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atopearth · 7 months

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Final Fantasy XVI Part 3 - To Live is to Hope

I'm glad they addressed the anklet on Torgal's leg, I've been curious about it. Nice to know it was from Cid. I'm glad the kids helped stand up for L'ubor because I was just about ready to leave this town to die. But of course it's better for everyone to be alive because then that can truly change the situation of the people and the Bearers. I liked the quest following in the will of Archduke Elwin. I'm sure he must be really proud to see both his sons living as he would have wanted them to, unwavering in their beliefs for a world where Bearers and everyone can live as they will. I like Isabelle, she's very strong, mature and cool. Her story was very bittersweet too, it's a common story but you could really feel how grateful she was towards Northreach and the Veil for taking her and her lover who was a Bearer in when no one else would, and how much they treated her like family and kin that she's willing to give everything to protect this town and it's people. Her strength and resolve throughout the game in caring for this town goes to show how beautiful Northreach is and also why I have a soft spot for this town too.

It was really sweet to know that Clive tried to take Jill to see snow daisies when they were young because she was sad. He didn't get to show it to her back then but at least now he's been able to fulfil that promise. It's not as romantic as the flower scene in FFVIII before the end but not many things can top the feelings I had back in the day. Anyway, I'm really glad we got this scene because I was like, what about Jill the whole time I was doing all these side quests haha. Glad she got a bit more screentime and it really warmed my heart seeing them hug each other so comfortably and happily. I'm happy that we got the Dion side quest, I think he and I really needed it. Harpocrates also needed it I guess since he never got to watch over Dion any more than the brief time he did when Dion was young, but the fact that Dion remembers and respects him goes to show his importance in his heart. It was cute how Mid also hugged Dion before they left for Origin and he was so surprised haha. But what about Terence? Did he die? I really wanted Dion to get a proper farewell too. I really like Gav's relationship with Clive, so when he started crying, I wanted to tear up too😭 What?! No Torgal for the final battle? That's ridiculous, we've never separated from him, how could we go without him? What is life without Torgal? I mean I should say the same for Jill but I have to admit that I feel more incomplete without Torgal than Jill lmao.0

I knew it was basically impossible for Joshua to live until the end but having to watch him die and Clive absorbing the Phoenix just makes me sad. Little Joshua knighting Clive was the cutest thing ever. As for Ultima, honestly have no feelings for him because he's a pretty typical JRPG villain lol. What, I couldn't believe that was the ending because it was so anticlimactic, I wasn't sure what to feel even when I got back to the title screen. And honestly, what I hate most aren't endings I dislike but inconclusive endings and this is one. It reminds me of Gantz and I'm still salty to this day. I honestly don't care if our main characters really died or not, I don't care if the ending is sad or happy, but I hate that they showed nothing that was an "ending". Everything was just the aftermath of the final battle and then the end. Even that book is just a cop out to make you feel better or something, is it written by the real Joshua resurrected? Clive in his name? Jote in his memory? It could be anything but because they refuse to show it, I don't think I really care either. Just seeing Jill and Gav cry as they welcome in a new life is very unsatisfying. I felt bad for Torgal. How many people he cared about died before him? Anyway yeah, I have no doubt that a world with L'ubor, Martha, Byron and Isabelle and them will be perfectly fine but that doesn't mean I spent 60-70 hours on a journey with Clive just to not see a proper ending for him and I'm just disappointed in this decision. Maybe they're trying for DLCs again or a sequel (EDIT: DLCs coming as expected I guess) but seriously, it leaves a bad aftertaste considering everything that's happened. Dion's implied death was the worst. And the battle where we couldn't play with Bahamut or Phoenix was lacklustre considering how great the battles with Titan and Bahamut were. Anyway, it's crazy how the Bahamut fight was so long, but the ending to an entire game was so short and meaningless.

Overall, I still enjoyed FFXVI. The highlights of the game are definitely the Eikon fights and the side characters. I'm not one to fall for the sway of graphics considering I grew up with the blocks in FFVII but I can very assuredly tell you that the fight against Titan was great, and the fight against Bahamut was pretty freaking cool despite how terrible of a situation it was. In terms of Eikon fights though, I was quite disappointed that Shiva never really got to shine considering how beautiful she was and how cool Shiva always is. Even Garuda had better screentime. Odin had his splitting the sea moment too. As for the side characters, honestly the side quests were tedious at times because running around was annoying and there's only so many times we can kill bandits and fetch materials that are super far away.

I'd say the side quests were worth doing because they really helped towards world building and giving me a better view of how towns and people were. I won't say I liked all of them but Martha and Wade, Isabelle, Eloise and Theodore were great. In terms of main story characters though, my favourites were definitely Joshua, Dion, Gav and Cid. It's funny but this is one of the rare times where I actually loved the younger brother more than the older brother hahaha, I guess I just loved how even though Clive was Joshua's shield, Joshua turned out to be the one to protect him more than he did once they got older. I loved the sibling love and care for each other. I loved Dion's story the most because it was very straightforward and understandable. He was a good guy who cared about his people and his father but wasn't able to stop the destruction caused by Ultima because of these feelings he had for them. Gav and Clive is my favourite relationship because their trust and heart to heart to each other just makes me happy to watch all the time. Cid was cool and a great role model, charismatic and strong in his beliefs, a good way to show what Clive was to become as he continued his journey.

However, I do have to say I probably have more negatives than positives for this game. Personal preference but I wasn't a fan of the combat system. I can understand why there's no "magic system" but the utter lack of debuffs and status changes etc really makes battles quite one dimensional in that your focus is really to combo and dodge/block. Attacks from enemies are basically meaningless because the only difference is how much damage they do and not what they do. Weapons and accessories aren't any better because weapons can only have better damage and stagger but nothing else, and accessories don't really add much change to make me really care what I was using. I mean as I've said, I was using the accessory that does attacks for me so you can take my words with a grain of salt lol but I was just so disinterested in the combat, I couldn't bring myself to bother. Oh and the non-existent party system was disappointing because it never really mattered if you had a party or not, it was just more characters on screen but really, I always felt alone in battle and completely forgot their existence. Anyway, as I was disappointed with Shiva's lack of screentime, I was also disappointed with Jill's presence in the story because her character fell flat for me. She and Clive were cute at times but I kinda wish she had more of a character if that makes sense. Barnabas was also disappointing considering he was closest to Ultima and that he was Odin, so he could have brought more insight and development to those things but nope. I have to say though, the story was very average. I thought the story was going to be more "mature" and go for the exploration of politics, Clive's revenge and fight for forgiveness etc but instead it went down the JRPG killing god route which was very disappointing to me especially considering how boring Ultima was. Oh well I guess. Despite my grievances, I'd still give it a 7.5, it was a nice ride but nothing really hit me, it basically met my expectations which was that even if I don't like the game, the Eikon fights should be cool, and I'd say the game definitely delivered in that aspect with Bahamut, which is kinda ironic because when I first saw Bahamut, I thought he was the ugliest out of all the Eikons hahaha! Who would have thought I'd like his Dominant Dion, and the Eikon fight the most in the end? Odin was the most beautiful but also the most disappointing. Anyway, I'd say the game is worth playing just to see the Eikon fights haha, they are just that visually stunning!

#final fantasy xvi #final fantasy 16 #ffxvi

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just-an-enby-lemon · 2 years

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don't apologize for the tangent it was interesting! and I do agree, both versions - him not being a good student because the system failed him and being desperate to prove he's not an idiot or him being a good student and seeing that as his one good value - are both interesting, since they both can lead to someone being the way he is usually characterized: someone desperate to prove he's the smartest person in the room, someone that would make himself feel better about being lonely by convincing himself that people only don't like him or treat him badly because they don't understand him cause he's smarter than them etc. so what I was referring to as something I find less interesting wasn't that really but the thing that One Bad Day or other comics do where it's presented like he's the smartest guy ever who already spoke 10 languages at 3 years old or already had a dozen university degrees at age 20. there's nothing wrong with that characterisation and it can be interesting when written well it's just a bit bland for me personally because having the "smart" villain be a super genius who has 40 degrees and is perfectly capable in any subject is just something they do with every 'genius' villain so it just feels a bit generic to me personally, which is also why I liked that in Unburied they had him specifiy that he is more of a talented artist than a scientific genius, but i totally get why that characterisation exists too, I just personally find it more interesting and unique when he's less extremely supernaturally smart • You're right about the costume idk why they turn characters costumes more bland for the sake of realism when there are a lot of eccentric people irl that dress even weirder than the characters in the comics. I mean Edward specifically has a game show host motif and a lot of those people irl dress just that flamboyantly. Robin's movie costume is gonna be interesting you're right about that too. • the ableism...yeah the autistic coding was on purpose, he's very clearly coded as neurodivergent in the tie in material to the movie. idk if the people involved were fully aware how harmful and stereotypical that portrayal was but it was definitely meant to show his neurodivergent traits as scary. that said you are right that the rogues' mental health issues or neurodivergence should be portrayed in a more sympathetic way or at least should be shown as something that isn't the reason for their villainy. and when you mentioned TwoFace's DID - did you read the new detective comics run yet, Gotham Nocturne? that one does adress his mental health in a more nuanced way too. • about Bruce being connected to the Arkhams, yeah that's true it would be too much. I wouldn't want it in the comics either, I just figured if they had to do it it would be better if it was through Thomas' family than Martha's. thanks for the discussion!

Oh no. I was thinking more of a realistic genius behavior where he still has to work to know things. He learning a bunch of languages at 3 and having a bunch of degrees IS a boring clichê and just meh. He being extremly good in some things (talented as Unburied Ed says, though he probably was a good student as he says he was always a good "test taker") is okay. But that level of genius is ridiculous and the only villan that I accept having it is Doom because someone has to counter the ridiculous unligical amount of academic knowledge they gave Reed.

In the specific context of One Bad Day it doesn't even make sense in the story. If he knew a bunch of languages by age 3 why didn't he skipped classes? What is the point of even have him in high school at high school age? Is just a ploy from his father to torment his son for daring to been born from a prostitute? Because its just weird. Also he does fail at least a bit on his academic level, not to a normal amount, but like he is this unrealistic super genius but as his father punishment seemed a thing that he knew well he was still not always the best one on his class what means that whoever was studing with him is probably lobbing the cure of cancer or some other absurd comic book genius thing, maybe trying to go back in time to marry silver age Louis.

• I did not. I just gave up on following the new runs and basically live in my Silver Age bubble until something else grabs my attention and since I'm on tests week at school I didn't had time even for that. But now you mentioned as soon as I get vacation I'll read. I always wondered how they could adapt Harvey's DID in a non-offensive way.

I think to have more neurodivergent and mentally disabled heros or supporting characthers is also a good move. Because the problem with representation is that when a lot of evil people have mental issues and none of the good ones it paints neurodivergency and mental illnesse as proof of evil. I do not think the people in The Batman realized that their coding was harmfull and not very nuanced, specially with Hollywoods worst than DC story with all forms of ableism. I think they thought they were simply represented a neurodivergent characther neurodivergently (as Edward is charactherized as neurodivergent across most medias) and just didn't think hard of it, after all the old comics (their main source material) also didn't.

• Yeah. No, if the had to better be in relation to Thomas.

Again I'll defend my silly idea of making Tim an Arkham, because I find it funny. Specially in versions were at least part of Arkhams share is still related to heritage. So Jeremiah is arrested and suddently sixteen yesr old Red Robin has a place on Arkhams board and he is just very confused and all "Da-Bruce help me". Or even just recently turned vigilante thirteen year old Tim Drake is visiting his uncle Jerry and he has to keep a straight face as Jeremiah Arkham talks about the rogues who Batman and Robin just arrested or complaining about the constant escapes or even just teeling a riddle to entertain his nephew that Riddler told him last therapy and Tim have to pretend he knew the answer because of riddles.com and not because Riddler told him the exact same riddle when they were on the batmobile taking him to Arkham. Or maybe he is talking about some problem he had with Scarecrow in private with Tim's parents and in a low voice to not disturbe the child while Tim just was fear gassed on monday and likely heard Joker say worse things anyway.

Thanks for the discussion as well. It was really fun.

#edward nygma #riddler #batman #the batman 2022 #tim drake #make tim an arkham goddamit #tw: mentions of ableism #my thoughs #ask

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thebadtimewolf · 1 year

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hey

do yall know any genuine rose tyler stans that are actually upset about how s1 rose was treated as an equal AND a love interest but as soon as s2-s4 rose was treated more as a equal BECAUSE of her being pideonholed as only a 'i can do things too! see!' archetype of love interests that it took two other characters to be treated as an actual equal? like why did ten thru donna said that he needs an equal and that what the dr needs an equal??

rose was already an equal in season 1. its established bts that rose was an equal to ninth doctor? but now why didn't that sentiment continued on with ten? what happened?

like martha is treated like an actual equal because the dr in the past have always hated themselves, reflected back at them, but still shared the joy and comradarie during a joint adventure with said version of self. like even the time lord victorious two parter book - 8 was flirting and 10 flirted back but at the end of the day - both of em can carry themselves without the arrival of the other, leaving the eyerolling and mild disgust or disinterest aspect to ninth dr when he shared a room with them. like the dr not wanting to "date" martha even though he literally in text trying real hard to pull the wool in both ur qnd his own eyes is essentially him trying not to fuck himself.

donna is - in an almost wish-fufilled in what the dr missed from the master - considered an equal preestablished since season 3 guest appeared and fully in season 4. shes seen as a pea in the pod like the dr master rani and romana - keeping up with that specific lot of em without going thru the 'but im better than you' alien egoist rhetoric that the time lords fall to in times of upper handedness. she can manipulate she talk fast she tech-savvy yet people-grounded BUT she makes sure the respect isnt temporary and doesnt lord it over people because everyone is great and without that person, the whole system can fall apart.

because so far, it doesnt feel that way. like are yall not mad that tenth doctor gave rose up?

after seasons of build up and getting shot and everything? the funky alien eldritch being in a mask of an earth lookin boy that had a chance to man up and show feelings when the opportunity is very in your face given to him to do so in a space where he could do so and — he just gave her up? all that moping and whining and when given what he wanted, he just went: no. here. i need an equal and i have donna so im giving you what i TEN think you want as an equal in me and thats him. BUT NINEROSE ARE EQUALS SHE NEVER SAID SHE WANTED HIM HUMAN BUT RATHER HIMSELF AS HE IS.

its like fridging rose but worse. in s2-4 you made her in memory of someone else that ALWAYS treated her as an equal instead of actually continuing on with that with the next face. death wouldve been more forgiving and thats not a great thing to come to a conclusion to. The one that really treated you as both a love interest AND equal is dead, and now you're married to the discarded imitation of the one that only typecasted you as a love interest.

tentoo should be mad abt this too but this aint about him, this is about yall and the rose tyler connundrum.

i wouldve settled for her having the hand - settling for the hand if that hand turned into ninth doctor (like full on christopher eccleston doing donna impression everything) instead of what we got - which was dust. it made more sense that way. because then the dialogue narrative - the doctor's excuse - wouldve been more well recieved. Does it need saying would have more weight if Eccleston played a NineToo whispered i love you because you know it was well meant. Genuine. Its coming from someone that always treated you as an equal and also getting that i love you and not just - oh the human i love. i miss them not because i treated them on equal terms, its strictly because i only love them - no equality at all

like yeah chris wasnt going to return but hes a movie actor - hes used to green screen. he couldve sent a video message in a leather jacket and let it be done. like we couldve had nine saying i love you to rose on doomsday like do you get what im trying to say like. like tooth and claw if it was nine and rose both wouldve been like 'oh look at that a werewolf transformation!' And not what. we got. LIKE DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN

#tv: doctor who #c: rose tyler #c: ninth doctor #c: tenth doctor #{no because im tagging because i want genuine responses and not ANON HATE I WANT ACTUAL DEPH ANALYSIS}#{i dont think i have a tentoo tag. if i did i forgot}#{but i ship the dr with everybody including every TARDIS i see}#{but like i dont ship 10rose or 8rose. like those should be n' stay as platonic SO GLAD 8ROSE IS CANONICALLY PLATONIC thats drdonna LOVE IT}#{like 10martha is more appealing because that man flirted outwardly to her in front of a class and main hospital chief}#{meanwhile 10rose got deleted waste.of.time hand holding seasons 'we had to cut for time' professional sayin IT WAS A WASTE OF TIME}#{THEY CHOSE DUST INSTEAD OF THE FOOD NINE GAVE US FOR FREE WITH LATER 98% DISCOUNTS}#{so yeah but um yeah}#{but like yknow make a comprehensive argument: also goal here non poc ppl TRY NOT TO BE RACIST IN YOUR WORDS}#{i know how easily tempted you are as soon as you see martha and ten in the same sentence let alone the same post: check yo self}#{like 'oh rtd might bring to rose' he might kill her and its feeling and more like hes going to just to appease tories}#{because billie is VERY MUCH not a tory aka conservative so yeah do YOU see why i dont rose back but the moment}#{like he killed off 9 and that was probably due to him being antiroyalist so i IM RIGHTFULLY WORRIED FOR OUR GURL}#{IF she returns as rose tyler. if she returns as the interface THE MOMENT AS SHE IS WELLKNOWN FOR i wont have anythin to worry abt}#{as well as bts conditions but LIKE👀 the worry is there the worry is prevalent present and here}#{she need to come back with tentoo and mia in tow: linked arms handcuffed to each other SOMETHING THAT CALMS ME}#{i dunno who they'll cast for mia i dont care BUT MIA BETTER BE IN TOW WITH HER ON SCREEN IF IS MISS ROSE COME BACK}#{its to calm me.}

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takeeachdayonebookatatime · 6 months

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Why did you elbow me? 163

Achilles Castle part 65

Lemonade and lies PART 8

Martha: pov my God is she okay, is it her heart or something else.

