#because Ive never been able to build on anything I ever did afterwards

[hussyknee]

Why is my stupid idiot brain sunk to the very bottom of the sea bed like whale fall. I'm on extra strength medication, I'm staying off social media, I'm surrounded by kittens. And yet. My anxiety has turned into full blown agoraphobia and I'm so depressed that getting out of bed is a feat I only achieve because my cats need feeding.

It's been almost seventeen years of being bipolar but I still can't internalise that mood disorders are actual illnesses that disable and debilitate as much as any physical disease. Clearly the only thing wrong with me is that I'm not trying hard enough to crawl out of this. If I really wanted to get better I'd fight through my anxiety and back pain and sensory hell and do stuff like go to therapy, eat healthy, exercise and get a job.

To make matters worse, my brain keeps hollering that I'm 37 this year and no closer to joining the rest of the job-having, rent-paying, independent adult world. The fact that I've been in a consistently worsening mental health crisis since 2020 to the point that I was in greater danger than I've ever been of committing suicide the first six months of last year is clearly irrelevant. Somehow.

Tbh, if it wasn't for my rescue kittens, I'd be regretting that I didn't just go through with it. Not enough to go through with it now, but regretting it all the same. But I do have my kitties so I can't regret it. Instead, I'm just resigning myself to the fact that having something to live for, even when I don't want to, is the best I'll ever get.

[king-finnigan]

5 times Jaskier didn’t realize Geralt was giving him a gift for his birthday and 1 time he did

As part of my 500 followers celebration! Masterlist

***

I.

Jaskier practically falls down on the chair opposite Geralt, giving his cheering audience one final wave, before he turns his back to them, dumping the coins he earned on the table, setting his lute down next to him gently.

“Well, that went swimmingly,” Jaskier says, and Geralt rolls his eyes at his wide grin, but can’t stop a small smile from appearing on his own face, as well.

“Hmm.”

“Oh, please, Witcher, even you can appreciate a good performance when you see one, no need to be so dismissive of my charms and talent.”

Geralt rolls his eyes again. Usually, he would’ve simply hummed noncommittally, and dropped the subject for the evening, but today’s Jaskier’s birthday. It’s been nagging at him all day, especially because Jaskier hasn’t even said anything about it. He knows humans like their birthdays, like to celebrate another year lived in this damned world – and he would’ve expected Jaskier to be prancing around all day, demanding special treatment and gifts and attention.

But he hasn’t. And that confuses Geralt. It’s not like Jaskier’s forgotten when his own birthday is – hell, he let the date slip a few months ago, so he certainly remembers, but he simply hasn’t mentioned anything about it, today. He doesn’t even seem particularly happy about it.

If anything, he seems almost sad. Which makes matters worse, because what kind of human is sad on their own birthday? Certainly not the kind he expected Jaskier to be, of all people.

So he’s conflicted. On one hand he wants to say something, but on the other hand, Jaskier doesn’t seem to be in the mood for it.

Also, he doesn’t really have a gift he can give. Hell, he doesn’t even know what kind of gift someone expects for their birthday, it’s been so long since he’s celebrated one.

He does get an idea all of a sudden, and clears his throat. Jaskier, already distracted by a fair maiden on the other side of the room, turns back to the Witcher, eyebrows raised. “Something the matter, Geralt?”

The Witcher purses his lips, shakes his head, decidedly staring at his own ale, instead of meeting Jaskier’s eyes. “Uh… You’re right. Good performance.”

He looks up right in time to see Jaskier’s face light up like the morning sun, and the bard reaches across the table, softly pushing at Geralt’s shoulder, leaving a trail of fire in his wake when he pulls back again. “Why thank you, Witcher! I knew even you could see that.” He throws Geralt a wink, before he downs his ale, standing up and sauntering over to the lady on the other side of the room, who welcomes him with open arms. He doesn’t have the strength to watch them leave, so he retreats to his own room, and hopes the compliment he gave is enough of a gift for Jaskier. At least this year.

 II.

It’s Jaskier’s birthday. Geralt only remembers because the bard seems sad again, which means that, unfortunately, this time he’s as unprepared as he was last time.

So he spends the entire morning desperately looking around, searching for ideas for a gift – though, he comes up basically empty-handed. What he does notice, though, is that Jaskier seems to be limping slightly.

He frowns down at the bard from where he’s sitting on Roach, before he pulls her to a halt. Jaskier walks a couple of steps more, seemingly lost in thought, until he realizes he’s walking alone, and turns around, looking confused. “Why have we stopped?”

“What’s wrong with you?” He closes his eyes, mentally cursing himself when Jaskier’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, face indignant.

“Ex- excuse me, Witcher, but-“

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he interrupts Jaskier before the bard can go on a long, offended tangent about how absolutely rude and uncaring of his feelings Geralt is, or something similar. “You’re limping.”

Jaskier shrugs, the slight hurt disappearing from his face again. “Ah, well, yeah, I sort of sprained my ankle this morning when I went to the river to wash off. It’s nothing really, but- Geralt, what are you doing?”

Geralt’s feet hit the dusty path, and he steps to the side. “Get on Roach.”

“I- what?”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Get. On. Roach.”

Though still clearly very confused, Jaskier obliges, and gets on the mare. “Not that I don’t appreciate this, but- why? You never let me ride Roach.”

If Geralt could’ve blushed, he would’ve right now, as he takes Roach’s reigns and starts walking again, pointedly looking at anything but Jaskier. “You’ll just slow us down.” A blatant lie, but he hopes Jaskier won’t be able to tell. At least the bard seems a little less sad now, and he hopes that it’s enough of a gift for Jaskier. At least this year.

 III.

The next time, he’s still very unprepared, and he starts to doubt that he ever will be. He’s also run out of ideas for gifts for Jaskier, and frantically tries to figure something out before the day is over. But it’s well past dinner time, and he still has no idea what to do.

Worse than that, he has no clue where the hell Jaskier even is.

Well, until he walks out of the inn, and hears a raised voice coming from the alley.

Well enough, there Jaskier is, against the wall, three men surrounding him, shouting something about how the bard slept with their sister or something like that – because of course he did. Honestly, it’d be a miracle if Jaskier could stop sleeping around in every town they come across for a week.

He rolls his eyes, the little tendril of fear that had been awakened in him at the sight of Jaskier getting threatened by three men slowly dying down when he sees that none of them have weapons. Really, the only thing they can do is beat the bard up a bit. Though, unfortunately, that doesn’t mean Geralt won’t step in – he always fucking does, for some reason.

He walks forwards. “Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?”

One of them turns towards him, fear creeping into his slightly rancid smell. “He slept with our sister, Witcher.”

He looks at Jaskier, eyebrows raised, and the slight guilt and exhilaration in the bard’s eyes tells him the men are right.

He sighs. “Not possible, he’s been by my side the entire night.”

“But Witcher-“

“Are you saying that I’m lying?”

The three men look away. “No, sir. We’ll… we’ll go.”

“Hmm.” He watches as the brothers hurry past him, before turning towards Jaskier, who’s smoothing down his clothes.

The bard looks at him with a shit-eating grin, and Geralt rolls his eyes again. “Thanks, Geralt! Knew you’d come save me. There does seem to be a slight problem, though…” He looks down at his bare feet. “I forgot my shoes in her room. Maybe I should go back and-“

Geralt shakes his head, then turns around, motioning for Jaskier to follow him. Any other day, he would’ve let the bard fetch his own shoes back, but today is not just any day, he knows. “I’ll buy you a new pair,” he grumbles. He hopes that it’s enough of a gift for Jaskier. At least this year.

 IV.

The next time it’s Jaskier’s birthday, he’s a little bit more prepared – but only barely, still. He’d realized that it was coming up soon a week before the actual day, and had gone to the market in a dingy nowhere town shortly after that, while Jaskier was busy at the inn, cleaning his lute. (Geralt hadn’t been sure in which way Jaskier was cleaning his lute, but he’d decided that it didn’t matter.)

An old woman at a jewellery stall had told him humans liked objects for their birthdays – preferably expensive. Unfortunately, they were short on coin, so Geralt had asked the lady what kind of non-expensive gift he could give his long-time travelling companion and friend.

She had pointed to a ring, silver and engraved with waves. It had cost him a fair deal of coin, still, but he’d taken it – after all, silver protects against monsters, and he figures it’s both practical and, as Jaskier prefers things, nice-looking.

However, that did leave him with one question: when and how is he going to give it to the bard?

It’s been plaguing him all day, that simple matter. At first, he thought it best to give it at breakfast, but they had been attacked by a small pack of Drowners, so that hadn’t been an option. After that, he decided it would be best to give it at lunch, after they had arrived at the next small town. Except, Jaskier was nowhere to be found – at least, until Geralt walked past the blacksmith, and heard soft gasps in a familiar voice coming from behind the building. He’d walked away as quickly as possible, ignoring the small jab in his chest.

And now it’s already dinner time, and Jaskier’s performing and showing absolutely no signs of stopping, even though it’s well past midnight. So should Geralt give it to him afterwards? Or should he wait until tomorrow? Or should he toss the ring away, dig a hole in the wet dirt outside, bury himself in it, never to be found again? He decides the last option is the best one, but unfortunately, he doesn’t have a shovel and there’d be no one to take care of Roach.

Eventually, he decides to just head to bed. All this worrying and the heat of the tavern has got his head pounding, and frankly, he can’t wait for all this gift-giving bullshit to be over. He’s a Witcher, for crying out loud. Witchers don’t give gifts. Except he still bought a silver ring for Jaskier, last week.

He sighs, downing his ale, heading up the stairs. He pauses for a second in their shared room, when his eye falls on Jaskier’s bag, sitting in the corner. He strains his ears, hears that Jaskier is singing ‘Toss a Coin’ – which is always the last song for the evening – and decides he has to hurry up. He quickly opens the bag, burying the ring at the bottom of it, before he closes it again.

He’s barely stood up again, when the door to the room opens, and Jaskier walks in, lute in hand, grin on his face. “Ah, Geralt! Was wondering where you went…” he muses, setting his lute down in the corner, pulling his slightly sweaty doublet over his head. “So, what’d you think? Another stellar performance, I presume.”

“Hmm.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, and quickly takes off his clothes, laying down in the bed. After a short while, Jaskier joins him, laying down on the other side. He doesn’t say anything except a “goodnight, Geralt”, and his mood seems unchanged – still slightly sad – so Geralt assumes he hasn’t found the ring yet.

A few days later, his eye is caught by something glistening in the afternoon sun. It’s a silver ring, engraved with waves, on Jaskier’s right hand, and Geralt barely suppresses a small smile at the sight. The bard seems in a particularly good mood as well, and Geralt hopes that it’s enough of a gift for Jaskier. At least this year.

 V.

The next year, he’s prepared. A month beforehand, when they stop in Oxenfurt for a few days, he goes to a little shop, tucked between two tall buildings while Jaskier catches up with some old friends in a tavern nearby.

He buys some bath salts that smell of roses, some soap that smells like red berries, some lavender oil against irritated skin, and, for good measurement, a lemon candle. It’s a pretty hefty sum, but he buys it all anyways – he tells himself it’s because they’ve been doing well monetary-wise lately, not because Jaskier’s smile is worth all the money in his purse and more.

Once again, he still doesn’t know how he should give it, though, and he simply hides it in Jaskier’s bag on his birthday again. He keeps a close eye on the bard, that evening, as he rummages through his bag for soap and bath salt, after Geralt suggested they could afford the luxury of a bath tonight, and offered Jaskier to go first. The bard had looked at him weirdly, but Geralt had pretended he didn’t notice.

“Oh!” Jaskier exclaims, as he fishes rose bath salts and berry soap out of his bag. “Huh. Must’ve forgotten about these.” He shrugs and stands up, closing the door to the adjacent bathroom behind him. Geralt smiles softly as he hears Jaskier getting into the bath, hears him humming softly. He seems in a good mood – more so than he did this morning. Geralt hopes that it’s enough of a gift for Jaskier. At least this year.

 + I

This time, he’s prepared months in advance, when they visit Novigrad. He finally has an idea of what Jaskier might want for his birthday, and as soon as the bard is gone to find a tavern to perform in, Geralt hurries to the nearest instrument builder.

There, he buys an expensive set of lute strings – once again, because they’re doing well monetary-wise, not because he wants Jaskier to be happy and is willing to pay any price for that. As soon as he gets back to the inn, he hides them at the bottom of his bag, smiling slightly when he imagines Jaskier’s face when he gets them. Though, he’ll need to find a way to actually give Jaskier his gift this time. Or maybe not. Maybe he’ll chicken out again and hide it in Jaskier’s bag, waiting for the bard to find it. He’ll see.

It isn’t until a few months later, on Jaskier’s birthday, that he knows for sure he’s going to chicken out again.

At least, that is, until Jaskier starts rummaging through the Witcher’s bag. Geralt pales, his heart sinking to his feet, and he’s ready to tell the bard to get his fucking hands out of that bag, for the love of the gods.

But it’s too late.

“Geralt, have you seen my chemise somewhere? The white, frilly one, with the metal buttons and-“ He stills, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape as he looks down into Geralt’s bag.

Geralt can only stare in horror as Jaskier pulls the lute strings from the bottom of his bag. “Geralt, why do you have these in your bag?” He doesn’t give him time to answer. “And they’re expensive as w- Geralt why do you have expensive lute strings in your bag?”

If Geralt could’ve blushed, he would’ve, and he looks away. “Uh… They’re uh… For your birthday, today.”

Jaskier simply stares at him, eyes wide. “How do you know it’s my birthday?”

Geralt shrugs, rubs at the back of his neck, trying to get rid of that uncomfortable feeling in his spine. “You told me, a few years ago.”

“And you remembered.” He says it flatly. “Even though I don’t celebrate it, you remembered that one time I mentioned my birthday years ago.”

He shrugs again, looks away.

“Wait, then why would you give me something this year, but not all the other years?”

Geralt bites the inside of his cheek, still looking at anything but Jaskier. “I did, but-“

“You did? I don’t remember…” This time Geralt does look at Jaskier, and sees the bard staring at him, so wide-eyed it’s almost comical. “The soap,” he whispers. “I didn’t buy that myself, you did”

Geralt nods, then shrugs.

“And the ring? That was you, too?”

Geralt nods again, and Jaskier shakes his head.

“Why the hell didn’t you just give it to me, instead of sneaking it into my bag like… like some- some reverse thief?”

“Because I thought you didn’t want any gifts. You always seemed so sad on your birthday, and you didn’t mention it, so I figured you don’t want to celebrate it.”

Jaskier suddenly laughs, and stands up, lute strings clutched to his chest as he walks towards Geralt. “I’m always sad because I don’t get any gifts. I never did. My parents were horribly against it, saying I would get spoiled or something, and I never mentioned it because I didn’t think you’d give a shit.”

Geralt feels a sharp pang in his chest, as the realization kicks in. “But I do give a shit.”

Jaskier laughs again, looks at the lute strings, still in his hand. “Clearly. I just wished you would’ve said so sooner.”

“I thought you knew.”

Jaskier scoffs, looks at him with eyes the colour of the sky and a smile that would make the sun hide away in shame. “Well, I didn’t. If I did, I would’ve kissed you sooner.”

Geralt furrows his brow. “Wh-“ His breath hitches in his throat when Jaskier lays a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer, their lips separated less than half an inch – so, so painfully close, but not yet touching.

“May I?” Jaskier whispers.

Geralt doesn’t respond, but merely closes the gap between them, kissing his bard softly. Jaskier smiles into the kiss, and the witcher can’t help but smile as well, as he pulls his bard closer. Too soon, it’s over, and they’re leaning their foreheads against each other, breaths intertwining.

“So,” Jaskier whispers to him. “When’s your birthday?”

Geralt grins. “Don’t even think about it.”

[allgarbo]

So ive been reading this book, the girls sappho goes to hollywood, and i can't help but think that the writer is somewhat biased towards Garbo? I am in the middle of it and the writer seems to point out always three things, how Garbo was mistreating Mercedes, how Salka was scheming against of their relationship and how every actress wanted to get into Garbo's pants (the only believable thing in this book lol). I mean, people wouldn't just leave her at peace, Jesus. Have you read the book? It also makes a wild assumption of Greta's and Marlene's encounter, it is pretty bonkers. Of course, if you know anything else about the two of them together, please share your info, i will gladly appreciate it

you're absolutely right! i have never been able to read this book precisely because i think the same thing as you. it's totally biased. i think the book is interesting when you're looking for gossip and trivia but to be honest a lot of the stuff that diana mclellan said was made up. about garbo's relationship with mercedes is a very complicated subject. it was a relationship that started very well and ended very badly. mercedes' personality was not so easy to deal with and as we already know, garbo also had her issues. i don't believe this information about salka. what i remember about salka talking about garbo's relationship with mercedes was after mercedes released "here lies the heart", saying that everything mercedes said in the book was a lie. about marlene, i love to joke that marlene lied about never meeting garbo but we don't really know if they ever met. in an orson welles biography he says he introduced marlene to garbo at a party but we don't have evidence like photos, videos... (i don't know why he would lie about that but okay).

the story of how they met according to orson welles:  “(...) Marlene was the Welleses' houseguest in the big house on Carmelina Drive, and she asked Orson to introduce her to Greta Garbo. When Dietrich began to be popular in Germany in the '20s, the press often compared her with Garbo. Orson recalls that Marlene absolutely ''worshiped" Garbo but had never found herself in a room with her. So he arranged for the actor Clifton Webb (who always entertained with his mother) to give a party to which they would invite Garbo, and to which Marlene would come with Orson so that the pair could meet ''inadvertently." (...) Orson and Marlene were already at Clifton Webb's party when Garbo arrived. It was only natural that Orson would take Marlene over to meet her. But when Dietrich complimented her peer by comparing her to a goddess, Garbo uttered nothing more than a polite thank you. Initially undaunted, Marlene kept praising Garbo, who persisted in saying thank you, over and over. That was the extent of their meeting, which ended finally when Marlene gave up earnestly trying to engage Garbo in conversation. On the way back to Carmelina Drive afterward, Marlene did not say a word until suddenly she turned to Orson to pronounce: ''Her feet aren't as big as they say!" Back home, a few drinks seemed appropriate, and Marlene got going on her subject. "They say, no makeup!" Orson remembers her having exclaimed. "She has beaded eyelashes! Do you know how long it takes to have your eyelashes beaded?" lol (source: orson welles - a biography by barbara leaming) there's also this one: “During his touring days in The Barretts of Wimpole Street long before, actor Brian Aherne had befriended Garbo. He was now divorced from Joan Fontaine and married to Eleonore de Liagre. The Ahernes lived in Vevey, Switzerland, and visited Garbo from time to time. In July 1964, they took her to supper with Noel Coward, who saw them again a few days later at the Geneva airport: "Brian, Eleonore and Garbo (quivering with neurosis) were on the plane.“ Eleonore once asked Jean Negulesco if he would mind dining with three ladies— the other two being Garbo and Dietrich. "GG complained about the neighbor living in the apartment over hers,” Negulesco recalled. “He was building a new bath. Noise and copper pipes came through her ceiling. Marlene was comparing the rising prices from day to day on fruit and fresh vegetables. Two of the most famous women in the world exchanging banalities and kitchen talk!”  x (source: garbo by barry paris) and that's all i remember about a possible meeting between garbo and dietrich. i bought a biography called garbo: her story by anton gronowicz and didn't need to read more than 10 pages to identify countless lies about her. there's so many opportunists, it's very easy to make up lies about someone like garbo. i’m glad you questioned what you read. 

[ofclaires]

IV. CLAIRE WALSH

PAST SELF PARAS: april 2020 / september 2020 / march 2021. 

hi, before the read more i just wanted to say THANK YOU. getting to play claire has been absolutely a treat, a challenge, and genuinely, a huge part of my life for the past year and a half or so. it occurred to me when writing this and looking back at other things i’ve written for claire that i didn’t just feel like i was writing this for myself or for claire ; but i was writing it for you guys, too ! that has been one of the most special things about gallagher for me is the writing community that i feel like we built, taking such a huge investment in our characters and everyone else’s writing. i feel like i’m writing with and for some of my best friends. i also feel like i’ve grown so much ( ok, i actually don’t just feel like it, i can look back at those three paras and SEE how my writing has improved. ) i am so blessed to have gotten to write claire with all of you and to share her story, i feel like she has been so fucking beloved & it’s given her so much life. i am so proud of her and it’s really bittersweet that i’m finally saying goodbye to her as well. so, thank you all so, so much, gallagher has been a writing experience like no other for me & i love you all ! 

trigger warnings : domestic violence & abuse, death

PART ONE: CHILDHOOD.

