is mine.

But UNLIKE Whedon, that doesn’t carry over to how I treat people in real life (unless Monopoly or Mario Party are involved, then it’s fair game). Maybe it’s because I wasn’t given the sort of power and praise he did so early, and I was always taught to be considerate of other people’s feelings, but if I ever find out that I hurt another person or went too fair, I feel TERRIBLE, and it just throws me off all day until I apologize. Even if I don’t notice right away that what I said or did wasn’t cool (autistic, remember?), when it’s pointed out to me and I have some time to think on it, yeah, the guilt is on and I make a point to apologize to whoever I’ve hurt. I’ve even made a point to apologize to members of my family for inconsiderate stuff I said years ago as a little punk kid because it wouldn’t stop bugging me.

So maybe Whedon got too big, too fast. Maybe putting people on these sorts of pedestals, especially progressive ones, is ultimately a bad thing.

So where does this leave us? How are we to treat JK Rowling and Joss Whedon, one who developed a lot of transphobia due to abuse suffered while the other became a toxic individual due to unchecked control and a lack of consequences? Can we still enjoy their stories despite them now being colored by their creators’ falls from grace? Can we separate the art from the artist, or do we have to do a clean split?

Honestly, I feel that has to come down to the individual. I can’t remove the influence Rowling and Whedon have had on me as a storyteller, and I still highly respect both of their talents despite taking major issue with their problems as people. And I’m not going go throw away all of my Harry Potter or Firefly stuff. Because that’s my stuff. It has value to me, it doesn’t represent the issues with their creators, and a lot of it was gifts from people who are dear to me. Though I do think it’ll be a long time before I return to either of their work, as I just don’t have the stomach for it now.

But I will be avoiding any projects they have in the future. I don’t want to put money in their pockets that might go on to support their toxic beliefs or behavior. And as for royalties for their past work that would also support the cast and crew of the Harry Potter films or those who worked on Whedon’s shows who do not deserve to lose money because we don’t want any of that money going to the creators? Er, that question is a little above my paygrade. I don’t know. You’ll have to all decide for yourselves. As for me, I still have a lot of thinking to do.

Regardless though, if I or anyone else is still able to enjoy their work, then it’s important to not divorce what these people said or did from the art they created, even if it makes enjoying that art less fun. It’s important to be critical about what we enjoy, to acknowledge the bad aspects along with the good, and open up discussion of those elements, because that’s what mature adults are supposed to do.

And as for JK Rowling and Joss Whedon, whose stories I love, whose talent I admire, and whose past good work I’ll happily acknowledge, I do hope they both experience some sort of realization and enter into a period of self-examination that leads to them getting help for their issues, for Rowling to get help in coming to terms with her trauma and realizing that she’s wrong about the trans community and a full apology, and for Whedon to also come to terms with his toxic behavior and how he treats people, for him to make no excuse for what he did and sincerely apologize to those he hurt and work on bettering himself, as well as them both examining some of the more problematic tropes still present in their works. Because despite everything, I do feel that they can still be a creative force of good, and it would be a shame if they let themselves self-destruct.

But if not, then if it comes down to choosing between Rowling and the protecting the trans community, if it comes down between choosing between letting Whedon continue to make shows and protecting actors and writers from his abusive behavior, then I know who I’m siding with, and it ain’t the two individuals this whole essay is about. No story, no matter how good, no matter how creative, is worth letting sacrificing vulnerable people in order for it to be made.

#jk rowling #joss whedon #harry potter #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #angel #firefly #justice league #ray fisher #charisma carpenter #kai cole #transphobia tw #abuse tw #toxicity tw #TERF tw #rant #TERFs don't interact I do not want to talk to you #same for abuse apologists

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lunetheaveragefan · 4 years

Text

‘one day...’

Hey y’all! This chapter was supposed to be posted last Monday but last week was so busy for me and I forgot. So finally, here is chapter 7! Chapter 8 was supposed to be posted next week, but I’m going to continue with my typical two week schedule so I don’t forget again! Hope you enjoy!

A Sander Sides high school AU

Pairing: Prinxiety and some background Logicality

Summary: Virgil is used to being alone. He only has one friend, Logan. But when Logan makes a new friend, things begin to change as two more join their group. Roman, a boisterous theater kid, seems determined to destroy Virgil’s lonely, average life. How much will Virgil’s life change?

Warnings: swearing; brief mention of a panic attack; eating; if you notice anything else, let me know!

Word Count: 2557 words

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CHAPTER SEVEN

Virgil exits the auditorium with Patton and Logan, grinning.

“He did so good!” Patton exclaims. Before either of the others have a chance to respond, Patton continues, “It was like he was a completely different person! Here, let’s go congratulate him!” Virgil and Logan follow Patton down a few crowded hallways, weaving in and out of people talking to other members of the cast.

“Roman!” Patton yells, waving his arms. Virgil catches sight of Roman, stepping out of a set of heavy doors. Behind him, it’s dark, but Virgil can make out a folding table and the edges of black curtains. Backstage. Then, a group of people walk in front of them, and Virgil loses sight of Roman.

Without hesitation, Patton grabs Logan’s hand and begins to shove people aside, muttering a few cheerful ‘Excuse me’s and ‘Sorry’s. Before Virgil has a chance to get a hold of Logan, they’re lost in the crowd.

Well, what the heck do I do now? Virgil wonders, chuckling softly. A hand brushes his arm at the same time a voice says, “Hey. Where are the others?”

After seeing who it is, Virgil laughs and answers, “They went to look for you.” Roman slaps his forehead with his palm, uttering a sound that’s half-sigh, half-laugh. He rises up to his toes, straining to look over people’s heads.

“This same goddamn thing happens every year. You would think we’d learn by now.” Roman looks back down at Virgil, and at the very second he does, Virgil sees Patton pop up above the rest of the crowd. Pointing so Roman will see, Virgil waves his other hand to catch Patton’s attention. It works, and Roman grabs Virgil’s hand, causing his heart to skip a beat.

After a lot of pushing and shoving, the two of them reach Patton and Logan, standing pressed up against the wall next to a chair. So that’s how Patton got so tall all of a sudden. The second Patton sees them, he starts to gush about the performance.

“That was so good, Roman!” Patton exclaims clapping his hands in glee. He bounces on the balls of his feet, a wide smile spread across his face. “We all loved it and we’re so proud of you and it sounded so good and I think Virgil might’ve even been crying—” Virgil blushes when Roman looks at him with a shocked expression—“I’m not sure I couldn’t see through my own tears. But for real it was so good, like, I can’t even believe it was put on by high schoolers—” Logan places a hand on Patton’s shoulder. The action confirms to Virgil that Logan definitely has some sort of crush on Patton; Logan never really touches anyone in any way, with the occasional exception of Virgil.

“Sorry,” Patton says, grinning sheepishly. Roman chuckles and looks at Patton, appreciation covering his face.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you came. All of you.” Roman’s smile at him, although no more than a few seconds, makes butterflies erupt in Virgil’s stomach. He smiles back hesitantly, an intense debate going on in his head.

C’mon, tell him how much you liked it! one side says.

No! He won’t think it’s sincere. He’ll just figure you’re copying Patton, the other says back.

Maybe he will take it seriously! Maybe then you’ll have a better chance with him!

Better chance? You don’t actually like him, do you?

Of course he does! The butterflies, dreams, that’s the only logical conclusion!

Shut up, Virgil interrupts. I’ll tell him good job, but as a friend. Because I don’t like him. He’s still Roman Princeford. Have you all forgotten what happened freshman year? That ends the argument in its tracks. He gathers his courage, a rolling knot of apprehension twisting in his stomach.

“Yeah, it was really good, Roman,” Virgil compliments. “Although, Patton, you didn’t need to freaking snitch on me and how I was crying.” Patton shrugs, like ‘What can you do?’ Virgil chuckles, shaking his head.

“Wait, you were actually crying?” Roman asks. When Virgil turns back to look at Roman, he bursts out laughing at his face. It’s filled with complete and utter shock, eyes wide, mouth in a small, disbelieving ‘o’ shape. It seems so much like a face a cartoon character would make that Virgil can’t control his laughter. “What?”

“Your—Your face—” Virgil manages between wheezes. Roman punches Virgil in the arm.

“Stop. That’s not nice.” His words sound angry, but he’s smiling and his tone — and punch — are light.

“Sorry, sorry,” Virgil says, taking deep breaths to hold the laughter in. “It was just so comically shocked. But yes. I did actually cry. And don’t seem so surprised this time.”

“Honestly, your laugh was more surprising. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh like that. It’s a nice sound,” Roman admits, his face filled with something that seems awfully close to adoration. But then he blinks, and his smile is just an ordinary, million-dollar, Roman Princeford smile. It wouldn’t matter if he said it with contempt, because the compliment would’ve still sent a flood of warmth through Virgil. His heart is racing, but this time, not out of panic.

Tearing his eyes away from Roman and trying to inconspicuously grit his teeth, which is no easy feat, Virgil thinks, What is going on? It’s just a compliment. It’s not like you have a crush on him or anything.

“Anyway,” Roman starts, addressing the whole group, “I better go find my parents so they can fawn over me like I’m next Lin-Manuel Miranda or Leslie Odom Jr.” Upon seeing everyone’s blank looks, his eyes widen and he says, “Hamilton stars? Only some of the best singers to ever step foot on Broadway? Voices like goddamn angels who can, for some reason, also rap?” When everyone shakes their head, he sighs. “I swear, you guys must be living under a rock. But anyway, Imma head out. We’ll meet by door 10 at, say, 9:00, for the sleepover?”