Lanie: pov I explain some of the case quickly, there was a weird smell in the room, if you mix that with the fact that she has a cold and her heart issues it must have been too much for her. She was given a dose of her heart meds and is being given oxygen as we speak can you put Castle on.

Castle: pov what is it mother, oh it's about Kate. Mother hands me the phone since Lanie wants to talk to me. Lanie is riding in the ambulance with Kate. Opps Ryan must have called but I never noticed. I'm on the phone with her keeping Kate alert. I tell her stories of how we met, all the times I have saved her life.

Mary the female medic: pov her vitals seem to be stable the oxygen is helping her breathe better. The heart meds Lanie gave Kate also prevented her heart episode from being much worse.

Lanie: pov Castle can't drive yet so he will be taking a cab with Martha. We arrive at the ER. Kate is unloaded from the ambulance and taken to an exam/trauma room. The hospital has everything ready for us. Kate is transferred to the exam table/gurney. An ultrasound machine is already in the room. Kate's clothes are being removed, I'm holding her hand. I don't want her freaking out, the cardiologist in the room puts the gel on her chest and moves the wand over her chest and heart. I can clearly see it on the screen. The left ventricle/side of her heart is still beating so fast that the right ventricle/side can't keep up. Me and the cardiologist discuss what options there are. Her scar tissue makes it hard for the left side of her heart to function properly and with her vt adding on to the stress her right ventricle is struggling a little to keep up.

Cardiologist Jason: pov Lanie gives me the number to her cardiologist so he can be called. After talking for a few minutes with Dr Burkett and Lanie it's decided we will give her some fluids to flush out whatever she breathed in and do a blood test and nebulizer then more cough meds and a second dose of heart meds and see how she does. She is also being taken for a chest x-ray, we also gave her a dose of pain meds.

Lanie: pov while I wait I leave a message for Jim. Hey it's me Lanie I'm at the ER with Kate. She may have been exposed to something while working this case and since she has a cold on top of her heart condition they decided to admit her so they can keep an eye on her.

Jim: pov hey Lanie I just got your message do you know what she was exposed to. Oh it was something in the air that makes sense why they would want to keep an eye on her. With her having a bad lung and all, I understand why they would want to be extra careful. I should be down, in a little bit.

Joe: pov all of us arrive at the hospital to see how Kate is doing. Liv, Muncy and Ayanna just got cleared by a Dr. Since they are healthy it didn't affect them as much as it did Kate. Esposito asks the receptionist at the desk what room number is Captain Kate Beckett's. The receptionist says she is still being treated by a Dr but you can wait in the waiting room for an update.

Elliot: pov Esposito is leading the way to the waiting room. Esposito isn't the waiting room for the general ward this way. He says yeah but we are not heading that way. Kate is always admitted on the cardiology ward so they can monitor her better. Oh I never thought of that. Esposito and Ryan explain to me, Ayanna and Jet, how Kate's mother was murdered and Montgomery. They also explain how Kate got her heart condition.

Jet: pov Oh my that is awful what happened to her. I'm Glad Senator Bracken is rotting in jail. Elliot says he voted for him years ago. Esposito says don't tell Kate that, it's still a sore subject. So Kate has PTSD. Is it like Elliot's PTSD which i explain and Liv's which you know about or different. Esposito says definitely it's different; she has regular PTSD from her shooting and a form of PTSD known as a medical version since she suffered cardiac arrest twice and had to have heart surgery. Some medical settings cause her PTSD to act up. Wow, that must be hard.

Esposito: pov sometimes her being injured or sick triggers her PTSD/heart episode. Very loud noises still bother her, like fireworks. She also has food restrictions like no caffeine, low cholesterol, low salt, low carb and low fat foods.

Muncy: pov Mr Castle just arrived with his mother. He tells Esposito that Lanie called Kate's dad Jim and he lets Alexis know what is going on. Elliot offers to get everyone coffee while we wait for an update. Me and Joe decided to go with him and help him carry the coffee and sandwiches.

Ayanna: pov Elliot, Muncy and Joe are back with the coffee and sandwiches and start passing them out. A man in scrubs who must be her Dr appears and says, family of Captain Beckett. Castle says he is her husband and Martha is her mother in law, Esposito and Ryan are her sergeant and Detective and are like family to her. Liv and Fin are her best friends. Everyone else is someone she knows.

Cardiologist Jason: pov my name is Dr Jason and I'm the cardiologist treating Captain Beckett. At the moment she is stable and being settled in a room, Dr Parish has been with her the whole time. For the time being she is on oxygen hopefully as her cold clears she can ditch it. Her chest x-ray was clear which is a good thing. So far she has been given cough meds, pain meds and a nebulizer treatment, she will be given another round of heart meds in a bit. She is hooked up to a bunch of monitors so don't be alarmed. If you guys are quiet I can let 2 of you at a time see her. To be continued. …….

Lemonade and lies PART 8

Martha: pov my God is she okay, is it her heart or something else.

Mary the female medic: pov her vitals seem to be stable the oxygen is helping her breathe better. The heart meds Lanie gave Kate also prevented her heart episode from being much worse.

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sk1fanfiction · 3 years

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the many faces of tom riddle, part 4

-attachment, orphanages, and yet more child psych: time to add yet another voice to the void-

FULL DISCLAIMER THAT THIS IS JUST MY OPINION OF A CHARACTER WHO DOESN’T HAVE THE STRONGEST CANON CHARACTERIZATION, AND THUS ALL THIS IS BASED ON MY CONCEPTUALIZATION.

I'm going to be super biased, because my favorite portrayal of Tom Riddle is actually Hero Fiennes-Tiffin as eleven-year-old Tom Riddle, in HBP and I get to chat about child psych in this one, sooo here we go.

First of all, I’m just so impressed that a kid could bring that much depth to such a complex character.

This is the portrayal, I feel, that brings us closest to Tom’s character. Yes, Coulson’s brought us pretty close, but by fifth year, the mask was on.

We don't really get to see Tom looking afraid very often, but it's fear that rules his life, so it's really poignant in our first (chronologically) introduction, he looks absolutely terrified.

The void being the fandom's loud opinions on a certain headmaster. I wouldn't call myself pro-Dumbledore, but I'm certainly not anti-Dumbledore, either. (Agnostic-Dumbledore??)

Since I'm not of the anti-Dumbledore persuasion, I decided to poke around in the tags and see what the arguments were, so I don't make comments out of ignorance.

Most of the tag seems to be more directed towards his treatment of Harry and Sirius, but a few people mentioned that Dumbledore should have treated Tom with ‘exceptional kindness’ and tried to ‘rehabilitate’ him.

As I said in Parts 2 and 3, I am 100% in favor of helping a traumatized kid learn to cope, and I don’t think Tom Riddle was solidly on the Path to Evil (TM) at birth, or even at eleven. Not even at fifteen.

Could unconditional love and kindness have helped Tom Riddle enough for the rise of Lord Voldemort to never happen? Possibly, but...

Yes, I'm about to drag up that Carl Jung quote, again.

“I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become.”

The problem with this is that if you’re going to blame Dumbledore for this, you also have to blame every other adult in Tom’s life: his headmaster, Dippet, his Head of House, Slughorn, his ‘caretakers’ at the orphanage, Mrs. Cole and Martha, and possibly more. In fact, if we're going to blame any adult, let's blame Merope for r*ping and abusing Tom Riddle Senior, and having a kid she wasn't intending to take care of.

Furthermore, you cannot possibly hold anyone but Tom accountable for the murders he committed. (I should not have to sit here and explain why cold-blooded murder is wrong.) And if you like Tom Riddle's character, insinuating that his actions are completely at the whim of others is just a bit condescending towards him. He's not an automaton or a marionette, he's a very intelligent human being with a functioning brain, and at sixteen is fully capable of moral reasoning and critical analysis.

I've heard the theories about Dumbledore setting the Potters up to die, and I'm not going to discuss their validity right now; but he didn't put a wand in Tom's hand and force him to kill anyone. Tom did it all of his own accord.

And while yes, I have enormous sympathy for what happened to Tom as a child, at some point, he decided to murder Myrtle Warren, and that is where I lose my sympathy. Experiencing trauma does not give you the right to inflict harm on others. Yes, Tom was failed, but then, he spectacularly failed himself.

We also have no idea how Dumbledore treated Tom as a student.

In the movies, it’s Dumbledore who tells Tom he has to go back to the orphanage, but in the books, it’s Dippet. We know that Slughorn spent a lot of time around Tom at Slug Club and such, yet I don’t really see people clamoring for his head.

I regard the sentiment that Dumbledore turned Tom Riddle into Lord Voldemort with a lot of skepticism.

But let's hear from the character himself -- his impression of eleven-year-old Tom Riddle.

“Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?” said Dumbledore. “No, I had no idea that he was to grow up to be what he is. However, I was certainly intrigued by him. I returned to Hogwarts intending to keep an eye upon him, something I should have done in any case, given that he was alone and friendless, but which, already, I felt I ought to do for others’ sake as much as his."

Now, assuming that Dumbledore's telling the truth, I'm not seeing something glaringly wrong with this. No, he hasn't pigeonholed Tom as evil, yes, I'd be intrigued, too, and it's a very good idea to keep an eye on Tom, for his own sake.

“At Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, “we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have — inadvertently, I am sure — been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school."

Again, it seems like he's at least somewhat sympathetic towards Tom, and is willing to at least give him a chance.

More evidence (again, assuming Dumbledore is a reliable narrator):

Harry: “Didn’t you tell them [the other professors], sir, what he’d been like when you met him at the orphanage?” Dumbledore: “No, I did not. Though he had shown no hint of remorse, it was possible that he felt sorry for how he had behaved before and was resolved to turn over a fresh leaf. I chose to give him that chance.”

Now, I think Dumbledore is pretty awful with kids, but I don't think that's malicious. Yeah, it's a flaw, but perfect people don't exist, and perfect characters are dead boring. I am not saying that he definitely handled Tom's case well, I'm just saying that there's little evidence that Dumbledore, however shaken and scandalized, wrote him off as 'evil snake boy.'

It's also worth taking into account that it's 1938, and the attitudes towards mental health back then.

Why is Tom looking at Dumbledore like that, anyway? Why is he so scared? What has he possibly been threatened with or heard whispers of?

"'Professor'?" repeated Riddle. He looked wary. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?"

"I don't believe you," said Riddle. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!"

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course -- well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!

Tom keeps insisting he's not mad until Dumbledore finally manages to calm him down.

I'm really upset this wasn't in the movie, because it's important context. Instead we got these throwaway cutscenes of some knick-knacks relating to the Cave he's got lying around, but I just would have preferred to see him freaking out like he does in the book.

There was extreme stigma and prejudice towards mental illness.

'Lunatic asylums,' as they were called in Tom's time, were terrible places. In the 1930s and 40s, he could look forward to being 'treated' with induced convulsions, via metrazol, insulin, electroshock, and malaria injections. And if he stuck around long enough, he could even look forward to a lobotomy!

So, if you think Dumbledore was judgmental towards Tom, imagine how flat-out prejudiced whatever doctors or 'experts' Mrs. Cole might have gotten in to 'look at him' must have been!

Moving on to the next few shots, he is sitting down and hunched over as if expecting punishment or at least some kind of bad news, Dumbledore is mostly out of the frame. He’s trapped visually, by Dumbledore on one side, and a wall on the other, because he’s still very much afraid. uncomfortable, as he tells Dumbledore a secret that he fears could get him committed to an asylum (which were fucking horrible places, as I said).

It brings to the scene that miserable sense of isolation and loneliness to that has defined Tom’s entire life up to that point (and, partially due to his own bad choices, continues to define it).

And, when Dumbledore accepts it, his posture changes. he becomes more confident and more at ease, as he describes the... utilities of his magical abilities.

"All sorts," breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to."

Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: There was a wild happiness upon it, yet for some reason it did not make him better looking; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial.

I do think Harry, our narrator, is being a tad bit judgmental here. Magic is probably the only thing that brings Tom happiness in his grey, lonely world, and when I was Tom's age and being bullied, if I had magic powers, you'd better believe that I'd (a) be bloody ecstatic about it (b) use them. And, like Tom, I can't honestly say that I can't imagine getting a bit carried-away with it. Unfortunately, we can't all be as inherently good and kindhearted as Harry.

Reading HBP again, as a 'mature' person, it almost seems like the reader is being prompted to see Tom as evil just because he's got 'weird' facial expressions.

So... uh...

Nope, let's judge Tom on his actions, not looks of 'wild happiness.'

To his great surprise, however, Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick. The wardrobe burst into flames. Riddle jumped to his feet; Harry could hardly blame him for howling in shock and rage; all his worldly possessions must be in there. But even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.

Okay, one thing I dislike is Tom's lack of emotional affect when Dumbledore burned the wardrobe, in the books, he jumped up and started screaming, instead of looking passively (in shock, perhaps?) at the fire. Incidentally, I can't really tell if he's impressed or in shock, to be honest. I think they really tried to make Tom 'creepier' in the movie.

This is one of the incidents where Dumbledore's inability to deal with children crops up.

I think he was trying to teach Tom that magic can be dangerous, and he wouldn't like it to be used against him, but burning the wardrobe that contains everything he owns was a terrible move on Dumbledore's part. Tom already has very limited trust in other people, and now, he's not going to trust Dumbledore at all -- now, he's put Tom on the defensive/offensive for the rest of their interaction, and perhaps for the rest of their teacher-student relationship.

Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. "Where can I get one of them?"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" interrupted Riddle, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold Galleon.

But I'm not surprised Tom is 'greedy.' He's grown up in an environment where if he wants something, whether that's affection, food, money, toys, he's got to take it. There's no one looking after his needs specifically. I'm not surprised that he's a thief and a hoarder, and I don't think that counts as a moral failing necessarily, and more of a maladaptive way of seeking comfort. It would be bizarre if he came out of Wool's Orphanage a complete saint.

Additionally, I think given that the Gaunt family has a history of 'mental instability,' Tom is a sensitive child, and the trauma of growing up institutionalized and possibly being treated badly due to his magical abilities or personality disorder deeply affected him.

And there are points where it seems that Dumbledore is quick to judge Tom.

"He was already using magic against other people, to frighten, to punish, to control."

"Yes, indeed; a rare ability, and one supposedly connected with the Dark Arts, although as we know, there are Parselmouths among the great and the good too. In fact, his ability to speak to serpents did not make me nearly as uneasy as his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy, and domination."

"I trust that you also noticed that Tom Riddle was already highly self-sufficient, secretive, and, apparently, friendless?..."

And while this is all empirically true, these are (a) a product of Tom's harsh environment, and (b) do not necessarily make him evil. But the point remains that child psych didn't exist as a field of its own, and psychology as a proper science was in its infancy, so I'd be shocked if Dumbledore was insightful about Tom's situation.

But I've gone a ton of paragraphs without citing anything, so I've got to rectify that.

Let's talk about Harry Harlow's monkey experiments in the 1950-70s.

If you're not a fan of animal research, since I know some people are uncomfortable with it, feel free to scroll past.

Here's the TL;DR: Children need to be hugged and shown affection too, not just fed and clothed, please don't leave babies to 'cry out' and ignore their needs because it's backwards and fucking inhumane. HUG AND COMFORT AND CODDLE CHILDREN AND SPOIL THEM WITH AFFECTION!

I will put more red writing when the section is over.

This is still an interesting experiment to have in mind while we explore the whole 'no one taught Tom Riddle how to love' thing and whether or not it's actually a good argument.

Andddd let's go all the way back to the initial 1958 experiment, featured in Harlow's paper, the Nature of Love. (If you're familiar with Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, him and Harlow actually collaborated for a time).

To give you an idea of our starting point, until Harlow's experiment, which happened twenty years after Dumbledore meets Tom for the first time, no one in science had really been interested in studying love and affection.

"Psychologists, at least psychologists who write textbooks, not only show no interest in the origin and development of love or affection, but they seem to be unaware of its very existence."

I'm going to link some videos of Harry Harlow showing the actual experiment, which animal rights activists would probably consider 'horrifying.' It's nothing gory or anything, but if you are particularly soft-hearted (and I do not mean that as an insult), be warned. It's mostly just baby monkeys being very upset and Harlow discussing it in a callous manner. Yes, today it would be considered unethical, but it's still incredibly important work and if you think you can handle it, I would recommend watching at least the first one to get an idea of how dramatic this effect is.