The trailer that Claire spent the back half of her childhood in never felt like home. Maybe because trailers are made to be temporary, or the fact that if she accepted that this was where she belonged, she’d have to give up hope.

It’s normal Maggie Walsh to be out late, Claire’s usually cleaned up the kitchen and tucked herself into bed by the time her mother comes in the door – but she’s not sleeping. She’s always had trouble with that, brain bouncing around from one thought to the next until eventually she hears the creak of the door.

Her mom’s home.

She hears the usual stumbling, the clatter of dishes falling from where she’d neatly placed them on the drying rack. Maggie’s drunk, Claire’s sure of that. Ten years old and she knows what it means to be so drunk that you can hardly see straight, that the words you say under the influence are a different reflection from the person that you really are. She inhales deeply and crawls out from under the covers to check on her. Ten years old and she knows the steps: Help her take her makeup off, make sure she sleeps on her side, glass of water on the bedside table, trash can on the floor. Maggie is only twenty-six years old herself now, not done with her childhood by the time that Claire was born, not ready to be a mother. Claire’s had to figure it out most of it herself.

“Mom?” Claire knocks on the door lightly, plastic cup full of water already in hand.

“Don’t – don’t come in!” Maggie sputters, and Claire’s confused. She defies her request and opens the bedroom door the rest of the way. When she sees her mom, she drops the cup on the floor, small hands curling into fists.

“What happened? Who did that to you?”

“I told you not to come in here, Claire,” Maggie repeats, but Claire has always been on to disregard commands. She learns at a young age that authority only means older than you or some assigned title, not that they know best.

“Who did that? Why?” She repeats her questions. Despite being mature for her age, it’s hard for Claire to wrap her head around the black eye obscuring Maggie’s face, and the swelling on her cheek.

“It doesn’t matter,” Maggie sighs, dejected as she flops down on the bed. Even in her state, she knows that there’s not much use telling Claire to back off or go away once she’s decided that she’s not going to. Her little girl is a spitfire, strangely enough reminds Maggie a lot of her own mom, like living with a miniature version of her. Maybe that’s why Claire wins most arguments. “Come here.”

Claire walks closer to the bed, kicking the cup aside on her way for no reason other than to kick something. She crawls into bed next to her mom and looks up at her, waiting for more of an explanation or literally anything but silence. 

“I don’t know why I keep looking for a happy ending. I leave you home alone, I come home like this...not helping either of us,” Maggie presses a kiss to the top of Claire’s head, runs her fingers through her daughter’s hair. It’s so soft and Claire is so little, she can’t help but look at the spilled cup on the floor with a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry,” she adds, voice choked up and words a little slurred. Tears squeeze out of the corners of her eyes when she closes them, hugging her daughter closer, “I’ve blamed you for my fucked up life for so long...that’s not fair.”

Now, Claire is only ten, but those are the kind of words that you remember forever. Still, she smiles. “It doesn’t have to stay fucked up. It can get better,” a childish spark of optimism in her heart that hasn’t yet been put out. It makes Maggie smile back though, kissing her daughter on the top of her head yet again.

“I like that,” she says, and they fall asleep curled up beside each other. Claire sleeps soundly, thinking that it’s possible. Things really could get better, and for a while, it seems like there really is a sort of shift. Maggie starts cooking, cleaning again, and she doesn’t even stay out so late. That’s when she meets Martin.

He seems better than the rest. Until he isn’t.

But Claire does her job as her mother’s protector, just as she’s been doing all of her life, and it’s that event that jumpstarts the rest of everything that happens next.

PART TWO: GRADUATION.

Claire’s come to the formal conclusion that graduation ceremonies are a waste of time. There’s all this build up, everyone’s so excited, and then you have to sit around and wait for your name to be called so you can spend two seconds walking across a stage while everyone claps. She would have skipped it entirely if her mother hadn’t already come up, and if she knew that people were going to insist. The small talk afterward is even more agonizing than the ceremony itself. It is sort of painful saying goodbye to everyone, and it occurs to Claire that there’s more people that she’s going to miss than she ever expected.

“Callum and his mother are here,” Maggie points out.

“And?” Claire rolls her eyes. Seeing Callum again to begin with had brought up a lot of old feelings, and generally, even though they’d resolved things, she tries to avoid him whenever possible.

“Well, it’s probably weird if we don’t say hello, at least, right? I’m going to say hello,” Maggie interjects, “he’s such a sweet boy.”

Claire’s eyebrows rise on her forehead as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Go ahead then,” she sighs, “I’ll wait right here.”

“Claire,” Maggie draws out her name with a withering stare, but Maggie has never been able to establish that sort of authority with Claire that would prompt any inclination of obedience, so Claire just shrugs her shoulders, unimpressed. She’s not going to budge. “Fine, I’ll be right back.”

Claire’s done her best to put the chapter of their life that includes Martin out of her mind when rekindling things with her mother, and she certainly doesn’t want to stand around making small talk with his other ex-wife, trying not to look at Callum with his matching jawline, trying not to remember everything she hates. It all comes back in a flash. The horrible cracking sound that her mother’s head had made when it connected with the wall, the blood on the marble floor. They say you don’t remember trauma properly, that your memory doesn’t work quite right, but she will never forget the way her fist connected with Martin’s face : like a puzzle piece, like it BELONGED there, and she’d done it over and over again until she heard sirens.

And yet, Claire can’t deny that it’s a part of her life that got her here, where she is today. She thinks life is shitty and random, and that not everything has to happen ‘for a reason.’ Still, she’ll catch Kass’s eye across the room and see her smiling so brightly that it seems impossible not to believe in something. Claire can’t help herself anyway – she smiles back. No one has ever been able to produce Claire’s smile in its truest form the way Kass has, unashamed of being so happy to look at someone. She once thought the idea of looking at a person and seeing your whole future was ridiculous, that you’d have to be stupid to put that much of yourself into someone, but it isn’t like that at all. All of it was unintentional, like by the time she realized it, Kass was already everything. And she feels so safe with that thought that she doesn’t mind at all.

“Am I interrupting something?” A figure steps in front of her, cutting off her line of sight. She’s not really fond of being snuck up on, so she opens her mouth to say something snarky when she’s met with the gaze of Lisanna Harlin, one of last year’s mentors. Her daughter, Elisa, is there, but she’s not graduating, so Claire’s confused by Lisanna’s presence.

“No, Ms. Harlin,” Claire says, though there’s a spark of indignation in her words that practically goes hand in hand whenever an adult commands authority.

“Lisanna is fine,” she says with a light laugh, like she’s amused Claire’s greeted her this way.

“Can I...help you with something?” Claire asks, mostly curious about how long this interaction has gone on. While she’s friendly with Elisa, she was Kass’s roommate last year, they’re not exceedingly close, so she’s not sure what else Lisanna would have to say to her other than maybe a polite hello.

It’s more than a polite hello. Lisanna Harlin works for Lexon Corp in Durham, North Carolina, a private military company that provides armed guards, bodyguards, and guns for hire. They’re the sort of place that would be looking for the best of the best in combat, and they have a bit of a reputation for hiring Gallagher girls. Claire had given up on the job search months ago since the video went out, in fact, she’s had a job lined up for graduation already : at a boxing gym in D.C., where the scene isn’t too bad. It was suited to her, but not exactly the sort of thing that her Gallagher education had prepared her for. Lexon Corp? Everything her rigorous love of January boot camps were tailored to. And they want to interview her.

A month later, Claire’s sitting on the cusp of a completely fresh start. It wasn’t easy to backtrack on the plans that she and Kass had made together, knowing how much was changing for the both of them, it had been nice to have the stable idea of an apartment together on the horizon. Now, she’s a four hour drive away, and she goes home to her one-bedroom studio in Durham after rigorous training throughout the day. But she’s grateful for the chance to work her way back into the field, and she can remember what Lisanna said to her when they gave her the offer.

“We’re aware that with your history that we’re taking a chance on you, Claire,” Lisanna said. “But we think the reasons that made other agencies look past you are exactly what makes you an asset. You care about your jobs, the people that you’re involved in, and you’d have a partner’s back until the bitter end. You listen to your intuition, trust your gut...and above all else, you have follow-through. I’m excited to be able to offer this position. Don’t prove me wrong.”

Claire swears that she won’t.  

PART THREE: KIPTYN.

Kiptyn isn’t supposed to be in the left hall closet. 

In fact, he’s not supposed to be awake at all. But who can sleep the night before their birthday anyway? Sure, he’ll be thirteen, and that’s probably old enough to have gotten over the magic of it all, but...he’d still been lying awake with excitement, the anticipation keeping his eyes open for hours on end. Well, that and the video game he’d been playing under the covers, but he’d obviously only been playing it because he couldn’t sleep in the first place.

Then he started thinking about the left hall closet and the conversation that they had at dinner the other night. In Kiptyn’s defense, Dahvia – his younger sister – had totally started it and he was an innocent bystander. After all, Kiptyn’s old enough to know that they don’t bring up Claire to mom, because it just puts her in a mood and then you can forget about doing anything else for the rest of the evening. But Dahvia’s ten, practically a baby, and she doesn’t know any better.

“Hey, mom? What sort of accident did Claire die in? Nina asked me at recess and I didn’t know,” Dahvia pipes up, before she’s even properly sat down. Kip visibly cringes. He’s older, wiser, knows this won’t go well. Still, he dares to look at his mom’s face and he notes the faraway look in her eye, like she seems to experience a bunch of things at once. Kip notices how even though her eyes are glassy, she doesn’t cry. Though sometimes, their mom will just cry randomly, like two weeks ago when he asked for help with his Spanish homework and she couldn’t even help him finish the first worksheet.

“It was a car accident,” she says stiffly, “eat your dinner.”

Kiptyn kicks his sister under the table and flashes her a look that says : Great. Look what you did, ruined dinner. Dahvia sticks her tongue out at him.

So, he knows that he’s not supposed to be in the left hall closet because he could ruin many more dinners, but he’s here anyway. He’s been thinking about it ever since they sat in silence for the rest of that half hour, and he’s come to the conclusion – his mother was lying. Because all sorts of things make their mother cry, like a bowl of mac and cheese or Spanish class, or motorcycles, and she won’t let Kiptyn take boxing lessons though his friend Robert is and he thought it sounded really cool, but she doesn’t have any problem with cars or driving, and also, she’s never told them a single thing about Claire except that. They aren’t allowed to know anything about her, especially not anything true, so Kiptyn is pretty sure that’s a lie. There’s just something just weird about it.

So, in the middle of the night before his thirteenth birthday, he looks up a video on how you pick locks and then he figures it out on the door of the left hall closet. He’s there for at least forty-five minutes, practically ready to give it all up when he hears the clicking sound, and then it opens. His first thought is : Woah. This is a load of junk.

And he’s right. There’s boxes upon boxes of paperwork, old clothes. Some things start to click, like when he finds a pair of worn boxing gloves with Claire’s initials embroidered on them. His favorite thing that he finds is the fattest scrapbook he’s ever seen – his mom always makes them, there’s one for every year of his life. Dahvia’s too, they love looking at them. The cover of this one, though, says Italy 2021. It’s all pictures of his mom and Claire, probably in their early twenties. Kiptyn mostly notices his mother’s smile, how he’s only seen her look like that a couple times in his life and yet it looks so EASY here, like she wears it all the time. It’s so strange to him. He sets the scrapbook down and crawls toward the back of the closet. His eyes land on two leather folders with gold embroidery, and he opens up the first one. In big letters at the top : GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

It’s a diploma.

This certifies that Kassandra Sutton has satisfactorily completed the…

“What are you doing?”

Kiptyn yells out like a child, not having heard anyone creeping up on him. He claps his hand over his mouth as if to shush himself. “The door was open! I don’t know how, but I just...noticed it was open and wanted to make sure that...no one was stealing your stuff!” he grins sheepishly, hoping that he can ride on the high of his birthday week to get him out of this one.

“It was just...open?” his mother looks down at him with raised eyebrows before brandishing a twisted paper clip between two fingers. The one that had formerly been stuck in the door. His guilty expression widens, he can’t help it.

“Okay, I might know how it opened,” Kiptyn admits. He hesitates for a moment, before he realizes that he’s ALREADY in trouble, he might as well just come out with it and pray to the birthday gods. He holds up the diploma with her name on it : “What’s Gallagher Academy?”

Kass’s sigh is heavy and deep, accompanied by the amount of exhaustion that comes with raising two curious kids by herself. After Claire died, she moved her family to London to be closer to their aunt and away from everything that reminded her of Claire. She never told her children why. From hiding that world from them, the world that took so many people from her : her father, her ex-girlfriend, and the love of her life. She swore that she would never lose her children to it, too. But Kiptyn looks up at her with wide eyes, desperate to know about his mother and his past, and Kass also knows what it’s like to have part of yourself missing due to family secrets that are being kept from you. He is practically a teenager now. So, she relents.

Kass doesn’t go into all of the details, of course. Just that Gallagher Academy was a school for spies, and that’s where it all started. Kiptyn already knew that his moms met in college, so it’s the spy part that’s most interesting to him. She talks about Claire with a light in her eyes he’s unfamiliar with, how she was one of the best fighters in their year, that she grew up with such a talent in the ring that she probably could’ve gone pro if her life had gone in a different direction. She talks about how they had to part ways after graduation, because Claire got a job in North Carolina and she got a job in Washington, DC, but they made it work, and both got very accustomed to the four hour drive – though it was sometimes closer to three for Claire, because she always drove too fast, even on this big, black motorcycle which Kass swears that she hated. She tells Kiptyn about how they got married, the way she’d almost moved to England for a dream job and that long distance threatened to drive them apart again – until Claire chased her down in the airport with a ring and proposal.  

She also talks about how Claire really died : the abridged version. It was an overseas mission where they’d been cornered, and Claire risked her life to save the rest of their team. There were no other casualties, and the information they were able to bring back helped stop the terrorist organization they’d been chasing to end them for good. Kass tells the abridged version for her son, gives Claire a hero’s death. In some ways, it was. She doesn’t mention the ways that Claire was consumed by the case, it was an organization hellbent on killing spies and it likely reminded her of the brotherhood. Kass had been worried about the case the whole time, because it felt like Claire was taking it too personally. In the end, she may have been right : because Claire had let it take her life in order to close it. She also doesn’t mention that such a sacrificial death means that her wife died fighting alone, swinging her fists until her very last breath. But still, she was all alone.

She had no choice but to take her kids as far away from that life as possible.

Kiptyn tries, but he doesn’t really remember Claire. He’d only been three years old when she passed away, and before then, she’d been so consumed by her last case that she was barely present. Still, he thinks she sounds badass.

He falls asleep on his mother’s shoulder that night, looking through the scrapbook of pictures from their trip to Italy in 2021. He’s animated for the first part, pointing out buildings and asking questions, wonders if Claire was sweating in all that leather, but he slowly starts to drift off. He wakes up on the couch the next morning, no trace of the book or any of the other papers he’d hauled out of the closet the night before. He looks at the closet and there’s an extra padlock. Figures.

It comes up in little ways, like a private joke that he has with his mother, like she’ll say something and flash him a secretive smile. He likes that, and he understands that this is a big secret that he has to keep. It doesn’t come up again until his fourteenth birthday the next year, the summer before high school. It’s a strange letter in a manila envelope, sealed with some expensive red wax, his name written in fancy calligraphy. The most attention-grabbing part, however, is not Kiptyn Sutton-Walsh in big cursive letters. It’s the return address :

GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

learn her skills, honor her sword. keep her secrets.

[brelione]

Neon (Sarah Cameron x Reader)

This Is That Good Gay Shit Right Here

It had been study period.You sat across the table from Sarah at the library in the large kook school.You werent really a kook,you just had the money of one.You acted and dressed like a pogue and your friends were pogues as well.You didnt wear your school uniform.Instead you wore JJ Maybanks shirt and a bracelet that Pope had made you.You hung out around the boys a lot,every single day.You’d go surfing with them and drink cheap beer.You wore John B’s socks and the boys would often tease you about the school you went to full of rich princesses.Sarah watched everything you did.You did the same thing every single study period.You’d take out the same notebook every time and sketch lines out with a pencil.When there was two minutes left of the period she watched as you’d grab a neon marker and swipe strokes across the paper precisely.The things she’d do to know what you spent so much time drawing.She never got any studying done during study period,she was too busy watching you.She watched as your nose would scrunch up when you messed up a line or how you would throw your hair back aggressively when it got in your way.She was just so fascinated by you.

It had been a bad morning for Sarah.She hadnt been able to get a good breakfast or do her hair properly or even have a nice cup of coffee.She was at her locker,chatting with Kiara when she saw you.You were wearing some rather short shorts and a neon blue striped shirt.She couldnt help but stare at you.You looked amazing,hair up in a messy bun,a generous amount of bracelets on your wrist that you had collected over the years and that neon shirt.You were so effortlessly gorgeous she just couldnt wrap her head around it. “What are you looking at?”Kiara asked.Sarah laughed it off,saying she zoned out but couldnt help but stare at you out of the corner of her eye.She knew you and Kiara were close friends in the eighth grade but had drifted a bit.She looked you up and down multiple times,eyes falling to a mark on your jaw.She couldnt quite tell what it was but she knew it wasnt a birth mark.She had looked over your face so many times she could probably draw it from memory.

Neon streaks covered your hair.Pink,green and blue.The morning had been a rather chilly one.You wore a thin brown leather jacket over a white crop top,not that the crop top could be seen due to your arms and jacket covering your torso.Sarah knew it was fake leather.She had heard you talking about your love and appreciation for cows so she knew that you’d never wear something made out of their skin.She stared at the neon streaks in your hair,the way the light reflected off of the colorful streaks and how two neon yellow pieces of hair framed your face.Only you could pull off that look,she thought.She had never actually spoken to you but she felt that she knew you so well.Noone hated you,no one even disliked you.You didnt fit in in any way shape or form but there was something about you that just dragged everyone in.Every night before she went to bed Sarah would scroll through your instragram.It was a public account because clearly you didnt really care about who followed you and who saw you.Her thumb would hover over the follow button but she never pressed it.

Neon pink was the color of the bikini you were wearing when she saw you on the beach.The bottoms were high waisted,your hair up in a bun and she couldnt help but think about how brilliant your boobs looked in that top.You were sitting next to JJ Maybank,giggling about something as you talked to him.She wanted to be the one to make you giggle like that.JJ said something to you and you nodded before he ran off.You rolled your eyes,continuing to walk by the water.Sarah watched as you bent over to pick something up.She watched as your face of happiness became one of worry.She watched as you ran to find a stick and a leaf.She watched as you got a small creature onto the leaf and ran down to the water,placing the leaf down.She grinned as you were smiling again,scooting the creature along.She took a deep breath,walking down the sandy hills towards you. “Hi, (Y/N),right?”She asked.She didnt have to ask.She knew your first,middle and last name.She knew your siblings names,your pets names,your parents names,your cousins names.She knew your favorite foods,your zodiac sign and your favorite animal.She had spent hours stalking your instagram and going through the people you followed to find your mother.Once she found your moms instagram she found her facebook and that lead to Sarah learning many details about your life.You nodded,turning to see the blonde. “Sarah Cameron.”You nodded.She blushed.She never knew her name would sound so good coming from you. “So,what brings you to the beach on this lovely morning?”You asked.SHe shrugged. “Just...hanging out.”She replied.You nodded. “You want me to hang out with you?”You smirked.She blushed. “Sure,umm do you maybe wanna come to my house?”

Neon green was the color you painted you painted your nails while the two of you were hanging out at her house a week later. “Hey (Y/N)?”Sarah asked as she held a pillow to her chest,wresting her chin on it. “Yeah?”You asked.Sarah blushed,squealing into her pillow.That caused you to look at her with furrowed eyebrows.The boys never acted like this.Sarah was really quite different from the guys.She was stunning and giggled a lot and made your heart thump. “So like-do you like anyone right now?”She asked.You sighed.Why?Why that question?What the hell were you supposed to say?You just shrugged. “Oh my god!You’re blushing!Who is it?”Sarah faked enthusiasm.She wanted to frown and roll her eyes but that would definitely give it away. “God,Sarah.You ask so many questions.Why dont you just guess?”You asked.She bit her lip,staring at your bright finger nails. “Well...where do those little marks on your jaw come from?”She asked.You laughed. “You can say the word hickey,Sarah.”You grinned.You and JJ had a sort of friends with benefits thing going on.It wasnt exclusive or anything,just something to do when you were bored or horny or whenever you were mad.