Patton and Logan nod their heads and immediately start talking to each other, Patton’s hands moving animatedly.

“Sleepover?” Virgil asks.

“Yeah, Patton and I have a tradition where after every show or any big event with one of our activities, we have a sleepover. Even if it went terribly. He didn’t tell you?” Virgil shakes his head. Roman smiles and continues, “Well, you won’t want to miss it. Door 10 at 9, got it?” Once Virgil gives him confirmation, Roman turns and disappears into the crowd.

Virgil stares after him, a strange feeling welling up inside him. And this time, when the possibility of a crush comes up in his thoughts, he doesn’t dismiss it immediately.

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

Virgil sits against Roman’s wall, an excessive amount of pillows behind his back, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, a comparison that Patton has already, unfortunately, made.

“I still cannot comprehend how you possibly require this immense amount of pillows,” Logan persists. He can’t stop marveling over how many pillows Roman has on his bed. It’s about the 4th time he’s mentioned it.

“Logan, dude, just let it go,” Virgil chuckles, throwing the stuffed bear next to him. It hits Logan, who’s sitting on the floor, square in the side of his head. He opens his mouth to protest, but Roman interrupts him.

“Hey, don’t throw King Snuffles. He doesn’t deserve this abuse.” Roman leans over to pick the bear off the floor. Cradling it in his arms, he glares at Virgil.

“You named your bear King Snuffles?” Virgil questions, not all that surprised. Roman gasps and fakes being offended.

“Yes,” he replies, his voice scandalized. “And what the hell of it?” Virgil puts his hands up in surrender.

“Woah. Nothing, I guess, if you’re going to get so defensive about it.” He pulls the blanket, which fell down when he put up his hands, back around him. There’s too much on his head, so it falls in front of his face. Before he can reach up to push it up, a hand does it for him. Roman smiles at him, patting his head after setting the blanket there. Virgil rolls his eyes.

He hopes the yellow-orange LED lights and the shadows from the blanket hide the blush creeping across his cheeks.

“I’m hungry so I’m gonna head and get snacks,” Roman announces, turning and sling his legs over the edge of the bed to stand. Patton bolts to his feet.

“No, no, I’ll do it,” he says, clearly up to something. “And Logan will come with me.”

“Well, actually—” Logan begins. Patton elbows him, and he changes course. “I guess I’m going with.” On their way out, Patton gives Roman an exaggerated wink. Roman, in lieu of a response, gives him an exasperated, I’m-so-done kind of look. Virgil can’t say for sure, but when Roman looks back at him, he thinks Roman’s blushing.

“So…” Roman starts, biting his lip and fidgeting with his fingers. Virgil’s never seen him look this unsure. He’s used to a confident, brash, slightly egotistical Roman. To his surprise, he almost prefers this side of Roman.

Virgil must lose his mind for a little, because he’s definitely not acting like himself when he suggests, “Pillow fight?” and right after, grabs a pillow and flings it at Roman, whacking him in the face.

A borderline-evil smile appears on Romans face as he says, “Oh, you’re on.” Virgil’s senses pick that exact moment to come back, but he can’t take it back now. So he does the only thing he can do: slings the pillow again. Chaos erupts, and a Virgil verse Roman pillow fight begins.

As he throws and gets hit by pillows, Virgil laughs and yells, heart pounding, breathing in quick bursts, but this feels better than panic attacks. Happiness. It’s something Virgil doesn’t feel a whole lot since he spends most of his life stuck in a state of anxiety. It’s nice to be happy again.

He’s so lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice the pillow coming towards him until it slaps him in the face. Virgil falls backwards, head landing, conveniently, on a pillow. He sits up and hits Roman with it, and they’re at it again.

When Roman starts to fall off the bed, Virgil starts to laugh. But then he realizes that somehow, they’d gotten tangled in a blanket, and if Roman is going down, Virgil will too. Shrieking in surprise, Virgil instinctively closes his eyes as he’s yanked off the bed. A pillow hits the back of his head once he’s landed. He laughs and opens his eyes to see Roman directly under him. There’s no doubt about it now; Roman is definitely blushing. For that matter, so is Virgil.

There’s also no way Virgil can deny his crush anymore. But that doesn’t mean he has to deal with it, right? ...Right...

Desperate to put an end to the awkwardness, Virgil stands and offers his hand to Roman. He takes it and pulls himself to his feet. They make eye contact for a second before Virgil looks down at his hands. I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d kissed him.

Nope, nope, nope. Not gonna think about that. Don’t have to deal with that, remember?

“I, uh, wonder what’s taking Patton and Logan so long with the snacks,” Roman finally says, breaking the tense silence. Virgil wants to sigh in relief.

Instead, he simply responds, “I’m not sure. Let’s go see.” They walk to the landing of the stairs. Strangely, there isn’t any sound coming from the kitchen. After walking down the first few steps, Virgil can see into the room. What he sees should come as a surprise, but it really doesn’t.

Apparently, trying to set up Roman and Virgil wasn’t the only reason why Patton wanted Logan to come with. Logan is pressed up against the counter, hand wrapped around Patton’s waist as they kiss. Patton’s palms hold Logan’s face, tilting it down to account for the inches Logan has on him.

Roman, standing right behind Virgil, mutters, “Okay. Okay then.” Virgil starts to laugh but forces himself to stop so Logan or Patton don’t hear. Carefully, they creep back to the bedroom, letting them have their moment.

“So how long do you think that’s been going on for?” Roman asks once they’re back sitting on his bed, Virgil back to being wrapped up in his blanket cocoon again.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Virgil admits. “I kinda figured Logan had a crush on Patton, but I didn’t think they would actually get together, at least not this soon.”

“Yeah ever since their chemistry project, Patton's been crushing on Logan hard. He doesn’t shut up about it. Apparently,” Roman says, leaning in conspiratorially, “they’ve been talking a lot. Patton’s been so tired lately cuz they’re up til, like, 1 AM, video chatting.”

“That is news to me.” Virgil pauses, staring at the door. The two of them sit in silence for a while — comfortable silence — just waiting for Patton and Logan to reappear with the snacks they were supposed to be bringing. After about 10 more minutes, Virgil turns to Roman and asks, “Do you think I should call them up? They’ve been down there for an awful long time.”

“Yeah. The last thing I want is for them to have sex on my kitchen counter.” Virgil winces at the image that appears in his head at the words.

After Roman yells down to Logan and Patton, Virgil says, “Oh, god. Please never say anything like that again. I do not need that image in my head.” Roman laughs.

“An image of what?” Patton asks, walking in the room with Logan not far behind. Thankfully, they had the decency to pretend like they weren’t just making out. But Patton didn’t have so much decency to pretend like he hadn’t been eavesdropping on their conversation. They drop a few Halloween-size, assorted candy bulk bags and two big bowls of popcorn on the bed.

“Nothing,” Virgil answers, grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoving it in his mouth. “Ooh, Sour Patch Kids.” He grabs four individual bags of them and drops them in his lap.

“Jeez, hungry much?” Roman teases. Virgil flips him off and takes another handful of popcorn. Roman tries to sneakily grab a handful of mini bars from the bag of chocolate-based candy, but Virgil notices.

“Jeez, hypocritical much?” he quips, smirking.

“Oh, fuck off,” Roman responds, sticking his tongue out like a little kid. Virgil sticks his out right back. Patton, who, unsurprisingly, hates swearing, quickly attempts to change the subject.

“Hey, I have an idea! Let’s play Two Truths, One Lie! Then we can get to know each other better!” he suggests. The rest of them agree, and Patton goes first. They take turns, occasionally sharing stories and facts about themselves. And when they get bored of Two Truths, One Lie, they switch to Truth or Dare, and Virgil has to eat a spoonful of mayo.

Patton’s the first to fall asleep. Not long after, around 2 AM, Roman and Logan follow. Virgil sits wrapped in his blanket cocoon in the darkened bedroom. He stares out the window at the dim stars, thinking about how lucky he is. He has three great friends who he can make memories and laugh with.

He turns to look at Roman, asleep on the bed beside him.

“Thank you,” he whispers, “for surprising me.”

#virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders #prinxiety #logicality #sanders sides #high school au #fanfiction #fanfic #one day...

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myonechicagoworld · 4 years

Text

CHICAGO FIRE – NAZDAROVYA! (S01E15)

Gabby Dawson: [whimpering]

Try not to move. You’re going to be all right.

You’re going to be fine.

[horn honking]

Gabby Dawson: Hey! Hey! Stop!

Stop!

[horn honking]

[tires screech]

Gabby Dawson: Gunshot wounds to the abdomen and left chest.

Exit under the arm caught the axillary artery.

Doctor: I’ll take over on pressure.

Gabby Dawson: He’s my brother. I’m going into the OR with you.

Doctor: Can’t do it. Now.

Got it. Somebody grab the monitor. Let’s get him down the

hall into four. Go, go, go.

cutscene

Nurse: He’s all cleaned up, daddy.

Kelly Severide: Oh, no, I’m not the… I’m not the… I’m…

Okay.

Oh, Oh.

Hey guy.

[baby coos]

Kelly Severide: Hey buds.

Leslie Shay: Daddy.