Dependency when frightened

The full experiment

The TL;DW:

This experiment was conducted with rhesus macaques; they're still used in psychology/neuroscience research when you want very human-like subjects, because they are very intelligent (unnervingly so, actually). I'd say that adult ones remind me of a three-year old child.

Harlow separated newborn monkeys from their mothers, and cared for their physical needs. They had ample nutrition, bedding, warmth, et cetera. However, the researchers noticed that the monkeys:

(a) were absolutely miserable. And not just that, but although all their physical needs were taken care of, they weren't surviving well past the first few days of life. (This has also been documented in human babies, and it's called failure to thrive and I'll talk about it a bit later).

(b) showed a strong attachment to the gauze pads used to cover the floor, and decided to investigate.

So, they decided to provide a surrogate 'mother.' Two, actually. Mother #1 was basically a heated fuzzy doll that was nice for the monkeys to cuddle with. Mother #2 was the same, but not fuzzy and made of wire. Both provided milk. The result? The monkeys spent all their time cuddling and feeding from the fuzzy 'mother.' Perhaps not surprising.

What Harlow decided next, is that one of the hallmarks being attached to your caregiver is seeking hugs and reassurance from them when frightened. So, when the monkeys were presented with something scary, they'd go straight to the cloth mother and ignore the wire one. Not only that, but when placed in an unfamiliar environment, if the cloth mother was present, the monkeys would be much calmer.

In a follow-up experiment, Harlow decided to see if there was some sort of sensitive period by introducing both 'mothers' to monkeys who had been raised in isolation for 250 days. Guess what?

The initial reaction of the monkeys to the alterations was one of extreme disturbance. All the infants screamed violently and made repeated attempts to escape the cage whenever the door was opened. They kept a maximum distance from the mother surrogates and exhibited a considerable amount of rocking and crouching behavior, indicative of emotionality.

Yikes. So, at first Harlow thought that they'd passed some kind of sensitive period for socialization. But after a day or two they calmed down and started chilling out with the cloth mother like the other monkeys did. But here's a weird thing:

That the control monkeys develop affection or love for the cloth mother when she is introduced into the cage at 250 days of age cannot be questioned. There is every reason to believe, however, that this interval of delay depresses the intensity of the affectional response below that of the infant monkeys that were surrogate-mothered from birth onward

All these things... attachment, affection, love, seeking comfort ... are mostly learned behaviours.

Over.

Orphanages, institutionalized childcare, and why affection is a need, not an extra.

His face is lit the exact same was as Coulson’s was in COS (half-light, half-dark), and I said I was going to talk about this in Part 3. I think perhaps it's intended to make Fiennes-Tiffin look more evil or menacing, but I'm going to quite deliberately misinterpret it.

Now, for some context, Dumbledore has just (kind of) burned his wardrobe, ratted out his stealing habit, and (in the books only, they really took a pair of scissors to this scene) told him he needs to go apologize and return everything and Dumbledore will know if he doesn't, and, well, Tom's not exactly a happy bugger about it.

But interestingly, in the books, this is when we start to see Tom's 'persona,' aka his mask, start to come into play. Whereas before, he was screaming, howling, and generally freaking out, here, he starts to hide his emotions -- in essence, obscure his true self under a shadow. So this scene is really the reverse of Coulson's in COS.

And perhaps I'm reading wayyy too much into this, but I can't help but notice that Coulson's hair is parted opposite to Fiennes-Tiffin's, and the opposite sides of their faces are shadowed, too.

Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. "Yes, I suppose so, sir," he said finally, in an expressionless voice.

Riddle did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colorless voice, "Yes, sir."

Here's an article from The Atlantic on Romanian orphanages in the 1980s, when the dictator, Ceausescu, basically forced people to have as many children as possible and funnel them into institutionalized 'childcare', and it's absolutely heartbreaking.

There's not a whole lot of information out there on British orphanages in the 30s' and 40s', but given that people back then thought you just had to keep children on a strict schedule and feed them, it wouldn't have a whole lot better.

The only thing I've found is this, and it's not super promising.

The most important study informing the criteria for contemporary nosologies, was a study by Barbara Tizard and her colleagues of young children being raised in residential nurseries in London (Tizard, 1977). These nurseries had lower child to caregiver ratios than many previous studies of institutionalized children. Also, the children were raised in mixed aged groups and had adequate books and toys available. Nevertheless, caregivers were explicitly discouraged from forming attachments to the children in their care.

Here's a fairly recent paper that I think gives a good summary: Link

Here, they describe the responses to the Strange Situation test (which tests a child's attachment to their caregiver).

We found that 100% of the community sample received a score of “5,” indicating fully formed attachments, whereas only 3% of the infants living in institutions demonstrated fully formed attachments. The remaining 97% showed absent, incomplete, or odd and abnormal attachment behaviors.

Bowlby and Ainsworth, who did the initial study, thought that children would always attach to their caregivers, regardless of neglect or abuse. But some infants don't attach (discussed along with RAD in Part 2).

Here's a really good review paper on attachment disorders in currently or formerly institutionalized children : Link

Core features of RAD in young children include the absence of focused attachment behaviors directed towards a preferred caregiver, failure to seek and respond to comforting when distressed, reduced social and emotional reciprocity, and disturbances of emotion regulation, including reduced positive affect and unexplained fearfulness or irritability.

Which all sounds a lot like Tom in this scene. The paper also discusses neurological effects, like atypical EEG power distribution (aka brain waves), which can correlate with 'indiscriminate' behavior and poor inhibitory control; which makes sense for a kid who, oh, I don't know, hung another kid's rabbit because they were angry.

Furthermore...

...those children with more prolonged institutional rearing showed reduced amygdala discrimination and more indiscriminate behavior.

This again, makes a ton of sense for Tom's psychological profile, because the amygdala (which is part of the limbic system, which regulates emotions) plays a major role in fear, anger, anxiety, and aggression, especially with respect to learning, motivation and memory.

So, I agree completely that Tom needed a lot of help, especially given the fact that he spent eleven years in an orphanage (longer than the Bucharest study I was referring to), and Dumbledore wasn't exactly understanding of his situation, and probably didn't realise what a dramatic effect the orphanage had on Tom, and given the way he talks to Tom, probably treated him as if he were a kid who grew up in a healthy environment.

In case you are still unconvinced that hugging is that important, there's a famous 1944 study conducted on 40 newborn human infants to see what would happen if their physical needs (fed, bathed, diapers changed) were provided for with no affection. The study had to be stopped because half the babies died after four months. Affection leads to the production of hormones and boosts the immune system, which increases survival, and that is why we hug children and babies should not be in orphanages. They are supposed to be hugged, all the time. I can't find the citation right now, I'll add it later if I find it.

But I think it's vastly unrealistic to say that Dumbledore, who grew up during the Victorian Era, would have any grasp of this and I don't think he was actively malicious towards Tom.

Was Tom Riddle failed by institutional childcare? Absolutely.

Were the adults in his life oblivious to his situation? Probably.

Do the shitty things that happened to Tom excuse the murders he committed, and are they anyone's fault but his own? No. At the end of the day, Tom made all the wrong choices.

And, for what it's worth, I think (film) Dumbledore (although he expresses the same sentiment in more words in the books) wishes he could go back in time and have helped Tom.

"Draco. Years ago, I knew a boy, who made all the wrong choices. Please, let me help you."

#tom riddle #the many faces of #tom marvolo riddle #character analysis #character study #albus dumbledore

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upslapmeal · 3 years

Text

The Halloween Apocalypse

It’s another series which means another batch of my episode thoughts brought to you at the request of nobody, allons-y!

Yaz when Karvanista is there: >:) we’re in control Yaz when Karvanista isn’t there: >:(((

Yaz and Thirteen riding around on that snapped gravibar like witches on brooms, perfect for a halloween ep

good old Chibbers BIG TEXT

sinister digging Georgian: I think you’ll find I simply just have a bigger brain

ooh it even says flux in the title sequence

this is definitely also series 13 right? we’re not getting 11, 12, FLUX, 13?

tour guide Dan is reminding me a bit of tour guide Ruth

can’t wait for him to get to tour the universe

that skeleton man’s breathing sounds like an asthmatic pug

it appears skeleton man’s name is Swarm

“do not engage in conversation” 2 min later: engaging in conversation

oh are those two guards part of the Division that Ruth Doctor was in?

are they timelords???

ok skeleton man is now bling crystals skeleton man

and I see he is au fait with the earth tradition of trick or treating

oo er the TARDIS ain’t lookin too healthy

I like the projected circular gallifreyan display, is that new or have I just forgotten about it

Dan seems lovely, John Bishop gives him a great warmth

he feels very real, I’m enjoying his introduction

that dog reveal reminded me of I read in primary school called Muddle Earth where the cloaked villain was revealed to look like a teddy bear

these Jedi mind tricks ain’t working on Dan

lmao why haven’t we had an alien invasion on halloween before this is great

‘you don’t look anything like four bears’ pfffft

Thirteen about to wipe Dan’s laptop like she wiped Ryan’s phone

or...the laptop attempts to wipe out Thirteen

the master would be proud of that miniaturisation

surely the arctic circle should be darker at this time of year

hmm who’s the ‘they’ that promised this would never happen?

lol Karvanista’s distain for humans and then Dan is just having fun with it

oooh mysterious Claire, getting Blink Sally Sparrow vibes

I like Yaz’s concern for her

the TARDIS playing up like this kinda reminds me of Flatline

is that the chameleon circuit??

honestly this dynamic with just Yaz as a companion is already working better, and I’m enjoying her frustration at Thirteen

weeping angel! wasn’t expecting that straight in the first ep

man they still hold up as creepy

Claire if you need to blink just shut the door!!

aha this must be Vinder

aaand this must be the flux

outpost ROSE??

bling crystals shoulder pad skeleton man is back

and he has a sister! was she a chameleon-circuit memory wiped human?

‘a bone to pick’ careful with the dog jokes Doc

ooh Karvanista is Division too?

‘formerly PC Yasmin Khan’? so has she fully left then?

‘do things often go wrong?’ Dan mate you’re already kidnapped on a spaceship, let’s not ask about things getting worse

ooh more TARDIS door movement

‘I had a mate who had one of these, I think it was a bit bigger’ well that’s a reaction we’ve not had before :D

’30 trillion lightyears’ how far is that compared to where Ten and Martha went in Utopia?

oh we’re getting the sontarans in this ep too?

I’m on board with the more classic design, especially after so long of Strax being comic relief

I’m really loving the Doctor-companion dynamic between Yaz and Dan, it particularly shines when he gets that full view of the universe and Yaz guides him through it

ooh cloister bell time

‘I can feel the universe breaking’ is sort of the reverse of Nine’s speech about feeling earth move through space

bling crystals shoulder pad skeleton man is a Division Doctor enemy?? ooh this should be interesting

oh yeah I forgot about Diane but it seems bling crystals shoulder pad skeleton sister hasn’t

oh lol I’d completely forgotten about the Georgian diggers too until now

kinda feel like they and the sontarans could have done with being introduced next ep? since they haven’t really contributed anything yet plot-wise

Overall a very intriguing start! I’m enjoying the Thirteen/Yaz dynamic, Dan seems like a great addition and there’s lots (perhaps too much?) that’s been set up. I’m hoping this one continuous story plays more to Chibb’s strengths and I’m looking forward to seeing how it all fits together! And if Thirteen’s investigation of the Division means we get Ruth back at all then that would be *mwah* 10/10. Also I’m loving the northern/southern good/bad divide, should have known Karvanista would be good after all :D

#lots of quantity here but very little substance lol #honestly just don't have much of any insight to say especially as this is just 1/6 of the story #but I gotta put down Thoughts as per tradition #the halloween apocalypse #doctor who #thirteenth doctor #ramblings

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imaginationjunkie · 4 years

Text

Say the word

Jason Todd x Reader

It’s kinda heartwarming

I tried to control my fast breaths, lifting my head from the crook of Jason’s neck to give him a lazy kiss. Deliriousness coursed through our veins, minds hazy from the aftermath bliss of an intimate climax.

Being apart for weeks for his mission and my conference clearly had one gigantic perk- the mad intense I-missed-you-so-fucking-much sex.

It doesn’t matter if it was the first or the thousandth time, the feeling of his body against mine never failed to weaken my limbs to mush and warm my heart, like it’s soup being heated up on a stove.

A smile split my lips as I tried lifting my naked body up from his chest, and failing. The thick, muscular arms that were tightly wrapped around my waist stopped me from doing so. It made me smile wider and lean down to put my lips on Jason’s.

“You know you’re gonna have to stop doing that right?” I murmured, running my fingers through his dark raven locks. A chaste kiss was placed on my cheek by his smirking lips.

“Hmm? Doing what?”

I leaned down so that our bare chests pressed against each other, lips hovering over his. My whisper was naughty as I answered him.

“Why should I? We both seem to like it so very much,” Jason nuzzled his nose against mine with a mischievous smirk.

“Because if by any chance I get preggers before marriage, my parents will chase you to the ends of the earth and decapitate the crap out of you,” I whispered jokingly, but meant every word. “And then after they’re done with you, they’ll feed me to the demons.”

My ever-so-daring boyfriend’s reply was to lowly chuckle and simply kiss my shoulder.

Affection came naturally to us now, especially since Jason had been touch starved practically since birth. The first few months of our relationship, I had to have a mental debate every time before touching him; how far I should go with the cuddling, to hold his hand or not, put my legs on his body while cuddling or not...

Unlike his brother Dick, who much to Jason’s irritation loved pulling me into a tight hug every time we met, Jason just wasn’t the affectionate type.

After a few months, I understood how badly he needed to be touched- to be loved, to be comforted. When he got the message that it’s okay to hold me as much as he wants, that there’s finally someone he can lose himself in, someone he can love, he found a way to touch me every spare moment we spent together. Kissing my neck, nuzzling his nose, holding my hips, putting his large hand on the small of my back or around my waist, constantly lifting me onto his lap- the list’s never ending.

“I’m serious, a child out of wedlock is beyond just a sinful taboo in my family,” I booped his nose, leaning my forearms on his chest to hold my upper body up.

Jason pretended to be lost in thought for a while before suddenly rolling our bodies over to our sides, the ridges and sinewy muscles of his defined chest flush against my back. He tucked the messy portion of my hair out of the way before kissing from my neck up to the back of my ear.

“Well since marriage is out of the question, I’ve no option than to not make my pull out game weak,” his tongue darted out to lick my ear teasingly.

Ignoring the pang that hit my heart at his statement about marriage, I turned to swat his chest teasingly. My lips were unable to hold back a grin at his reference to WAP .

“What? You’re the one who keeps dancing to it every morning,” Jason grinned back at me.

“It’s 4 am, we should sleep,” I shook my head at him, turning to face forward again. Jason and my shared bedroom turned dark as he flicked the dim bedside lamp off, making the glow of moonlight our only source of light.

The warmth from having his arms encased around me brought a serene feeling, making me think about how impossible it’d be to live without Jason Todd.

“I love you,” he murmured against my neck.

My eyes closed shut, senses overwhelmed with the depth of my feelings.

“I love you,” I whispered back.

I had an amazing life- loving and supporting, albeit sometimes overbearing, parents, a great job, a pretty apartment, and a man I’m certain I’d love and be loved by for the rest of my life. For the entirety of my existence, I’ve had the one thing Jason never did- stability.

But when it’s meant to be, it’ll always be.

God, fate or whatever higher force is up there looking over us made sure to let our souls find each other. Cherish each other.

I knew Jason’s views on marriage and children. It was hard enough for him to indulge himself with something as normal as a committed relationship, that too for two and a half years; but it’d actually be impossible for him to be a husband, a father. He didn’t have a basic job in the least, and thus didn’t think tying the knot and being a family man would be suitable for him.

Ever since I was a little girl, one of the things I’ve wanted greatly was to be married to the man I loved someday. But for Jason I could give it up. I could give up the hopes of having a ring on my finger and a baby on my belly, because he means more to me than anything ever will.

¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡

*2 months later, New Year’s eve night at the Wayne Manor backyard*

“Damian, those aren’t fireworks, they’re explosives!”

At my alarmed exclaim, Dick quickly snatched the big box from his younger brother’s hands, waddling his finger as if to say ‘no no’.

“They’re fireworks,” Jason assured from behind. “The kid and I labelled it explosives so Dick doesn’t steal it,”

Dick’s face scrunched up in confusion, “”Why would I steal your fireworks? I’ve better things to do for fu-”

“Miss, the barbecue is ready. Would you like to add the last bit of sauce on top?” The always-polite and everyone’s favorite Alfred smartly interrupted Dick from saying the curse word.

Every time I practically forced my boyfriend, his brothers and father into having a family night, Alfred let me help with the food; and since I suck beyond words at cooking, he always gave me the easy tasks to do.

Now if you’re thinking that prevented me from considering myself as the world’s second Martha Stewart, you’re wrong.

I clapped my hands together in delight, “I’d love to!”

“No she wouldn’t,” Jason, Dick and Tim said at the same time.

I turned to them, perplexed at their concurrent interference.

Taking note of the unusual shiftiness in the boys’ stances, I raised a brow- “And why is that?”