He had always had the biggest smirk on his face afterwards.He’d ask you who you had thought about during it.You never told him. “Just because I have hickeys doesnt mean I like someone.”You replied.She frowned. “How can you do that?Like do someone and then not have any thoughts or feelings afterwards?”She asked.You smiled,blowing on your fingernails. “I just think of someone else.”You shrugged.She gasped. “So you do like someone!”She exclaimed. “Whats the first letter of his name?”She asked.You rolled your eyes,butterflies building in your stomach. “S.”You repled.She bit her cheek. “Seth?”She asked.You shook your head. “Whats the next letter?”She asked.You bit the inside of your cheek. “A.”You told her.She’d have to catch up eventually.Her eyebrows furrowed. “Uh...Sam?”She asked.You shook your head with a big grin. “The next letter is R.”You told her.She’d have to get it eventually.Her heart thumped a bit and she tried not to blush.

She was getting really excited at the possibility that it could be her.No boys name had those three letters in a row. “Next letter please.”She pouted.You blushed,looking away from her. “A.”You told her.She raised her eyebrows,eyes darting around the room. “Is it a girl?”She asked.You nodded,nervous for her reaction.She could have squealed in that moment. “Im Bi,Sarah.”You told her.She held her head in her hands. “Same.”She replied.You gasped quietly. “Shut up!”You exclaimed.She giggled. “Wait-is it Sarah Carpenter?Shes kind of a bitch,dont you think?”She asked.You bit on your lip. “Sarah,its you.”You avoided her gaze.You didnt even notice her lunging forward and wrapping her arms around you tightly and kissing your forehead. “This is really embarrassing-but ive liked you since the beginning of ninth grade.”She grinned.You giggled,kissing her nose. “Are you serious right now?”You asked.She nodded. “Dead serious.”She replied.

 “Why didnt you talk to me or something?”You asked.She bit her lip. “I didnt know that you were into girls!”She exclaimed.You rolled your eyes,sure that your face couldnt be any more red. “Sarah,I have dyed hair,short nails and I cuff my jeans.It couldnt be any more obvious.”You kissed her cheek.She looked down at her lips,pecking them gently.There was a knock at the door.You pulled away from eachother. “So yeah,grilled cheese sandwiches are so much better than tuna and if-Oh,hey rafe.”You greeted the tall boy standing at the door. “dinner.”He said quietly,winking at you before leaving.You and Sarah laughed,going downstairs.

Neon pink was the color of the beaded bracelet Sarah had made for you.That bracelet was tied to your wrist as you stared at Sarah.Her white dress,the diamond crown on her head as she held your hands. “You may kiss your bride.”Pope read off.You kissed Sarah gently,holding onto her waist.You rested your head on her shoulder as you hugged,JJ and Kiara screaming from the crowd and clapping loudly.Dear god youd think they would be the ones getting married with how excited they were.Sarah sung the words to We Fell In Love In October into your ear as you danced together.She kissed your cheek,your temple and your collarbone as she giggled.You had never loved anyone more,nor had you ever been happier.JJ had literally tackled you after the ceremony,spinning you around. “YOU GOT THE GIRL,BITCH!”He shouted.You laughed,punching him lightly on the shoulder.Kiara hugged you as well. “I’ve gotta get married next now,dont I?”She asked,glancing over at Pope.You nodded. “Hell yeah.”You replied,slapping her arm in excitement. “This is some great ass cake.Why the neon frosting though?”Rafe asked,poking at the frosting with his fork.He had somehow gotten off the drugs and stopped being such an asshole...most of the time.Sarah laughed,shrugging. “My baby loves neon.”She replied,watching in awe as you danced around with your cousin,dress twirling at your feet.

[willa-marino]

"I think Hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go.”

What I remember from my life before is mostly gone. There is my mother’s voice, but everything else has faded, like its been left out in the sun for too long. Bleached of color, pale, and dull. 

Trauma, and the strange things it does to the brain.

I know I don’t remember the worst of it. But there are flashes here and there, sometimes when I’m working a job, sometimes when I’m by myself, alone in my expensive apartment downtown and the windows are open and I have fresh flowers on every surface, in every room, and the air is warm against my skin. When I close my eyes, I could be anywhere. 

Horror doesn’t care about flowers, it turns out. It doesn’t care about springtime or how many Birkins I have, how many men I’ve killed. It doesn’t sleep, it doesn’t even breathe. It eats, though. It eats anything it can find. 

It certainly doesn’t stop.

What I’ve been able to string together has mostly been from Damon. He’s the one who found me in the warehouse almost three years ago, my body broken, my mind soon to follow. Found me hooked up to an IV that dripped a steady stream of what could have been a whole pharmaceutical lab’s worth of drugs into my body. Found me, along with a dozen other girls, some who had been the same age as me, a few older. Most younger. A lot younger. To say I was the only survivor of that raid feels wrong, feels twisted. Why me? 

But some questions, as I’ve learned these past few years, are better left unanswered. Better not to ask altogether. The guilt is enough to keep me moving, and the rage pushes me onward when those reserves are low. Some days, there is nothing but rage, nails, in me. Other days, it is grief. 

It took months of rehabilitation after I was brought to The Eye. Damon has never said so, but I think he fought for me to be here, to do this work, to be an assassin. Perhaps he recognized something in me that day he found me, so close to death in that building that still haunts my dreams. Perhaps he saw something in himself. 

I’ll never ask him. It’s enough to know that he did it. 

It is a blood debt that I owe him. And those are for life. 

First, though, the training. After rehabilitation, my body was “healthy” but weak. It did not matter. Damon was not easy on me. Even now, when we have become something close to friends - certainly allies, partners even - he is not gentle. He’s the first one to test me, to make sure I have it. He took it upon himself to train me from that point on. There were no breaks. No holidays. No rest. Every day, we were up even before the sun. I learned how to do everything, stretched my body and pushed it to the absolute physical and mental limits of what any normal human being could stand. But we weren’t normal, and Damon was always the first to drill this into me. Not normal, but extraordinary. Ours was a job that was necessary, but brutal. 

Only a few months into my training, Damon and I were going over hand-to-hand combat. He’d already gotten me twice in the mouth and the taste of my own blood was jarring but familiar. 

“You’re weak,” he’d said, looking down at me from above. I was on my hands and knees, the breath still rattling out of me. I felt broken, still, even months later, and I damned Damon to hell in my mind as he’d stood there and laughed at me, easy grin, hands in his fucking pockets. Like I was a joke. Hilarious for what had happened. Like he’d never seen anything so funny in his life. 

I don’t think I’d ever been so angry with anyone, not even myself. Before either of us knew what had happened, I’d launched myself at him from where I was on the floor, scraping my nails down the side of his face, my other fist connecting with his temple. He’d stopped laughing, and even though he’d nearly knocked me out for getting in two good measures of defense against him, he never made the mistake again, although - well, I don’t think it’d been a mistake in the first place. He knew how to exploit other people’s weaknesses in a way that was nearly admirable. I suspect now that had been his plan all along. 

Fight, Willa. Fight back.

And so I learned how to kill a man. How to sever an artery with the edge of a blade. How to shoot a gun, how to never miss your shot. How to keep your hand as steady as a surgeon’s. How to take a punch, a kick, a blow from a fist, how to absorb the point of impact by rolling into it. How to catch a knife in the tips of your fingers without even the tiniest of cuts. How to throw it right back. How to be ruthless. How to fight. How to keep going. How to fight like a man. How to fight like a woman. How to speak, how to act, how to conceal your weapons in a boot, a shoe, beneath your tongue. How to hide a razor blade in the soft lining of your cheek. How to be fearless. 

I was surprised to discover that I was good at it. Killing, and all that it entailed.  How to be in control. The high that comes afterward. They say the dead never really leave you, and they’re right. But I don’t want to forget their faces, these men who have done unspeakable, detestable, deplorable things. These men who were like the men who took me, sold me, drugged me, violated me, abused me. The body is quick to spill its secrets in death. And I have all of their secrets. 

I relish in it, because it’s my way of seeking revenge. My beauty could be used as a weapon. My mind could be a well-laid trap. There was power in killing, a hellish kind of godliness to it that I was drawn to immediately and have been ever since. Here is my wrath, my knife says before it kisses open skin. Here is my fury, and it is the shape of my hand on a gun. 

It was, after all, Sartre who wrote, “Hell is other people.” And he was right.

Hell is me. 

[buckybabybaby]

Mr Hollywood (Epilogue Part III)

Summary: Bucky Barnes, an underpaid teaching assistant in a small English village, dreams of a movie career back in his home country of America. He finally gets the break he's always wanted, and if it wasn't for you, his best friend, he wouldn't have been able to take it.

But is that fact enough to save your friendship when it's tested by the pressures of Hollywood?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Word count: 1532

Chapter summary: The peace of normality, for once.

A/n: Probably the last epilogue, but who can say?! I think this rounds if off nicely though...

(If the picture is all blurry, opening it in a new tab in browser helps!)

Warnings: Just fluff.

Previous: Epilogue Part II

Mr Hollywood Masterlist | Main Masterlist

*****

“Do you mind it when Mr Barnes kisses other people?”

You don't have to look up to know Isabella is staring across your desk at you, eager to know the answer. Her younger sister Emilia has also drifted in to your classroom this evening, dragging with her a box full of building blocks, and is currently creating a mini town on your window sill and ignoring everything else, not quite old enough to be interested in gossip.

If you can call it gossip. Even with Bucky's dramatics over the month you spent in America, the paparazzi didn't catch on to anything and you returned to England and your work just as anonymous as you left.

That doesn’t mean, however, that curious little eight year olds can't figure out that something has changed between you and him. Edwin and his wife Ana both work full time, which isn't usually a problem as the two girls attend after-school clubs most days of the week, and even on Fridays when there aren't any running it's still not a problem as there is plenty to keep them occupied while they wait to be picked up. The music room seems to be a favourite of theirs, the lure of bashing around on the drums or piano unsupervised too hard to resist, but more often that not recently they can be found with you.

Isabella's continuing. “And do you make him clean his teeth before he kisses you afterwards?”

You laugh, still surprised at how direct she is. It only took her a couple of minutes to wrangle out the truth about you and Bucky on you the first day back, and so far it seems like she's stuck to her vow of keeping it to herself, in exchange for stories of your time in Hollywood.

She's still talking. “Does his character kiss other people? I haven't seen the show, daddy says I can watch it when I'm a little bit older.”

“Your daddy's probably right,” You say, not answering her other questions.

That doesn't stop her asking, “Will you get married to him now?”

“We'll have to see.”

“Will daddy get an invite to your wedding? 'Cos then I could come too! Emilia's too small but I could come, couldn't I?”

“Don't get too excited, Isabella. Nothing will happen for a few years yet, probably.”

Resting her head on her crossed arms, her brow furrows in obvious disappointment and you feel guilty.

You can't have that. “Tell you what.” Holding out your hand, you offer her your little finger and she wraps her own much smaller one around it with a grin. “When we get married, I'll make sure you get an invite, okay?” She gasps happily, and you add, “And one for Emilia, because I'm not planning on marrying him any time soon so she'll be old enough by then.”

“If you wait a few more years then the new baby can come too!” Isabella's hands clap over her mouth as you both realise what she's said. “I wasn't meant to say!”

You feign confusion. “Say what?”

She slumps back into her seat in relief, giggling quietly when you wink at her.

Then a soft knock interrupts from the classroom door and you look up to find Ana leaning against the frame.  Not so subtly you glance at her tummy, trying to see if you can make out a bump, and from the look on her face, she notices.

Isabella and Emilia jump up at her arrival, gathering up their belongings as she comes to perch on your desk.

“I'm guessing she told you?”

“In her defence, it was an accident.”

Ana shakes her head fondly as she watches her oldest collecting her pens and zipping them away in her bag. “We didn't really expect her to not too. We're in the process of telling people so it doesn't really matter, and I'm just so pleased she's excited.”

Her daughters have finished fastening their coats and are hovering by the door, tired now after a long week and more than ready for dinner and bed.

“Thank you for looking after them.”

You whisper your congratulations as you hug her goodbye, waving as they leave, and you've nearly packed up your own book bag when you're interrupted again.

“This place really doesn't change, huh?”

Spinning around, you're met with the most beautiful sight you can imagine on a Friday evening. Bucky, taking advantage of a break between his scenes to visit you for the first time since the summer, is stood in your doorway in the outfit he tends to wear every time he travels, and before you can stop yourself you're skipping across the room and into his arms.

“I thought I was picking you up from the airport?” You mumble against his shoulder.

He shrugs and holds you closer. “Got an earlier flight. So I thought I'd come and surprise you.”

“You're the best sort of surprise I could ask for,” You admit. “If you'd been here ten minutes ago you could've also surprised your biggest fan.”

“Edwin's daughter, 'bella?”

“Yeah. She's first on the guest list when we get married, too.”

He leans back slightly to catch your eye, grinning widely. “Oh, it's 'when' now, is it? Not 'if'? That's encouraging.”

Your smile matches his. “But we'll have to wait until both of her siblings are old enough to attend too, I've made a solemn promise I couldn't possibly break.”

Bucky frowns. “Both her-oh, a new baby?”

“Yep.”

“And you don't want screaming babies ruining your big day?”

“Nope. Well, not ideally.”

“So, three to four years is how long we've got to wait?”

“If you're prepared to?”

Bopping your nose, he slides his lips briefly across yours. “Don't worry doll, I'm a very patient man.”

*****

“He's going to spoil your little girl rotten, I hope you know that.”

Sat on one side of your lounge with Sophia, you watch Bucky on the other side of the room cradle week old Amelia like she's make of tissue paper. The timing of his trip back 'home' is perfect as his baby niece was born just days ago, a much easier birth than her older brother so the whole family's able to come round to your house for the afternoon when she's still so young.

“Well, not rotten,” You acknowledge. “Never rotten, not one of your children, but he's still going to absolutely treasure her like he does Benjamin.”

“I know. I don't really think there's anything I can do to stop him.”

“Nah, you've just got to embrace it.”

“And what about you? Does he spoil you too?”

You flush at the knowing look she gives you. “He tries to.”

Not elaborating nor giving her a chance to pry any further, you get up and saunter over to admire the newborn, sitting next to Bucky on the sofa as Dayton slips away back to his wife, leaving the two of you alone for a minute.

Bucky turns to you. “Do you want to hold her?”

“Oh, er-”

“Here.” He holds Amelia out to you carefully. “Just keep her head supported and she'll be fine.”

“O-Okay.”

Waiting until you settle comfortably, he then passes you the precious bundle. You're tense at first, terrified of holding her incorrectly and causing her pain, but when she doesn't stir in your arms, you sink back into the sofa and watch her sleep. She looks almost exactly like her brother did when he was born, just that the soft hair across her forehead is darker, the same colour as her father as opposed to Benjamin's blonder curls, matching his mothers.

“She's so tiny,” You murmur in awe.

Bucky nods, smiling down at her when she stretches. “But she won't be for long. Which is yet another reason to come back more often.”

*****

It may be October half-term, but with the sun shining down it's warm enough to enjoy the fresh air in the garden, at least for a little while. Benjamin drags himself away from his little sister long enough to offer the chickens some corn, and under the watchful eye of both his parents he hesitantly holds out his hand to them, even after you warn him their beaks may hurt. Just like his dad and uncle, he loves a challenge.  

Bucky guides you away from the others, ambling around the edge of the borders as he tells you about his and Sam’s latest antics, finally stopping at the base of the apple tree that holds so many memories.

“I miss you Y/N.”

“I'm right here.”

“I know, but when I'm gone, I-” He pauses, sighing. “I wish it could be like this all the time.”

“Me too.”

“I was thinking, for the next project, I could find a role a bit closer to you. Maybe a British production?”

“You shouldn't limit yourself for me.”

“No. But if something came up...”

“Then that would be very nice.”

“Wouldn't it?”

He holds you tight as he kisses you in a sunny patch under the slowly yellowing leaves, and you know that, whatever comes your way, as long as you have moments like this nothing will ever tear you two apart.

*****

Epilogue Part IV (Final!)

*****

A/n 2: if this is this last part I just wanna thank everyone who read and commented on this over the last eight months! It's been quite a while, so if you've stuck with it, thank you!! Once again I find it hard to let go when I feel like I've built a little safe family around Bucky, but there's always more stories to write, and different ways for him to fall in love with y/n, so watch this space ;)

[snowervi]

❛  ( KIT HARINGTON )  ◈  dude, shut up ! JON SNOW from GAME OF THRONES is on screen. their fans swear they’re just HONORABLE & HUMBLE, but we’ve all seen their SOLEMN & SOMBER side ! according to TRUMAN WIKIA, they’re 23 years old, HETEROSEXUAL, & identify as CISMALE ( HE/HIM ). they’re currently a FIREFIGHTER & are CASUAL about life in truman. luckily they have HIS DOG GHOST, LONGCLAW, A FUR CLOAK with them & can visit THE WALL whenever they want. penned by BILLY.

hello, everyone! name is billy and i am so excited to be writing with you all! i’ve been looking to dabble a little bit into game of thrones but not quite all the way. truman sounded so interesting and i just had to bring jon snow into the mix! ive been rping for maybe 7 years now, and i have been involved in various rps! from school rp, to harry potter, to supernatural/paranormal, to a stardew valley rp! bare with me as i try to comb through the huge storyline that he has. 

C A N O N  H I S T O R Y  ―

during the robert’s rebellion or also known as the war of the usurper, lyanna stark of house stark (who robert baratheon of house baratheon was in love with) was allegedly kidnapped by rhaegar targaryen of house targaryen for unknown reasons. prince rhaegar left a pregnant lyanna stark at the tower of joy in dorne. 

after the sack of king’s landing ned stark, brother to lyanna, rode south to the tower of joy to recover his sister who was still to be wed to robert baratheon. he ended up finding lyanna in the tower, but she was dying after giving birth to a child. 

lyanna stark asked of her brother to protect the child as robert baratheon and tywin lannister would surely want to kill him for his targaryen blood. he promised he would look after the child, and she shortly died afterwards. ned took the child back to winterfell, where he would raise him as his own without ever telling a sole that he was the only surviving child of lyanna stark and rhaegar targaryen. 

jon snow would be then known as eddard stark’s bastard son. a lie that ned would take to his grave. a lie that jon snow wouldn’t find the truth of until years later. 

during an outing jon finds a litter of direwolf pups that he convinces his father to spare their lives and have them be adopted by each stark child. jon ends up with the runt of the litter, an albino direwolf with red eyes that he would call ghost. ghost would be his companion for the rest of the series.

to escape his bastard status, jon joins the nights watch and later becomes lord commander. he ends up being murdered in mutiny for his sympathy for the free folk. (broke his vows with one, he did. ygritte tells him, “you know nothing jon snow.”) 

he is resurrected by the red priestess and freed from his nights watch vows he helps his “half-sister” sansa stark to build an army to retake winterfell from house bolton. they restore the dominion of winterfell, and after ramsay bolton’s execution -- he is declared king of the north.

a looming threat overhangs everybody’s head, with the talks of the white walkers. when the war for westeros begins, jon negotiates with daenerys targaryen to secure her support against the white walkers, her dragons and abundance of obsidian on her military base of dragonstone providing a distinct advantage in the great war.

jon captures a wight and brings it to king’s landing to try to convince cersei lannister to join their cause. she does not care. 

he pledges himself and his army to daenerys. (skip the jon x dany thing because inc*st.)

he returns to the north with daenerys and the targaryen forces and is reunited with his “half-sister” and “half-brother” arya stark and bran stark. bran stark is the one who discovers his true parentage. 

there’s a battle for winterfell, against the white walkers and the night king. they win.

afterwards, jon aides dany with her conquest to take over king’s landing. she ends up laying waste to the city. 

unable to dissuade dany from this path, he assassinates her to prevent anymore carnage. he is later taken prisoner by the unsullied.

during the great council, where bran is elected king, negotiates to send jon snow into exile. he returns to the night watch once again. 

after returning to castle black, he reunites with his direwolf, ghost, after which he leads the remaining free folk to settle in the thawing free lands.

woo! that’s a lot! i hope i got it all down and it somewhat makes sense. if you click on canon history, it will take you to a full run down of his storyline if you want to know more or anything. oh, i’ll also post connections later! if anyone wants to plot, don’t be afraid to shoot me a message! i’d love all kinds of connections for him! now let’s get into what he remembers on truman island. 