Kelly Severide: Hey bud.

[phone chimes & vibrates]

[baby coos]

Leslie Shay: Dawson. What happened?

Oh baby.

Gabby Dawson: [crying] I don’t know.

[sobs]

cutscene

[door shuts]

Matt Casey: [exhales]

Nancy Casey: I’m not happy about our fight last night. It’s important

to me that we communicate.

Matt Casey: I agree.

Nancy Casey: I get the sense you weren’t too happy about me

going out with my friend Gary last night.

Matt Casey: It had nothing to do with… Gary. I was worried about

my mother violating her parole.

Nancy Casey: Fine [clears throat]

Agreed.

Can we… agree to trust each other? To discuss

things like two adults?

Matt Casey: Yeah.

Nancy Casey: I’m happy to hear it. Eat while they’re still warm.

[mug clanking]

Matt Casey: You know something? You’re right.

If we’re gonna live together, we need to get things out

in the open. So I’m gonna ask.

Why’d you do it?

Nancy Casey: Now you’re just being hurtful.

Matt Casey: No, I’m asking a question I need the answer to.

In 15 years, you never told me why. What made you go

over to dad’s?

Nancy Casey: You always do this!

- title -

cutscene

Gabby Dawson: He was really cagey [clears throat]

We were talking right before it happened.

Peter Mills: Listen, he’s… he’s lucky that you were there. Okay?

Gabby Dawson: Pete, it’s fine. She knows.

Leslie Shay: Is he out of ICU?

Gabby Dawson: No, not yet. I’m gonna go to the hospital after shift.

Leslie Shay: All right. I’ll go with you.

Matt Casey: Hey.

[door closes]

Matt Casey: I just heard. How is he?

Gabby Dawson: Uh, he lost a lot of blood, so they’re still doing

transfusions.

Matt Casey: [sighs] I’m so sorry. Your brother went so above and

beyond for me with the Voight thing. If there’s

anything I can do, just… let me know.

Gabby Dawson: Thank you.

Matt Casey: Uh, Chief wanted me to tell you there’s a police

detective here to see you in his office for some

follow-up questions.

Gabby Dawson: Okay.

Chief Boden: Dawson, come on in. This is Detective Ben Vikan from

Narcotics.

[door closes]

Man 1 (Det Ben Vikan): Very sorry to hear about Antonio. We got

damn near every cop in this city out looking

for who shot him.

Gabby Dawson: Good to know.

Man 1 (Det Ben Vikan): Antonio was looking for the leader of the

crew that’s been putting out the bad drugs.

He talked to you about that? ‘Cause I know

you had a conversation with him right

before he was shot.

Gabby Dawson: He said that guys from Narcotics were being

territorial and didn’t want a guy from Vice taking

his collars, so he was doing twice the work.

Man 1 (Det Ben Vikan): [chuckles] Let’s have an honest

conversation.

Gabby Dawson: Let’s.

Man 1 (Det Ben Vikan): Your brother went way off the reservation

on this one.

Chief Boden: You told me you were here to investigate the shooter,

not investigate Antonio.

Man 1 (Det Ben Vikan): It’s all related, Chief, and unfortunately, the

first step is to try to sift through eight layers

of lies he told his superiors and colleagues,

myself included.

Gabby Dawson: I’d trust my brother with my life. I don’t know you

from a load of wood.

Man 1 (Det Ben Vikan): Your boss has my card if you decide to

change your mind and help.

[door closes]

Gabby Dawson: I honestly don’t know anything about what’s going

on with Antonio.

Chief Boden: Okay.

[door closes]

cutscene

Eric Whaley: Morning.

Kelly Severide: Morning.

[paper bag rustling]

Eric Whaley: You still work on boats?

Kelly Severide: Yeah.

[paper bag continues to rustle]

Kelly Severide: Boater’s key. Thanks.

Eric Whaley: Mmm, you probably already got one, right?

Kelly Severide: Always use another.

Eric Whaley: I was out of line last shift. So, uh, that is half a peace

offering.

Kelly Severide: Accepted. The other half?

Eric Whaley: A bribe.

Kelly Severide: [chuckles] These things cost 7 bucks, man.

Eric Whaley: Fair enough.

Kelly Severide: [chukles]

Eric Whaley: Look [clears throat]

Now that I know what really happened between you

and Renee, I’m thinking she’s probably been letting

the guilt beat her up this whole time. I got no right to

ask this, but… I think if you reached out to her, it

could go a long way towards turning things around.

‘Cause like I said, man, we don’t hear from her.

Look, this is her cell number. At least I think it is. It’s a

computerised voice.

I’ve left messages…

Kelly Severide: Eric, I don’t even really know what I would say.

So maybe it’s just best to leave the past in the

past.

Eric Whaley: Maybe even just hearing your voice might make a

difference.

Kelly Severide: [sighs]

[knocks on locker]

cutscene

Peter Mills: Hey, chow’s up.

[dog whines]

Peter Mills: Hey, hey, don’t you even think about it.

[dog whimpers]

Christopher Herrmann: Shay, this is that baby book I was telling

you about. Lots of good stuff, swaddling,

soothing…

Leslie Shay: Thanks Herrmann. Hey, do you know if it says anything

about sleep schedules.

Christopher Herrmann: I didn’t read it.

Leslie Shay: Hmm.

Christopher Herrmann: All right, you’re our guy for construction on

the new bar, right?

Matt Casey: I believe the offer was free consultation.

Christopher Herrmann: Okay. All right. Fine.

Matt Casey: Yeah.

Christopher Herrmann: The inspection is tomorrow, and then our

new silent partner is coming over here

later for a meet and greet. We just gotta

make sure that this guy knows that we’re

driving this car.

Otis Zvonecek: Go easy. Extra partner means lower cost for the

rest of us.

Mouch: I’m with Herrmann. There’s an old Japanese proverb. Don’t

let your daughter-in-law eat your autumn eggplants.

Christopher Herrmann: What the hell does that mean?

Mouch: Don’t let yourself be taken advantage of.

[station alert buzzes & blares]

(Over PA): Engine 51, Truck 81, Ambulance 61. Possible drowning.

[sirens blaring, horns honking]

Matt Casey: There.

Boy 1: We were playing and all of a sudden, Patrick fell in!

Man 2 (Trilling/Dad): Please, help my son.

Chief Boden: How long’s he been under?

Man 2 (Trilling/Dad): Three minutes, maybe more.

Chief Boden: Let’s get that straight-frame to the edge of the lake

right now.

Matt Casey: Exactly where did he fall in?

Man 2 (Trilling/Dad): Right here. He came up for a second. Then

he… he went right back down again.

[indistinct radio chatter]

Kelly Severide: Keep feeding me line until I hit bottom. Then allow 6

more feet every time I tug twice, all right? When I

tug three times, I’ve got the kid.

Man 2 (Trilling/Dad): Please, God, please… Find my boy!

[indistinct radio chatter]

[water splashing]

[dramatic music]

Hadley: All right, he’s at the bottom.

[indistinct radio chatter]

Hadley: Three tugs! He’s got him.

Man 2 (Trilling/Dad): [gasps]

Chief Boden: Medics, get ready.

Mills, go with the ambulance as backup.

Peter Mills: Right.

Man 2 (Trilling/Dad): Oh my God. Is he alive?

[voice breaking] Patrick.

Gabby Dawson: Let’s put him in the right now.

[siren wailing]

Leslie Shay: Pushing epinephrine.

Gabby Dawson: Shay, check for lung sounds.

Leslie Shay: Yeah.

Gabby Dawson: Come on, Patrick.

Leslie Shay: You’re in.

Gabby Dawson: Let’s do a pulse check.

Leslie Shay: Come on, Patrick. Come on.

Gabby Dawson: Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Wait a second.

Peter Mills: What?

Gabby Dawson: I have a pulse.

Peter Mills: Wait, are you sure?

Gabby Dawson: Yeah. Yeah, pulses.

[air pumping]

Peter Mills: BP’s 60 over 40.

Gabby Dawson: [exhales]

Peter Mills: [exhales]

Leslie Shay: Hey.

Kelly Severide: Hey. How’s the kid?

Leslie Shay: Good.

Kelly Severide: Yeah?

Leslie Shay: Yeah. Got him warmed up. His BP is stabilised.

Man 2 (Trilling/Dad): Lieutenant?

Kelly Severide: Hey, I just heard the news. That’s great.

Man 2 (Trilling/Dad): Yes. Thanks to you guys. Um… I just want you

to know, uh… I didn’t… my son was in that

water, and I froze. I… I did nothing.

Kelly Severide: Sir…

Man 2 (Trilling/Dad): I don’t know why I just stood there. I wanted

to move, but my feet wouldn’t…

Kelly Severide: Listen to me. I’ve been to thousands of accident

scenes, and you never know any given day how

someone’s going to react.

Man 2 (Trilling/Dad): Yeah, but I did nothing. He’s my son, and I did

nothing.

Kelly Severide: That’s cold, dangerous water. You went in there,

we’d have been rescuing two.

Man 2 (Trilling/Dad): If you hadn’t shown up…

Kelly Severide: But we did.

And now your boy’s gonna be fine.

And you’re gonna be here to take him home. Okay?

Man 2 (Trilling/Dad): Okay. Thanks.

cutscene

Christopher Herrmann: Let me handle this.

Otis Zvonecek: All right.

Christopher Herrmann: All right.