Out of the three suspicious-looking brothers, Dick replied- “Because there’s only 20 minutes till midnight and you have to help us set the fireworks off!”

Now both my eyebrows rose, and I crossed my arms against my chest.

“So you’re telling me,” I said in slow amusement, dragging the words sarcastically. “That three of the strongest night vigilantes of Gotham, one being a violent nutcase once,” a look was thrown in Jason’s direction, “Needs an ordinary girl to set off fireworks?”

This time Tim responded, “Well you see, we’ve never set them off. None of us has ever had the chance to have a normal new years with fireworks and a countdown,”

“Really?” I deadpanned, voice turning into a shrill by the end of the question, “So have I been planning and working my ass off every new year’s for the past three years to make robots happy?”

Tim realized his mistake, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head before trying to redeem himself. “But we’ve never had a family new years, y’know, with the barbecue and fireworks,”

“Also, you’re nowhere near ordinary,” Jason added in a low voice as he came to stand behind me and kissed my temple. I rolled my eyes at the cheesiness, wrapping an arm around the middle of both the boys’ backs.

Right then Damian piped in, surprising everyone. “Plus you’re not a girl, you’re a woman,” he emphasized on the last word, making Jason scoff with a smirk and everyone else laugh.

It didn’t take long for me to grow on Damian, making him accept and like me. From what I heard from his brothers and Alfred, he didn’t like most people and never went easy on newcomers. I was especially concerned about getting Jason’s family to like me, since he didn’t have much of a good relationship with them and I wanted to change that. In the end everyone ended up accepting me; and gradually even treating me as one of their own. Dick and I were practically best friends.

Despite what he used to say, I knew Jason loved them all like they were his own blood; so I knew that it meant a great deal to him to rekindle his relationships with them.

Bruce Wayne’s voice spoke for the first time that evening, “Good evening, my apologies for the delay,”

An awkward silence took over our so-far cozy night. All of the boys looked other directions, not acknowledging their dad who never bothered to show up to any family days on time. I tried my best to knit the boys together, help them get close and create a bond; and saying that I succeeded wouldn’t be a lie. But the fact that Bruce couldn’t even take one day off from his billionaire/ vigilante duties sort of upset me every time.

Jason scoffed, his mouth opening to say something undoubtedly snarky to his father. But before he had the chance to I stepped on his shoe and gripped his hand tightly, silencing him.

“It’s okay Bruce, at least you made it,” I smiled.

The excruciatingly tense atmosphere was cracked by Dick, “I still need help with the fireworks, anyone up for it?”

“I’ll come!” I was quick to squeak and walk towards him.

“Me too,” Damian grumbled, following me.

Tim was the last one. “Yeah, me as well.”

“Great, so you guys do the fireworks and Jaybird and I will be right back!” Dick clapped his hands together in perky delight, pushing Jason’s back forward as they walked into the manor. From the distance, I saw Jason shrug Dick’s hand off before glaring at him. Again, confusion filled me at their strange behavior tonight.

“What was that about?” I asked Tim.

He smiled, “Nothing, probably just vigilante stuff.”

As the minutes passed by, the new year came nearer and nearer. The three of us successfully managed to set off the first batch of fireworks, looking up at the sky and laughing freely. Even Bruce had a small smile as he took a sip of his drink, looking up and the lit up sky with a hand in his pocket.

When it was about 10 minutes to the clock ticking 12:00 am, worry started to cloud the excitement I was feeling; but Tim and Damian were quick to distract it.

“Now can we do the grand purple one?” Damian gave me a rare pleading look.

“Yeah we can, but where’re Jason and Dick? They’re gonna miss new year’s,” I voiced my concern.

Right then, my phone started ringing.

Incoming video call from mom.

I answered, knowing that my parents were calling to say Happy New Year like they did every year. What rendered me surprised after receiving the call was that almost my entire family was on the frame of my mom’ video- two of my aunts, uncles and all the cousins I’m close to. Which are a lot.

I’m a family person, if you couldn’t tell already.

“Hi baby!” My mom grinned.

I grinned back, glee taking over the initial confusion.“Hey y’all! Are you having a New Years party without me?”

One of my younger cousins replied, “Sort of, now show us!”

My brows furrowed, “Show you what?”

A string of ‘oh shit’s sounded from mom’s side, further increasing my confusion.

Out of the blue, Dick intervened from behind me, “The fireworks of course!”

A sudden bang! took us all by surprise, and I looked up to see the huge purple fireworks lighting the dark canvas of the sky up. A wide grin split my lips, along with all the other boys as they whooped at the different shades of purple. It happened to be my favorite color.

I felt the familiar warmth of Jason’s body against my back before hearing or seeing him. The digital clock on the top corner of my phone read 11:55 pm. Not being able to contain my excitement, I subconsciously shoved my phone to Tim, who was beside me, while my family was still on video. I raised a hand to point at the sky.

“Jay look, it’s all so purple!”

And then something happened. Something I wouldn’t even dream of imagining.

Jason’s larger hand rose to the level of mine, which was still pointing up at the sky. He spread my fingers out so that my hand was displayed open. I turned to look at my boyfriend, not quite understanding his intentions.

His eyes were trained on mine, a golden and purple reflection from the fireworks and balcony lights visible on the glossy blue orbs.

Our eyes stayed on each other’s as I felt something cold graze the top of my ring finger.

In the background I heard Dick harshly whisper, “Tim, the song!”

I wasn’t dumb. I knew what my boyfriend was holding on top of that finger.

Jason’s lips were an inch away from my ear as he spoke clearly, not a hint of hesitation in his voice, “Just say the word, and I’ll put a ring on you.”

I couldn’t even look at it as I tried to get over the giant bucket of emotions that was thrown over me. Shock, flabbergast, sheer happiness, disbelief, excitement, a rush of adrenaline. My heart threatened to beat the crap out of my chest.

“Jason,” I whispered, my eyes fluttering shut as he put his chin on my shoulder, inches from mine. “What. Are. You. Doing??”

He bit his lip, smiling before cryptically answering. “I love you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to get married?” I questioned again. “Do you think I’m pregnant? Are you doing this cause-?” my voice was breathy.

Jason smirked, his unoccupied arm going round me from behind to rest on the other side of my waist. “No baby, I don’t. The twenty something negative pregnancy sticks on the bathroom trash sort of made it clear that you aren’t pregnant.”

I couldn’t hold back my own grin from his teasing. For the first time, I turned my head to look at our hands. The sky was phenomenal in the background of them, a swirl of blue, red and purple as Damian and Dick continued setting the fireworks off. Tim was holding my phone up to where Jason and I were standing, undoubtedly showing the scene to my family. Now I knew why they were all gathered together to call me.

“You asked my parents?”

Jay rubbed his nose on my cheek, his smart-assery coming to action as he quoted my words from that night two months ago- “Of course, wouldn’t wanna be chased to the end of the earth and be decapitated the crap out of now, would I?”

The boys all had blinding bright and hopeful grins on their faces; even Damian! Alfred’s expression could only be described with one adjective- delight, and Bruce had an odd smile as he saw the straight-out-of-a-movie scene unfold.

I turned my head to the side to look at Jason again, grin faltering to a small smile.

This time nervousness coated his expression and words as he asked once again, “Will you marry me?“

I heard my mom speak through the phone, “Oh come on, stop torturing the poor boy! Answer already!“

Taking a deep breath, I leaned my head even closer to Jason’s. His blue eyes pierced into mine with their intensity, and my lips touched his as I said the word softly.

“Yes.”

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batarella · 4 years

Text

3 birds 1 stone - chapter 2

‘Dick, Jason, and Tim. Supposed brothers 'till the end, until all three fall in love with you. Who wins your heart?

The man who earned it, the man who stole it, or the man who always had it?’

A/N: You guys. I can’t thank you enough for the response. It only pushes me harder to create something with the best of my abilities. Each and every one of you who took the time deserve the whole world.

WORDS: 6529 WARNINGS: NONE

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

Again.

Hands to the sides, swinging, letting them be with the natural air’s flow, to the wind that was subtle, yet could break even the tiniest bit of focus. Hair up so tightly, your scalp started to hurt, but that could be ignored. You stretched your neck to the right just to ease that slight discomfort that probably wasn’t there at all, but one you’d put the blame on if the next one goes wrong.

One deep breath in. This shouldn’t be so hard the fifth time.

“Go.”

Sprinting down the dark blue mat, you let the non-existent wind take you. You let your feet fly you high up into the sky. You let your limbs take control over your mind. Closer. Closer. The vault was right in front of you.

Hands up to the ceiling, you pushed your feet hard against the ground, bent over so you could place your weight down onto your arms just as your powdered palms hit the floor, then you were in circles, letting your body flip to its own will, letting it take its place suspended from the surface, then your hands felt the rough exterior of the vault, you pushed yourself further up. One, two flips. Then it was all a blur until your feet landed on the mat.

Just slightly, you almost fell off balance. Just a bit.

But if this were the Olympics it would have costed quite the number of points.

When you opened your eyes, Dick was there coming to you, clapping his hands. You smiled at him and he handed you your water bottle.

“How was it?”

“Really good. You’re getting better.”

You scoffed. “I almost fell at the end.”

“Stop being so hard on yourself.”

You drank the whole bottle and wiped your lips with your sleeve, which you probably shouldn’t have done considering it was covered in both your sweat and powder.

“How old were you when you could do that?” you asked the other gymnast. “Eight? Nine?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t exactly the best at it.”

Your head shaking, you sat yourself on the ground and Dick joined you.

“Last night was too close a call,” you said. “I could have died. Someone else could have died.”

“Trust me. It happens so much more often than you think. To everyone.”

You scratched the back of your neck. “This happens way too fucking much with me.”

“I know it feels that way, but even Bruce makes a wrong move every once in a while.”

That was different. He gets shot almost once a month. Man’s lucky to be alive at all without a sped-up healing factor or Jason’s Lazarus enhanced body system.

Then Dick reached over to grab your hand. “We have each other’s backs. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

He squeezed your hand, and something in you wasn’t exactly sure if you should believe in yourself to protect him, no matter how much you wanted to. But his hand was warm, reassuring. Only that could make you believe in him just a bit more than you believed in yourself.

The only other acrobat in the family. He knew your struggles. You knew his. Dick certainly was going to be there for you just as he always had been with your training. If not for him, you’d still be struggling to swing around poles.

So you just took in his little words that always kept pushing you forward. You held his hand back.

“You really don’t think I’m the worst fighter in the family?”

He snorted. “Is that what you really think of yourself?”

“Yeah…”

“You’re not. Come on, don’t say that. And don’t blame yourself. I saw you drawing on your sketchbook this mornin-“

“Dick, you did not-“ you growled.

“You have talent. You were raised as a gymnast but you have the heart of an artist. I can tell. You should practice more often. Don’t punish yourself for not being the best at the same things as everyone else.”

Then Dick started pulling you up. “Come on. Let’s watch Anchorman to cheer you up.”

Chuckling as you swept your hair back, you both left the gym and went straight for the theater room.

You weren’t exactly sure if you could point out when you fell in love with him. With what words he’d said that pushed you to do better, with what training session that placed you one step closer to being as good as he was, with what look in his eye that tickled your soul. You just knew it was with all of them, gradually adding up. At the end, it was far too late to turn back.

-----

Bruce Wayne looked exceptionally handsome to say the least.

And it wasn’t exactly to your cause or fault. You based the painting off of a photograph he’d given you from a few years ago, a portrait taken from his office to place in the Wayne Enterprises website Tim had built. Save for the fact that you took too long with his fairly recognizable angular jaw, everything went smoothly. His hair was swept back, quite longer than the length it was of today. A few grey strands near his ears, ones that couldn’t be seen if you didn’t look too long. His eyes, a bright, beautiful shining blue had two little dots of white near the iris where the light had reflected.

You managed to hide his jaw with a few stubbles of hair near his chin, which didn’t exactly do as much cover as you’d hoped, since Bruce didn’t want a full beard. But with the angles and the shadows, the tanned beige that was his skin looking perfect against your imaginary brightness. He looked towards the left, eyebrows up as if watching something that delighted him. A black suit and a red tie over what could be seen on his chest, he looked like the other old Waynes in the hallways of the manor, stuck to the walls for the past decades without motion, though his had the perfectly placed taste of modernity and charm.

That was the biggest one you had to lug into the manor. Bright and early that morning, you got all of Bruce’s commissioned works and brought them to the foyer. Two portraits, one of him and the other of Thomas and Martha. And the last one being a painting of Wayne Manor. You had them standing by the staircase, where Bruce should come down to by now before he heads for work.

You sat on the bottom step on the stairs and waited, arms on your knees. No one was up yet, or had come down for breakfast.

And you were still so tired. Not until four am that morning, you finally had your minute shed of sleep, until you had to wake up less than two hours after that, then you rushed here. Resting your chin on your hand, you closed your eyes, let the buzz on your head lull you to sleep.

“Mornin’ pretty bird.”

Not exactly with a grunt, but with the slightest hit of annoyance, you opened your eyes. Jason wasn’t shirtless, at least. So you thankfully you didn’t have to suffocate at the sight of chest. Still, he was sweaty and fresh from the gym. His hair was a bit damp, shirt stuck to his skin like perfectly molded clay. And of course, his cheeky little grin whenever he teased you.

“Hi,” you said, then you yawned.

“You here to hand these paintings to Bruce?”

“Yeah.” You chose to stand up, brush off the tiredness and force yourself to talk. “What do you think?”

He stepped back, eyed all three of them with his lips flattened into a light pout. You stood beside him and watched how his expression didn’t change, not even when he leaned in to look at the details on Bruce’s face.

“Bruce has an age spot near his mouth.”

“He does?”

“Yeah. And his nose is a little crooked from a recent injury.”

You just scoffed. “Well, sorry I haven’t been around lately to notice.”

“Nah, that’s okay.” He placed his hands into his pockets. “They’re good.”

“Thanks.”

“Thomas’s eyes look uneven-“

“Come on, man, give me a break,” you snorted.

Jason laughed. “I’m serious.”

Eyes rolling over and your arms hugging your chest, you cocked your hip to the side.

Jason’s eyebrow raised when he laid eyes on the manor painting, and it was amusing to watch him, someone who actually had a handful of criticisms and wasn’t afraid to lay it on you.

The only one who has never bought a painting from you, showered you in compliments almost everyday, or spoiled you with unnecessary babying. Jason didn’t exactly look unimpressed. In fact, you knew he had an interest in the classics, especially books and art. So he knew what he was talking about. And really, the spoils were to cushion your trauma, which you didn’t exactly ask for, so it was refreshing.

In fact…

If there was anyone who didn’t treat you any differently before and after the incident, someone who still looked at you the same and didn’t make you feel like a burden to make feel better, it was Jason.

And you appreciated that.

So all he gave you was a pat on your shoulder, then he tightened his duffel bag on his arm.

“Well, I’m off. Good luck, pretty bird.”

You just nodded at him as he headed out the manor’s foyer. His arm was up, waving at you, then you looked away before you caught yourself and your lingering eyes on his stomach, where his long coat had parted open, where his shirt so slightly raised up.

You agreed to coming to the manor solely for the fact that it was the only available time for both parties.

You agreed to that, totally without a fresh-from-the-gym Jason Todd in mind.

Yes.

Totally.

Keeping your wandering head in check, you heard loudening footsteps coming from above. A large man in a suit fixing his blue tie swiftly made his way down the steps.

“Great. You’re here.”

“Mornin’ Bruce.”

He gave you a peck on the cheek when he reached the bottom step. “Take your look.”

Eyes wide and grin inescapable, Bruce went over to the three paintings you had laid out. A satisfied hum, (or was it a grunt?) when he leaned over to look at his own portrait, at all the little details Jason had mentioned. Then a smirk crept up at the painting of his parents, his mother especially. The beautiful brunette, probably more beautiful than anyone else who’s ever lived in this manor, had on a flowy white dress, hair up in curls much like a 1920s flapper girl. Then his father, Thomas, an eerie mirror image to his son’s face and gloomy expression. He was on a lounge chair with his fingers over one another. Martha had on a smile, Thomas did not. Bruce looked satisfied.

Then he was full on amused when he laid eyes on all the little details you managed to capture with your painting of Wayne Manor. It’s castle-like structure. Incredible gothic architecture with little gargoyles and angels on the ledges. Then there were the uprooting vines on its groundwork’s sides. The green moss forming over its walls. Windows tinted black. Towers on each corner rising almost four stories high. You might as well have accepted a commission from the Queen to paint fucking Windsor Castle. It far more difficult than Wayne Tower or Times Square or any skyscraper there was.

That’s why you were particularly proud of that one.

“Outstanding as usual, Y/N. You’ve gotten even better over the past few months.”

You just shrugged. “Thank you.”

“Have you decided to go on with the auction?”

Ah. The auction. No, you haven’t pondered long on it. No, you still weren’t so sure if you should. Yes, you’d like that money.

“I don’t know Bruce…”

He fixed his suit. “These can go for a few thousands. Easy. And a portion goes to that charity you wanted-“

“The Children’s Burn Unit.”