N O W  ―

 jon doesn’t really remember anything, besides some glimpses here and there but nothing substantial. he tries to believes that this is his REAL life, but still has a feeling that something doesn’t seem right. he doesn’t want his life to get complicated, so he tries not to think too deep about his weird dreams and familiar feelings EXCEPT when it comes to sansa stark and daenerys targaryen.

he also doesn’t really know anyone from his past life. having all of them split up and never been able to see each other until that rule was pulled out of effect. he feels as if he knows them somehow, and he keeps pursuing them(sansa, robb, jamie) in an attempt to understand what is going on. jon feels like he’s connected with them. who the hell are they and why are they so damn familiar?

with the manipulation from the actors, jon snow believes that he was born on truman island and has lived here all of his life. he has plenty of fake memories and has been made to believe that he was raised by a single mother -- lyanna stark who passed away after he graduated high school. he hasn’t had the most easiest life, but it’s his and he manages.

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S2 Ep 41: It’s Mai’s Turn to Get Electrocuted

Hey guys, welcome to the Christmas Break.

It’s TV watching season, so lets watch some TV and over-analyze a 20 yo kid’s show, you in?

Odion, after suffering from a lightning strike and getting impaled by many pieces of that fake millennium rod he was holding gets dropped off in the only room on this blimp that has sheets. He also had the added shock of witnessing his brother morph into a somewhat evil-er dude with saiyan hair, which I dunno, I’d want to take a nap too, that’s a lot to deal with.

(And thanks to some reader input, turns out this Marik isn’t so much a ghost situation so much. I mean, I guess it’s more of a Season Zero --this is your deep down scary personality taking over-- type thing but it’s not like I really finished Season Zero so...We’re just rolling with it.)

Glad we have an actual hospital wing--confused as to why Bakura isn’t here.

But I guess lightning strike is slightly worse than having a bleeding stab wound for 12 hours. I mean I’m no doctor, maybe it is? Anyway, Odion is hooked up to all sorts of computers and life support although there aren’t any cords attached to him anywhere on his body. Not even one piss-yellow IV bag.

Check out the size of that IBM. This is what a widescreen used to look like.

The rest of the Yuge Crew are here although I’m pretty sure that’s not how hospitals work. Pretty sure you have to be related to drop on in directly after being put in intensive care but like, they are on a blimp so I guess it’s different up there. But also, this guy has abducted them once already and just tried to kill Joey for the second time, and now they are like “We’re basically on BFF family terms with this Odion guy, lets visit that bedside.”

Although, mind you, his real family is Marik and Ishizu, both of which have never said aloud that Odion is their brother. This family is sort of bad at life, TBH.

Since we’re barrelling right into a Mai arc we have to confront one of her 2 big Mai character conflicts--which is either “this is why I don’t get married” or “OMG I am going to die forever alone.” Which is interesting, because last time we hung out with her, we did whatever we could to keep her independent, while in this episode Mai mourns that being independent is the ultimate curse. Girl wants whatever she doesn’t have, pretty much.

Ah, Miss independent, never thought I’d get that song stuck in my head again. Thanks, Mai. Except in this version, instead of falling in love, Mai just makes weird friendships with jail bait teenagers. Why can’t she make friends with like, Roland? He’s her age. Or maybe this nice doctor? But whatever, age is meaningless on this show.

(read more under the cut)

Anyway, Joey has decided to tell us all about that dream he had but leaves out the parts where he dropped everything he owns, and then knocked himself over a desk onto his face, and then in the same dream Kaiba kinda walked in from off screen, dunked on him, and then walked directly off screen again.

Mai is deeply touched.

And then, because she is Mai, gets extremely offended immediately afterward.

I can keep hoping it’ll be Duke Devlin but like...as much as I want him to do more on this show, I really think the only people who remember Duke Devlin at this point are all the animators who were like “HOW many people are in this shot?! Why did we make a season where every scene is a freakin crowd scene!?”

*I know the shading on her ass was supposed to be attractive but it looks like nasty sweat stains*

(Also what the hell computer-machinery is supposed to be behind them in this scene?)

This one time where Joey doth protest too much is the first time we have ever, ever on this show seen Joey act less than vague towards Mai. During the dream episode he blushed, but I thought that was because of Serenity being there for her brother in his dream. I didn’t at all think that was over Mai at the time.

But I guess this is happening now? I mean people kept saying “yes, Joey and Mai will be a thing” and I was like “they better start building up to that because like...nothing is happening.” but this show’s version of building up to that was by just not being vague one single time.

Which in this show is a big deal, I guess. Because shortly after this event, Tea remembers that her character description sheet says “Is bossy AF” with red underline and was like “OMG I totally forgot and it’s been like 20 episodes since I did anything, I gotta hurry” and she just lost her lid.

I’m regretting more and more that joke I made that TeaxKaiba was way more reasonable than TeaxYugi, because sometimes when Tea goes ham she may as well be wearing a long spiky coat with boots leggings. Tea had two very different personalities way before she ever got possessed by Bakura. Like, Tea is kind of a monster actually, but we rarely get to see it because she gets completely distracted and cries a lot when it just feels like...the other half of her, the half that bit a guy once--like she legit bit a guy on this show--that side of Tea would just never cry over cards. Or cry, period. She sure wasn’t crying when she bit that guy!

This is mostly because I think the writers didn’t know how to write a girl like Tea since she’s a mix of a Season Zero Tea and this more old fashioned-’feminine’ version I think they were trying to turn her into for this series. It’s weird. It’s weird that this group of friends have nothing to say about these very abrupt changes in her behavior. Then again, it took them a while to notice the abrupt changes in Yugi.

Anyway, Joey isn’t done getting harassed by everyone he knows yet.

We have Marik trapped in a blimp in the sky and the entire Kaiba security force, why are we dueling him anymore? I mean I know why, we are contractually obligated to show lots of card content in this show to sell cards, but at this point I feel like maybe they should drive the blimp over international waters and resort to maritime law. Give Kaiba a gun.

Actually don’t do that, it would be bad. Don’t give Kaiba a gun. Give it to Duke or something, he seems stable enough. He seems like he’d be able to shoot somebody but not everybody, if you know what I mean.

And because it’s the Mai arc, we gotta have Mai duel next. There’s only 3 people left to go against: Ishizu, Kaiba, and Marik. I think. There’s so many people on this show. Tea isn’t playing, right? I mean I really do feel like like I’ve forgotten someone--maybe Shadi? Miho? So many people are on this blimp.

Whatever, I’ll just roll with it, if I forgot someone I’m sure they’ll show up at some point.

Mai sure is that girlfriend.

Anyway, lets see what Marik’s up to. Ah, he really is visiting his older brother after all.

That’s right--Marik has to play twice. I mean obvi the first Marik was Odion, but still, it just feels like it’s Marik playing twice.

Also can we please talk about Marik’s cargo pants obsession for a little bit? This arch villain is in CARGO PANTS. Like, they have puffy pockets. He figured out that the hoodie was a bad look, but then he was like “I’ll just cover my tum-tum, and then put on my khaki cargo pants with a sensible belt.”

It just sort of insinuates that Marik only owns cultist robes and cargo pants. Just those two things. Imagine if every pant in your closet was cargo pants. Just imagine with me. You’d go mad, too. Imagine you packed for a trip, a nice vacay on a blimp, and then you opened your luggage and you were like “oops! all cargo pants!” you’d fly home.

Marik looks like he’s going to Casual Khaki’s Friday at the office from about the stomach down, and then stomach up up he’s ready to join piccolo and fuse brains or whatever the hell goes on in Dragonball Z.

And Yugi and his friends are late to Mai’s duel because they are teenagers and also of course they would. This whole season was introduced with Yugi being chronically late to stuff.

The bathroom joke in this episode is canon, PS. I skipped a Season Zero episode where Tristan went to the loo and so Yugi held his spot in line and it took like 30 minutes before Tristan finally got back. Tristan’s epic poops have apparently been Yugioh canon since the very beginning.

I’m learning so much about the lore.

Now that Marik no longer has to hide who he is, he has decided that he’ll just use the Shadow Realm willy-nilly now. Although Marik did this without playing any cards at all, it doesn’t seem to register to Seto Kaiba that this is not a hologram. Maybe Kaiba sneezed when Marik summoned it and just assumed he missed a card play or something.

So now, for our gimmick!

Every time we fight in the Shadow Realm it feels like the rules are a little bit different, and Marik decided to make this duel a memory fight.

The Shadow Realm seems to eat on your greatest insecurities, and for Mai it’s feeling all alone. Not sure how that works once the duel is over--her friends will still be there, so like...she can just get a heads up on the one day they went camping that one time and then boom, friendship rekindled, I think. But for now, this is very scary for everyone involved.

But I mean at least she isn’t a playing card, or being thrown into a graveyard by being played as a card, or being devoured by gloopy blobs, or rapidly dying because of the exposure to the shadow zone. As far as Shadow Realms go this one seems kind of tame.

But I guess we shall see if somehow losing Tea will effect her story in any way.

Depends on which Tea, in my opinion, but if we’re going for the normal boring one that only cries wellllllll I wouldn’t notice if she were gone, just saying. Now, if it’s the fun Tea that bites people and yanks their ears off their face, well being forced to lose my memories of her is what the writers do to me basically every episode of this show. Let Tea bite more people in the arm. Let that girl rage.

But all that will be for another recap where we can all watch Mai get Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind-ed as if a memory wipe hasn’t happened at least once to every single person on this show with the exception of Mokuba. And Mokuba was a paper card for like I want to say about 10 episodes, so...

Anyways, if you just got here I do have these in chrono order from s1 ep1, here is a link.

[ziskandra]

did you know that i still write fanfiction? no? me neither! i had a lot of fun participating in the @mebigbang test reverse big bang - working with @ramblingandpie‘s art was a great inspiration! ao3 link.

Summary: Having confidently identified the problem, EDI works towards finding a solution.

Upon reuniting with a despondent Samantha Traynor several years after The Reaper War, EDI makes it a mission to cheer up her old friend. 

Ninety-Nine Percent Chance of Success

“Oh, hello, EDI! I didn’t see you there.” Specialist Traynor beams as she straightens upwards, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her smile, however, does not quite meet her eyes and her Alliance uniform, usually fresh and crisp, looks as though it had been slept in for days.

It’s been almost five years since they had last seen each other, three since the last time they’d even exchanged an email. “It’s been a while,” EDI agrees with a tilt of the head. “Longer than I would have liked.”

That admission brings a slight twitch of amusement to Samantha’s lips, but it’s short-lived as her face soon settles back into a frown. “I’m sorry,” she starts, not quite looking EDI in the eyes. “I’ve not been avoiding you.” Fortunately, EDI does not need to hold Samantha’s gaze to assess the source of the problem. Firstly, there’s the dishevelled state of the specialist’s clothing: the Samantha EDI had known would never have turned up to work dressed like this. Secondly, there is the woman’s downtrodden demeanour: EDI doesn’t have to be a highly-advanced artificial intelligence to know that Samantha is in physiological distress.

The third, and most obvious sign, however, is the complete absence of the physical signs of arousal that Samantha usually displayed whenever she heard EDI’s voice. Oh, she’d tried to mask them ever since she’d become aware of EDI’s true nature, but there’s no hiding symptoms from EDI. EDI knows. She always knows.

“It’s not me you’ve been avoiding,” EDI answers without a moment of hesitation. There are times, she has learnt, for subtlety, for ‘beating around the bush’ as the humans like to say. But Samantha is an old friend, and EDI has always preferred to chart the most direct path.

Samantha’s shoulders slump ever-so-slightly, but the action does not escape EDI’s notice. “Oh, I know, I know.” She pauses, swallowing a lump in her throat. “It’s just… being back here is harder than I thought.”

EDI takes in the view, watches the tears glisten in Samantha’s eyes as she looks across the bridge, up at the new Normandy. Samantha blinks, inhaling deeply, and continues, even though her voice begins to waver. “I’m fine, though, well and truly.” Unperturbed, EDI forges onwards. “You miss her.” The subject of their conversation goes unspoken, but there’s sometimes something to be said for inferences, EDI thinks. “Yeah,” Sam relents, “I do.” “I miss her too,” EDI confides. Her life has never been quite the same since she’d left the Normandy. So many of her processes had been so intrinsically linked to the ship for so long that her platform’s first foray beyond its range had felt like leaving home. She’d been able to emulate emotion for as long as she’d been self-aware, but it was the first time she’d simply just been sad. Now that they’re building more Normandy-class frigates, EDI’s been called into work more often. It’s nice to have a purpose again, to spend time with old friends. Jeff likes to pretend that he hasn’t changed a bit, but EDI knows there’s more wrinkles near the corner of his eyes. His life is different now. They all are.

Having confidently identified Samantha’s problem, EDI works towards finding a solution. Throughout her travels with Commander Shepard, EDI has discovered that some humans do not like being confronted directly with their feelings. While she has not had quite as many interactions with Samantha to draw experience on, she knows that Sam and the commander were close. What is the best way to deal with this situation? According to her simulations, there is a  route that leads to a ninety-nine percent chance of success. Those are not terrible odds, so EDI course-corrects. “Remember when she met her clone?”

Sam looks taken aback for a moment, although she soon recovers quickly. “How could I forget? My Cision Mark Pro IV saved the day!” She holds her hand aloft as she’d held it during that fateful moment several years ago.

EDI smiles. “I doubt you have had a more useful toothbrush since.”

Quickly dropping her arm, Sam admits, “Well, they did just release the newest model. The Cision Mark Pro VII. I’m still saving up for it, myself.” EDI, not having teeth or gums, can’t help but admire Samantha’s dedication to oral hygiene, even if she does not understand or truly empathise with it. “What capabilities does this one have the the older versions do not?”

“Oh, more of the same, really. Just faster.” Sam flashes EDI a smile that’s more about showing off her pearly whites than anything else. EDI’s glad to see that even though Sam has seen better days  that there is still more than a spark of the person she’d once known.

“Interesting,” EDI says in response as she’s overcome with the torrent of questions she now wants to ask Samantha. It would be so interesting for her research into human behaviours. But that’s not her task here, so instead, she focuses. Diverts. “Remember how ecstatic she was when she completed her model ship collection?” Samantha snorts. “‘Ecstatic’ might be an understatement.” She plants her feet a shoulder-width apart and balls her fists up by her side in an eerily-accurate imitation of their former commander. Brows furrowed, she continues, “If I find any one of you so much breathing in the directions of my shelves…” Samantha pauses, inhaling sharply through her nose, “… breathing will soon be the least of your problems.” “She loved her ships,” EDI agrees. “But as I do not breathe, it was not a very convincing threat.” Rolling her eyes, Samantha says, “As though any of us would ever enter the captain’s quarters without her express permission.”

EDI tilts her head. “Oh,” Samantha says, eyes widening in realisation. “I suppose you were always in her quarters, in a manner of speaking.” For a moment, she simply looks lost in thought. “Never mind, then.” Deciding it best not to pursue that line of discussion, EDI continues, “Remember when her hamster escaped?”

Samantha makes a noise of dismay. “She didn’t even name him!” she exclaims. “That’s no way to treat a pet.” “But she treated his recovery mission with the same solemnity as she did her other assignments. She assessed the crew she had on hand and made sure that no centimetre of the vessel was left unaccounted for.” “That’s because she thought he’d been kidnapped! Instead, we found him in the mess… cheeky little bastard was happily munching away on our rations without a care in the world. By the look of him, you’d think he’d not been fed in days! Well. The look on his face, that is, he was quite, what’s the word?” She gestures with her hands. “Rotund. Probably still is, the way Dr. T’soni dotes on him.”

“She was incredibly relieved to have found him.” EDI herself hadn’t quite understood the Commander’s attachment at the time, although the speech the woman had delivered afterwards had helped clarify matters somewhat. “Oh yes,” Samantha agrees, “the way she scooped him up in her hands and told him not to ever go missing again! Didn’t even scold him for getting into the food.” “We are family,” EDI reminisces, one of the benefits and drawbacks of her perfect recollection.  Her imitation of the commander’s voice is even more perfect than Samantha’s. It’s an unfair advantage. “Just because we’re a motley assortment of misfits doesn’t mean I won’t do the exact same thing for each and everyone one for you. Now, I’ve got to get this little guy back into his cage.” It’s not until she’s said the last sentence that EDI realises it most likely wasn’t an intended part of Shepard’s inspiring speech.

She’s about to play it off as a joke when suddenly, surprisingly, Samantha bursts into laughter, the kind that ignites in the belly and explodes in the chest and although Samantha might not be truly happy in this moment, EDI can’t help but think it’s the first time her friend has laughed this hard in years. Although this is an outcome she had been working towards, now that she has achieved it, EDI is quite unsure of what to do with herself.

“Oh, EDI, I could hug you!” Samantha explains once her laughs recede, a hand pressed against her stomach as though worried her insides might come tumbling out. The stance never ceases to be somewhat concerning: EDI’s not sure she’ll ever grow accustomed to how soft and vulnerable humans are.

“You can,” EDI replies firmly despite her building uncertainty. She’s not fond of the sensation because she is, by all accounts, an artificial intelligence, one that can perfectly adjust her behavioural paradigms with each new situation that confronts her. The first interaction is always the hardest, though, and what EDI is sure of is that she’s never quite been in a situation like this one before.

The fact of the matter is, EDI doesn’t yet understand how these two events relate to each other, that is, Samantha’s elation and her desire to embrace. The only conclusion she can draw is that humans are affectionate when they are happy, even when they are not intoxicated, and even when the galaxy is not about to end. When EDI had first begun learning about humans, she’d thought that human bonding was primarily sexual, that when under duress, their underlying biological programming pushed them towards reproductive behaviours - even if the result of such a mating would not necessarily result in actual offspring.

Yet, EDI has spent several years predominantly living amongst humans, although she’s certainly had a number of interactions with the rest of the galaxy’s species. And every day, she learns and she learns. She’s experienced teamwork and family and camaraderie and friendship, and she’s coming to grips with the reality that being alive, a sentient being, is all about the links one makes with other people, no matter who they are, or where they come from. EDI can change people’s lives, maybe sometimes only slightly, but hopefully always for the better. So that’s why she doesn’t shy away when Sam throws her arms around her, holding her in a seemingly-firm grip that EDI could nonetheless break free from in an instant. “Huh,” Sam says, pulling away just enough to be heard when she speaks, “you’re warmer than I thought you would be.” EDI can’t avoid the easy quip. “Did you think that just because I am a synthetic, I am incapable of comfort?” Samantha loosens her grip, and EDI doesn’t even need to look to know that her friend’s eyes have widened in alarm. “No, no,” she stammers, “It’s not that, I—”

“I have flexible alloys in my skin that allow me to adjust my internal and external temperature,” EDI says, cutting Sam off with more than a hint of smugness.

Sam bats at EDI’s arm as she lets go completely. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” “You did,” EDI confirms as Samantha holds her hands up in mock-resignation. “All right, all right,” Sam says with a wave, “No need to rub it in.”

“I will immediately cease with my abrasive processes,” EDI assures her, and Samantha laughs again. “I’m glad I ran into you,” she says. This time, when Sam smiles, it does truly reach her eyes.  She reaches down, attempts to smooth some wrinkles from her fatigues with limited success. “We should get a drink sometime.” She pauses. “Do synthetics drink? You know what I mean. Gather some of the old crew, too, if they’re around. I haven’t seen them in far too long.”

“James Vega and Kaidan Alenko are both in Vancouver,” EDI confirms. In the aftermath of the Reaper War, people have focused primarily on recovering their homeworlds. “As is Jeff Moreau,” she adds, although it almost goes without saying. At the end of the day, they’re never truly far from each other.

“Sounds like we’ve got a party!” Sam exclaims, before casting a guilty glance downwards at the crates piled up around her feet. “Oh, but look at the time! I’ve been stood here babbling on for far too long. I better get these requisitions on board before someone catches me slacking!”

“Let me help,” EDI offers, “I was just heading in that direction.” It’s not even a lie: EDI did have business upon the Normandy today. Running into Samantha Traynor is just a pleasant distraction.