Otis Zvonecek: Hey.

Christopher Herrmann: Hey, Arthur. Sorry for the wait.

Man 3 (Arthur): Ah, not a problem. I appreciate what you guys do.

Christopher Herrmann: All right, we wanted to open up the lines of

communication and let you know our

perspective on the whole partnership thing.

Man 3 (Arthur): So, uh, with the Latino girl, uh, we’re four, right?

Otis Zvonecek: I think that’s actually Latina.

Man 3 (Arthur): Oh, yeah, sorry. Yeah. Look, I’m no math major, but

partnership-wise, that’s that’s, uh, 25% stake each,

no?

Christopher Herrmann: Whoa, whoa, whoa. No, no, no. The old

man definitely did not say equal

partnership. He said take care of you

based upon what you brought to the

table. So construction, hauling, initial

investment.

Man 3 (Arthur): I don’t have a lot of out-of-pocket money to do any

investing. I… so…

Christopher Herrmann: We’re not talking 25% then.

Man 3 (Arthur): Okay, sure. Yeah, yeah. No, I… I get your point.

Christopher Herrmann: Listen, let’s just see what you bring to the

table. We’ll see how it goes, and we’ll

make sure that it’s fair.

Man 3 (Arthur): Sounds great. Uh, look, I gotta get back to work,

but I’ll see you tomorrow at the inspection, huh?

Christopher Herrmann: Yeah.

Otis Zvonecek: Okay

Herrmann & Otis: [laughs]

cutscene

Leslie Shay: [chuckles] Hi there, little guy.

Clarice: You know, Daniel’s planning on using the fact that I was in

therapy and on antidepressants as proof that I’m mentally

unstable.

Leslie Shay: Screw Daniel. We’re strong enough. We’ll handle

whatever he throws our way.

Clarice: Well, the lawyer did say there was another option.

Leslie Shay: What?

Clarice: We could offer 50/50 custody.

Leslie Shay: Clarice…

Clarice: I know Daniel will take it. You know, and then we can just

end all of this and focus on being a family.

Leslie Shay: [sighs]

Hey, you. Hi.

Okay.

cutscene

[background chatter]

Gabby Dawson: Knock, knock.

Antonio Dawson: Hey.

Gabby Dawson: Hey.

Antonio Dawson: I’d be dead, you hadn’t been there.

Gabby Dawson: No, you’d have crawled your way to the front door.

Antonio Dawson: Has anybody come talk to you?

Gabby Dawson: Uh, some detective from Narcotics named Vikan.

Antonio Dawson: Yeah. He’s after my badge.

Gabby Dawson: He’s saying you’ve gone off the rails.

Antonio Dawson: Look, this started out as prostitutes getting a hold

of bad dope. That’s a Vice case, which is why I

got involved. Then it turned into the bad dope

being dealt. That’s when Narcotics came in.

Gabby Dawson: Hey…

Antonio Dawson: Then it became about that new gang that I was

telling you about trying to push their way in and

take over.

Gabby Dawson: [inhales] Laura and the kids?

Antonio Dawson: Department’s putting them in protective custody

until they catch who tried to kill me.

Gabby Dawson: Have they been threatened?

Antonio Dawson: There’s been some hang ups on our home phone

line.

Gabby Dawson: If this was all about gangs, there is one cop who

could have helped out.

Antonio Dawson: Don’t even think about it.

[gate opening]

[keys jingling]

[metal clanking]

[chains clinking]

Gabby Dawson: [clears throat] Uh… my name’s Gabriela Daw…

Hank Voight: I know who you are. What the hell do you want?

Gabby Dawson: My brother, Antonio Dawson, he works in Vice…

Hank Voight: Yeah, yeah. He’s the guy who put the cuffs on me.

You tell him I said hi, okay?

Gabby Dawson: Okay, well, this involves him. So if you’ve got your

panties in a twist over how he does his job and

that’s a deal breaker for you, you just say so, and

I’ll leave.

Hank Voight: Continue.

Gabby Dawson: [clears throat] He’s investigating some bad dope

that’s been dumped on prostitutes. Uh, it’s about

some new gang…

Hank Voight: I’ve heard all about that.

Gabby Dawson: He was shot a couple days ago. But this is more

than just him and his family still having a bull’s

eye on their chest. Girls are dying out there. If my

brother was willing to risk his life trying to stop it,

I’m willing to risk mine trying to help him.

Hank Voight: My ex-partner had a thing he liked to say. “What was

the first thing Adam said when the good Lord

dropped him in Eden?” What’s in it for me?

Gabby Dawson: You know, I came here on the off chance that,

despite what happened, you might still care

about trying to prevent people from dying.

I don’t know what your jail situation is. As a former

cop, I’m assuming you’re segregated. So…

maybe by helping out, that would go a ways to

getting you some better… Uh, I don’t know,

accommodations.

Hank Voight: Then this conversation becomes about favours.

Gabby Dawson: [sighs] Okay.

Hank Voight: Okay what?

Gabby Dawson: Okay, you help me, I’ll help you.

Hank Voight: You’re gonna wanna talk to a guy named T.T.

He operates out of a two-story on the corner of 27th

and State. And I wouldn’t advise you come knocking

for him on your own.

Gabby Dawson: Well, I can take care of myself.

Hank Voight: Fine. Just tell him Voight sent you. You’re looking for

someone to testify about the Red Hooks. That’s the

gang your brother was trying to take down. T.T. owes

me. And he’s motivated because the Red Hooks are

trying to move in on his actions.

Gabby Dawson: Yeah, okay. All right, got it. T.T. Got it.

Hank Voight: I’ll be seeing you around.

Gabby Dawson: Thanks for your help.

cutscene

Otis Zvonecek: I don’t get this inspector, man. This bar’s been here

for 30 years. The old man said he never had a

problem.

Christopher Herrmann: Shut up.

So how’s it looking?

Man 4 (Inspector): Unfortunately, we have issues. Main one being

the layout. Your kitchen and bar area are too

close together.

Christopher Herrmann: Mr. Stephanidies said that you’ve always

approved it.

Man 4 (Inspector): Ah, well, see, that’s a different situation.

Mr Stephanidies and I had an understanding.

Otis Zvonecek: Huh, okay. Let me handle this

[clears throat]

Man 4 (Inspector): [laughs] Oh God.

cutscene

Leslie Shay: What are you, posing for a calendar?

Kelly Severide: It’s called a football hold.

Leslie Shay: Oh… [laughs]

[baby coos]

Leslie Shay: Thank God he looks like Clarice.

[sighs] Was he crying?

Kelly Severide: No. Not too bad.

Leslie Shay: I must have been out like a light. I’m so sorry.

Kelly Severide: No, it’s fine. Really. I don’t mind.

Leslie Shay: [yawns]

Kelly Severide: Hey, this attorney you guys got…

Leslie Shay: Mmhmm?

Kelly Severide: Do you think he can locate people?

Leslie Shay: Like?

Kelly Severide: Like Renee… Whaley?

Leslie Shay: Really?

Kelly Severide: No, it’s not like that. Eric came to me, asking if I

could reach out. I guess they’ve all tried and

failed. He gave me a cell number. I left a

message, but… maybe if I just showed up

and… and… I don’t even know why I’m talking

about this.

Leslie Shay: You’re talking about it ‘cause it might help.

Kelly Severide: What would I gain from this? Nothing.

What?

Leslie Shay: I mean… today at the hospital, you reached out to

some father you’ve never met, but, uh, you don’t

wanna try and help out someone you almost

married?

cutscene

[keys jiggling]

[door opens and closes]

Gabby Dawson: Uh, my name’s Gabriela. I’m-I’m looking for T.T.

[gasps]

[gun cocks]

Gabby Dawson: [whimpers]

Man 5 (T.T.): Why you asking around about me, bitch?

Gabby Dawson: [whimpers]

Voight. Detective Voight. He told me to come see

you.

Man 5 (T.T.): You a cop?

Gabby Dawson: [whimpers] I’m Gabriela Dawson, Firehouse 51.

I need your help.

My brother’s a cop, and he was shot last night.

Girls are dying from bad dope. You know this

because they’re trying to move in on you.

Voight told me that you can get somebody to

testify against the Red Hooks.

[gun cocks]

Man 5 (T.T.): You come around her again…

Gabby Dawson: [whimpers]

Man 5 (T.T.): I’mma blow your head clean off.

Do you understand me?

Gabby Dawson: [whimpers]

[footsteps departing]

[door shuts]

Gabby Dawson: [gasps]

[pants]

cutscene

[engine revving]

[techno music playing]

[low chatter]

Kelly Severide: Renee.

Lady 1 (Renee Whaley): I will be right back.

Kelly Severide.

Kelly Severide: Good seeing you. How you doing?

Lady 1 (Renee Whaley): What brings you? Or is this just one hell of

an awkward coincidence?

Kelly Severide: No, um… I’m working with Eric at the same house,

51.

Lady 1 (Renee Whaley): Oh?

Kelly Severide: And he asked if I’d come…

Lady 1 (Renee Whaley): I’m doing fine.

Is that what you came to find out?

Kelly Severide: I guess so, yeah.

Lady 1 (Renee Whaley): Well your question’s been answered then.

Thanks for your concern.

cutscene

[door closes]

Chief Boden: This is probably gonna come as a surprise to you.

Jail visitation logs are monitored. Certainly those

concerning dirty ex-cops.