“Yeah. That one. It’s amazing as it is.”

“I’ll think more about it. Thank you, Bruce.”

“The money will be sent over to your account. I have to head to the office now. Thank you.”

A hug and a kiss, then Bruce put on his winter coat left the building out into the snow. You went over to the first portrait to take it off from the easel.

You could take a cab back, or ask Alfred to send a driver for you, which you weren’t sure if you should. Though you were dead tired and wanted every bit of sleep you could get, that limo just seemed a lot more comfortable than a smelly taxi. Maybe if you asked now you could-

“Hey, Y/N.”

You froze.

“Let me help.”

Hair dancing on his head as he floated down the stairs, Dick rushed over to your side and started helping you with loosening the easel’s grip on the canvas. Everything happened so quickly you swore you heard something short circuit in your cerebellum and you couldn’t lift a finger when he set you aside.

Then you cartoonishly shook your head, then coughed a bit of a laugh. “Dick, it’s okay-“

Dick smiled, then handed the canvas over to you while he folded up the easel. He looked fresh out of the shower. Hair swept back now that he was still, skin looking radiant and tan, mouth up in his award-winning smile. He brushed his hair back as he went on to the second easel. You took care of the third one.

“Where you headed to this morning?” you asked.

“Nowhere. I knew you were coming over today. You didn’t forget our movie date, did you?”

Coughing out the speck of lint that you breathed in when you inhaled too quickly, you fumbled with the easel, hoping they wouldn’t fall off from your arms, then you just settled them against the wall along with the other stuff you had laid out. Breathe in. Then out. Arms on your side, you (far too casually) sighed. “Of course not!”

When he’d finished with the cleaning, Dick went over to you, smiling, staring straight into your eyes. And you were undeniably unmoving. You just hoped your eyes, cheeks, and most probably your trembling mouth wouldn’t be speaking to him in your place.

“I..” you swallowed. “What are we watching?”

“There’s Something About Mary.”

“Oh,” you sounded intrigued. “I love that movie.”

“You okay watching it again?”

Of course. Of course. Of course. Of course. I’d watch fucking Shrek ten times over if it was with you.

“Sure.”

You went with him up the stairs, laughing, chatting. You couldn’t stop watching Dick’s bright little simper and the way he’d look at you with his head down. It was one of these moments, definitely. You didn’t know when, what day or hour. But you knew it was because of the way he’d look at you, the way that had helped get you to reach this point of no return.

When he helped you train, flip vaults, leap in the air, hold your hand as you swung around poles and did cartwheels, when he trained you the same way he was trained, an acrobat’s way of fighting. All those hours in the grounds, rewarded with a night of movies and popcorn.

When you lost your leg, you lost all that. You lost a part of you had treasured so much overtime. He tried making it up by being there when you painted, told you how great your paintings were, buying them when he didn’t need to.

It wasn’t the same. Nothing was ever the same. But you’d take any time with him over anything.

Never mind how you didn’t stick around in his head when you weren’t in the room anymore the same way he was practically glued to yours.

A rush of cold air unexpectedly gusted against you when you stepped into the theater room. The aircon had been turned on, for quite a while it seems. Two seats propped down on the center of the second row, where you both usually sit on. Two bags of popcorn on them, with your favorite drink sitting on the arm rest. The movie was on pause on the title screen.

Dick had prepared everything for you before you even got to the manor.

“Are we celebrating or something?”

You tried to ignore the fluttering that was happening, at the sweetness, kindness of his looks. Though saying it was kindness would be more fitting than sweet. You plopped down onto your seat and settled yourself in. Dick took the one next to you, with a wide-open grin you wanted to watch even more than the movie.

“Play.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

His friends say stop whining,

They've had enough of that.

His friends would say stop pining,

There's others girls to look at.

They've tried to set him up with Tiffany and Indigo,

But there's something about Mary that they don't know.

Your lips up your cheeks looked quite pleased, though you hadn’t an idea if your eyes were doing the same. They were glued to the screen, but your hands wouldn’t stop twiddling with the same piece of popcorn on your fingers. You weren’t nervous, as was the same with any other time you hung out with Dick, but again, you wanted to be cautious.

And it was going to be even more difficult to be just that when nothing has ever felt softer, more serene, more exciting than any other time with him. Dick was here, just mere inches away from you. The time you had, how much you used to enjoy just talking to him over anything. His lame jokes that make you laugh to this day, his compassion.

You just wanted to lean into his shoulder and stay there for the rest of the movie. For the rest of the day. For the rest of the week. Dick made you feel like you could spend every day with him and never get tired of anything he does or says. Like you were in an amusement park. A day of excitement. You could scream your heart out and let every voice inside you be heard. The days seemed brighter, the nights seemed prettier. Everything. The whole world just lit up when Dick was there.

And most of all, you could be yourself and he’ll make you feel like there’s nothing about you you’ll ever have to change.

Like you can be the worst at something and he would be there, helping you up, training you to do better, telling you how much of your effort won't go unnoticed and how you let your mind wander with his words and…

People look at you, at him, and think you fell for him for his looks.

It wasn’t that at all.

Dick laughed when Ben Stiller had his penis caught in his zipper, and you laughed along, pretending to know what was going on, but with the side of your eye, you were staring at him, at his eyes, at how the blue popped out when it was lit up by the bright white light of the screen.

It wasn’t just his looks.

It was all of him.

But you let things be. You never made a move. Neither did he.

You already lost time with him after the incident, and more so were you going to lose him when he was about to get married. Even just as friends, as nothing more than that, you wouldn’t trade what you had, those training sessions and movie marathons, over anything. When he had Kory, everything about him was going to be wiped out of your life forever.

But he was here now, as much as you hated how things came to be, how much he had to get hurt in the process just so you could get back what you had with him. You hated it. But there was no changing it now. He was here. For as long as you hoped.

So you finally ate that first piece of popcorn. You set your own mind’s countless thoughts to that one corner they’ve grown accustomed to hiding in. You watched the movie. You laughed when you had to. Everything was as it was all those years ago. There was no pretending that maybe he was going to see you the same way you saw him, because however he saw you now, whatever was going on no matter how platonic, you were content. It made you happy enough.

Hair on your skin standing up in the air, Dick leaned in to whisper something in your ear.

“This dog fight’s the most 2000’s thing I’ve seen.”

You laughed, “You sure it isn’t the outfits?”

You turned your head over, which proved to be a big mistake because his face was so dangerously close to yours. Your smile faltered. You were staring at him so stupidly still, you swore you just wanted to bury your head into the pile of popcorn and die.

But again with your muscles and nerves defying your head, because you didn’t even back away.

Dick smiled at you.

Then he looked down, and you realized he was looking at your hand. Suddenly every bit of flesh in your body warmed to the touch, your skin burned but in the most delicate, elusive scorch you could still pick out, yet it wouldn’t hurt your senses. Dick took your hand and held it so tightly, his thumb resting between your fingers, then he swayed it around to bring you comfort.

You wished it wasn’t as casual as it actually was, yet it brought that wonderful little rush up the veins on your neck, your nerves calmed. Everything was okay. Nothing felt better.

“I’m glad we get to spend time again.”

You couldn’t bear to look at his face anymore. Your hand was loose, it refused to return his tight hold in fear of him letting go or of anything being too much. You turned to your lap, watched your feet sway about. Eventually, Dick let go, but you were going to remember that feeling on your skin, how his palms rubbed against you and how nicely he seemed to fit within the spaces of your fingers.

An hour or so passed, you were quiet. You didn’t say anything and neither did he outside the little remarks and the laughs, or even his feet brushing against your shoe. Everything felt like the eminence and the little snaps and sparks that were so nice to hear when you sat a few feet away from a fireplace.

His shoulder was so close to your head. You swore you could count the inches with your own fingers. Just a little. Just a bit. The slightest push and you’d be against him. He’d be holding you. Dick suddenly shifted in his seat and he was even closer to your cheek. Fingers on the arm rests, you were already so close to touching. Half your attention was to the screen and the other was that pull that made you want to just fall into him, never to go away.

But of course, you didn’t.

When the movie ended, Dick stood up and patted your shoulder. Your bowls of popcorn were long finished, so were your drinks. You watched him get up, stretch his arms.

“Thank you,” you said to him. An eyebrow of his rose to his forehead. “Why thank me?”

You shrugged. “You prepared all this.”

“Don’t sweat it. We should do this again. Tell me when you're coming over next.”

And at that, you wanted to tell yourself you should come over more often, do what you can to be at his side, actually work to pursue him, to spend as much time with him as humanely possible. Doesn’t matter if he actually does fall in love with you or not. For your own sake.

But to say you even had hope left was a lie. You don’t. Never had since years ago. It wouldn’t matter if you came by every week or none at all. Nothing was going to change. Just that little moment of happiness that won't ever last. Moments like these.

You’ve spent too much time pretending, hoping, wishing things would go your way, until eventually you reached that point where you weren’t sure what was your way was anymore.

So you weren’t exactly thrilled at the thought of getting to be with him more often, just like you weren’t so ecstatic when Dick told you he was permanently moving back in. Because if anything, if you were being completely honest with yourself, you were too burnt out and have gone through the worst, most agonizingly frustrating mountains of yearning and pining that no matter what he did that could hurt or reject you, without his intentions, you wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised. If you were to do anything beyond that, it would only worsen the pain.

All those years, and you never told Dick how you felt. You never wanted to tell him. You never felt the need to.

And as if the world did it on purpose, in came the whole reason why that thought continues to be even with Kory out of the picture.

A beautiful head of red hair peaked in from the theater’s entry way. “Hey, you two.”

Dick waved at her. “Hey Babs.”

Yeah. Holding on was your own little way of self-torture. Babs came in. “Am I late for the party?”

“Yeah. Movie just finished.”

You stood up from your seat, finally, then dusted off your pants. “Hi, Babs.”

“You staying over for the day, Y/N?”

“Not really.”

The three of you stepped out of the little theater, walking behind Dick and Babs like a friend who couldn’t walk beside her other two friends because the sidewalk was too narrow.

“Dick, I need your help over at the cave.”

“Sure. Right now?”

“Yes. That okay?”

Dick looked over to you. “Y/N-“

“I should head home,” you said. “Or go up to Tim.”

“Tim?”

“Yeah. He told me to stop by his room when I deliver Bruce’s paintings.”

“Oh.”

Smiling at him even with what little time you had eventually came to an end, you walked up to the stairs and waved. “I’ll see you.”

“See you.” You lingered your gaze, and Dick returned that gaze at you up the steps as he made his own way down to the library with Babs. One last smile, then he was out of sight.

Nothing new. Nothing you weren’t already used to.

Things are less painful when you weren’t pining after him anymore.

It was sad how easily you shrugged that off. As you went down the bedroom halls, feet lightly pattering onto the red carpet, you knocked three times on Tim’s door. A grunt. Then you peaked inside.

Tim must have been working all night, because he definitely looked like he just got into bed a few hours ago, and it was still well in the morning. Hair was a complete mess. Body slumped onto the mattress like a carcass. His mouth was wide open and leaking with drool. Nose all scrunched up from being smushed into the pillow. He was half-awake, because one eye was slightly open and staring right at you. When you closed the door, you heard him grunt again.

“You alright there, Tim?”

He closed his eyes and ignored you, and you just laughed at how dark his under eyes were and how completely exhausted he looked.

But he was undeniably adorable. You went over and got a pillow, playfully hitting his head.

“Stooooop,” he groaned.

“It’s almost nine in the morning. Aren’t you heading to the office?”

“I just got home from the office.”

“Shit.” You sat on the bed beside him, then you reached over to fix his hair. He started to tense, but he didn’t brush you off.

“Stay at home for once. Just a day. Give yourself a break,” you said. Tim opened one eye again, then he groaned.

You started taking your shoes off. This asswipe was going to need you here to make sure he doesn’t drown himself in a tub off coffee again just to pull himself off the bed, so you were going to make sure he doesn’t leave.

“I thought you wouldn’t be here until afternoon,” he yawned.

For some ungodly reason, an image of Jason’s abs flashed into the back most corner of your head like a fucking projector. Only for the shortest spilt second, and still it was long enough that you’d notice it. You immediately brushed it off.

“I just thought we’d get it over with for the day.”

He turned his head over to bury it against the pillow to drown out the light coming in from the window. You walked over and pulled the curtains to a close, as with the other ones, until his room was dim enough for him to actually get some sleep.

Tim’s desk was an absolute mess, and he probably didn’t notice how his laptop was so close to falling over the edge, with half of it sticking out of the table. You closed and placed it all the way back against the wall, then the mounds of paperwork he’d piled over the surface that was blowing up all over the place. You didn’t care if he was going to rant on about touching his stuff. You placed everything into a neat pile, set them at the side where it was all easily seen, then you went over the drawers to start fixing them one by one, because even with them closed, there were still pieces of paper sticking out of them like a bomb had gone off inside the wood.

He was snoring now. Audibly snoring. You looked back at him and tried not to laugh.

Then you went back to the drawers.

You hadn’t an idea what to expect, or that you should be expecting anything at all.

But whatever those expectations were, none of them were could come in the slightest bit as close to what you found on the bottom most drawer, where more pieces of paper were inside, though these definitely had been ripped out of a sketchpad. Your sketchpad.

Even when you hadn’t expected it, it didn’t exactly surprise you.

You opened the drawer and found dozens, if not hundreds of drawings and sketches, all made by your hand. The one on top, of course, was the most recent one you’d given him, from the night at the office with them sitting on the railings together. It was slightly crumpled, which meant Tim had brought it with him around before placing it in the pile.

Then you went over the next ones, ones you don’t even remember sketching until then. There was one from that trip to the country, when you and Tim went out for a drive and you drew the skyline and the mountains, which he asked for when you got home. Then there was one when he asked you to draw a bird that had flown into his room. It took you minutes, probably the worst, most rushed out sketch you’ve done. But it was a bird. You could tell it was a bird.

You were smiling through it all, going over the sketches that meant so little to you back then, something you would have otherwise thrown in the trash when you were done. Everything was still neatly folded and piled, unlike everything else in his desk.

Another of the Watchtower that one time with an emergency and you all had to rush up there to help, then there was one of him being a goof, sleeping on the lounge chair that you’d done over a few quick minutes before he eventually wakes up and catches you. One of Ace. One of Bruce.

Drawings you don’t even remember doing.

But what really caught your breath was at the bottommost pile of sketches, ones you were sure you didn’t draw yourself.

Because no matter how long you’ve been drawing faces, or how many people you’ve sketched even when they just pass by you in the street or in the subway. No matter how good you’ve gotten over time or how people tell you to keep going, you’ve never in your life drawn a portrait of yourself.

And there, hidden amongst the other pieces of paper, though distinct from the kind of paper you had from your sketchpad, were several sketches of you.

And it undeniably wasn’t from your hand. These were sloppier. The hand didn’t seem so steady. Haven’t been drawing for long. At least as long as you did.

But they were all of you.

You sitting on the chair by the fireplace. You in your old suit. You painting in front of an easel. You with the family. You sitting on the stairs.

And there were quite a few with just your face. Looking at the side, looking straight at him. Smiling from ear to ear like you were listening and seeing something that amused you so much. These were more recent, as the details got better. They weren’t as good as yours, but they were good enough that anyone would be able to recognize the way your eyes smiled just as brightly as your lips.

It was embarrassing, because you never liked the idea of yourself as a subject for your own work.

But you knew. You just knew.

Tim drew these himself.

And it might be because he wanted to learn how to draw as good as you can to have more in common, because he wanted to draw you the way you drew him and return the favor. It might be because he wanted to be closer to you and your passion, have a taste of that world with you in it just to feel like you were in the same dimension as him, close that gap where he couldn’t touch.

It might be because he wanted to keep you in his memories and make those memories into something he could hold and look at, just as you would with him and everyone else you loved.

Or it might be to show you how much he’d paid so much attention to the littlest details on your face, memorized them, kept them at the back of his mind he’d so easily recall, show you how much those details meant to him and how he wouldn’t let even one slip away from his gaze.

Something in you was pulling, tugging, and it didn’t exactly hurt as much as it was wonderfully buzzing. You placed everything back into the drawer and breathed in.

One deep breath.

Then you stood up, pulled on the little sofa chair he had on the side of his bed, then sat on it to face him. The lights were dim, and everything was quiet around you.

Smiling as you stared at him with his pillow all drenched with his drool, his snores getting louder each minute, you pulled out a little sketchpad from your pocket and a pencil.

Then you started with the outline of his face, half of it stuck into the pillow, then his hair that was all spread out and sticking to the air.

He was beautiful. So cute. Handsome far beyond average. No different from his brothers, from Bruce.

If there was one thing you realized when painting Bruce’s face, his eyes particularly,

It was that Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian were all an eerie splitting image of him, never mind how not all of them were even blood-related.

Brothers.

It was sweet to think about, with them, Steph, Cass, Duke, all having each other’s backs with them being just that. You and Babs just kind of sat in with the Waynes, as some kind of extension to their bond, but not exactly to their kind of level to be considered brothers.