“Oh, if it’s not too much of a bother,” Sam says, ducking down to heft a box in her arms. “I could use the assistance.” EDI wonders if she should tell Samantha that her platform is more than capable of carrying all the crates by herself, but then she reminds herself that humans like being involved and feeling useful, so she says nothing instead as they move the containers, making quick work of the load in companionable silence. Honestly, EDI would have preferred to keep talking, her processes always thinking of more observations to make, more inquiries to present, but the exertion required by SAM to move the boxes means that their interaction is limited in that regard. Still, EDI finds herself surprised by how pleasant it is.

As they relocate the final crate and Sam stands besides the new pile with hands on hips, admiring their handiwork, she remarks, “Well, that’s that done. Thank you truly, EDI! I couldn’t have done it without you.” “You’re welcome,” EDI replies. “It was my pleasure.” The words, once upon a time a formality for EDI, are genuine. She has truly enjoyed talking to Samantha again. “I better let you get back to it,” Sam says with a sigh, disappointment belied in the droop of her shoulders. “But I mean what I said. It was really good to see you again.” EDI knows she is not imagining Samantha’s elevated heart rate and increased temperature. Her measuring instruments are perfectly calibrated.

In this moment, at the very least, Samantha is herself again. EDI commits herself to catching up with the communications specialist more frequently to ensure the results of her learning today are easily replicated. “It was good to see you as well,” EDI assures her.

“I’ve missed my family,” Samantha says with a wistful smile, arms now crossed over her chest. She looks smaller, in a way. EDI finds herself surprisingly unable to understand why.

“You see them every other shore leave,” EDI dead-pans in response. At least she’s learnt that humour helps in these sort of situations. Samantha snorts. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” EDI confirms. “I do.”

Sam begins to turn, facing the direction of the next task on her agenda. “Take care, EDI,” she says, her voice slightly higher than its usual register. “I am incapable of performing with anything less than the utmost precision,” EDI assures her.

Samantha smiles again before finally moving down the corridor with one last look at EDI over her shoulder.

EDI begins downloading the schedules of all the former Normandy crew members who are currently in Vancouver to co-ordinate the most optimal date for a reunion.

[toast-tit]

Piano Man

Chapter Eight

mob!Tom x reader

Warnings: language, violence

A/N: Thank god this is the last chapter holy shit. I liked writing this but ngl there was no outline so I was pulling everything out of my ass and it shows lol. Anywho...I’ll probably have something else within the next few weeks or if any of you guys have any requests I’ll take them.

Summary: The Ecclesiastes Pub catered to a plethora of people. Prostitutes, college students, successful businessmen and London’s most wanted. Bartenders and waitresses learned to tune out conversations from their customers quickly if they wanted to keep their head. However, people will still come looking for trouble, even if that trouble revolves around Tom Holland, the most feared mob boss around.

~ ~ ~

I woke up to the faint beeping of the heart monitor, signifying the fact that I was still alive. Blinking rapidly, I tried to get ahold of my surroundings until I realized I was in the hospital. Beside me were two large vases of flowers and some other gifts and the walls were a blinding white that I had no desire to see ever again. I sat up and groaned at the pain, wishing there was more morphine in my system.

To my right, Harrison was on his phone, tapping his foot obnoxiously. “Can you please stop doing that?” I croaked and his head shot up, clearly surprised that I was awake. “Holy fuck, you’re up,” he was breathless and stood up, about to rush out of the door and when I told him to stay.

“I need to tell Tom, Y/N,” he argued, but I shook my head. “I have questions,” I began to stutter around the last word, more or less because I was exhausted and would kill a man to go back to sleep. Harrison shook his head and shrugged, “Tom knows a lot more than I do. Let me get him.”

Harrison called Tom’s name and I heard shoes clang against the tile of the hospital, almost like he was running. Tom came into the room and his eyes widened at the fact that I was moving and awake. “Y/N,” his voice was barely audible. Before he came in, I figured I wouldn’t feel anything, it would just be him being concerned and whatnot, but I was dead wrong. Seeing his face was like flying; I felt the feeling in my stomach and chest that you get before you fall from a great height. My heart was practically living in my ass currently and my breathing began to quicken and I felt tears coming. It was almost definite by now that I was in love with him.

Tom had a few bruises and scratches on his face, but they looked pretty healed. Nevertheless, he looked fucking hot like that, like a sexy pirate or something. There was a look of concern and happiness plastered on his face and I badly wanted him to hug me, even if it would’ve been painful.

He made his way to my bedside and asked, “How do you feel?” His voice was soft and full of concern. I smiled lopsidedly and moved a little bit, wincing as I did so, “Like I got hit a fucking train. What about you? I see some battle wounds.” I lifted a shaking hand and placed it on his face, my thumb circling over a cut on his lip. He smiled slightly and put his hand over mine, “Nothing as serious as yours. Are you sure you’re fine? You can go back to sleep.”

I shook my head, “No, I have questions.” Tom nodded along, “Okay then, what are they?” “How long was I here, Tom?” I asked him and he put his hand on mine and stroke my thumb. “You were in a coma for six days, love. You lost so much blood they thought you weren’t going to make it,” he answered.

“Then how am I still here?” I asked. Harrison piped up, “Your blood type is very rare, Y/N, and it’s the same as mine, so I donated almost two pints.” “Jesus, that could’ve killed you!” I exclaimed, my throat hurting as my voice grew louder. Harrison shrugged, “I took my chances. I felt exhausted afterward, but not to the point where I was going to die.”

I felt tears welling in my eyes, gratitude washing over me. “Thank you so much,” a tear ran down my cheek and Harrison grinned happily. He winked and said cheekily, “You’re owe me one now, Y/L/N.” Giggling slightly, I sighed and asked, “When can I leave?”

Tom pondered for a moment before he said, “Tomorrow, I believe. But if you’re beginning to feel better, we can always do early checkout.” “Excellent,” I said whilst standing and stretching, wincing at the soreness. Harrison and Tom exchanged looks, but they did not doubt me. Instead, they helped me take the IVs out (which hurt like a motherfucker 10/10 would not recommend) and bring me a wheelchair so that they could escort me out.

It was a brisk Monday morning; the wind demanded to be acknowledged by those who dared to trek outside and the sun was hiding behind the clouds as if it were shy. The cool weather felt good and the fresh air was almost euphoric. I closed my eyes and soaked in whatever I could. “If you want to get a tan, I suggest a salon,” Harrison opened the car door for me and I entered giving him a dirty look.

I took a look of myself in the mirror and I wanted to cry. There was an ugly scar around my throat surround by massive blotches of purple, blue, and yellow. The bruises on my neck were either big or fingerprint shaped. My face was also very bruised and there was a scar on my cheekbone from I know not what. I’ve never really been insecure about what I had looked like before, but now I felt undeserving of the outside world. I felt like I should just cover up and stay quiet.

The ride home was indeed quiet. I stared out the window and pondered the manner of things as Tom and Harrison quietly conversed. They’d ask for my opinion on a few things, but never often. Harrison pulled into the house and Tom helped me out. My leg was still a bit bum, so he let me lean on him for support as we made our way in.

“You hungry?” Tom asked as he walked to the kitchen. I smiled shyly and shook my head. I instead went to the sink and filled a glass of water, downing it in seconds and then refilling the glass for a second. Tom leaned against the counter and looked at me. His eyes scanned up and down my body, making me feel like I should cover up more despite being in sweats. “Something wrong?” I asked, taking another sip of my water. He sighed and said, “You lost a lot of weight from the coma, just took me by surprise.”

I shrugged, “I’ve been meaning to lose some fat off my stomach for a while.” The two of us chuckled awkwardly, a thick silence began to shroud over us. “I’ll probably gain the weight back anyway once I get back in the gym with Harrison and all,” I sliced open the silence, “I’m sort of looking to build muscle more than anything. Plus, your cooking’s pretty phenomenal.”

Tom smiled sheepishly before he killed it off right away with a grimace. “I need to show you something,” he lightly wrapped his hand around my wrist and pulled me along. Tom opened a door and I was led downstairs into the basement, thought it seemed like a medieval dungeon with how poorly it was lit.

Any noise or humming that you could hear upstairs was immediately terminated from the basement. The only things I could hear were our footsteps and our breathing. As we kept going, I grew more anxious, asking Tom what was wrong.

Soon enough, he led to a closed door and he let go of my wrist. “Before I open this door, Y/N, I just want you to know that I’m deeply in love with you,” he was sincere, which scared me, “I know that we started on the wrong foot and we still might be on the wrong foot, but I’ve never met anyone who could get as close to me as you did. It’s only been weeks I know, but-“ “Tom please tell me what’s happened,” I cut him off, not being able to hear anymore.

He sighed and opened the door, letting me go first. Tentatively, I stepped in and took a look around the room. To my left, Cooper was in chains, a sock stuffed into his mouth. His face was unrecognizable and his clothes were tattered; he was practically dead. I covered my mouth with my hand and backpedaled into the wall, memories of that night plaguing my mind, and yet I didn’t want to leave. I couldn’t, something was compelling me to stay.

I looked at Tom, “What is this?” My voice started to waver. After all, Cooper tortured me. I was going to be afraid of him, even if I was protected by Tom. “An ultimatum,” Tom whispered, pulling a gun out of the waistband of his pants. He opened my palm and placed the gun in my hand and said, “I’m not a good person, Y/N, never was. I don’t want to hurt you anymore than you have been, so here’s the choice. You can end Rigsby’s suffering with a bullet to the head and live with the guilt, staying with me, or you can give the gun to me and live the rest of your life happily and we’ll never meet again.”

I looked at the gun in my hand, and then I looked at Tom. He was going to define our relationship by the murder of a man. Even worse, it was the man who had tortured me and killed his brother. I was surprised Cooper wasn’t dead already, having to face six days of Tom’s wrath, and by the looks of it, it was worse than hell.

Turning the gun over in my hand, I examined it. Could I do this? Could I kill another man? All so that I could be with someone who could grow tired of me in a matter of weeks? I ran a finger down the barrel, feeling the rough texture glide against my nail. I had never held a gun before, even though I lived in the most dangerous part of London, it was just something I never could do.

Tom stood stoically, analyzing my movements and body language, trying to pick out what I was doing, I could tell. He was just as nervous as I was, but he portrayed nonchalance well. “Well?” He asked. Taking one more look at Cooper, who watched me with tired eyes and Tom who watched me with anxious ones, I sighed and said, “You’re insane.”

Tom hung his head down, “I know.” He walked towards me and began to take the gun from my hand when I aimed at Cooper’s head and shot. I didn’t stop at one, I kept going, feeling the gun kick back each time a bullet left the magazine. By now, I was in a blind rage from that had happened. Each bullet began to signify a person: Ellen Rhie, Chester Harris, Harry Holland, Tom, and me.

Soon enough, I was pulling the trigger and hearing the click. I kept clicking before I fell to my knees and sat in silence, looking at the practically headless corpse of what was once my closest friend. Does friendship always end this way? In the end, one person makes the choice that pulls the trigger and you’re left in chains, without a heart to love or a mind to believe what had happened.

“You’re insane to think I’d ever leave you,” I met Tom’s eyes. He looked at me with compassion and adoration, something I longed to feel and I did. He held out a hand and helped me up, wrapping his hands around my waist and pulling me closer. His breath tickled my lips and I oh so badly wanted to close the gap between us. “Are you sure this is what you want?” He asked.

I pulled back and stared into his face. Flashes of memories seeped into my mind as I recalled the night we first met and how I “saved his life”. We were both even now, I guess. I remembered how scared I was to even be breathing the same as him and I remembered every single time he went batshit crazy. The man was crazy and he will never stop being crazy; he has an organization to run after all. But was I crazy? Was I mad to even let my feet fall to the floor as I worshipped his presence? Would it be deemed insanity if I admitted to loving him with each passing second? Or was I crazy to even consider leaving him, even though he was my life support?

After a long silence, I grinned and nodded, “It is.” Tom sighed and smiled too. He leaned in and we kissed, fireworks exploding in my heart. I pulled away and rested my forehead on his. “I love you too,” I breathed and he chuckled. “I figured after the seventh or eighth bullet,” he retorted and I slapped him on the arm.

We pulled away and he held out his arm. “My love,” he said and we both linked arms and walked out the door, ready to face the future we now shared.

TAG LIST:

@nobodyslord @financialinstability @spider-stud @wywholland @magical-fairy-princess-stuff

[cygnetofthesea]

Absolution in You: Part IV

When Barry meets Iris under unusual circumstances, he never would have imagined just how tangled in her he would become. 

He wasn't supposed to fall for her.  It wasn't supposed to be like this.   But the fates had a twisted sense of humor, it seemed and here he was...

On AO3

Four days later he walks into Zoom's flower shop and tells him he's in.  He threatens to kill him and Darhk right where they stood if anything ever happened to Iris, but he was in.  They had succeeded in manipulating him when they left a funeral flower arrangement with Iris's name on his doorstep.  He had tore up the arrangement in a rage, watching the petals float to the ground in the mid-afternoon breeze. His blood on fire, he marches over to let them know before seeking out Iris.  

It was a Thursday afternoon, three weeks later, and he knew she would be leaving the orphanage around that time and making her way over to the park afterward.  Ever since she quit her job at the bank, Iris had taken to volunteering more full time at the orphanage while she did some freelance writing on the side. And apparently other activities that he had been unaware of.

He watches from afar as she steps out the building and walks over to the nearby park, sitting on a bench in front of the pond.  He takes a deep breath, swallowing the lump in his throat before crossing the street. His gaze is so focused on her that he nearly gets hit by a passing car.  He worries for a moment he’ll draw her attention and she’ll leave before he has a chance to speak with her, but mercifully she seems too deep in thought to look back.  

Ignoring the irked driver, he marches forward, his hands stuffed nervously in the pocket of his coat until he was standingbehind her.  His heart hammers in his chest and he feels as though he can barely breath.

He had been involved in numerous robberies in his life and maintained a calm in the midst of pandemonium and yet he felt as though he was gearing up to freefall from an airplane.  

"Iris."

He knows the moment she registers his voice, her body stiffening.  He walks around the bench, needing her to see his face, needing to see hers..  "Iris, please I just need to talk to you."

She stands abruptly as though preparing to leave and he reaches for her arm without thinking.  She jerks away, finally meeting his eyes.

"Don’t touch me."

He looks at her for a long moment and could see the exhaustion in her eyes.  It had been days since he last spoke to her and she had plenty of time to turn them in but she didn't.  Something in her kept her from doing so and while he wondered what it was, he was more concerned with her knowing the truth.  He needed her to know everything. And whether it meant he was giving her more ammo against him, he didn’t care. As long as she knew.  

"I'm sorry, Iris.  I'm so sorry for everything that I put you through, but I just-I just need you to know the truth.  I will never lie to you again.  Ever. "

"Yeah?  And how exactly do you expect me to believe that?"

"Because you'll hate the answers."  His eyes never waver from her face. “Anything,” he whispers.

She looks at him silently before letting out a slow breath.  "How long were you following me before you approached me?"

"A couple of days."

"How many robberies have you been involved in?"

"Six trucks, two banks."

She pauses, holding her breath.  "Have you ever killed anyone?"

"No," he says without hesitating, looking her straight in the eyes.  "We have a code."

"But you do take hostages."

He shakes his head.  "No. That wasn't supposed to happen.  It was an impulsive decision on Rory's part."

"Who's idea was it to follow me?"

"Rory."

Iris let out a mirthless chuckle.  "Of course it was. The fucking psycho."

"We don’t take hostages because it creates too many ties and makes the job bigger than it needs to be.  He saw you lived in the area and was worried somehow you'd ID us after he saw you talking to the Feds."

She nods, looking away toward the pond.  He watches her profile carefully, trying to gaugue what she was thinking.  Needing to know that she believed him.

"Iris.  I will never lie to you, I will never hurt you and if I lose you…I will regret that for the rest of my life."

Her breath hitches at his admission.  She turns back to him and the look in her eyes makes something flutter in his stomach.  There was confliction and hesitation, but the anger had abated.

"I need to know..."  Her voice was so quiet and soft that he almost misses it in the wind.

"Anything."

"Are you in love with me?"

He cautiously walks toward her.  “Yes.”

Something flickers her eyes and Barry watches her throat bob as she swallows hard.  

“Barry,” she croaks.  “What do you expect from us?  What do you think can happen?”

His heart stutters in his chest and he tries to be subtle as he takes in a deep breath, trying to ease the ache.  

“We-we can come back from this, Iris.  We can start fresh like we’ve been talking about.”

“It’s all been a lie,” she says softly, her eyes unwavering.  Searching.

He shakes his head.  “But, it hasn’t,” he says just as softly.  He looks down at the mere two feet between them and slowly inches closer.  His fingers twitch, resisting the urge to touch her. She looks down away and doesn't appear to want to close the distance between them.

“Iris,” he whispers. “Please, look at me.”

She hesistates before meeting his gaze.

“You see me, don’t you?  You must know it wasn’t a lie.  The only lie in our relationship was how we met.  That’s it. Everything else after that was all real.”

Her eyes glimmer with unshed tears.  “What about that story about your mother?  Was that even real?”

“Every word.”  

He looks at her beautiful brown eyes, wondering if there was any hope, but knowing his time was limited now  He wants nothing more than for her to trust him again, to be able to put her faith in him, but it wouldn't be a feart he could accomplish right then.  

"There's something I need to do, but I'm asking you, Iris, wait for me."

She doesn’t say anything, but he hadn't expected her to.  He nods once and takes a step back beore turning away. He gets a few feets when he hears her call out to him.

"Barry?"

He looks back at her.  She was biting her lips, clutching her coat close to her.  She scrutinizes him and there’s something akin to confusion in her eyes.  "Why do you do it?"

He shrugs.  "I owe a debt."

She looks taken aback by that and as much as he wants to remain in her company, time was running out.  

The sooner he got to work, the sooner he could come back to her.

He was strapping on his ballistic vest with Len and Rory when Zoom walks into the warehouse with Darkh.  Barry clips a couple of explosives on his belt, avoiding Zoom’s gaze as he and Darkh stops in front of them, hands on their hips.

"I can't say how proud I am of you boys. You remind me of your fathers, but wiser. Kids these days grow fast and it breaks my heart, but looking at you boys and all that you've accomplished…well, it makes this old man feel relevant."

Barry sours at the mention of his father.  Coming from the lips of the scum that destroyed his family, the words mean nothing.  He bows his head, biting back what he really wanted to say, what he really wanted to do.  

"I know there are some concerns about this job, but I'm telling you we got this in the bag.  You boys reviewed the schematics?"

They all nod.  "Good, so we have everyone in place, alibis been bought off, and we have men working on the cameras as we speak."

"Where's our backup?" Len asks.

Zoom looks at Len and gives him a reassuring smile.  "Got 'em briefed and patrolling the area."

Barry narrows his eyes, watching Zoom lay out a blueprint across the tabletop.  Even though he had spent years working for the guy, he never did quite trust him and now more than ever something feels off.

Everyone gathers around the blueprint as Zoom gives them the play-by-play when Barry feels the burner phone in his pocket buzz.  His hand moves toward his pocket in confusion, not realizing he had brought it with him.

His pulse jumps against his skin and he grabs it, discreetly checking the screen while the others pour over the schematics.

Look up, the text reads.

His eyes flash to the level above, searching, and from the shadows, Iris creeps out.  His heart jumps in his throat as Iris places an index finger on her lips.

She was hidden between boxes and he could only spot her because he knew where to look, but still, his heart bangs thunderously in his chest.  What was she doing there?

He calms his breath.  "I left some of my gear upstairs, be back."

Zoom looks at him for what felt like a long moment before nodding and turning back to the blueprint.

Barry tries to keep his gait calm and steady, making his way to the second level.  He didn’t have to walk far when Iris intercepted. He swiftly wraps an arm around her waist and lifts her against him, taking her to the far end of the level where they would be hidden behind lockers.

"What the hell are you doing here, Iris," he hisses.  He set her down in front of one of the lockers and grabs her arms gently.  "Are you out of your mind?"

She looks at him intensely. "Look, I don’t know what you have planned but I couldn't shake what you told me.  Against my better judgment, I don’t want you to go down with them, but Rory cannot get away with it.  He has to pay for what he did to Martin."

He looks at her stunned even as his heart skips a beat at her concern for him.  But he couldn't focus on that because here she was, standing in front of him while two sociopaths and their trigger-happy lackeys were downstairs.

"You need to get out of here, Iris."

"Just listen to me," she hisses.

"What exactly were you planning on doing? Come in guns blazing and take him out?  And how did you even find me?"