I got a call. Several, in fact. What’s my response

gonna be, Gabby?

Gabby Dawson: [sighs] I went there to see if Voight would provide

any help with the Antonio thing.

Chief Boden: Gabby.

[sighs] I can’t do anything about what you do off shift,

so I will save my breath.

I will give you a bit of advice. The news on this is

gonna travel fast. Sure as hell got to me quick. So

you may wanna bring in a certain someone from

this house before it gets on the grapevine and he

forms his own opinion.

Gabby Dawson: They tried to kill Antonio, and for all I know, they

may still wanna finish the job. Plus all those

OD’s…

Matt Casey: Voight tried to take me out! He’s a liar and a crook!

Gabby Dawson: I know. But sometimes you gotta, you know…

dance with the devil.

Matt Casey: Really? Is that the way it works?

Gabby Dawson: [sighs] Casey, I didn’t feel like I had any other

choice. I’m sorry.

Matt Casey: Hey, just do what you need to do, okay? I hope it

works out.

[door shuts]

Gabby Dawson: [kicks chair]

cutscene

Kelly Severide: Hey, Eric.

Eric Whaley: Kelly.

Kelly Severide: So, um, I-I saw Renee.

Eric Whaley: You’re kidding.

Kelly Severide: No.

Eric Whaley: [chuckles] That’s great.

Or was it?

Kelly Severide: Yeah. No she’s… she’s doing fine.

Eric Whaley: Where’d you find her?

Kelly Severide: This bar she works at.

Eric Whaley: Cocktail waitress?

Kelly Severide: Basically, yeah.

Eric Whaley: She good? She happy?

Kelly Severide: Yeah, she seems happy.

Eric Whaley: Thanks.

Kelly Severide: Mmhmm.

Eric Whaley: Hopefully I’ll hear from her.

Kelly Severide: Hope so.

cutscene

Christopher Herrmann: Big day. We just heard the news.

Man 4 (Inspector): Congratulations.

Otis Zvonecek: I think a toast is in order here, huh? This is vodka

my parents brought back straight from the

homeland. Now, Herrmann and I are on duty, so

we can’t imbibe, but don’t let that stop you.

Nazdarovya.

Man 4 (Inspector): Um… I’ll pass.

If you just, uh, sign where the “X’s” are, and

you’ll be all set.

I want to apologise for any misunderstanding.

I’ll get these into the system right away, and

you’ll get your fully executed copies in the

mail shortly.

Man 3 (Arthur): I was thinking about our first conversation about

what it is I bring to the table. I bring a lot of

intangibles, I think they call it. In fact, I’d say I

bring 25% worth.

Ah.

cutscene

Peter Mills: You gotta stop this now. You wanna get shot too?

Just… let the investigation play itself out.

Gabby Dawson: I think I just ruined a friendship.

Peter Mills: With who?

[station alert buzzes & blares]

(Over PA): Truck 81, Squad 3, Battalion 25…

[kissing sound]

(Over PA): Ambulance 61. House collapse, 1600 block,

North Poplar.

[sirens blares]

Lady 2: The ceiling fell in! It sounded like thunder.

Matt Casey: We’ll take a look. Just stay back.

Lady 2: Our upstairs neighbour, he’s a crazy hoarder. Keeps all

these magazines and newspapers. We could hear the

floor creaking for months.

Christopher Herrmann: Have you seen him?

Chief Boden: Ma’am will you move to the corner? This building is

compromised. Everybody proceed with caution.

Matt Casey: Main level collapsed into the basement. Can’t get in

from here. Where’s the entrance to the basement?

Lady 2: The door’s open. Oh my God. My daughter goes down there

with her boyfriend sometimes.

Chief Boden: Okay, we’re going in. Truck, Squad, get all the airbags

and cribbing we have. Get it out here now.

[indistinct chatter]

[wood creaking loudly]

Chief Boden: We need to create a tunnel using airbags and

cribbing. We’ll slide ‘em in one by one, and then we’ll

use the cribbing as support. Severide, you’re in front.

Call out the line.

Kelly Severide: All right, Casey, Herrmann, Capp, Cruz, Hadley,

Mills, you guys are with me. The rest of you guys,

up to feed the line. Let’s go.

[loud creaking & cracking]

Kelly Severide: More cribbing.

Capp: Cribbing.

Kelly Severide: All right, up on yellow.

[motor humming, wood creaking & cracking]

[indistinct radio chatter]

Matt Casey: Send the Stokes basket down the tunnel.

Christopher Herrmann: Stokes basket.

Matt Casey: You guys okay?

Teen Boy: Yeah. Yeah, I think so.

Lady 2: Oh baby. Oh my baby.

Christopher Herrmann: There you go. She’s okay, mom. Got

banged around a little.

cutscene

Chief Boden: There’s a young woman in the briefing room. Says she

wants to talk to you.

Young Woman (Rose): You Gabriela?

Gabby Dawson: I am.

Young Woman (Rose): T.T. told me to come here.

[dramatic music]

Gabby Dawson: I’m glad you did.

Young Woman (Rose): And I can trust you?

Gabby Dawson: You can.

Young Woman (Rose): ‘Cause I’m not playing around. All right, if

I’m gonna help, I need assurances. I need

out of town for my testimony. They’ll kill me

in a second if they knew I was here.

Gabby Dawson: Whatever you need, it’ll be taken care of. You have

my word.

What do you know?

Young Woman (Rose): Everything.

cutscene

[locker opens]

[pills rattling]

[locker door shuts]

cutscene

[low conversation]

Man 3 (Arthur): Hey partner.

Christopher Herrmann: Arthur… I wanna come clean with you.

[metal clanging]

Christopher Herrmann: All right, the thing is, I got a checkered

history in terms of business investments.

Some people, they hoard broken junk.

Well, I hoard broken opportunities. My

point is is that I’m really looking forward

to owning this bar. It’s an investment

opportunity that I truly believe is gonna

work.

Man 3 (Arthur): So what’s the problem?

Christopher Herrmann: You’re the problem. You’re a bully.

You use threats and violence to intimidate

people, so if you wanna have at it and

smash up my legs just like you did that

poor bastard inspector, then have at it.

I mean it.

Man 3 (Arthur): Is that right?

Christopher Herrmann: I’m a firefighter, Arthur.

I see a lot of things that, believe me, you

don’t wanna see. I don’t get squeamish.

Instead of 25%, you get 1. 1% of what I

foresee as being pretty solid profits. All

for doing nothing but walking away from

our bar and staying away.

Man 3 (Arthur): I’ll expect my 1% monthly.

[boot closes]

cutscene

Kelly Severide: Any word back yet from Daniel on the 50/50 offer?

Clarice: Mm, no, not yet.

Leslie Shay: Oh, he’ll take it. It’s the best deal he’s gonna get, and

he knows it.

Clarice: [sighs]

Well, Wesley is gonna have a good man in his life,

regardless.

Kelly Severide: That’s nice of you to say.

All right, well, there you have it. I can keep it in my

room until you’re ready to swap it out.

[phone rings]

Kelly Severide: Eric.

Eric Whaley: You sure Renee seemed okay when you talked to her?

Kelly Severide: Yeah. Why?

Eric Whaley: I just got a call from the hospital. She took a bunch of

pills.

cutscene

Antonio Dawson: I told you not to go Gabby on this.

[kissing sound]

Gabby Dawson: I know you did.

Antonio Dawson: Captain just told me your girl gave a full

statement, including the identity of the shooter.

Gabby Dawson: This ends it, right?

Antonio Dawson: Well, it should. But what did you promise Voight?

Gabby Dawson: Uh, I told him I’d return the favour. Whatever that

means.

Antonio Dawson: You’re in bed with this guy now, Gabby.

Gabby Dawson: Hey. Someone tried to kill my brother.

If you mess with my family, you mess with me.

I don’t regret what I did.

Antonio Dawson: I love you. And I’m proud to be your brother.

cutscene

[phone rings]

[phone beeps]

[door closes]

Nancy Casey: I’m so sorry, Matt. Ron and I just kinda lost track of

time, and something happened with his car. I don’t

know, it had something to do with the clutch. And it

broke down on us right on the Eisenhower, of course.

We had to call the tow truck, go to the service centre.

D-Do-Do you want me to get the driver’s card and…

or-or the receipt?

Matt Casey: Yeah. Get ‘em for me.

Nancy Casey: I don’t know why I even bother.

Matt Casey: You got two weeks to find a new place.

Nancy Casey: What? Where am I gonna live? Where am I gonna

go?

Matt Casey: I don’t know.

You got two weeks to figure it out.

Nancy Casey: He chipped away at me, you know?

[keys clatter]

Nancy Casey: Every day. Your father.

He convinced me that, not only wasn’t I a worthy

mother, I wasn’t even a worthy person. I believed

him.

Then he started to do it to you. Every day another

sidelong comment, another criticism. You

remember it. I know you do. You started to

internalise it, and my worst fear was coming

true… that he was gonna do to you what he did to

me. So that night he called, we argued… and he

said something about you. Something… so cruel.

And I snapped. And I went, and I got the gun out

of the box that he kept in the closet. And I took

the house key that you left out. And I drove

across town. And I shot him.

Just to shut him up. Just to never hear those words

coming out of his mouth again.

I know what you’re thinking. I know what you

thought. But I know you, Matthew. You don’t have

that kind of anger inside of you, that ability to

completely lose control.