You weren’t pursuing Dick. You haven’t for years. And if he was asking you to come over, spend time with him alone, give you that little bit of hope you’ve long said goodbye to, you weren’t exactly sure what to think.

Because you were afraid that if anything was ever going to move forward, you wouldn’t be able to control how it ends. The fall would be greater than anything you’ve ever had to go through in your life. Because if in any way, Dick would be yours, the pain you’ve had for so many years will turn out for the worst. You’ll lose him and actually lose him. And Dick was so easy to lose, so easy to be stolen away from you, like he could just slip and move on, and you’d be stuck there, in the same place as you were today.

Dick scared you, and it wasn’t in any other way than for that reason.

Tim was security, comfort, relief, and home. The kind you could come home to after a long day and fall into a little bubble of just you. Nothing could ever possibly happen to you, or put you in danger when you were in his arms.

His arms. One of the best things to draw, in fact. They were lean and strong, and they were reaching up the headboard, one over his head and one under the pillow. You kept sketching out his body formed under the thin sheet of the blanket over him, then you skipped out on the bed and everything else.

You ripped out the drawing and placed it on the desk for him to find in the morning.

This might be the start of that little push you needed to move forward.

That push you needed to start choosing him.

Again.

You were still unsure, with all that history you thought you’d left behind, but you were, in fact, sure that Tim loved you more than anything you’ll ever come to understand.

You sat on the edge of the bed. He stopped snoring. His mouth was closed now and he was sleeping peacefully, though not as deeply.

You reached over and unlatched your prosthetic leg, slipped it off from your knee and set it aside against the bed.

Then you lied down on the mattress, shifting and inching closer to face him directly. You could feel his breath, hot but light. You were smiling with your faces so close together, at the sight of his eyelashes so peacefully resting on his cheek and his lips stagnant and unmoving, though his nose would occasionally twitch like a bunny’s and his chest was lightly rising.

You moved even closer to him until he was barely three inches away from your face.

When you delicately brushed your finger down his cheek, Tim’s one eye fluttered open. You smiled. He smirked back.

Your hand stayed on his face, then just as you drifted off to sleep, you felt his arm reach over your waist, staying there until you awoke in each other’s arms.

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

A/N: WADDUP HOES. HOPE U LIKED THIS CHAPTER CUZ IT’S ABOUT TO GET EVEN MORE CHAOTIC

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exquisitley-obsessed · 4 years

Text

The Dinosaur and the Vampire Part Three (Carlisle Cullen x Reader)

Author: exquisitely-obsessed

Request: hi can you do a one shot for Twilight where the reader is best friends with Bella and is there at the car crash in the first movie, they go to hospital and that’s where the reader meets Carlisle, really fluffy, thanks

Word Count: 5000+

Pairings: Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Warnings: nothing

A/N: This is and this isn’t the final part of the story. I’ve already got a draft for a part four but it’s also going to be able to work as a one shot in itself. Here’s a hint - it’s got something to do with the plot of New Moon. Kinda obvious but I LOVE angst. My requests are open <3 But if you’re interested you should check out my masterlist here!!

previous part

Y/n felt crazy. It was the middle of the afternoon also the middle of a storm and she was standing on Bella’s doorstep, half-crying.

Her day trip to the Cullen’s house was only a few days ago and yet so much had changed since then. Bella was basically no where to be seen, now constantly spending time with Edward to the point where she even ditched school with him after Biology leaving y/n to drive herself home.

Moreover, the Carlisle incident had also wedged a gap between her and Bella. After the silent drive home back, y/n waited until Bella was busy with Charlie before heading to the nearest store and treating herself to an assortment of bathing items. New shampoo and conditioner, body wash, body scrub, shaving cream, razors, body lotion, leave in conditioner, facial oils; the list went on. Y/n knew she could never speak to Bella about it, too mortified over what Carlisle had said never mind the fact she was crushing on the 20-something year old doctor and (adoptive) father of Bella’s boyfriend.

All this combined with Jess talking her ear off about the dance, her parents pressuring her about college and her grades slipping; it had all become a bit too much. Her last straw was an argument with her mum about the dishes which left her storming out of the house, hopping the fence and knocking on Bella’s door. She couldn’t take it anymore, she needed her friend.

“Hey Charlie, is Bella in?” Y/n watched as Charlie took in her groggy appearance, wrapped in one of her dad’s old jumpers which had holes spotted along the sleeves.

“I’m sorry she’s not,” Charlie answered, his eyes tentative. Y/n tried not to act surprised, after all what did she expect. “She’s at the Cullen’s house, playing baseball or something.” Y/n could feel the angry tears prickling behind her eyes, she had never felt so alone and abandoned and she hated herself for it. She wanted with every inch of her heart to brush it off and just be happy for Bella’s newfound romance, but this seemed to come at the price of her own happiness. “Hey y/n are you okay-”

“Yeah.” Y/n answered a little too quickly, wrapping her arms around herself and nodding furiously. “It can wait. I think I’m going to go for a drive or something.” A somewhat forced smile slipped onto her cheeks as she tried to shake off her disappointment. “Could you tell Bella that I was asking after her?”

“Course.” Charlie said calmly, his gaze still soft and worried.

“Thanks, uh, bye Charlie. Have a nice evening.” Y/n splurted turning away from the door and hopping the fence. Without looking back y/n unlocked her car and quickly got inside, aware of Charlie’s lingering fatherly gaze. After sitting still for a moment, not quite sure what to do with herself she decided to drive down to La Push. The rocks, the ferocious waves, the abandoned feeling of the place. It was exactly what she needed. Trying not to let the tears brim over she turned on the radio and spluttered the engine to life.

Turning out of her driveway she felt better already. Some distance would be nice, plus she never knew who she might bump into along the way, it would be nice to see Jacob again. However, as she was driving down her street she noticed Bella’s red truck speeding toward her. From what she could see Edward was driving, a terrifying expression cut into his face as he glared at the road; Bella peering at him with an estranged fear, tears in her eyes. Y/n only saw them for a second before they passed, headed for home.

Had they been fighting? Y/n’s heart lurched for Bella. Despite Bella’s lack of communication recently, y/n still understood how much Edward meant to her, and of course she would still be there for her.

For a moment she wondered if she should turn back, wait till Edward left and then call on the house again, but her mind was already carrying her to the beach. She needed this time to herself; a break from everyone and everything.

***

Y/n hadn’t been driving long when she was pulled from her mind once more. She was driving down one of the lesser known roads, green and blue blurring around her when she caught sight of someone standing on the side of the road.

The first thing y/n noticed was her hair, ferocious red. It exploded around the woman’s head in fiery ringlets. Her clothes were raggedy and didn’t fit her very well: a tartan button up and loose fitting beige trousers. Over her shoulder hung a backpack with a bottle of water and thick rope looped off the side. She was waving her hands desperately in the air, clearly trying to catch y/n’s attention. Without thinking y/n slowed the car and rolled down her window.

“Are you okay, what’s wrong?”

“Oh thank God!” The woman cried in a strange accent. “I was hitchhiking when I thought I saw a bear. Ran like I never had before but now I’m lost. If you could just drive me to the nearest main road I’ll be able to find my way back to my car.”

Y/n couldn’t help but drink in the appearance of the woman now that she was closer. Her hair appeared even more explosive, a stark contrast with her ivory skin which appeared dewy and soft. Perfect freckles were sprinkled across her nose underneath a pair of dark eyes. She was unimaginably beautiful.

“Sure!” Y/n found herself saying without really taking it into consideration. She was pretty sure the woman looked like that girl Martha in her history class, maybe this was her older sister. “Hop in!”

It would be a minor detour, wouldn’t take long at all. The woman moved fluidly to the side of the car, opening the door with a flash before seating herself comfortably next to her. Y/n paused a moment, waiting for the woman to pull on her seat belt, when realising she wouldn’t she started the engine and drove on.

“The plan will work.” Edward comforted Bella, the two now back at the Cullens house following their performance for Charlie. The Cullens themselves rushed around them, preparing.

“Rosalie and Esme are heading down to your house as we speak. They won’t take their eyes off of Charlie. He’s perfectly safe.” Carlisle added, Bella shot him an appreciative smile. A pause of silence.

“Carlisle what about y/n?” Edward pondered aloud.

“Already thought about it.” Carlisle answered without looking up, Bella glanced between the two. First Edward’s invitation (for which he brushed off all her questions and instead supplied the phoney answer of wanting to know Bella’s friends better) and now this?

“What about y/n?” Bella asked. Edward took a deep breath, not meeting her gaze and ignoring her question.

“James and Victoria have no reason to suspect y/n is of any importance to Bella, Charlie or any of us. They’ve never seen y/n with us, they haven’t heard us talk about her. Y/n is no more than a neighbour. Besides, with Rosalie and Esme having eyes on Charlie they automatically have eyes on y/n.”

“Y/n’s not at home though,” Bella interjected worriedly, “We saw her pass us, she was leaving in her car.”

“What.” Carlisle stated rather than asked, his voice dropping as well as his easy smile. In fact, his entire body language changed, he stood taller, stretching his shoulders forward slightly as he eyes flickered a darker shade of bronze.

“It’s fine.” Edward said, not phased by Carlisle’s reaction, “I read her mind, she’s headed to La Push. If Victoria or James goes onto their territory...” Bella shot him a confused look.

“You’re right.” Carlisle murmured, relaxing slightly as he chewed on the new piece of information, “As long as she’s there she should be safe. I’ll send word to Rosalie, she can keep an eye out for y/n’s return.”

“Let’s go.” Edward muttered without another word.

***

“Just a few more turns then we’ll be on Bogachiel Way, you should be able to find your way from there.” Y/n said automatically, wearing a cheery grin as she hoped not to spook the woman any further - it sounded like she had had a rough day.

“Actually I was hoping we could take a left," The woman spoke, it was the first thing she had said since being in the car. Her voice was smooth like honey but not overtly-sweet, there was definitely some bite in there.

“Are you sure?” Y/n’s brows furrowed, “I haven’t been down there before and we could risk both of us getting lost,” She chuckled to herself, “And-” She turned to face the woman and stopped abruptly, her jaw clamping shut.

“What is it?” The woman asked, not breaking eye-contact. Y/n felt as though she was being compelled, she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“Your eyes,” She stuttered, “They’re...blood-red.” She tried to laugh, speaking as though the woman would be surprised herself.

“Oh.” Was all the woman said in a voice completely devoid of all emotion. “Well that just gives it away.”

“What-” But the woman had already snapped her fingers through y/n’s hair, and all she remembered was the sight of the driver’s wheel as her skull crashed into it.

***

Bella sighed heavily from where she was sat in the hotel room. The TV presenting her with some daytime talk show with a painfully loud and obnoxious host. Alice and Jasper were completely still next to her as they watched, no emotion, they looked as though they weren’t even thinking.

The phone exploded with a shrill ring that made Bella jump, before she could get up Alice was already answering it, nodding along to whatever the other person was ranting about. Bella waited patiently with watchful eyes, if it was Carlisle that was calling Edward couldn’t be too far away.

“Bella,” Alice turned to her with a vacant expression, holding out the phone. Bella went to reach it when all of sudden it was falling out of Alice’s grasp with a resounding ‘k-dunk’. Bella went to protest when she realised Alice couldn’t see her, she was seeing something else, something from the future - Jasper was behind her in a second.

“What is it?” He asked soothingly, his hands resting on her shoulders.

“It’s...Victoria.” Alice spluttered distantly, her golden irises flitting back and forth.

“Charlie is he-” Bella began.

“She’s driving. She’s happy.” Alice continued.

“Alice, is Charlie-” Bella tried again.

“Oh.” Alice once more continued as if she hadn’t heard. Then it was over and she turned to Jasper with wide, fearful eyes. “It’s y/n. She has y/n tied up in the back of the car.”

“What?” Bella distantly muttered behind her, meanwhile Edward’s frightful voice could be heard yelling through the phone from the floor. Jasper swept down and twirled the phone into his fingers.

“Edward.” He said clearly, “We have a problem.”

“Is y/n okay?” Bella asked shakily, her fingers half covering her mouth. Alice simply collapsed back down on the couch, her brows furrowed, eyes frightful and she chewed on what she had just seen.

***

“What’s going on Edward?” Carlisle asked as he shifted the car up a gear, racing down the motorway. Edward’s eyes were wide, fluttering left and right as he took in new information.

“What’s wrong?” Emmett asked from the backseat, picking up on the awful tension.

“We have a serious problem.” Edward began.

“How serious?” Carlisle asked, not removing his eyes from the road and yet his voice was still calm, supportive.

“Alice just had another vision but it was of Victoria, apparently she’s driving somewhere with y/n tied up on the backseat.”

What Edward had said didn’t seem to settle with his audience for a while. Carlisle’s face enigmatic, Emmett just simply confused.

“Who’s y/n?” Emmett pondered aloud. Y/n’s presence and affect on the family had pretty much been kept secret between Edward and Carlisle, and Edward was only in on it because of his ability.

“A friend of Bella’s.” Edward answered so Carlisle didn’t have to. “Her best friend, in fact. She could be used for leverage.” Carlisle still hadn’t spoken although his knuckles where blushing blue from his grip on the wheel. “Carlisle?” Edward asked after a moment, still on the phone to Jasper. No response.

“We’re going to need to split up.” Carlisle’s voice was calm, the same as it always was. It was only his eyes that were different, flickering to a darker shade of bronze. “Emmett, Edward, I’m going to need you two to keep driving. Head for the airport and buy yourselves plane tickets to Seattle. Regroup with Jasper and Alice and keep Bella safe.”

“And you?” Emmett asked, now curious.

“I’m going to turn around and head back to Forks. See if I can track down Victoria and stop this from getting anymore messy than it has to.”

“How are you going to...ah.” Edward’s question was answered when Carlisle swung a hard right and sped into the car dealership. Before they knew it Carlisle was up and out of the car throwing the keys to Edward.

“Don’t scratch the Porsche,” Was all he said. “It was a gift.”

“Are you sure?” Emmett called out leaning out of the back window, “You don’t need help?” Carlisle smiled at his son.

“It’s more than I don’t want you to see what I’m about to do.” And with that he turned and disappeared into the building. Edward in a flash was sitting in the driver’s seat, starting up the engine - desperate to see Bella again.

“So,” Emmett smiled broadly as he leaned back and stretched out his arms across the seats, “This girl...y/n...she’s important right.” Edward sighed deeply, before glancing over his shoulder with a soft grin.

“You have no idea.”

***

Y/n stirred, her head feeling as though it was going to pound out of her skill. Distantly she was aware of something holding her wrists and ankles close together and the hum of the engine beneath her.

At first her vision was blurry, and it didn’t help that the trees were rushing past her window and an incomprehensible rate. It was also dark outside, too dark, how long had she been out?

“Wakey, wakey.” A dark voice fluttered down at her. Y/n groaned in response, her hands, bound, automatically rushed to her forehead and when she pulled them back they were slick with blood. This couldn’t be happening.

“What’s going on?” Y/n was surprised how calm her voice sounded as her eyes focused on the sight of the red-head, her wild appearance now feeling threatening. This woman must be insane.

“You have no idea what you owe me.” She spoke in riddles. “Lying there bleeding across these seats. I almost messed up the whole plan.” Yes, she was definitely insane.

“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out of her mouth. “Have we met before?”

“No.” The woman rolled her eyes, “I promise you would remember if we had.”

“Where are we going?” Y/n didn’t feel like playing into her games, she was petrified as it was.

“Seattle. A girls trip.” She grinned menacingly at her over her shoulder. “James just called, apparently some of your friends just booked a flight there. We can’t risk flying though so I’m afraid we’re driving.”

“To Seattle?”

“We’ll be there before you know it. I’m a quick driver.” She was, the trees were rushing by so quickly no distinctive feature could be made of them. Whenever they came across another car on the lonesome road it whipped by within the millisecond.

“What did you mean by my friends?”

“The Cullens, silly. I saw you hanging around Bella’s house, asking after her even. That’s why your here.” Y/n couldn’t make sense of it, the jumbled words and the fizzing in her head meant everything she tried to process felt scrambled.

“I think you’ve got the wrong girl.” Y/n muttered, her eyes scrunching up as she tried to endure her throbbing skull..

“I’m not sure about that.” Victoria glanced in her rear view mirror, y/n noticed and, twisting in her seat, she watched as a white blur stayed hot on their trails, following the cars movements perfectly. She tried to focus on the identity of the driver but another wave of nausea rolled through her guts.

When this had passed she glanced around panicking. Looking down she noticed the rope, about an inch thick and bound several times around her wrists and ankles in expert fashion. It didn’t take long for y/n to conclude there was no way she could get out of them herself. Glancing around, her head feeling a littler clearer she looked for any way to slow the car down or at least call for help.

Trying to look inconspicuous, y/n leaned forward and looked through the window resting her fingers near the trigger to pull it down. With a quick glance at the woman she slammed down the trigger; but the window rolled down all to slowly and all to loudly. The woman’s head snapped around.

“Bitch.” Was all she spat before rolling the window back up with the panel by her arm. “What were you going to do, make a jump for it? We’re going 150 on the motorway.” The number made y/n feel queasy but she had already committed now, she wasn’t just going to sit here and we carted off to her ‘girls trip’ in Seattle.