"I tailed you and no I don't plan on killing anyone."  She took out a recorder from her pocket and showed it to him.  "I recorded the conversation between Zoloman and Darhk while the rest of you were getting ready.  Barry, there isn't a backup team in place, they couldn’t secure one. They were fully prepared to let you guys fend for yourself even if it meant taking hits."

"That fucker."  Barry clenched his fists, stepping away from Iris.

"From what I heard, Zoloman’s not happy with you.  Barry, we need to get out of here."

"Why, what's happening?"

"I'm going to tip off Eddie and anonymously send him the recording.  They're going to find Snart and Rory too."

Barry looks at her gently before taking her face in his hands.  He stares into her soft brown eyes and if he looked hard, he could see that flicker of warmth she had held for him in the last few months.  Before everything went to hell.

"Do you hate me, Iris?"  He doesn't know why he asks the question and realizes it wasn’t the most appropriate time to be having that conversation, but he can’t help the words blurting past his lips.

Her eyes well up with tears as her jaws tighten under his hands.  "Just-fucking hell, Barry. I am so pissed at you and I don't know what the hell is going to happen after tonight, but all I know is that I can't let something happen to you.  And now is  not the time to talk about this."

He nods, he'd take what he could get.  "Ok," he whispers. "But, Iris. If I leave with you now and the Feds come for them, it's only a matter of time before they come for me.  They'll know I was connected."

"We'll cross that bridge when it comes, but right now we need to leave before they come looking for you."

Barry looks down at her, battling his loyalty to her and his loyalty to Snart.  He couldn't give less of shit what happened to the others, he hoped they'd rot in prison, but Snart was his brother.  Snart was the only family he really had in this hell-ish life. Snart was the one who had taken the fall for him that sent him to prison for five years.  He wants nothing more than to leave with her, but he needed to tie up loose ends before they could.

'Iris," he whispers.  “You need to get out of here.”

The sound of a gun cocking back jolts them and Iris lets out a gasp as she looks over Barry's shoulder.  Barry's eyes slid to the side as he carefully turns, keeping his body in front of Iris.

"So this is your sweet, new girlfriend, huh?"

Barry turns fully only to be faced with the barrel of Zoom's gun.  Zoom's grim expression showed a mix of irritation and disappointment as he looks to address Iris.  

"Here to join the fun, darling?"

Iris steps forward and Barry has to hold out a restraining arm across her torso.  "Don't," he grits out. He looks at Zoom, praying to whatever entity was out there that could make a difference.  "Don’t do this, Hunter." He knew his uncle hated being referred to his name, but he would never call him by his moniker or uncle.

Zoom exhales exasperatedly.  "Where the fuck is the respect, Barry?"

Iris levels a hard stare at Zoom.  "The likes of you don’t deserve respect."

Zoom stared at her in shock for a moment before a slow grin spreads across his face.  "Holy shit,” he says slowly. “The balls on this gal. Do you know who I am?"

"I know all about you, Hunter Zoloman.  You like to go by Zoom to cover up your criminal acts so that you can hide behind a new name and reputation as a flower shop owner.  But anyone in Central City and as far as Keystone knows who you really are. They're just too afraid to speak because you've bought their silence.  You destroyed families to keep up the façade."

Zoom narrows his eyes at her curiously and even Barry has to wonder how she knew all of this. And then he thought about the days leading up to quitting her job at the bank. Iris had told him how she had wanted to be an investigative journalist once upon a time but had dropped out to work so that she could take care of her dad after he had fallen ill.  It looked like she had returned to her roots and made good use of her newly acquired spare time.

"Who the fuck are  you ?"  He turns to Barry.  "I thought your girlfriend was a bank manager.  She definitely ain't with the Feds, I would've known."

"Don't underestimate a scorned woman, you bastard," Iris spat.  Barry had so many questions and wanted to know what else she knew, how much was she hiding from him—not that it made a difference to him—but there would be time for questions later…or so he hoped.

He never once turns away from Zoom who was still staring at Iris with a hard, questioning gaze, but he allows his eyes to scan the area, searching for a way out.

"Well, as fascinating as this turn of events has been, you darling need to go," he says pointing his gun at her.  Barry's heart leaps in his throat, hammering hard as his body jerks closer to her.

"Hunter, this doesn't have to go down like this."

"I'm afraid it does, Barry."  He looks at Iris again and gestures with his gun.  "Why don't you come out from behind your boyfriend, there?  You sure like to talk and yet you still hide behind a man."

"Fuck you," she hisses venomously.  She makes to step around Barry, who again halts her movements.

"Iris, don't."

Zoom turns the gun back on Barry.  "Iris, do," he says before addressing Barry.  "Do you really want to risk hurting her? After all your efforts in trying to keep her safe, you want to sacrifice all of that now?  Oh and sweetheart, while you're at it, I'll take that recorder too."

Barry clenches his jaws as Iris moves from behind him.  His fingers dig into her side in his continued effort to keep her still.  

“Over my dead body,” he says lowly.  

Zoom looks thoughtful, his face grim.  He lets out a sigh. “Fine.” He raises his gun higher and steadies it on Barry.

Suddenly there’s a deafening bang.  The sound reverberates within the metal lockers, echoing throughout the warehouse.

The sound pops in Barry's ears and instinctively he ducks, throwing himself over Iris and pulling her to the side.  His hands shake as he looks over her only to find her trembling slightly but without a wound in sight.

"Iris?"

She shifts and it was only then that Barry notices the handgun that she was clutching.  He whips around the set of lockers he had taken them behind and there was Hunter's body on the ground, a bright red splotch on his side.

Barry watches as Hunter groans and sits up, clutching his side.  "I'm going to fucking kill you, bitch," he seethes.

Barry leaps up, gripping Iris by the arm as he drags her to the other side of the level.  Gunshots follow in their wake, Zoom screaming in blind rage. It was only a matter of time before the others made their way up there.  As though he had summoned them with his thoughts, he hears the thundering sounds of feet racing up the steps.

He pulls Iris into a dark, secluded corner.  He quickly takes off his armored vest and straps it onto Iris, who fights off his attempts.

"Don't.  You need it."

"Iris," he says in the most stern tone he had ever used with her.  "Please, don't fucking fight me on this." And without another word, he tightens it over her.  He knows the kevlar is heavy on her small frame, but it was the best way to protect her.

He hears the shouts of Rory and Snart and his heart plummets in his chest.  Snart. He was a sinner like himself but not malicious like the others. All he wanted was a way to support himself and his mother, he never set out to hurt people the way Rory did.

"Barry?" he hears him call out.

"The bitch.  She's with him.  Got a gun." Zoom's strangled voice was barely audible as he huffs in pain.  But, if the rumors were true, Hunter Zolomon was a fucking cockroach and wouldn't be brought down with a single hit.

"The fuck?"

There’s an unease in his stomach, his mind shuttling with memories and possible outcomes in which none of them ended well.  Would he be able to save them both? There was no time to wonder because Iris was in his arms, putting her faith in him whether she wanted to admit it or not.  

"Barry!  Where the fuck are you?"

He hears movements coming in closer, he eyes taking in his surroundings. They had a different prep location before each job, not wanting to stay in the same place for too long.  It makes it easier for the Feds to find them if they have a designated basecamp. Barry searches around for anything.  

"Barry!"

"Bastards gone fucking rogue.”  Barry recognizes the graveling voice of Rory.  "I knew this shit was coming."

"Fuck up and let's find him," Snart says, his voice sounding closer than before.

Barry grabs Iris's hand and quietly weaves in between boxes and discarded lockers.  Suddenly a barrage of gunfire goes off, lighting up the darkened corners of the warehouse.

Barry throws himself over Iris before pulling her down as they reached a door at the end of the level.  Barry wrenches it open while bringing Iris’s body closer to his. The screeching metal is drowned out by the gunfire as he pushes Iris through the doorway before following behind and bolting the door.  

"Iris, look at me," he says, the sounds of gunshots echoing in the warehouse muting as he narrows his focus on her.  If only for a moment. He needs her to know because this just may the only chance he gets.

He holds her face in his hands, his long and pale fingers brushing against her beautiful deep bronze skin.  How many times had he stroked her skin, watching in wonder as his fingers drifted along her cheeks, her neck, her body?  It was always in wonder because he could never fathom just how privileged he was to be in her presence, to be given the gift of touching her in such an intimate way.  

Even as he holds her now, he misses those moments, already missing the sensation of her.  She looks at him with frightened eyes, her chest heaving with the adrenaline. But if he looked hard enough, somewhere, somehow, there was trust in her dark eyes that looked back into his.  He held onto it.

"I love you so much."

"Barry, what are—"

"I'm saying it’s not your job to save me.  I can't put that responsibility on you, it's not fair.  Only I can save myself."

"Why won’t you let me help you?"

"Because this is not your fight.  It's mine and it's all my fault that you got caught in the crossfires.”  He looks into her eyes trying to convey how sorry he was. “Run, Iris, run.  Get out of here."

She stares at him, eyes wide and filling with tears.  “I-I can’t,” her voice cracks. “I can’t just leave you behind.”

Panic spreads through his chest, creeping and crawling painfully, it’s sharp claws digging into his caverns, threatening to encompass him.  Had it been any other circumstance or setting, he would have steeled himself and thrown himself into the fray, guns blazing with an unnatural calm in his gait.  Had it been any other circumstances, he would have shoved the innocent bystander into a safe hiding spot before expertly picking off the adversary.

But it wasn’t any other circumstances and the love of his life was standing there while his family was trying to kill them.  He needed her to know that he did love her. Just once before it all went to hell and life as he knew it burned to the ground.  

“Fucking hell, Iris, please.”  He feels the burn in his nose, the thought of her getting hurt choking him.  There was a hysteria deep inside him that he fought to temper, keeping his stance rigid, his voice stoic. “If something happens to you…”

Her shaky hands come up to clutch his wrists.  “How will I know you’re ok?”

“I’ll find you,” he promises.  He doesn’t know if it’s a promise he can keep—he sure as hell would try—but he tells her so anyway.  Her eyes glitter in response with a look of uncertainty and he wonders that after everything that had been revealed, she had decided not to trust his words.  “I will always find you.”

He inhales sharply and surges forward, capturing her lips in a hard kiss.  If this was the last moment he ever felt her lips, he would take it. He swallows her gasp and pulls on her lips desperately, his brows furrowing as he tries to hold onto this moment, but knowing it can’t last any longer.  He’s surprised and relieved when she responds with fervor, her hands coming up to clutch his collar.

He pulls back with a muffled grunt, fighting to keep her with him while trying to get her to safety.  “Go,  Iris.  Please. ”  

The sound of stomping footsteps come closer and they can almost feel the ground tremor beneath them.  They look over at the door, the bolt appearing strong. But Barry knows that it’s only a matter of time before they made their way past it.  

He looks back at Iris.  “Head downstairs, once you get to the second level, get on that floor and—”

“I know how to get out of here.”  He looks at her in confusion for a moment and somehow she manages a small smile.  “I snuck in, didn’t I?”

“Right.” Even in the midst of chaos, he can’t help the pride that swells up inside him.  

Her eyes flit across his and her hands drag across his wrist as though savoring a last touch.  Then, with one last fiery look, she pulls away and heads down the stairs. “Iris,” he calls before she can get far.  She turns back. “Call the cops.” Barry doesn’t wait to watch her disappear down the stairs before he makes his way up the next flight of stairs.  

Armed with nothing more than the explosives and a switchblade, Barry has to find a way to draw them out to him and away from Iris.  He runs up to the next level and shoulders his way through the door. The layout is similar to the floor below and he scouts out the area, looking for anything that he could use.  The rest of his weapons were a floor below and with Zoom, Darhk, Rory, and Snart scouring for him, there was no point in wasting time retrieving them. He’d have to work with whatever is at his disposal.  

He spots a gas tank connected to a pipe that travels along the perimeter of the room when he hears Zoom bark orders at the others.  “You two search the lower levels, we’re going up.”

  Iris

He presses his back against the wall, his ear listening close to gauge where they were before he bangs on the metal door beside him.  The movements stop abruptly just outside the door and Barry takes a deep breath, waiting with his hand hovering over his switchblade.

The door bursts open and Barry barely flinches as it swings over him.  The barrel of a gun pokes out and through the crack in the door, he can see Zoom slide out from behind who he imagines to be Darhk, holding onto the gun.  

With the agility of a feline, Barry grabs Darhk’s arm from behind the door, swinging him around until his gun pointed toward Zoom.  Barry releases the trigger once just as he throws an elbow back into Darhk’s throat, choking him. Zoom falls to the ground and ducks behind a metal shelf, letting out a scream of rage.  

Barry pays no mind to him as he throws Darhk against the wall.  He had bought himself time to deal with Zoom with the wound.

He swiftly pulls out his switchblade and drives it into Darhk’s throat in one fluid motion.  Dark, warm blood spurts out of the wound and lands on Barry, but he doesn’t waste another moment before he lets Darhk’s body drop to the ground.  

Barry lets out a slow breath before bending to pick up Darhk’s fallen gun.  Without looking down at it, he cocks it back and walks toward the trail of blood that leads to his target.  He marches over until he’s hovering over Zoom’s slumped body.

Zoom turns to look up at him with a baleful smirk.  He weakly lifts up his hand that’s holding a gun. “You—”

Barry kicks his gun away before crouching over him and hissing,  “Who’s clipping your nuts now?” He points his gun to Zoom’s crotch and releases the trigger.    

He doesn’t spare another moment before bolting out the door and trampling down the stairs.  Just as he reaches the second floor, piercing shot fires through the air. Barry stumbles back against the stairwell, his ear ringing.  There’s a long moment where the world becomes hazy and his vision blurs as the ringing continues. He lifts his hand in a daze to his head and feels something warm and sticky.  

He barely has a moment to register the blood on his fingers before a large body barrels into him, slamming him against the wall.

Barry wheezes as the wind gets knocked out of him. Disorientated from the gunshot, his limbs flail, sliding down the wall even as the adrenaline courses through him.  His head pounds and feels heavy as he weakly lifts it to look up at his assailant, already knowing who it was.

Rory stands before him, his gun seemingly clattering to the ground when he rushed Barry.  He looks down at him with such disdain, his lips curling into a sneer.

“I knew you were up to no good,” he growls.  “I told Snart you couldn’t be trusted. But did he believe me?  No, not his saint brother. The prince of thieves couldn't possibly betray his family.”

“You’re not my family,” Barry grits while struggling to stand as Rory watches.  The ringing dissipates but only a little and Barry has to squeeze his eyes shut to press against the thrumming pain that bloomed.      

Rory scoffs.  “You got that right.”

Barry opens his eyes again and takes in Rory’s stance.  It was relaxed, but Barry knew his cues and his body language.  He was gearing for a fight and Barry would have to as well.

"Rory, look," he struggles to speak, still trying to catch his breath and calm his rapid pulse.   “It doesn’t have to end this way. We can all leave. Zoom and Darhk are gone, I took them out—”

“Oh you think it’s going to be that easy? That we’re all going to skip merrily out of here like some big happy family?”  He leans in closer and drops his voice. “You betrayed us, Allen. I’m not letting that slide.”

Hot spikes of rage bubbles in his blood.  “I didn’t do shit.  I took out the real enemies, I fell in love, but I did not betray you guys.”

“The hell you didn’t.  You chose that bitch over us and you took out our stability, our source of income.  And I don’t take that lightly.”

“He was going to kill her!”

“So you fucking let him!”  Rory steps closer and grips Barry by his arms. Barry was always on the thinner side and despite the chords of hard muscle that lined his arms, underneath Rory’s meaty and hard grip, he felt small.  He remembers the feeling all too well as a child, but that never stopped him."

He could feel Rory’s grip tightening, he felt the move coming and before he could think, Barry bashed his head against Rory, aiming right for his nose.  Within moments, Rory’s grip falls as he stumbles back with a loud cry.

Taking advantage of the momentum, Barry lands a right hook into Rory’s jaws before quickly jabbing him in the face.  In the throes of adrenaline, he barely feels the impact on his knuckles and gears up to throw another punch when Rory tugs on his shirt out of nowhere and swings him toward the stairs.  

Momentarily thrown off his feet, Barry scrambles to clutch the rails against the wall, disorientated when Rory tries to rush him again.  Ducking out of the way, Barry lands on the ground, his eyes immediately falling upon the gun just a few feet away.

He hears Rory stumbling toward him and quickly lunges toward it, his body dragging across the ground.  His hand struggles to reach it. Just as he hears steps coming closer, his fingers grip the hot Glock and he spins around and pulls the trigger. Barry watches as a bright red spot blooms on Rory’s chest who stills in his movement, his eyes wide. And then slowly as though someone poked him with a single finger, he tips backward and falls down the stairs.  

Barry lets his body sag back down on the ground, the gun falling from his hand with a clatter.  His chest heaves as he tries to get oxygen into his lungs, his mind suddenly numb as his head lolls to the side.  He had just killed his...whatever he was...and Leonard was somewhere out there. Leonard. He had just killed his cousin...

It was a shrill scream that breaks him out of his stupor, his body jerking to life at the sound.      

With energy he didn’t think he had left in him, he scrambles to stand.  His heart thumps in his chest at the decidedly female scream and he leans heavily against the rail on the wall as he rushes up the stairs to the next level.  He shoulders his way out the door and freezes at the sight.

Leonard stands just a few feet away from a startled Iris whose eyes flit over to his the moment he barrels through the door.  But he notes with relief that his gun wasn’t drawn at least.

Leonard, for his part, turns to him with a grim look.  “So I guess you won, huh?”

Barry keeps his eyes trained on the gun in his hand as he slowly tries to make his way closer to Iris.  Leonard tightens his grip on the gun in warning and Barry stops.

“I bet he did that to you, did he?” Leonard says, gesturing at Barry’s sagging body.  The words were unspoken but he knew just who he meant. He feels drained and as though he could drop down any moment, but the sight of Iris, the fear of something happening to her keeps him standing. “Not surprised to see it go down like this, really.  He dead?”

Barry swallows thickly, unable to find his voice let alone the words.  Leonards nods and looks down at his gun.

“I always believed in the saying that the ‘blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,’” Snart drawls as he flips his gun in his hands.  “Mick was my cousin, but you were always a brother to me. Scrawny little kid devastated over losing his father. I didn’t get it myself considering my own was a fucking bastard that beat the shit out of me.  Quite literally sometimes. But you...you were this broken little kid with no meat to his bones and I thought ‘This kid didn’t ask to be born into this shit world only to be chewed up and spat back out.’ That’s what it did to me, but I found a way and I had to show you too. You made me proud, Barry.  And now...”

Barry’s heart thumps painfully in his chest, aching with the fear.  But there was grief. “Leonard, I swear I didn’t mean for this, for any of it.”

“Sure, I believe that.  But here we are. What’s left of us?”

“Len, I know I screwed up so much and...you don’t deserve this, but neither does she.”

From his peripheral vision, he sees Iris turn her head and he allows himself to look at her.  “Barry,” she says softly with caution in her eyes. “The cops are going to be here soon.”

Barry looks back at Leonard, gauging whether the words had an effect on him.  But looking at his still calm demeanor, Barry wonders if he even heard them.

“The cops are coming, Len.  You either drop the weapon and come with me, or you stay and go to prison.”

Snart looks down at his gun with a rueful smile.  His hands caress the surface of it softly as he shakes his head.  “That’s where you’re wrong, Barry. The only two options for me are dead or alive, but I’m not going back to prison.  I’m done with that.”

He keeps his gaze down at his gun with a thoughtful look before shaking his head and letting out a small sigh.  “You little fucker,” he whispers. He looks back at Barry and clenches his jaw.

“Get out of here.”

Barry freezes for a moment, trying to register what he had just heard.  “W-what?”

“I didn’t stutter,” he sneers.  

Barry’s eyes flicker to Iris who looks just as thrown.  “Her too,” Snart says.

In the midst of confusion, Barry had enough sense to take that moment and get closer to Iris.  He slowly inches toward her just as Iris does the same until they’re both standing in front of Snart.  

The moment she’s close enough he scrambles for her waist, pulling her closer as his heart thumps rapidly in his chest.  She had stayed. He didn’t have time to think about the implications of her actions, but he feels it in his chest as he holds her face gently but urgently, whispering if she was ok.

She nods, her own hand trembling as it reaches for his wound at the side of his head.  

“Flesh wound, I’ll be ok,” he reassures.

“You won’t be if you don’t get out of here.”  

Barry looks over to Snart, still clutching Iris close to him.  “I-I don’t understand.”

He sneers at them with a look of disdain and disappointment.  “I’ll never forgive. And I’ll never forget. But I’m not going to kill you.”