You’re not me.

And I think that’s what you really wanted to know.

- end -

Definitions:

Axillary artery = Is a large blood vessel that conveys oxygenated blood to the lateral aspect of the thorax, the axilla (armpit) and the upper limb.

OR = Operating Room

Cagey = Secretive; guarded. Reluctant to give information owing to caution or suspicion.

Vice = Police division whose focus is stopping public-order crimes like gambling, narcotics, prostitution, and illegal sales of alcohol.

Epinephrine = Adrenaline, also known as epinephrine, is a hormone and medication. Adrenaline is normally produced both by the adrenal glands and by a small number of neurons in the medulla oblongata (long stem-like structure which makes up the lower part of the brainstem), where it acts as a neurotransmitter involved in regulating visceral functions (e.g. functions)

Imbibe = Drink alcohol

Cribbing = Temporary wooden structure used to support heavy objects during construction, relocation, vehicle extrication and urban search and rescue.

Eisenhower = Interstate 290 (I-290) is an auxiliary Interstate Highway that runs westwards from the Chicago Loop. The portion of I-290 and I-294 to its east end is officially called the Dwight D. Eisenhower Expressway. In short form, it is known as “the Ike” or the Eisenhower.

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pynkhues · 4 years

Text

Rules: answer 30 questions and tag 20 blogs you are contractually obligated to know better.

I was tagged by @xstrawmari and @ama-ssiempre! Thank you!

Tagging - @foxmagpie @mego42 @septiembur @missmaxime @bathroombreaks @bethrio @sothischickshe @delicatelingon!

name/nickname: Sophie / Soph!

gender: cis woman!

star sign: Virgo!

height: 5′2

time: 9:30am

birthday: 6th September

favorite bands: Too many to name, honestly. I’ve been listening to a lot of San Cisco, The Vaccines and Arcade Fire lately though, so let’s say them for now!

favorite solo artists: Also too many to name, haha, but defs Amy Shark, Laura Marling, Santigold, Thelma Plum, Washington, Josh Pyke and Lorde. I’ve also fallen back in love with Sally Seltmann recently, so have been listening to her albums on repeat.

song stuck in my head: Sticking with Sally Seltmann, I’ve been humming Dark Blue Angel a lot this week.

youtube

last movie: The Call (2020)

last show: Superstore!

when did I create this blog: 2018!

what I post: on this blog, Good Girls content mostly, but also bits of The Umbrella Academy, Chuck and a few sitcoms.

last thing googled: tragically, all COVID-based stuff with the Sydney outbreak. :-(

other blogs: I have two other blogs - @owlishgirl is my primary blog which is a mixed bag of content, haha, but I also have @theoscarsproject where I’ve been watching every movie ever nominated for an Academy Award over the last eight years or so. It’s pretty fun. I’ve watched more or less everything from 1928 through to 1975 at this point, which is around 1,600 movies, so that’s kind of cool! Or extremely nerdy as most of my friends say, hahaha.

do I get asks: Yes! Lots!

why I chose my url: I am incredibly uncreative, haha, owlishgirl is because I love owls, and pynkhues is because I created it not long after Janelle Monae’s Pynk came out and I loved/love it a lot.

following: 287

followers: Yes! The number varies significantly blog to blog.

average hours of sleep: 8

lucky number: 3!

instruments: piano and recorder. I also learnt flute for two years before giving it up on account of being extremely bad at it.

what am I wearing: jeggings and a black singlet!

dream job: writer!

dream trip: I’ve always wanted to take six weeks off work and go and see South East Asia properly, particularly Vietnam, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia and Malaysia. I actually was booked to do this about five years ago, but had to cancel it for personal / financial reasons.

favorite food: I love love love raw salmon.

nationality: Australian!

favorite song: Oh god, too many too!! Favourite music is so hard! Umm, a song I absolutely adore and have never gotten sick of is Etta James’ At Last.

youtube

last book read: I haven’t had much time to read lately unfortunately, but I’m hoping to change that this week! Currently though, I’ve been very slowly reading Wordslut: a feminist guide to taking back the English language by Amanda Montell and enjoying it a lot!

Edit: I missed a question!

top three fictional universes I’d like to live in: I love Pawnee tbh, haha, and love the inherent hope in a government with Leslie Knope involved. Also forever partial to the universe of His Dark Materials - I would like a dæmon pls, annnnnd I’m going to say the universe of Howl’s Moving Castle too.

#ask memes #this was a fun one!#also love that the average height of this fandom seems to be extremely short hahaha

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shelby-love · 4 years

Text

CHRISTOPHER HERRMANN

#2 “A singer and a firefighter”

Requested: yes

Prompts: none

Warnings: none

Authors note: /

PART // 1 //

"Herrmann let me and Shay take Max," Gaby appeared in front of Christopher. He cradled his boy safely in his arms but you could see how tired the both of them were. "We'll take him downstairs to get some food."

At the mention of food Max showed curious interest that only made his father let him go. After placing a kiss on his head he watch as Gaby and Leslie both took his hands and guided him away.

Not even five minutes after that the doctor came out of the room. Chris was the first one to be on his feet, "Doc how is she? Is she alright?"

The man wore and expressionless face and no one could decipher what he was going to say, "Because of your efficiency you got her here in time and that's what matters the most."

Everyone exhaled. "The operation was difficult. She lost a lot of blood but thankfully she's out of the woods."

"Thank god," Wallace said and leaned against the wall.

"Can I see her?" Herrmann asked, hoping the doctor let's him.

"I'd like her to rest for a few more hours and then you can all pay her a visit." Once the doctor said that a thought struck him once more. "Are you Christopher."

"Yeah yeah... I-I'm Christopher."

"You'll be the first one to see her. She asked for you." The doctor told him and bid his goodbyes.

***

"Sweetheart..." He cautiously entered your room. When he saw you on the bed, leg wrapped and bruises all over your body, guilt started to eat him alive. "Oh honey... I'm so sorry."

You laughed meekly, "Why? You weren't the one to tell me to jump in front of the car."

Thoughts and ideas on how to break it to you flashed on his mind but none felt good enough to make the cut. That's why he just sat next to you, grabbed your hand and decided not to say anything... For now at least.

He pressed kisses on your knuckles and tucked your misplaced hair from your face. You looked at him with adoration, just like you always do. "I'm glad you're here."

When he didn't say anything else but just kiss your knuckles even more you noticed something was off. "Chris are you okay? Is something wrong?"

"Thank you..." He broke down.

You tired to move your body to sit up but the meds made your body feel like jello and you couldn't exactly move. "What? Why?"

"You saved my boy." He searched for emotion in your eyes. His were filled with tears.

Realisation hit you in an instant. "He's your son?"

"My boy yes..." He smiled.

All of your questions were suddenly answered. Why he suddenly dissappears, why his house is off limits, why he sometimes seems so distant. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I needed more time." He knew that telling you immediately was the way to go but how do you do that? Waiting seemed like an easier solution.

"How many?" You smile when you see his reaction. "Honey it's obvious."

"Lee Henry, Kenny, Luke, Max and Annabelle." He told you.

"6 kids?" You say and watch him furrow his eyebrows. "I thought 5."

"You thought right. How the heck did you get 6?" He said in disbelief. "Did you forget how to count?"

"Are Lee Henry two kids or one?"

"One of course!" He exclaimed and leaned in his chair. "Why would I name my kids Lee and Henry!?"

"How would I know?" You fight back laughing. The dry laugh made your throat hurt and you eventually started coughing. "Water..."

Chris was on his feet instantly, fearing for you. He grabbed the glass of water on the counter and helped you drunk from it. "Are you okay?"

You nod and wipe you mouth. "I really like the name Annabelle."

"I promise you'll meet them all as soon as you're feeling better."

"And when I look normal." You motion towards your bruised body and casted leg. "Is... Max here now?"

"Dawson and Shay took him home. He's a bit shaken up."

"Yeah he must be. Poor kid."

"What about you? Sweetheart you're a singer not a stuntman." At the mention of the word singer your expression fell.

"I won't be able to sing at Molly's anymore." You announce sadly.

"You'll be back." Chris told you, "When you're back on your feet."

"Yeah but Molly's will collapse until then."

"Jesus Y/N," A tortured laugh escaped his mouth. "I'll make sure to keep us running until your return."

On que a nurse arrived smiling brightly. "I'm sorry to interrupt." She swiftly made her way towards your bed. "I need to give her her meds. Unfortunately they'll knock her right out. But don't worry you can stay here if you want."

"Do you want to go home? To be with Max?" You asked and squeezed his hand. "I'll be alright."

Christopher couldn't believe how open you were. He expected you to show some type of discomfort or even tell him that you weren't comfortable. But you didn't.

Truth be told, you wanted a life with him. No matter what. He made your days so much better, so much brighter and happier and having his kids around... Mini Christophers that were just as hyper as he was was something you were excited to experience.

"I'm not leaving you." He pressed a kiss on the crown of your head with tears in his eyes. He watched you drift off to sleep and then he unlocked his phone and looked at the picture of his kids. His world.

A world you were apart of now.

MASTERLIST

#christopher herrmann imagine #christopher herrmann #christopher herrmann fanfiction #chicago fire imagine #chicago fire fanfiction #chicago fire

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langdxn · 5 years

Note

Cody asking for the new girl Y/N in the party that the crew of AHS organized today. One of his cast friends tell to him that she just didn't come. She was a very reserved actress and was a very introvert girl, she prefer be in the comfort of her home. What she doesn't know is that Cody would leave the party only to be with her, in his very glamorous (as always) outfit and just chill out with her.