Quickly, y/n flipped the window down again and using the bony knot of the rope between her arms she began to attack the top of the glass the same moment the red-head began moving it back up. She wasn’t quite sure where the strength had come from but after a small fit of thwacking her arms against the window she became aware of the tiniest crack at the top. This fuelled her flame.

She started again, aiming directly at the crack beating her bound arms against it relentlessly. In the moment the pain ignited her fury although she was sure she would regret it later. All of a sudden the window gave, one piece fell and then suddenly the whole thing shattered. Before the woman could stop her she leaned out the window, her hair exploding in the wind as she was caught in the white cars headlights.

“Help!” She shrieked, the volume of her voice astounding even her. “Help! Get me out of here! Call the police!” Re-filling her lungs for another spout of shouts the woman leaned over the front seats grabbing a handful of y/n’s hair and slamming her back into the car.

“Insolent bitch!” The woman cried, taking her hands off the steering wheel to yank y/n over the divide between the front two seats. “If you make this anymore difficult for me I’ll find away to get Bella without your help!” This caught y/n’s attentions and she went limp across the seats, her head hanging back so she saw out the front of the car, the world upside down.

“Bella?” Y/n choked.

“If you keep struggling you’ll never see her again.” The woman twisted so that one hand gripped the steering wheel, the other holding y/n’s hair so she was firmly bent back against the armrest, straining her neck; y/n couldn’t help but notice the impossible strength at which she was being pinned down.

The short scrape had pulled and split y/n’s previous head wound: a deep cut curling above her left eyebrow. And when she had broken through the glass and leaned out the raw glass had cut her waist and cheeks. This meant that as y/n’s head was pulled back blood dribbled up her face, trickling into her eyes and leaving a mixture of blood, tears and sweat.

She wasn’t held in the position for long. At some point the woman gasped and let go, now holding two hands on the wheel. Y/n couldn’t quite see what was happening around her but she saw a flash of white and felt the cars wheels roll unstably. She snapped back into the backseat, now no longer interested in the window but rather trying desperately with her bound hands to buckle her seat belt.

As she focused on her bound hands she could faintly hear distant, familiar voices and the red-headed woman shouting back something incomprehensibly fast. Her instincts proved correct, within the minute the car leapt out of control underneath her, swerving off the road and rolling down the small hill. Clutching onto the overhead hanger for dear-life y/n felt her entire world upside down, the sickening scent of burning flesh before darkness finally coddled her once more.

***

Y/n stirred from unconsciousness for the second time in 24 hours and the first thing she noticed was the release on her wrists and ankles. Before she tried to open her eyes she fluttered her fingers over her wrists where there lay course indentations. The skin was tender to touch and she was sure the skin would be black and blue.

Trying to open her eyes she noticed the warm light above her, somehow this made her feel safe. Her head still throbbing furiously she tried to open them further provoking tears to prick behind her eyes and dribble down the sides of her face. A wave of nausea overtook her then and abruptly her body snapped up underneath her, once she was vertical it seemed to die down.

“Woah, woah, woah.” She heard a familiar voice call, she knew that voice. It appeared he had leapt from the shadows, guiding y/n back down but she protested, groaning audibly. “Slow down.” He said calmly, his fingers firm on her sides. A harsh intake of air whipped from her lips and his arms snapped back.

“Your fine it’s just...my sides.” Y/n muttered, wincing from the lingering stinging from her sides, the cuts from the glass of course.

“You’ve had a rough couple of hours.” Carlisle spoke into the silence. Y/n groaned pushing up again, this time Carlisle didn’t move to stop her. “You really shouldn’t sit up, you’ve got some serious head trauma.”

“Just for a sec.” Y/n’s voice was breathy as she pleaded with him, “I just feel too nauseous if I lie down.” He didn’t say anything, but he let her sit. Y/n had just assumed she was in the hospital what with the presence of Carlisle, but when she looked around she wasn’t startled to realise she was propped up on his kitchen counter top. A series of cashmere and fluffy looking blankets covering the surface to make it soft, she tried to ignore that a few were covered in blood.

“I assume you have a lot of questions.”

“You think?” Y/n didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know where to begin. It was a debate on whether to tell Carlisle her crazy story, to describe to him the red-headed woman with blood-red eyes, how she had talked about the Cullens and Bella. On the other hand, instead of explaining she wanted to ask questions; how had she ended up at the Cullens house, where was her car, what happened to the woman. She settled on her question. “Is Bella okay?”

Carlisle stared at her with a pondering expression, as if he were chewing on the information she had released by that question alone.

“Bella is fine.” He said slowly, his voice soft. He had stepped away from y/n and stood at the opposite counter top, running a white cloth (by the smell it was doused in alcohol) over an assortment of medical instruments. Y/n tried not to look at them. He turned to her suddenly, as if he were waiting for another question.

“Do you know what happened to me?” Y/n asked, her fingers rushing to her forehead. He was there in a second, his hand empty, holding her fingers back with his own gentle touch. He had moved with supernatural speed but y/n couldn’t process that right now, that wasn’t the craziest thing to happen tonight.

“Yes and no. Don’t touch your wound I’m not done.” He answered clearly, going back to his work. Y/n just stared at him, waiting for him to go on. He sighed. “I got a call saying that you were in danger. That you had been taken hostage by Victoria.” Y/n automatically linked the name with the face. “I came to help you. I was in the white ford bronco behind you.” Like deja-vu the images shot through her mind, leaning out the window calling for a help, unable to make out the figure in the white car.

“How come...” He was back assessing her wounds, dabbing it here and there, engrossed in his work. Her eyes were large, slightly dazed and glossy as she watched him through his arms, her eyes fixed on his own.

“How come...” His warm voice was only a whisper, guiding her along her words.

“You. How come it was you that came for me? You...” She trailed off again, aware even through her murky mind of her heartbeat picking up at his closeness.

“Because, and I know this is confusing,” He began, taking a break and looking directly into her eyes, capturing her attention, “I will always be there when you need me. Perhaps not necessarily when you want me...but always when you need me.” Y/n surprised herself by completely understanding what he was trying to convey. It all felt like a dream anyhow.

“When your car went off the side of the road.” He began, unable to return to his tools as he was caught in a memory, “I-” He trailed off, a flash of anger dancing in his eye. “I pried open your door and you were unconscious. And the blood-” He stifled something in his throat.

“You’re a doctor and you don’t like blood.” Y/n murmured, a smile slipping on her lips. Carlisle smirked.

“I’m not afraid of all blood, only yours.” He went back to work.

“You’re afraid of me?” She asked, her voice quiet and small. He paused, catching her off guard as he moved forward, his nose an inch from hers.

“I haven’t felt fear like I did tonight for three hundred years.” Y/n still felt like she was dreaming.

“It hurts.” She mumbled after a few moments of tense silence.

“I know, love.” He hummed, saddened at her pain. “Where?” Y/n went to brush her forehead but stopped herself, she then moved to her stomach, tentatively, afraid of showing Carlisle her exposed flesh she lifted her shirt slightly. Peering down herself she noticed a series of cuts dancing around her waist, in particular her front from where she had leaned on cut glass. If she were not mistaken, Carlisle’s breath hitched in his throat. She let her shirt drop.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Carlisle winced as if he disagreed.

“You shouldn’t even be this hurt in the first place.” He murmured, more to himself than anyone. “I thought that by leaving you alone I was protecting you. In reality, I was only pushing you away because I was afraid.”

“There’s that word again. Why do I scare you?”

“It’s not you per-say, more what you’ve made me realise about myself.”

“Carlisle...my heads spinning.” He met her eye before turning away grabbing something off the counter top.

“Here,” He murmured, a smirk lighting up his face. Looking down y/n caught sight of a roll of band-aid held between two of his slender fingers; the familiar dinosaur pattern somewhat sun-bleached.

“God, I can’t seem to escape those.” Y/n murmured softly smiling despite everything.

“Well I might’ve taken a box home since the accident.” Y/n eyed him, he had taken these from the hospital? “I guess I couldn’t help myself.” He said as if reading her mind, his brows now furrowed as he turned back to his work. He unwrapped a decent amount of plaster before tearing it with his fingers, finally he positioned it above her right eye and, soft as feather, pressed it against her head. As he had done this he had inched closer and closer, y/n’s legs automatically opening so that he may position himself comfortably.

“I have to say I think you’re going to get your wish.” Carlisle muttered softly.

“What?” Y/n whispered back, astonished at how close he was standing, his hip bones touching the inner of her knees.

“I think this cut may just scar. You can finally walk around town with something interesting to talk about.” Y/n rolled her eyes but grinned broadly, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

“By the way, what am I going to say, about this?” Her fingers reached up to her face resting against her dinosaur spotted plaster. Carlisle thought for a moment.

“You,” He began, reaching his own fingers up to join hers, “Were tired...and upset,” His voice was so soft, and yet the silence blanketed around them meant it filled the room. “And you went for a drive,” Chills sparked down her spine as he slowly lowered himself to her level, careful not to make any sudden movements. “And you...lost sight of things...for a moment.” She could feel cool breath brushing against her cheeks. “It was dark and you crashed...I saw it happen by chance, and helped.”

“Okay.” Y/n murmured. “But...that’s not the truth.”

“No,” He breathed into the tension, “Unfortunately the world cannot know the truth.”

“Can I?”

“I think it is what you’re owed.” Y/n pondered this.

“The woman?”

“She had disappeared before I got to you. Afraid probably.”

“Of you?” Y/n asked somewhat incredulously, but she could see it, the power in his voice, his control over a room.

“I have a...reputation.” Y/n just grinned, overwhelmed.

All of a sudden his cool fingers were brushing her hair off her face before resting either side of her head, his thumb back to brushing under her right eye. Y/n froze at the contact and yet he clearly found the movement completely natural as he tilted her chin to meet his gaze.

“There is so much about this world you have yet to discover. Right now, you are on the cusp of a discovery that may change your life forever and most certainly it will mine. We’ve been keeping something from you, me, Bella, Edward. But not out of contempt, or anger, or hate...but because it’s difficult to know how to best protect those whom you love. And if today is any indication, I’ve been doing it all wrong.”

“Love?” Y/n whispered. Carlisle paused heavily.

“It’s...not my fault, I promise.” Carlisle murmured, his nose brushing with hers ever so slightly, “There is a degree of destiny involved.” Y/n grinned as she pulled back slightly, but Carlisle’s hands never left her face.

“You speak in riddles.” This caused Carlisle to laugh, deep and heartily.

“A product of my age unfortunately. But, I promise. Things aren’t as complicated as they seem...or maybe they are. Either way, you no longer will be left in the dark.”

“Is this the part where you spill all of your dirty secrets?”

“How did you know?” He mocked with a grin. “Now listen carefully.” He pulled back leaving only cold air where he once was, but he remained in contact, holding onto y/n’s hand, brushing circles over the feathery veins as he seated himself next to her.

“There’s a lot you need to learn.”

next part

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#twilight #new moon #eclipse #breaking dawn #carlisle cullen #carlisle #carlisle cullen imagine #carlisle cullen x you #carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen x y/n #edward cullen #edward and bella #Emmett Cullen

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let-it-raines · 3 years

Text

I Hope We Never See October (2/?)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Thank you guys for reading the first part of this! I cannot say enough how much I appreciate all of you and how glad I am little things like this bring you guys joy! Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading over these words. ❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: One | Two

-/-

“Emma, the couple at table two wants to talk to you, and the woman at table seven has a complaint about the quiche. Something about there being eggs in them.”

Emma groans and closes her laptop to look at Ashley, one of the new waitresses she hired this summer. She’s good, courteous, and she’s always here on time. Emma is going to hate to lose her for a few weeks when she has her baby, but come hell or high water, the girl is getting maternity leave even if Emma can’t manage more than three weeks without the owner getting involved and likely trying to fire all of them. She deserves months more than that, but Emma can’t change the system.

It’s a shit system, especially for moms.

“They don’t want eggs…in their quiche? Are you serious?”

“She’s vegan and claims she’s been misled.”

Emma rolls her eyes and stands from her chair. She pulls her jean shorts down, the frayed edges covering just a little more thigh, and unties the bottom of her button-down. She probably needs to start dressing up more for this job, but she can’t be bothered. She managed to wear her Blue Dog Tavern polo last week, so that seems like enough effort. “We have symbols on the menu to indicate dietary restrictions, but this isn’t really a restaurant for dietary restrictions beyond one or two items. I’ll deal with it. Thanks, Ashley.”

It’s Sunday morning, which is their second busiest time after Friday and Saturday nights, and the Blue Dog is packed. It’s all hands on deck this morning, but Emma was hoping to get some scheduling and produce ordering done in her office during it. But this is a restaurant, so of course there’s never any time for a breather when she needs it the most. She’ll finish all that later, she guesses, because she has a feeling neither of these conversations are going to be a short one.

And she’s right about that. The woman hating on the quiche pitches a fit and demands her money back before threatening to sue the place and, quite frankly, threatening to cut off Emma’s legs, and Emma has to resolve that without losing her cool when all she wants to do is punch jerks like that straight across the jaw. Then the couple at table two asks her to run through every item on the menu and whether or not everything is organically sourced.

They serve fried mac and cheese balls at ten in the morning and have kitschy, slightly tacky artwork nailed onto the darkly stained wood. If you eat outside on the patio, you get a nice view of people taking off a little more than they should while sunbathing on the surrounding beaches and docked boats. There’s also the occasional ferry that drives by and blows a loud horn that tourists seem to get a kick out of. Do they really think everything is organically sourced?

God, sometimes she really hates tourists.

This is a nice place, though. It’s not somewhere you go for fine dining, but their brunch is divine, it’s got a good atmosphere, and the new bartenders she’s hired this summer make better drinks than you can get at any reasonably priced bar in a ten-mile radius. She likes this little part of the island, and even though she hates tourists, they do fund her entire life. So maybe she hates them a little less than usual when the paychecks roll in.

Today is not a day where the paycheck is rolling in.

Emma notices some of the tables are a little slow, so she picks up the slack, getting drinks and refills and checking on meals. It keeps her on her feet for most of the morning and through the lunch rush, but when it’s over, she collapses on a stool at the end of the bar.

“Chip, can you get me a coffee?” she asks without looking up. “I don’t care what milk or creamer you put in it as long as you don’t bring it to me black. Though, I think I need the caffeine so badly that I’d drink it. I don’t know why I agreed to work the late dinner shift at The Oaks last night. I’m exhausted.”

When she doesn’t get a response, she looks up for Chip. He’s nowhere to be seen, and when she checks her phone schedule, she realizes it’s his break time. Of course it is.

“Lass, I don’t believe the barkeep is here anymore.”

“Yeah, it’s his break, but I can help you. What’s your poison?”

“The coffee you’re having.”

Emma nods and turns to look at the man talking to her, and if she wasn’t so tired, she would have recognized the voice a hell of a lot faster than she did. A lot of different accents pass through this place, but he’s the first British one in awhile. Also the first one to show up in her backyard. Or the Fishers’ backyard, technically, but she’s been renting it for long enough for it to feel like her own even if she’s changed very little of the furniture and decorations outside her bedroom.

Killian. She thinks that was his name. Honestly, she’s surprised she remembers anything because she was in such a rush to get to work that she didn’t have time to deal with all the people at her house. But he was unexpected and attractive – she’s not blind to attractive men no matter what Ruby and Mary Margaret think – and he threw her off for a minute. He looked familiar, but she has no idea why. There’s no way she would have met him before.

But she also doesn’t care. She’s got a gut feeling that she needs to watch out for him, that there’s something that’s not right, and him being at her job is proving that to her. What are the odds that he’d wander in a few days after meeting her when she’s pretty sure he’s never been here before?

Then again, maybe that’s why he’s familiar. It’s June. A lot of people come through here, and she’s not going to remember all their faces. Sometimes she does, though, in the back of her mind where vague, slightly blurry memories reside.

“Sure thing,” Emma sighs, standing from the stool. “Do you have a server?”

“Aye. Heather, I believe, but…”

“But she’s on her phone.” Emma shakes her head. “My boss’s niece. Not much I can do about it, but I’ll get you your coffee, a water, and take your order right away.”

He nods, going back to his own phone, and Emma takes that as her cue to get behind the bar and start making some coffee. She doesn’t usually work this machine, so it takes her a minute to get it right all while she feels Killian staring at her.

“Do you need any suggestions on the menu?” Emma asks as the coffee percolates.

“How are the salads?”

“I prefer things with more calories, but they’re good. Our vegetables are fresh, and I personally enjoy the strawberry poppyseed with chicken, but I know not everyone loves fruit in salads.” He hums behind her as his mug fills, and she grabs some milk from the fridge under the sink, turning to show him. “Milk okay?”

“It’s perfect, Swan.” She raises her brows, which he mirrors, until he cocks his head forward and his lips form an obnoxious little smirk. “On the nametag, love.”

“Now, what did I say about being your love?”

“That you’re not.”