“Then come with—”

Suddenly Snart stops and points a finger up, tilting his head as though listening for something.  “You hear that?”

Barry exhales as his ear perks, trying to catch a sound.  The moment he hears it, dread fills his body. Sirens. By the way Iris stiffens in his arms, he knows she hears it too.

“Clocks ticking and you’re almost out of time.  By my estimation, they’re about twelve minutes away.  So you either accept my generosity or you let the coppers have you.  What’s it going to be?”

“What about you?”

“Like I said, prison isn’t an option for me.”  He pauses and looks toward the doorway as the siren gets louder.  “What’s it going to be, Barry?”

“Len,” he breathes, his heart aching.  “I-I... please, come with us.”

Snart looks back at him with thin lips and Barry tries to decipher the look in his eyes.  Leonard was always hard to read, always seemed calm and collected even in the midst of a tense situation.  He took it all in stride. Perhaps it was a result of his upbringing and living with the torment of his father’s hands that desensitized him and warped his perception.  Nothing was worse than the violence in his home and perhaps everything else felt feasible to him.

But as Barry watches his brother’s eyes, there’s something akin to resolve in them.  He was sure of his fate and there was nothing Barry could do to stop him. The betrayal, the lies...they were all eclipsed by the brotherhood that always remained strong between Barry and Snart.  And it would continue for the rest of their days.

Barry releases Iris, the pain in his chest strong he felt it could choke him.  When he gets closer, he slowly reaches out to touch Snart’s shoulder, feeling the kevlar for his own reassurance.  He hands the weapons he collected over to Snart before looking up at him, meeting his cool blue eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.  “I’m so sorry.”

Snart looks at him for a moment.  “Ride or die,” he says. “Get outta here.   Now .”

Barry nods jerkily, hearing the sirens louder than ever, and backs away.  He whirls around to grab Iris’ hands and runs toward the side door. He takes one last look at Snart who remains watching them even as he faces the front entrance.  He feels Iris tugging on his hand—his freedom, his future—and he finally looks away.

As Barry and Iris make their escape, he stops at one of the floors and searches the wall for the gas pipe.  It only takes a few hits, but he busts it open until the air hisses out. He places one of the explosives next to it, setting the timer.

“What are you doing?”  Iris asks with a look of horror.

“We have to blow this place up.”  Maybe it would buy Len some time. Maybe the explosion would distract the cops away from him.  Either way, he had to try.

“What?   Barry, it could kill everyone!”

It was a risk he had to take.  He doesn’t waste another moment before dragging her away until they’re on the top floor.  He places another one there, setting the timer.

The sounds of the sirens are deafening as Barry and Iris make it up to the roof, but he keeps them low until they’re a safe distance away.

They hold each other tightly once they are and watch as the explosions create fumes, cracking and crumbling the side of the warehouse.  They don’t know whether Snart made it out alive but there was only one thing they could do. Live.

When they make it back to her place, she settles him on the couch before rushing out with the list he had given her.  He’d be ok, but he needed medical attention sooner rather than later and seeing as how going to the hospital was out of the question, supplies from the nearest drug store would have to do.

He calls out to her before she leaves the apartment, his voice raspy with emotion and exhaustion.  “Iris.”

She turns back to look at him over her shoulder, her hand stilling on the doorknob.  

“Are you hurt?” he asks.  

She shakes her head. “I’m ok,” she says softly.  

It’s the reassurance he needed but the fear didn’t leave him as he watches her walk out the door.  He counts down the minutes until she returns safely back to him. His paranoid mind thinks of all kinds of scenarios in which she would be taken from him.  

Taken by who?  Zoom was dead and Iris had no involvement with the criminals as far as the cops knew.  No one should be coming for her, but still, he has to fight to keep calm. He finally let himself breath when she returns, arms heavy with the weight of grocery bags.  

She had brought food too and hands him a chocolate pudding cup as she gets to work.  

“Have you ever patched up a bullet wound before?”

She scoffs, her face drawn as she scrubs her hands over a bucket before drying them on a fresh towel. She slips on vinyl gloves and turns to him.  

“No,” she says dryly.  “But something tells me you have so you’re going to have to walk me through it.  Aside from Grey’s Anatomy, I know jack squat about it.”

He watches her jerky movements and he can tell she’s barely keeping it together.  He wants to ask her again if she’s ok, but the look in her eyes stop him and begins to instruct her.  He closes his hands, letting her gentle hands tend to him as he softly instructs her how to stitch up the open wound on the side of his head.  He grits his teeth in pain but pushes along and within a couple of hours, she’s cleaned him up and patched up his wounds.

She ushers him into the shower and surprises him when she remains by his side, demanding him to strip.  “You don’t have to—”

“I’m not going to let you slip and fall in my shower after everything.  So just get to it.” And without another word, he obeys. At some point, as she’s cleaning his face with a soapy towel, he watches the expression on her face relax.  Her hands tender and slow around the saran wrap she on his head, her eyes look lost in thought. He wants to desperately ask her what's on her mind, wants to know if she really is ok, but the fear of breaking this spell they were in stops him.  This spell that somehow allowed them to be calm despite the storm that was warring inside of them both.

“I’m a criminal now, aren’t I?” she whispers at one point.  He looks at her warily. By the definitions of the law, she was by aiding and abetting.  But was she like him and every other criminal out there? Never.

“You’re going to be ok.”  That much he would promise her as he lets her tend to him.

And he reveled in her touch while he could, in the soft gaze upon him.  It was more than he deserved and yet, here she was, washing away the blood on his hands like a forgiving saint.  And in this moment, while she was with him, he would savor this, stay there with her and push aside the dreadful thoughts at the back of his mind.  Push aside for the moment what he knew he had to do.

She brings her face closer to him, her eyes fluttering as she presses her lips to his cheekbone.  “I’m glad you’re ok,” she whispers.

He lets out a shaky breath, nuzzling against her cheek.  He furrows his brows as the pain in his chest tightens and his arms wrap around her.  “Why did you come back for me?” he whispers back.

He feels her shrug.  “I just couldn’t leave you.  I couldn’t have that on my conscious.”

It wasn’t exactly a love declaration, but he’d take it and while he’d like to press her for more, he remains silent, letting her be the one to reach and staying ready to take her hand when she does.  As much as he wanted to hear the words, this was enough to keep him steady and he’d carry it with him for the rest of his life. It would have to be enough to sustain him when she becomes absent in her life and he in hers.

Hours later, he watches Iris sleep in her bed, her wet hair dampening the pillow underneath her.  He kisses her lips and closes his eyes to savor the softness of them, trying to preserve the taste and imprint it into his mind.  He’d need something for the road.

Pulling away reluctantly, he doesn’t open his eyes until he sets the letter down on her bedside table where he’d left something important for her.  They had done their best to cover up their tracks and DNA, but whether Snart was alive or not, the cops knew his face and it was only a matter of time before they came looking for Barry.  And when they did, he wanted to be as far from Iris as possible where none of this would touch her.

He had already tainted her life enough and asked for more than he deserved, he would do this one selfless thing and leave her at peace. He’d have to leave her. He’d have to give her a fighting chance to live as normal of a life as she possibly could.

But no matter where he went and how far he traveled he knew two things with absolute certainty.  

One, he loved her more than anything, more than life itself.  

And two, he’d see her again.  One day, someday, he knew they would meet again.  

This side or the other.

[filmista]

Retrospective: Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope (1977)

🤖“A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…” 🚀

A lot of us either are a Star Wars fan, or we know someone that’s a huge fan. Either way, there’s no real way to avoid coming across it; it’s so ingrained in the collective conscience of the entire cinema frequenting world, that we all are familiar with the basics of its universe. 

I’ve managed to avoid it until now during my 20 years on this planet, but I have a friend whose brother was an enormous fan of the franchise and owned multiple Star Wars sweatshirts that his sister would “borrow” but watch it she never could, because she found the whole world so far out there, that she thought it was hilarious. 

But alas, one day her brother convinced her and she decided to just give it a watch and actually ended up liking it. Ever since she’s been trying to get me to watch it, without much success in her endeavor. 

Until I recently got me curious about it myself, I thought if so many people love it there has to be a reason for it. And my experience was a huge success, I loved it on the second watch that is. 

The very first time, I actually ruined my experience. By really not paying too much attention to it and even talk during…

My problem was the attitude with which I approached it, I was expecting to not connect to it beforehand, I had a preconceived of what Star Wars was, which is a silly blockbuster that later became a money-making machine. 

Alas, I was wrong, and I deprived myself of a fantastically fun experience, because of my own preexisting conceptions. 

I admit to most of the time being inclined towards and maybe respecting, so-called deeper and intellectual films more, films that I can really sink my teeth into. 

I wouldn’t say I had a contempt for blockbusters and big studio films, I just generally don’t like them as much, I tend to find them over the top, too dramatic and sometimes a bit lacking in the emotional department. 

But the longer I’ve been watching films, and my recent experience with Star Wars, really has taught me something, there’s nothing with a film being innocent fun and just an adventure throughout. 

Afterward, I realized how ridiculous it is that I do value Jurrasic Park, which is also a huge blockbuster, but looked down on Star Wars, just because it all overall seems more plausible and is set in a world that’s still recognizable. 

There’s merit in building an engaging fantasy world, and in creating characters that are instantly likable and that the audience can care about. 

Star Wars (the whole franchise) has now become a piece of pop culture, and especially that first film, allows us to travel back in time, to the 70’s a particular period in cinema history, to the time of the first so-called blockbuster. 

My main beef with “blockbusters” is that I’m not talking about each and every single one, there are ones that I enjoy. 

But they’re often so formulaic and so played into what people will automatically like and be attracted to, and sometimes that results in something that I find lackluster, not spontaneous enough and without a fun, beating heart though.

And while Star Wars is the so-called first blockbuster, one of the films that changed film history. My dislike of it was completely unjustified. And the joke was on me because I missed out all those years. 

Whilst it is a big film and expanded into something even bigger over the years: a franchise. No one really knew whether there would be sequels, but George Lucas did set up the possibility for them. 

It really made marketing for these big films into a huge thing, the company in charge of making the action figures for Star Wars (Kenner) initially was unable to keep up with the demand, every kid that saw this at the time wanted one. 

Now that’s something normal, but Star Wars was really the first film to start that. and it’s mostly relatively unknown cast at the time, apart from Harrison Ford (who had previously starred in the George Lucas directed, American Graffiti) were propelled into superstardom and into 70’s icons. 

Everyone knows names like Carrie Fisher and Mark Hamill, even if they’ve never seen a single Star Wars film. And everyone knows terms from the film, everyone knows what a lightsaber is and has a vague idea of what a Jedi is. 

So aside from all of its technical merits, and there’s quite a few, it’s above all else a historical document almost as well as a darn good piece of entertainment, and that’s more than enough in a film sometimes. 

And unlike some later blockbusters, Star Wars really is a charming and fun film, with a beating heart. You can see and feel the love that went into them, and the fun people involved were having. 

Its dialogue is super cheesy even corny, but it works because of the way the actors deliver them and their enjoyable chemistry with one another, also the cheesy dialogue is quite charming in its own right. 

The film is obviously more about what’s happening visually on screen, than any dialogue. And I think that was my problem initially, I always took it way too seriously… the terms didn’t make sense to me and annoyed me, and the world with all its creatures felt perplexing. 

This time I decided to just sit back, watch and not think too much and allow myself to be absorbed by it, really allow myself to be swept into the world. And it was a radically different experience. 

There are still terms of which I thought wait what is that, or what is that thing supposed to be? The truth is that doesn’t matter for one’s enjoyment of the film at all, once you stop trying to make too much sense of it, and look at it too rationally it becomes incredibly rewarding. It’s not about being realistic. the whole thing takes place in a fantasy world, Star Wars is like a surreal dream come to life. And it’s really a matter of suspending any disbelief and logical questioning and just accept that stuff is called the way it is, looks the way it is, and that it’s a world with giant slugs and rats that look tiny kangaroos. 

I was never before able to just let that element of it slide, and once you do start analyzing it, it can almost become funny. This time I set to myself: you’re gonna watch this, you’re not gonna question anything or laugh at anything. And I’m certainly glad me, myself and I had a stern talk. 

I generally don’t dig stuff set in space all that much or with intricate fantasy worlds. But Star Wars felt different, yes it’s in space. But it doesn’t feel confined to one space, nor does too outrageous… 

There’s something so familiar about that world, something we all instinctively know of how it works and that’s almost comforting and cozy to disappear in. 

It reminded me of when I would dive into comic books when I was younger, and just disappear into them an entire afternoon, Star Wars really brings back some of that childlike wonder and awe, and in that sense, it really is a purely magical film. 

I watched A New Hope, whilst feeling a little under the weather, and the afternoon passed incredibly quickly, which is what good films do: they make you unaware of time and space. It’s over two hours run time, actually felt quite short this time. And I can’t wait to check out the other ones as well. 

But to return to my previous point, part of why it’s so fun to disappear in and probably part of its enduring appeal and popularity is its coziness, the really lived in vibe of it all. The title also helps in this, by adding Episode to its title, it feels like being into introduced to a world that has always been there and that we’re just stumbling into it. 

It also doesn’t present us with any storylines, or conventions that are hard to grasp. You get an instinctive feel of the world and its rules and conventions. When it comes down to it, it really is a simple story of good vs evil, with the classical plot point of saving a princess thrown into the mix. 

The fun thing is that it does subvert some of these classical conventions, in any other story princess Leia would have waited passively for her rescue, whilst here she actually consciously chose to fight and resists until the end. At least in the first one, you don’t exactly find out why the empire is precisely so evil and why they want to rebel against it, but I figured it was just some sort of space equivalent to a fascist regime that wants to rule each and every one of the territories around it. Imperialism in space, heavy… 

The first time watching this, I questioned all of that too much, but this time I was like, okay the empire is run by some evil bastards in space, there are rebels fighting against them and they’ve got plans laid to destroy their massive weapon of mega-destruction. Which is what the empire wants to recover from the rebels, but of course, we all know Leia hid them in R2D2. 

Speaking of the robots, aside from their designs being super cute, as well as all the bleeps and blips. I loved how positively they were portrayed, no the robots are gonna take over and destroy all of us! 

That kind of film can be good, but it would be way too negative for Star Wars. Here they’re really seen as equals by the characters, and even worthy of being friends with. As well as having a personality as defined as the humans, the whole dynamic between R2D2 and 3CPO is both hilarious and heartwarming. 

And that’s again why it works so well, the lightness even the humor and all. There are moments of light bullshit almost that defy logic, like R2D2 and 3CPO talking the stormtrooper into letting them go, with the excuse of R2D2 having to go to maintenance, it’s like an almost ridiculously simple solution to the situation at hand. Lucas knows it’s nonsense, but just doesn’t care. After all, it’s part of the genre. 

If you really want to dig deep (well actually not that deep) but if you insist on an intellectual side to cinema, you’ll have realized that the force is actually one big metaphor for religion, a higher power. And that some believe in it and others don’t. Han Solo literally talks about the force in terms of: “I don’t believe in any of that hokey religious stuff”. 

But essentially it’s a metaphor for believing, for believing in something bigger than ourselves, that helps us overcome obstacles along our way. 

The whole given of The Force is actually incredibly well handled. At first sight, it seems like mumbo-jumbo - "The Force is an energy field that flows everywhere, you have to become passive and let yourself be led by it." In other words: relax and just watch what happens. 

That’s not exactly a very profound philosophy, given that it was apparently used for hundreds of years as a basis for peace and quiet in the Milky Way.

Yet it’s not bad that Lucas keeps it simple (and purposefully vague, you can see whatever you want in it) The Force is just The Force and no further bullshit. Everyone has an instinctive sense of what it is, but there are no long, pretentious monologues needed to make it work and have people grasp the concept. 

Seventies icons Mark Hamill and Carrie Fisher have the nominal main roles, and don’t do a bad job at all, their friendship comes across as believable and is very enjoyable to watch.

The chemistry between Harrison Ford and Carrie Fisher, also reveals hints of what’s to pass between the two later on in the story. The whole cast overall has fantastic chemistry with each other, you can’t really imagine that any of them got along badly in real life, they seem to be having too much genuine fun. But it is Harrison Ford who steals the show as Han Solo. It is only with his entry into the film, 45 minutes after the beginning, that everything really comes to life. All other characters are quite serious and have serious motivations. 

Princess Leia tries to save her people (although Leia is a really enjoyable character because of her boldness and sassiness), only to see her entire planet explode before her eyes. Heavy. Luke Skywalker, in turn, grew up without parents, with his uncle and aunt, who are also murdered at the beginning of the film. 

And Obi-Wan is of course little more than a wisdom-spouting old man who must stay serene at all times while scratching his beard. Han Solo, on the other hand, has absolutely no melancholy background. 

He is a mercenary, who is only out for money, and that gives him the freedom to spit out one-liners as much as he wants, to put his crooked grin on display and insult the other characters whenever he feels like it. 'Star Wars' is a series that keeps going in the direction of the bombastic.

Perhaps that is inevitable considering the genre film. The function of Han Solo's character is that he pierces through that bombast. Whenever it threatens to go all over the top, you just have to give him a scene, and immediately the atmosphere becomes lighter, more pleasant and enjoyable.

Another thing that can’t be avoided when talking about Star Wars, is just how beautifully worked out and brought onto the screen the whole universe is. While it’s all undeniably a product of its time and feels decidedly 70’s, it still holds up incredibly well and feels really realistic for its time. 

The different locations are all incredibly gorgeous to look at, and the special effects absolutely splendid. The colors and lights of some scenes is an absolute joy.  Whilst John William’s beautiful score, adds grandiosity and epicness as well as emotionally complementing certain scenes. 

Star Wars is undeniably a piece of film history that can’t really be avoided.  I wouldn’t have called it a masterpiece before, rather a very well made piece of entertainment. But now I’d have to change my view: a film can be a masterpiece, precisely for being an incredible piece of entertainment. 

"Someone Has To Save Our Skins. Into The Garbage Chute, Fly Boy."

[eldritchsurveys]

876.

5k Survey IV

151. What is louder and more annoying: 200 adults talking or one four-year-old screaming? >> I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard 200 adults talking at one time. Regardless, I’m sensory-defensive, so many things register as the same level of “too loud” for me. Both of these things would be simply “too loud”. 152. Do you believe the stories about planes, boats and people mysteriously disappearing into the Bermuda triangle? >> I find them vaguely interesting. I liked the X-Files episode about it, Gillian Anderson’s character (it wasn’t Scully, technically...) was excellent in it lol. 153. Who are you the most jealous of? >> I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it. 154. What is the happiest way you can start your day? >> In an Inworld cuddle pile. 155. Do you ever have moments where you feel like everything is all right in the world? >> Occasionally.