NAWWW I love this so much! Thank you anon, this was a lot of fun 💖💖💖

(gif by codyfernsource)

“She’s not here?”

Cody’s eyes swooped around the crowded room, the blur of familiar faces as he tried to avoid eye contact in case anybody caught him staring. He fiddled nervously with the zip on his striped top, wracking his brains back to the day he invited her. She knew what day and time it was, right?

“Maybe she had other plans,” Gus shrugged, downing the dwindling contents of his solo cup. “Have a drink, dude.”

“No thanks, man,” he refused calmly. “Need a clear head.”

Billie Lourd made a beeline for the duo, landing an acknowledging tickle on Cody’s waist.

“Hey baby, how are—“

“Have you seen Y/N?” Cody cut her off. “Is she here tonight?”

“Um, I don’t think so,” Billie spun on her heels to check the perimeter. “Maybe she got stuck in traffic?”

“On a Wednesday night? Besides, she doesn’t live far from here, right?”

“Couple blocks,” Gus proffered. “She walks home from set every night.”

Cody’s gaze darted to the front door. He could walk to her house and be back before anybody noticed he was gone.

“You’re not honestly going out there, are you? It’s raining like hell!”

Cody raised his eyebrows.

“Honey, do you even know me? Hell is home to me!”

“You got a crush on her, Cody?” Billie giggled, an expressive hand landing on his chest.

“No, of course not,” an empty dismissal fell from Cody’s lips as he formulated a plan to leave the building without attracting too much attention. Brad Falchuk was pitched at the front door, Kathy Bates covering the patio doors leading to the pool. Luckily, the kitchen door was guarded only by the AHS camera crew. They may be the most observant creatures on set, but tonight they’re off duty and they haven’t yet noticed how many drinks Leslie Grossman has sneaked past them.

“I—I’ve gotta go,” Cody excused himself, blowing an air kiss to Billie and thrusting his half full cup into Gus’s chest. Gleefully accepted, the contents were gone in seconds.

“Tell Y/N we said hi,” Gus called over with a chuckle. Smiling to himself, Cody kept his head down as he weaved skilfully through the numbers.

———

The TV drama mumbled nonchalantly, blissfully unaware it had been reduced to background noise while you stared into the middle distance. Tucking your feet snugly into your fleecy robe, you reached for a supersized candy bar and an incredibly generous bottle of champagne. Flinging a chunk of chocolate in the direction of your wide open mouth, you nearly choked on it as you cheered your own success.

An introvert’s food-throwing Olympics is never won nor lost.

Your phone vibrated on the leather couch with an almost obscene buzz. No doubt another Instagram notification from the party, Emma Roberts looking endlessly stunning in a dress you couldn’t even imagine affording, let alone wearing.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like the cast and crew’s company, quite the contrary. You just needed some me time. The wrap party was the annual ultimatum you dreaded ever since you joined the AHS realm; lighting guys making inane small talk with makeup girls, hair guys battling in vain to find something in common with the runners. You scrunched your lips together, aware of how much you were missing at the party but consoling yourself in the knowledge that the anxiety wouldn’t have paid off. Singing into a hairbrush and watching dramatisations on serial killers was a much more profitable pastime. That is, if you can find your hairbrush.

Checking the luminous screen, Cody Fern’s caller ID glared back at you.

Shit, I forgot he invited me.

The longer you left the call unanswered, the more you panicked. Tapping to answer would only lead to twenty questions about your avoidance, but you couldn’t exactly turn down a call from Cody Fern. Your finger hovered shakily over the screen, wincing in agony. Unfortunately for you, said shaking finger tapped the button for you, making you curse silently and yank the phone to your ear.

“Hey—hey Cody, what’s up?” You answered feigning cluelessness, scratching your neck nervously.

“I thought I’d find you at home! I’m outside your door,” his familiar Australian tang chirped down the line.

“Easy there, Ghostface. What happened to the party?”

“Look, if it rains on my hair I swear I will barge my way in there and soak your damn couch.” His playful tone betrayed his serious message, giving you a handful of seconds to race to the door in fear of ruining The Hair.

Swinging the door open, you both simultaneously eyed each other up and down. You in your fluffy dressing gown, plush slippers and pyjamas, Cody head to toe in some glamorous clothing brand you were far too poor to identify. You shared a nervous, mouth-covering laugh before you stepped aside and ushered him in.

“What the hell happened to your hair, Mr Fern?” He instinctively shot a hand up to touch his blonde curls, all still perfectly fixed in place like some Flavian work of art. Cody snapped around to see you grinning from ear to ear. “Got you, babe.”

“So tell me,” he boomed as he made his way to your kitchen, grabbing a glass and the already half empty champagne bottle. “What is it about this very attractive drink that’s more important than the wrap party?”

“Ooh I don’t know,” you humoured him, swaggering over to the counter mocking the clanking of his ridiculously expensive boots on your linoleum floor. “Maybe I wanted a night in with a mysterious bubbly foreigner.”

Cody’s eyebrows raised so high, they may as well merge with his hairline.

“Okay,” you huffed, “I’ll bite, just this once. I’m not a wrap party kind of girl.”

“That’s all well and good honey,” he sassed on his way to the couch, kicking off his boots en route. “But why couldn’t you tell daddy you were going to abandon him and leave him asking the rest of the cast where your pretty face was?”

“That’s my problem, baby. I’m too new, nobody would really notice I’m not there anyway.”

Sinking into your couch and making himself at home, Cody cocked his head with a smile.

“Well I noticed!”

You sighed warmly, perching beside him and whipping your robe over your legs.

“What about the party? Don’t you wanna go back? You’ve seen I’m alive in here, that’s all you wanted to know, right?”

“Screw it, there’s always next year,” Cody declared, throwing an arm over your shoulder as you dipped into his chest. “So what’re we watching?”

“Something called The Assassination of Gianni Versace.”

“Oh really?” Cody chuckled heartily. “Never seen it.”

#cody fern fanfiction #cody fern #cody fern imagines #cody fern x reader

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cxmetery-gates · 4 years

Text

SURREPTITIOUS - DRACO MALFOY

CHAPTER THREE: DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS

SUMMARY: After getting her schedule, Leslie realizes that exams and essays just might be the least of her worries. WORD COUNT: 2.7k NOTES: Hello! It’s been a century..... whoops. WARNINGS: none!

MASTERLIST

THE NEXT MORNING, FOLLOWING THE feast the night before and catching up with others over breakfast, all the Slytherin six years patiently surround Professor Snape, the Head of Slytherin House, in the Great Hall as he files through their schedules thoroughly. Before the sixth years could be off on their way to class, their schedule had to be confirmed, ensuring they are fit for N.E.W.T.-level courses, considering how miserably difficult each class is.

Some of Leslie's housemates were already on their way, now leaving the young witch with just a few other students, all clad with a serpent emblem and matching emerald-and-silver ties.

"Greyscale," Professor Snape drawls.

The brown eyed girl takes half a step forward. He skims over her desired schedule, along with her O.W.L. scores, taking as much time as the previous students. Meaning, there was a heavy downpour in Leslie's racing thoughts for quite a few moments. Despite the beating of her heart, Leslie passed with high marks on her chosen classes. She was only worried about one in particular.

"Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Transfiguration are all fine. I must admit, I was pleased with your Potions mark and to see your continuation."

Despite Leslie's company and social inabilities, the long-time Potions professor (now Defense Against the Dark Arts) had a good standing with the girl. She did her assignments well and always lived up to his unrealistically high standards without complaint. Not many could say the same, so Leslie took his statement as a compliment. While the witch let out a breath of relief, Professor Snape had yet to confirm the last.

"But, I must ask: why the interest in Alchemy?"

Leslie had known her answer for a while. "My mother excelled in the practice, and I have always had an interest." Many years before Leslie was born, her mother had been gaining recognition for her work in the art, the Daily Prophet once even had a column titled "Witches You Should Know" with the mother's name at the top. Eve Greyscale was a talented, intelligent, and kind witch with a life ahead of her, but the world is unkind even to the most gentle of souls.

"Fair enough," the professor replies in understanding.

Professor Snape did not feel the need to question the girl further. After all, last term when she and the professor sat down for the mandatory meeting on what her last two years of Hogwarts should look like, Leslie informed him that she was still mostly uncertain which career path she desired. Perhaps Leslie would continue what legacy was stripped away all those years ago. "Lucky it was offered this term. Be sure you and Mr. Malfoy make Slytherin proud."

The girl could have blanched, but the parchment was held in front of her face, egging her to move and get on with her day. Leslie took the paper from the head of Slytherin House and glanced over to the pale blonde for a split second. As quickly as her eyes shot towards him, she looked away—she had not expected to see the young wizard already staring her down.

Leslie let out a long breath as she begun to head out of the Great Hall. Glancing down at the paper, her eyes absorbed her schedule for her sixth year at Hogwarts:

MONDAY: 10:00-11:00 : Defense Against the Dark Arts 11:00-12:00 : Lunch 13:00-15:00 : Potions

TUESDAY: 13:00-15:00 : Potions 15:30-17:00 : Charms

WEDNESDAY:

THURSDAY:

FRIDAY: 09:00-11:00 : Alchemy 11:00-12:00 : Lunch 13:00-15:00 : Transfiguration

The schedule is almost ideal, happy to see her Wednesdays and Thursdays would be free. Though, Leslie knows the off-days are intended for students to work on the vast amount of assignments. Nonetheless, she feels content.