“Exactly.” She finishes making his coffee and hands it over. He’s a customer, she reminds herself. She’s got to try to be a little bit nicer than she wants to be. “So, the salad? If you’re looking more toward the healthy options with protein, the grilled chicken breast on its own is fantastic. You get two sides, which you can find at the bottom of the menu.”

He nods and looks at the menu for half a second before looking up. “The salad would be great. Thank you.”

He picks up his mug, pointing it toward her, and Emma takes it as a dismissal so she can put his order in, and hopefully she can get Heather to do her damn job and serve him for the rest of the meal. She doesn’t like that he knows where she lives and works, and even though she doesn’t think Ariel and Eric spend time with shady people, something about him gives her weird vibes.

His face just looks so damn familiar, and usually she’s really good remembering faces. Huh.

And Emma is usually right about these things. He’s likely nothing more than a rich man looking for a break from life by renting out a large house on the island. He’ll spend a week or two, maybe a month depending on his work situation, here, sleep with as many women as he can, and then he’ll go, never thinking of Martha’s Vineyard again. And she’s pretty sure Ariel does something having to do with high-powered people over in London, so he fits the profile. God, she must have seen him before with Ariel or something. That has to be it.

But for now, he’s a customer, and since Heather seems to be completely checked out, Emma guesses she’s going to have to deal with him. After this morning, he won’t be the worst person she has to deal with all day, and since she’s working at The Oaks tonight, she imagines being treated like shit then will outshine all of this.

Why the hell did she decide to pick up so many shifts at The Oaks? It’s a stuffy country club where tips reflecting the price of the meal aren’t even guaranteed, but it’s extra money with a flexible schedule. She’s doing okay on the money front right now, though, and if she were sane, she’d take some time off and relax, maybe enjoy the beach or any of the hundreds of good restaurants around here.

She is obviously not sane.

-/-

“Oh my God,” Emma grumbles as she strips out of her jean shorts, kicking them to the ground before unbuttoning her shirt. “I’m so tired of people.”

“I’m people,” Ruby says. “Nice bra, by the way. The girls look great.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but she does glance down at her boobs and hike them up a bit. They do look great today. “Shut up.” Emma picks up the black dress she has to wear at the country club and slips it over her shoulders. “You know I’m not tired of you.”

“That’s because you’ve barely seen me.”

“Busy. I’m busy. I work way too much. Speaking of that, why the hell aren’t you at work?”

Ruby stands from her couch and grabs her name tag from the end table. “I’m in between shifts. Granny’s in charge downstairs. I have a five-second commute to work, unlike you. Why are you changing here again?”

“Don’t want to run into any of the people at my house.” Emma smooths her dress and turns to Ruby’s mirror to reapply lipstick and put on some mascara. She’s got to wash her hair tomorrow. It’s hanging by on a thread today, if that thread is a little greasy and has a hell of a lot of dry shampoo in it. “But don’t worry, tomorrow, I will be out of your hair as they will soon be out of mine.”

“You know I’m always fine with you being in my business. Mary Margaret and David are coming here for dinner tonight. Any chance you can slip away?”

Emma finishes another coat of mascara. “Can’t. Working until past closing and then heading straight home to sleep in my house of strangers.”

Ruby laughs, carefree as always, and for a moment, the jealousy stings. Ruby has plenty of her own shit going on, but she always handles it with such ease. She’s the most carefree person Emma has ever met, and Emma can’t imagine living like that without way too much alcohol in her system.

“I told you that you could stay with me this week. Have I ever said it’s batshit crazy that they come to visit and are okay with you still staying there? Because that is batshit crazy.”

Emma shrugs and pulls back to take in her appearance. This is as good as it’s going to get. She doesn’t think she’ll be using her looks to get her any tips tonight, which is a crying shame since that’s half the reason she took this job in the first place. She knows exactly how to charm some of the older men into giving her more money by flirting a little, and she’s not ashamed that she has to give away her dignity to do it. She had to hire a dinner-shift manager at the Blue Dog because she was doing the work of two people with the pay of one. Now she’s doing the work of five people with the pay and of one and half people, so obviously she’s winning at life.

“I’m never there, and they seem like good people. I think they’re just glad I actually maintain the place and am slowly but surely getting through some of the renovations.” Emma looks at her hair again and ties it up in a ponytail with the elastic from her wrist. “Any way you can make me a grilled cheese to go?”

“Only if you agree to go to a bar with all of us sometime in the next month.”

“Yeah, fine. Whatever you want.”

God, she hopes Ruby doesn’t remember this conversation. The last thing she wants to do right now is go out with her friends and then end up sitting alone as they all make out with their partners and leave without telling Emma goodbye.

Actually, the last thing she wants to do is go to work again today, but here she goes.

-/-

Emma quietly turns the key in her front door. She saw that the kitchen light was still on from the street, and while the Fishers likely just forgot to turn it off, she doesn’t want to run the risk of seeing them tonight. It’s their last night here, so she only has to make it through one or two more awkward conversations before she has the house to herself. It’ll be just her and the creaky floors. She can collapse on the couch in her dress instead of having to walk all the way up the stairs and make it to her bedroom like a responsible adult.

In another world, Emma would like to own a house like this. It’s charming. That’s the best way to describe it. It’s two floors, three bedrooms, has bay windows and built-in bookshelves, and the cabinets in the kitchen are a light green. She likes that it’s not cookie cutter white all the way around like some of the nicer houses around here. It has character, and though there are a few things she’d change beyond the needed repairs she does for the Fishers, it’s got good bones. Plus, the location is fantastic, and the backyard is spacious. It allows Emma to spend time in the sun without being stuck on a crowded beach or near a busy dock.

But this is not another world, and Emma could never afford a house this close to the coastline. She’s got no idea why she still lives here. Well, that’s not true, she knows exactly why she still lives here, and it’d be possible for her to pick up and move inland toward Boston. She just…she can’t. She’s been here for ten years after leaving her last foster home in Brockton, and it’s been a comfortable reprieve. She’s got her friends and her job(s), and even though she’s got years of hospitality experience, there’s no guarantee someone like her with a GED can get a job this well-paying and accommodating somewhere else. Plus, her housing is almost free, and she really can’t pass that up.

It all comes back to the house, which she’s dreading going into now no matter how much she wants to collapse onto her bed.

(Or the couch. She really misses the couch. It’s the best for napping.)

Emma steps inside, avoiding the places that make the floor groan, but it’s impossible to dodge them all. She tenses, then hurries across the living room toward the stairs, only turning to the opening to the kitchen at the last minute.

“Holy fuck,” Emma gasps, dropping her purse. It hits the ground in a gentle thud, her keys spilling out and clacking along the floor.

“Didn’t mean to scare you there, Swan.”

Emma’s breath hitches as she realizes who it is sitting at her kitchen table.

Killian…whatever his last name is. She’s got no clue and doesn’t care to ask. What she does want to know is why he’s sitting here alone at two in the morning like a fucking serial killer.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He takes a sip of his drink, coffee she thinks from the smell, and leans back in the chair, the front legs tipping up with him. “Getting sober so I can drive home. Had two drinks with dinner, and it appears I’ve become a bit of a lightweight.”

“Don’t drink much then? I thought all you Brits liked going to the pub.”

He laughs, smile bright against the black of his stubble despite her poor attempt at his accent. “We do, but not so much me anymore. Trying to cut back.”

“Yeah, I get that.” She leans down to pick up her bag, grabbing her keys and tossing them back in. “I also get that we have Uber here. You might want to try that the next time you have a little too much to drink. You look like a murderer sitting in my kitchen like this.”

“It was two glasses of rum, nothing excessive. Wishing Ariel and Eric well before they leave in the morning.” He leans forward, the chair landing on all four legs, and downs the rest of his mug. “I don’t make a habit of drinking too much.”

“I don’t care what you do in your personal time. Just don’t make a mess in my house…or your friends’ house, I guess. And sleep on the couch if you want. There are blankets in the basket.”

She doesn’t know why she’s offering him the couch. She should be making him leave. Her heart is still leaping out of her chest from him scaring her, and even though this has been her home for years, she technically can’t ask him to leave. In reality, Ariel has probably offered him the couch already.

What a long day.

She wants it to be over.

“That’s surprisingly kind of you.”

Emma’s step falters, and while she was turning away from the man, she decides to turn back and narrow her eyes. What the hell is that supposed to mean? “I guess I’m full of surprises for men who don’t know me.”

“Just who are you then, Swan?” he asks, standing from the chair and putting his mug in the sink, turning the faucet on while never losing eye contact.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Perhaps I would.”

A shiver runs down Emma’s spine, but she ignores it and walks up the stairs. This is a weird week, one she doesn’t want to repeat, and the last thing she needs is to spend too much time with a man who thinks he can charm his way into anything with a few smooth words and a smile. She’s been around enough men like that in her lifetime, but it doesn’t matter with him. Tomorrow, he’ll be gone with Eric and Ariel, and she’ll be back to being able to walk around her house without pants whenever she wants.

Tomorrow, this weird as hell week will be over, and she’ll be back to normal…mostly.

-/-

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#I hope we never see october #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan

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sprnklersplashes · 3 years

Text

jdronica+I kissed you in front of my ex (also on ao3)

The 7-Eleven is hardly much warmer than it is outside, but at least it’s drier. Veronica shakes the rain out of her hair as she steps in, shaking her head like a dog and sprinkling tiny droplets over the tiles. September announced its arrival in Sherwood with grey skies and bucket loads of rain, and three days in, the downpour shows no sign of stopping. It put a little bit of a damper to show up on the first day of her senior year soaking wet (pun intended because puns should always be intended), and there’s a growing sense of anxiety among students about whether or not the rain will let up in time for football practice to start.

But, where the rain might mess with first-day plans and be a pain for football fanatics, it’s the ideal weather for movie nights. The kind that involves piles of blankets, hot cocoa, and a combination of new releases and old favourites. The kind that, funnily enough, Veronica and Martha had planned for the weekend and scheduled when the sun was still out.

Maybe the weather was on their side.

“Okay, you grab the JiffyPop and drinks; I’ll raid the candy aisle,” Veronica instructs. “I’ll meet you at the counter.”

“Don’t go crazy on the candy,” Martha warns her. “Orange soda or blue?”

“Orange, and I will go completely crazy on the candy.” Martha raises her eyebrow, a fond shake of her head, but there’s little she can do when there’s a five-dollar bill burning in Veronica’s pocket. Veronica shoots little finger guns at Martha before bouncing down the candy aisle, taking stock of all the treats on offer.

She grabs a packet of Milk Duds because they go great with popcorn and a sharing bag of red vines too. She grabs a packet of the little watermelons (Martha’s personal favourite) and chuckles as she picks up a sharing bar of Hershey’s (private joke). She drops her candy stash into her basket and is in the middle of a debate between the packets of Sour Patch Kids and the packets of chips on sale when something, or rather someone, appears behind her.

“Want a Slurpee with that?”

She only jumps a tiny bit, and she’s glad because it doesn’t show how the stranger scared the pants off her. Mostly because she was lost in her head, but still, what was the asshole expecting, coming behind her like that? She turns around, her basket still on her arm, and she has an entire rant about convenience store etiquette ready, but it dies when she sees who it is.

Jason Dean, or as he prefers to be known, JD. New kids are something of a rarity in Sherwood, Ohio, which means he’s front-page news at school. Branded The New Kid, and he’ll probably still be that at graduation. People have done their best to Make Him Feel Welcome, as Ms. Fleming brightly suggested (demanded) they do, and despite some pleasantries, no one’s quite managed to get him to their lunch table. Most of the time, he’s alone, always with a different book. He’s gone from Baudelaire to Dickens to Orwell.

Not that she’s paying attention.

“Well, hello, Jason Dean.” She leans up against the counter and gestures to the cup in his hand. “Not my thing, but if you play your cards right, you can buy me a Big Gulp.”

“Blasphemy, little miss. Slurpee is the signature dish of the house. Did you say cherry or lime?”

“I said Big Gulp.” She lets the smile linger on her lips, feels it grow wider as he turns around. He laughs it off, and she takes note of the dimples in his cheeks, the way his hair falls forward into his eyes in a way that may or may not make her heart pick up.

“You’re Veronica, right?” he asks. “Veronica Sawyer.” He holds his free hand up. “Not stalking. I just sit two rows behind you in English.”

“I remember,” she replies. “Yes, it’s Veronica Sawyer.” She crosses her arms over her chest and chews thoughtfully on her lower lip. “So… may I ask what brings you to Sherwood, Ohio?”

His smile falters then, the spark dimming in his eyes, and his free hand slides into his pocket. She kicks herself immediately, her with her stupid attempts at flirting and her stupid nose poking into other people’s business. This is why she only sticks to Martha and occasionally Heather Mac, and if the universe wanted to remind her, it could have done it less painfully.

“Uh, new foster placement,” he tells her after a minute. “My old group home got too crowded, and it turns out the only other place that would take a teenager with insane daddy issues was all the way across the state.”

“Oh,” is all she can find to say, for all her teachers praising her for her brains. One word, one syllable. “Well, that’s….” Cool? Nice? Fun? Interesting? Nothing is appropriate here, no matter what direction she turns in.

But then Jason Dean taps her arm, wearing a smile that’s equal parts charming and apologetic, and the smoke in her brain begins to clear.

“Sorry, I probably should’ve been a bit more tactful there,” he says. “I know it’s a bit of a wild thing to drop on someone. My tragic hero backstory and all that.”

“Well, if it means you end up leading a life of crime-fighting and protecting our town, it all works out.”

“Maybe. Not sure if I can pull off the tights and leotard.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve got the legs for it,” she replies, and when he bursts out laughing, so does she. It feels weird, almost familiar. Like she’s known him for far longer than three days. She shuffles closer to him, pulled forward by her curiosity.

He eyes her basket and opens his mouth to say something else, but then the little bell rings at the shop door, and Veronica lets out a soft curse when she sees who it is.

What exactly her ex-girlfriend is doing at the 7-Eleven, she can’t fathom. This was on her list of places she could most definitely keep going to regularly after they broke up, and that list is depressingly small. This is meant to be the part of town Heather Duke, or any of the Heathers don’t grace with their presence, not even Macnamara. If they divided up the assets after breaking up last month, the 7-Eleven was definitely in her pile.

Or maybe not, she thinks as she watches Heather cross the floor in her heels, loose change in her hand.

The universe just will not let her be.

Duke notices her after she does, dark eyes widening at the sight of her. Veronica’s at a loss for what to do, whether to wave at her, flip her off, or just ignore her completely. She needs to think of something soon because Heather is moving closer towards her, and the last thing she needs is a not-so-subtle reminder of how she’s doing so much better than she is.

Her brain turns off, her body going into autopilot.

Instinct says to grab the closest thing to her, and the closest thing happens to be JD.

She whispers, “I’m sorry,” just loud enough so he can hear a second before her lips touch his, and by that point, she can’t exactly back out.

She doesn’t know what’s crazier; her kissing JD or the fact he kisses her back.

His hand is flat against her back, his other one cupping her cheek. She doesn’t know how experienced he is in these matters, but damn, he’s not bad. She’d even call him good. Maybe great. He tilts his head slightly but still lets her keep control, and his lips are soft and slightly cold from the Slurpee. It’s just slow enough to make it interesting, and he doesn’t pull away when she kisses him again.

When she does pull away, Heather is far past them, her pace too quick to be calm, and Veronica smugly counts it as a victory.

That is until she realises her hands are still balled up in JD’s shirt.

“I am… so sorry,” she begins. “I just… I know I shouldn’t have, but I just needed to do something to-”

“Woah, woah, woah, Ronnie,” he says. She only blushes slightly at the nickname. “Just answer me one question.” She nods, words catching in her throat, and he points up to where Heather is. “Ex?”

“Yup,” is her meek response, and to her shock, he laughs.

“Okay, Veronica Sawyer,” he tells her. “No hard feelings.” She untangles herself from him and retrieves her basket from where she dropped it on the floor. She looks behind and finds his Slurpee sitting on the shelf, standing out amongst the candies.

She’s tempted by the Slurpee offer, after all. She needs something to stop her cheeks from burning.

“I should go,” she says. “My friend, she’ll be wondering where I am.” She backs up, her eyes unable to leave his grinning face. “Um, thank you very much. For being so understanding about… that. All of that. Uh, see you around maybe. Yeah.”

She manages to turn herself around and takes the opportunity to stop hiding and let out a silent scream. She moves to go, to run and pay for her candy, and start plan to avoid him as much as humanly possible-or change her name and flee the state, that could work-but then he calls after her, and she stops in her tracks,

“Hey!” he says. She turns to face him again, and while he keeps a respectable distance, she can still see the smile on his face, all soft angles and laugh lines, and the telltale butterflies begin in her stomach.

“You’re busy this weekend,” he says. “What about next?”

That’s the story of Veronica Sawyer and Jason Dean’s first kiss.

For those who want to know, their second involves her pinning up against the wall of a McDonald’s bathroom and him breathlessly whispering her name against her lips.

#heathers the musical #heathers fanfic #jdronica #pure au jdronica #veronica sawyer #jason dean #i wrote this over teh course of an hour and just posted it so yeahhhhhh.....#i miss heathers

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