"Hey, Leslie," a voice calls almost lazily.

Upturning her head, Leslie searches for voice, coming across a ginger boy. A distinct memory of her and different ginger boy, though a couple years her senior, alone and in very close proximity pops into her head and she feverishly tries to calm a blush. However, Ron Weasley spots it and it takes effort on his part to not laugh. Harry is with his friend and no doubt knows about the story in the two's head, having a twitch at the corner of his lips.

Leslie almost wants to run to the Slytherin common room, but instead, she smiles sweetly.

"Harry and I were comparing schedules," Ron informs her. "What's yours looking like?"

"Well, I have a free period now," - to this, Harry and Ron made a unanimous 'us too' - "And after, I have Defense Against the Dark Arts and then Potions later." Once again, the two Gryffindors make the same sound, the group pleased they share the same Monday schedule.

As the comparisons went on, Leslie discovered she also has Charms and Transfiguration with both Harry and Ron. It appeared the only class she had alone, at least so far to her knowledge, was Alchemy. The two Gryffindors made a face when they read the name on her timetable.

"Professor Snape said Malfoy is also in it." With a curl of her lip, Harry and Ron visibly see her lack of comfort in the ordeal. The duo understands all too well, and it only took befriending Leslie a year prior to propel their disdain.

"Malfoy is into that sort of thing?" Ron questions, his brow arched in disbelief. "Huh. I wouldn't have put him as someone interested in anything, except for being a royal git."

Leslie smiles though her eyebrows draw close. "Git or not, he's allowed to have interests. He's still a human, you know."

Ron scoffs, glaring at the platinum blonde now walking out of the Great Hall. "Hardly," is the ginger's reply which earns a good laugh from Leslie and Harry.

Now that the corridors were beginning to thin, Leslie decided she could afford to go back to the common room to grab more ink, having realize she only snagged a single bottle. "I'll see you in a few," Leslie tells her friends before taking the stretch to the dungeons.

══════════════════

Almost an hour later, Leslie's march ends at a queue leading to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. She was nearly late, but luckily, Professor Snape is very punctual about when to let students inside his classroom, leaving them all to wait outside until 10 o'clock exactly.

She just reaches the end of the line when the door is swung open, revealing the professor.

"Inside," is all he says.

Leslie did not miss Ron's bright hair and while she would have chose to sit next him and his friends, Professor Snape made it a habit to sort his students by House. So, Leslie took to one side as the other houses took to another. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws took the front while the house of serpents and lions took the back.

Unfortunately, due to Leslie arriving last, the very back row had the only available seating. And what made things worse was who sat in the spot next to the last stool.

Despite her glancing around, there was no other option but for Leslie to sit next to the blonde Draco Malfoy, not having realized (nor is she surprised) he was in the queue for the Dark Arts class. It appears his lap dog Pansy Parkinson and his goons did not pass or choose to take a N.E.W.T. level Defense Against the Dark Arts, otherwise he'd have his own posse to take up the remaining seats. For once, Leslie is upset she and the Parkinson girl do not share a course.

What had happened on the train did not falter in retellings. She felt almost thankful Malfoy created a distraction for her head, that much she will admit, but a giant part nagging at her was the fact that it simply was Malfoy who triggered the silence. She doesn't know whether her bumping shoulders was just a break in the wiring or if his presence meant something else. Leslie also was not wanting to find out. Not to mention, the ordeal made Leslie uncomfortable with their history considered.

"You are the worst person I have ever met, Draco!"

"If you would just listen to me, instead of acting crazy—!"

The witch blinks away a fight from last term and, ever so reluctantly, Leslie lowers herself on Malfoy's left, keeping her eyes far from his figure as a scar across her right hand replays a story. She sets her bag down, knowing Snape will use the first few minutes as an introduction to the course.

Leslie waits for a remark, something cruel to come out of the boy's mouth. But nothing of the such passes his lips. Instead, she finally notices his eyes are angled at her hand that was fiddling with the quill on her desk. Faster than a Golden Snitch, she redacts her arm under the table.

It was only then did Leslie notice how Professor Snape turned the old classroom into something of his own— truly his own. The atmosphere is heavy and gloomy, curtains pulled over the windows and the only source of light comes from lit candles. There were pictures, too, that rose goosebumps on Leslie's arms; they all depict what she assumes is the aftermath of evil curses and dark magic.

"I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention."

Every wandering gaze fell upon the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.

"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe. Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion, I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be more advanced." The statement did nothing to calm the nerves of each student. They all went in knowing the difficulties of N.E.W.T. classes, but the reminder from the monotone professor makes everything more real.

"The Dark Arts," Professor Snape continues having rounded the edge of the room towards the gruesome photos, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible. Your defenses must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" - all eyes absorb the sight of a witch shrieking an agony - "feel the Dementor's Kiss" - then a wizard with sunken, lifeless eyes huddled in a corner - "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" - finally, a bloody mass.

"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" Parvati Patil asks. "Is it definite? Is he using them?"

The mere concept of an Inferius makes Leslie shudder. To reincarnate the dead to do one's bidding is far too disturbing for her to stomach.

Professor Snape's eyes shows he did not appreciate the interruption. "The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now, you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"

It was an answer every student knew, but Hermione Granger shot her hand up anyways. Leslie had to bite back the humored smile as the professor surveyed the rest of the classroom, hoping for another hand to raise. But no one wanted to deflate Hermione's ego.

"Very well. Ms. Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform which gives you a split-second advantage," says the Gryffindor.

"An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six..." Professor Snape says dismissively. Next to Leslie, she hears Malfoy snicker, leading the girl to roll her eyes, a small huff escaping her.

The boy shoots his eyes to the left, eyeing down and smirking at Leslie. "I see the summer did nothing to kill that newfound feistiness. I almost miss the old you."

"And I missed it when you weren't speaking."

Dark brown irises roll once more to glare at silver grays, though the later holds a mischievous glint. Malfoy makes an exhale, the sound of a laugh being hidden. Leslie knows he is trying to get under her skin. Part of her feels it working, the other part truly just wants the boy to shut up. "Those Gryffindors really did a number on you. Especially that one twin—"

Before Leslie can retort, a voice comes from the front of the classroom. "If your conversations during my lecture are so important, Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Greyscale, perhaps a free period would be better suited."

Eyes from all around shoot towards the pair in the back. Leslie notices Ron give her a sympathetic smile. "Sorry, Professor," Leslie utters, as Malfoy was too busy smiling to himself.

The rest of Professor Snape's lecture was simply instructions on how to cast a non-verbal spell. Luckily, Leslie was already halfway to success, having learned how to perform a Shield Charm thanks to D.A. last year. However, they never learned how to cast it without using words. Leslie felt her nerves kick in even with her professor preparing them with the essential steps.

"You will now work with the person next to you. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence."

Oh, how lovely, Leslie thinks bitterly.

The back of the classroom held a wide space, wide enough for each pair to have room to practice standing up. Malfoy stood before Leslie when Professor Snape sent them off on their way. Leslie suppresses a groan when she pushes her stool back.

From behind her, she hears Harry whisper, "Good luck. If he does anything stupid..."

Leslie tosses a reassuring smile to the boy. "I'm sure I'll be fine, but thanks."

Malfoy already stands waiting with his wand out as Leslie approaches. There's a sly smirk on his face. It makes Leslie uncomfortable: does he thrive on making her queasy? "I'll go first."

"Go figure," Leslie replies wandering a few paces away. A few feet from the Slytherins, two Gryffindor boys named Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were paired to spar but only stood glaring at the blonde boy. Both boys made the assumption Malfoy was going to put Leslie in the hospital wing. Unbeknownst to them, however, the gift that allows her to know their very thoughts will aid her during the exercise, avoiding whatever the reason was behind Malfoy's smirk.

It took a matter of five minutes before Malfoy's smirk fell clean off his face. Much like the rest of the students, he had grown frustrated by the lack of progress. Leslie was gaining some improvement, but of course Hermione had seemingly mastered the skill before anyone else. Her efforts should have given Gryffindor at least 20 House Points, but all Professor Snape was interested in regarding that house was taking points away.

"Excellent progress," Snape tells the Slytherins. "But be more demanding, Greyscale. It is not your strong suit obviously, but defending yourself against Dark Wizards require it."

"Yes, thank you, Professor," Leslie responds as her professor and Malfoy share a brief moment of eye contact.

Malfoy twirls his wand and then goes still once Professor Snape moves on. "Try screaming the spell in your head. It's slowly working for me so far."

Leslie's eyebrow raises. Truthfully, the advice would have made her laugh if anyone would have given it to her. But she's stubborn, and not ready for Malfoy to earn her praise. "I didn't ask for your help."

He shrugs. "Yeah, well, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go back to hating each other."

"I've always hated you." Her eyes narrow but it's a lie, and Malfoy knows that well.

The same sly smirk fell upon his face once more. "That's not how I remember things."

Malfoy would regret his advice a second later as he flies backwards, not yet ready to block the spell from Leslie's wand.

"Powerful, and effective. Twenty points to Slytherin," Professor Snape announces as Leslie wears the proud smirk Malfoy once had.

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