156. Who thinks that you are offensive? >> I don’t know who thinks I’m offensive. It’s not like people go out of their way to tell me that or anything. 157. If you had to teach a class in something, what would you be able to teach people? >> I’d rather not. I greatly prefer being a student, anyway. 158. Have you ever had a spiritual experience (an experience that cannot be explained by science)? >> I’m sure science could contrive a reasonable enough explanation for the things I experience (and if it can’t now, it probably will eventually). Regardless, I prefer my explanations, and I’ll stick to them. 159. Do you believe that this experience was truly mystical or do you think there is some scientific explanation for it, only you don’t know what it is? >> An experience being explained in a scientific fashion doesn’t prevent it from being mystical. There are plenty of mystical experiences that science has an explanation for, after all, but the people involved in those experiences keep their own counsel. I think both a mystical explanation and a scientific explanation can exist comfortably side-by-side in my brain; they’re both useful for different reasons, particularly when it comes to communicating the experience to others (I wouldn’t use a mystical explanation when speaking to a hard materialist, for example, because, like... what would be the point...?). 160. Do you get offended easily? >> I wouldn’t say that, no. But I tend to be automatically distrustful of people who seem to go out of their way to be “offensive”. Just because whatever they’re saying doesn’t directly hurt me doesn’t mean I want to hang out with someone who says the kinds of things they say. 161. Would you still love and stay with your significant other if he or she had to have a breast or testicle removed? >> I can’t imagine being affected by that sort of thing at all. 162. Do you believe in fate or free will? >> I don’t care to choose a side. I think the discourse around it is interesting. 163. Do you believe that only boring people get bored? >> Of course not. That’s a rude (and, of course, entirely inaccurate, but mostly rude) thing to say. 164. Can life change or are we all stuck in vain? >> What does this even mean? 165. What changes are you afraid of? >> The kind that cause me pain. 166. Are you a day person or nocturnal? >> I prefer to be awake in the daylight and asleep at night. 167. What one CD could you listen to for an entire week (no mixed CD’s, it must be an album)? >> Why would I even have to do this anymore? It’s 2020. 168. Which is worse, working in retail, food service, or an office? >> For me, all of them are equally bad. Well, okay, maybe food service is worse because there’s the added layer of having to handle food and be around mucky gross things. 169. What’s the coolest job you ever had? >> Manning merch tables at local shows. 170. What is one central idea that your thoughts seem to come back to? >> There is no central idea...? I’m not sure how one even determines this. 171. Have you ever wanted to be an actor/tress? >> I was one in Inworld’s first iteration, when I was physically a child. But I have never really had interest in being one in this world. 172. If you had the power to control one person and make this person do anything you wanted for a whole day, who would you pick and what would they do? >> Total power exchange is totally not my scene, I’d get bored of it way too easily. I could absolutely see myself snapping, “make a fucking decision for yourself for once” after like an hour or two, lmao. 173. What star sign are you and what is your sign like? >> Gemini. I’m not going to go into an explanation of Gemini’s commonly-recognised traits, Google can take care of that for you. 174. Did the Blair Witch Project scare you? >> I haven’t seen it. The new Blair Witch game looked vaguely interesting. 175. Are you in constant fear of death? >> Not constant. I did spend about a year or so like that, recently. It sucked pretty bad. 176. Does fear of death keep you from building a life? >> No. Sometimes I get that bone-deep “what’s the point” feeling, but like... that feeling will just have to exist on its own while I go ahead and keep doing stuff. I can’t give in to that. 177. Do you like all your movies to be in wide-screen? >> I’m not sure what the alternative is, or what the difference is or whatever. 178. Are you a fan of any comic books? >> Sure. 179. At what age did you attend your first funeral? >> I don’t remember. I vaguely recall one happening when I was young, but I have no idea what exact age I was. 180. What do you smell like (lotion, cologne, sweat)? >> Just... like, a person. I showered this morning, but the fragrances from soap and lotion don’t linger very long, and it hasn’t been long enough for me to start smelling like sweat or anything. So I’m somewhere in the middle. 181. What are your greatest sources for wisdom? >> Oh, you know. People. 182. When you were little, where did your parents tell you babies come from? >> My father never had that discussion with me, I figured it out from reading books. 183. What is your favorite band? >> I don’t have one. 184. What’s the best cheesy 80’s song? >> Come On Eileen. /picks one at random 185. What’s the best kind of movie to see on a date? >> I’m not the person to ask. 186. Do you like to sit in the front, middle or back of the Movie Theater? >> Back, absolutely. And woe unto the people who have the same idea and try to sit near me. 187. Have you ever been inside an abandoned building? >> Yeah. 188. Under what circumstances would you agree to work for free? >> The circumstances where I really just want to do whatever-it-is and it isn’t too intensive, I guess. And where I feel like my work is valued in some other way if not financially. 189. Candles or strobe lights? >> Candles. Although sometimes in a dark area, a candle flame dancing around on the wick will have a kind of strobe-y effect, and I hate it. 190. Do you think the Lord of the Rings movies are true to the books or did Hollywood change the story too much? >> I don’t know, I didn’t read the book. 191. When you see a stranger on the street does your first reaction lean towards thinking of this person as a potential friend or as a potential threat? >> I don’t think of them as a potential anything.  192. Is it natural for human beings to fear and distrust each other, or is it cultural? >> Obviously it’s cultural, or every human being in every society on earth would fear and distrust everyone else with or without cause... which... is not the case... 193. What do you really want to buy? >> Nothing. I don’t have the money to buy anything right now, anyway. 194. You have to choose. Would you be happier marrying someone rich for their money or living in the streets and subway tunnels with someone you love? >> God, do I hate this question. First of all, neither money nor love are “everything”, but “love” is work, not some kind of magic bubbly gushy feeling that happens no matter what, and that work starts to take a backseat when all one’s energy is devoted to simply surviving from day to day. How do I know? Take a wild guess. Second of all, the question doesn’t take into account whether you can also love someone you’ve married for the sake of financial security. (Spoiler: remember, love is action and will and intent, not magic, so yeah, you can.) Third of all, can I stress that there’s nothing fucking romantic and movie-like about being homeless? Because sometimes I feel like people imagine “we’ll share a cardboard box and be free of the shackles of modern society <3″ or some shit and meanwhile I’ve seen homeless couples, many homeless couples. I’ve been homeless couples. It sucks. That’s the end of the story. It sucks. (There’s probably similar romantic notions about marrying some tycoon and being a kept lady/boy, or whatever, which do not at all measure up to the reality. I’m sure a lot of people end up abused and neglected and miserable in their gilded-cage master bedrooms, afterwards. But since that’s not my experience, it wasn’t the focus of my fathomless ire with this question, lol.) 195. If someone wanted to understand you what book could they read that would help? >> That’s not going to happen. 196. Do you think it’s odd that Americans have freedom of religion and yet call themselves ‘one nation under god’? >> I don’t think it’s odd because I’m pretty used to how the United States works in that respect. I know it operates under conservative, Christian hegemony while playing the role of secular, progressive Western nation on the outside.

197. In what sense are you a minority? >> I’m Black, disabled/neuro-atypical, socially considered female, trans, and queer. I think that covers it. 198. Are you anti social? >> No. I have a few asocial behaviours and inclinations, but I’m not anti-social. 199. Do you photograph well? >> Sometimes. Not often, in my opinion. 200. Do you think that human beings would survive through a nuclear winter? >> I don’t know. I’m not knowledgeable enough about either human biology (and psychology) or the specifics of nuclear winter to say.

[knightofbalance-13]

AKA Insult The Audience and Characters While Wasting Time

http://delvindeep.tumblr.com/post/164570714739/ive-been-thinking-about-the-world-of-remnant

i’ve been thinking about the world of remnant series and how they could have implemented that worldbuilding into the series proper. here’s a few ideas

Which are all just the same version of “one guy asks another guy for exposition” same as literally every other show in existence which WOR is able to subvert and avoid the pitfalls of the ordinary exposition.

dust: the story literally opens in a dust shop. show ruby buying some, having a chat with the shop owner. “is this for raw use, miss, or ammunition?” “yeah, it’s for my baby.” “your baby?” “the scythe” etc. if you actually need us to know the history of its use and how humanity doesn’t know where it came from, give it to us in one of port’s lectures. we don’t have to hear the whole thing; just a couple of key lines, then it fades into background noise as jaune starts hitting on weiss again or some shit because that’s apparently more important than establishing your lore

Except why would Port or anyone be teaching them such basic elements of dust when they are already in an advanced school for this sort of thing and thus would have already had this drilled into their skulls years ago? That’s insulting to the characters for thinking hey are that stupid and insulting to the audience for believing we wouldn’t catch onto that. Also, i guess you’re fine with a shit ton of flaws in the animation since they had to waste time getting lines for the teachers and the students as well as animating all of that. Unless you want to nix a fight scene or a plot point because RWBY is already stretched for time as it is.

kingdoms: did we even need this one? the show already tells us there are four kingdoms called atlas, mistral, vacuo and vale, that atlas is militaristic, that huntsmen academies train huntsmen (no shit) and that life outside the borders is dangerous. see, they know how to do it already!

Except we don’t know WHY Atlas is built that way, we know nothing about Mistral Vale of Vacuo, we don’t know why their actions of treating Huntsmen like soldiers is so looked down upon and why peopel are so on edge with them. That excludes a lot of the tiny details that really enrich the lore such as Atlas having risen up from the snow to become the new captial of the Kingdom or how Vacuo has a different morality than the other two kingdoms due to the harshness of their area. COngrats, you wasted time and money for a much worse, more boring, more drap version of what we already got.

grimm: instead of starting with the dust shop scene, start with some redshirt nomads. one complains that he doesn’t feel safe travelling at night, another makes fun of him, they start arguing, someone else steps in and tells them to shut up because fear and anger will draw the grimm, which it does. if it’s important to know that they don’t attack animals, show some animals, which the grimm ignore after killing all the humans. the shit about older grimm getting smarter is already in the show, the shit about them evaporating when they die is in the show, and the shit it being impossible to keep them captive is contradicted by the show

Okay then, fork over about a thousand dollars to cover the cost of the voice acting and animation. or better yet, do it yourself so that the CRWBY don’t have to stretch themselves out even further. Oh, and listen as the fans complain on and on about there being no new episodes or anything because there is no WOR to tide them over, thus weakening their suspension of disbelief, thus forcing you to maker more detailed lore, thus more time, more gaps, more annoyance and so on until the show is dead.

aura: this is all in the show already. pyrrha gives jaune a hamfisted exposition dump about aura that he shouldn’t need.

Except what exactly it is, what it does, what Sembelnces are, the types of Sembelnces asd well as build up for Salem.

vytal festival: work the origins of the festival into ozpin’s speech instead of that stupid attempt at explaining the colour names

The listen as people bitch on and on about the color names as well as the info they will inevitably forget about since that means they’ll get it a whole yera before needed. Also, that takes longer so cough up more money or time or have a shitter product.

huntsmen: nothing of substance here that we didn’t already know

Except that Huntsmen aren’t the noible heroes that we see which helps ease people into the tonal shift of Volume 3 as well as humanizing the product.

ccts: look, let’s be honest. the only reason this is here is to explain why cinder’s plan is going to work. like, was there even the slightest question about what was going to happen when they ended the episode with “if one tower goes down then they all do”

the point is, it shouldn’t be so difficult to hint at what the villain is up to that you have to shove it into a side series. just stop having your villain be vague as fuck about everything for the sake of cultivating mystique

Then spend an entire season having the villain detail every single step of their plan with the complexities and all the twists and see if there are still people around. Also, that doesn’t explain why the CCT is so important so you still have to do that so fork over more money or time.

four maidens: this is more of a standalone short than supplemental infodumping, so i dunno if it should count. not that it would matter anyway because the maidens subplot already comes out of fucking nowhere

So9 impliment it into the story which already has fast pace for no reason, kill the pacing and the mood as well as remove the story book element about them. Also, personally work on the series to make up for the week of time they lost because there is nothing there to fill the gap, fork over the money to cover up the removal or personally take responsibility for it.

vale: mostly boring geographical waffle that is unlikely to ever be important. no elegant way to work it into the show, but on the other hand, you don’t need to

Thus the world feels flatter and emptier with no explanation for what happened when teh series gave the tone of doing so, thus losing audience interest and something that made the series unique.

the other kingdoms: we know everyone’s headed to mistral. presumably they’ll be spending some time there. show us the culture when they arrive. are we ever gonna visit the other two? if so, do the same for them. if not, it doesn’t matter much

Wow, you must have some deep pockets or as much free time as possible to be willing to foot the bill for all of this new footage and audio and voice lines and brainstorming and editing that this would all entail. Surely you wouldn’t ask a studio to bankrupt themselves just to do stuff you’d never ask of any other show right?

between kingdoms: it’s in the show! grimm running wild outside the kingdoms is in the show! bandit attacks are in the show! grimm moving in afterwards is in the show! it’s all there already!

Except the specifics of the grimm attacks, why people move outside pof the kingdoms, why there are bandits, how they get supplies and their interactions with the Grimm.

faunus: you know when oobleck is talking about the faunus war? you know when he stops for a minute to ask if any faunus have been discriminated against, and velvet raises her hand, and he’s like “oh, that sucks. anyway, back to what i was talking about”? you know how that part was a total waste of time? cut it. talk some more about the origin of the human-faunus conflict before everyone starts going on about night vision. you could even work some development for blake in there. oobleck asks if anyone knows how and when faunus exploitation began, and blake gives a long, bitter, opinionated answer

Ah yes, because one minute of dialogue to segway into a plotline can  be cut out and around ten minutes of exposition about fanaus history, biology and interactions with the humans can be shoved into that space. Except no, it can’t be so that’s more money and/or time you must be willing to give up to add in what no one asked for. As well as teh all teh angry fans who will yell at you for thinking they were stupid enough to think the characters didn’t know that as well as making all the characters into people with the memory of a fruit fly.

schnee dust company: i feel like this could have been a character moment for weiss. she probably never met nicholas. the only sdc she’s lived with is the one run by jacques. finding out that it was once an honest business run by a good, brave man could be a big turning point for her. “i want to be out there overseeing expeditions like granddad did. i want to change this company back to what it was.” and bam. now being a hunter isn’t just about annoying daddy anymore

Except that why she would even fight against her father in the first place, why she would consider the schhnee name noble at all or how she would miss all this, make the plot hole with her mother even fucking bigger than before, makes Weiss look like an idiot for not looking into her family’s past and, again, kills her motivation so we have a walking contradiction in the show as a main character.

And that’s not even getting into how there are some people who PREFER WOR over ordinary exposition.and thus changing that pisses them off as well as kills the pacing of RWBY. Thus changing something for an, at bets, equal result as before.

Yeah great job on the suggestion.

[mintchocolateleaves]

We’ve Only Just Begun (4/??)

Summary: The world comes to a halt, everything torn apart, All-Might left as dust, Deku the last hero left standing. In this world the villains win. In a fit of desperation, Midoriya Izuku turns the clocks back. In a fit of desperation, he rewrites everything. TimeTravel!AU

[Beginning]     [Previous Chapter]

Before

“They said they'll meet us in Tokyo, right?” Uraraka says, breathless, grief already lacing her voice. Izuku knows well enough that denial will be her coping mechanism.

He also knows from the way she refuses to let herself cry, that her denial will be enough to get them killed. It's how she's gotten the scar that runs down her stomach, a pink raw line that stretches against her leg. He's not going to let her refusal to accept their friends' deaths lead them into any traps.

Not again.

“Uraraka. They're not going to meet us there.”

Her resulting laugh is strained, laced with despair as she turns to face him. She stares – practically begging – for him to go along with the illusion she is attempting to weave.

“Of course they are,” Uraraka mumbles, and there is something akin to hysteria in her voice. It bubbles, rises from her throat, catching on the tip of her tongue. “They're not liars, Deku. They said-”

“They're not liars, no.” Izuku agrees, narrowing his eyes. He pockets the transmitter, bites the inside of his cheek and attempts to think a way around this revelation. It's impossible – there's only one outcome of those raids and they both know it. “They're dead.”

Uraraka recoils at the statement, trips over her feet. Banging her elbow on a piece of rubble she lets out a yelp, alarmed as the rock digs into her skin. The second she recovers from the shock, she scrambles to her feet, glaring through narrowed eyes.

It burns. “We don't know that.”

“Yes,” Izuku replies, “we do.”

Disbelief. Uraraka doesn't look at him, but it's present on her face, pure refusal to believe anything other than the best. Shouldn't she know by now not to be so hopeful?

“They never came back for the transmitter,” he says, voice harsh, not the gentle tone he'd have used once. Maybe he's just tired, maybe he knows he can't be empathetic any more without tearing himself apart, piece by piece. When the silence stretches in on itself, he continues, “they didn't come back for it. And Kacchan's transmitter is offline too.”

“They-”

“They're either dead Uraraka,” Izuku says, firmly, “or as good as dead.”

He offers her a hand, the closest thing to comfort he can give without leaving himself vulnerable. “It's just us now. Let's not waste their information.”

Uraraka nods. Takes his hand before wrapping both arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest. She's shorter than he is – has been ever since Izuku had hit that one growth spurt in their third year at U.A – but it's not just her height that makes her seem small. The news has hit, makes her shoulder curl inward.

“Tokyo then,” Uraraka whispers.

“Tokyo.” Izuku agrees.

After

The hero team wins.

Izuku deflates at the words. He feels them like a slap to the face, as if the sting is enough to bring him back to the present moment.

This is not a fight against villains, it's a fight against children. A strategy game intended to make them better at fighting, to turn them from amateurs into full blown heroes. It's not something to be proud of, even if Uraraka's lips lift upwards into a grin as she jumps up and down in excitement.

Heroes don't win, Izuku thinks, as he turns to Uraraka and feigns his own happiness. They always lose – because by the time they show up, something has been stolen, whether it be innocence, or valuables or... or life.

“The losing team is unscathed,” All-Might's voice blasts through the speakers of the training building, something that leaves Izuku's smile thinning into a sad smile, his eyes turning to the rubble around them. How long, he wonders, has it been since a battle has ended without severe injuries. “The winning team, however, seem to be out for the count.”

Izuku turns, glances over at Uraraka. She's on her knees, trying to deal with the queasiness that comes with using her quirk too much. Other than that though, she doesn't look injured. He turns then, glances at one of the surveillance cameras to where he knows All-Might must be watching.

“Oh no, Uraraka's just feeling a bit queasy, she's fine.” He sends a smile and gives the camera a thumbs up, before his expression falters. Then, he tilts his head, “...wait... did you mean me?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Iida stands up. The boy steps closer, a frown creasing his forehead as he makes his way towards Izuku. He stops in front of him, lips tight in a grimace as he narrows his eyes. Iida says, “of course All-Might is talking about you, you're... you're injured Midoriya!”

Izuku glances down at himself, at that is when it really clicks.

His suit has practically melted, he's severely burnt, and the thing that's been distracting him slightly, is his own pain as each neuron screams at the next, echoing the fact that he's in agony. Well... not so much agony, but Izuku definitely feels it, and has to lock his jaw to keep from reacting.

Izuku waits a moment, counts to five, and then lets out a small laugh. He says, “I'm okay, really. Nothing a bit of ice won't heal.”

The look he receives is nothing short of bafflement. Iida places both hands on Izuku's shoulder, hesitantly, as if to avoid causing any further pain, before saying, “ice reduces swelling, but not to this extent... Midoriya... you need to go to recovery girl.”

Izuku supposes he'll have to, but for now, he's going to help Uraraka up.

“Hey,” he says, offering her a hand, the skin feels raw, but it's doesn't hurt too much when he pulls her up, so he figures he should be fine. “we did great.”

Uraraka sends him a look filled with only doubt. But she is standing, and so is Izuku – and even better yet, the only person actually injured is him – so he decides to negate it. He offers her a grin, pulls her out to where Iida and Bakugou are stood, waiting for All-Might's grading verdict.

Last time, Iida had been the VIP of the match. Izuku doubts it'll turn out any differently.

“No seriously,” he babbles, as they meet with their two classmates, “we couldn't have won without your quirk Uraraka.”

Uraraka smiles, and the movement is shy. Izuku squeezes her hand, offers a smile, before they stop. He wonders how long they'll have to wait for All-Might's verdict, whether he'll be conscious enough after recovery girl uses her quirk on him to watch the other matches his classmates will carry out. Probably not, he's sort of... lacking energy today.

“I've come to my decision,” All-Might says, and his voice is a boom in their ears, too loud for their ear pieces to handle without leaving their ear drums buzzing afterwards. “The VIP from this match, is Uraraka!”

There's a small gasp of air from beside him, and maybe Izuku has deflated due to this match, but Uraraka has practically inflated. She lets out a small laugh, uncertain, before turning to Izuku and grabbing both of his hands. She gets a little too close for Izuku's liking, but her happiness makes it easier to bear, if only a little.

“I'm the VIP Deku,” she says, and Uraraka shakes him slightly in her excitement, “I can't believe it. Me!”

Izuku smiles.

It's not an unexpected result though, not if he thinks it over. Out of the two groups, only the Hero team had worked together. And Uraraka had adapted to each of Izuku's plans with little confusion. Unlike the first time they'd fought the match, she'd been on guard too – well, mostly – not getting distracted or letting the situation run away with her.

And well – she's unharmed too. If only a little sickly from the overuse of her quirk.

Her being the star of the match is only expected, but still, she glows.

Izuku thinks that maybe Uraraka hasn't won much before. It's almost sweet how much it makes her feel happy. Her expression is one that he wants to protect, the innocence, the pure giddiness she feels at being recognised by their teacher for having performed well in the fight.

Izuku can't let her lose that. Not again.

“Yeah,” he says, and he feels heavy on his feet, pain making his vision blurry, “you're deserve it, you know?”

He doesn't hear her reply.

Everything goes black, and he faintly recalls the feeling of unconscious grabbing hold of him, but mostly, it happens in the time it takes to blink – milliseconds, and he's gone.

He wakes to the sound of All-Might talking to Recovery girl.

They're talking about him, about how he's only been a student two days but has already been in the medical wing three times. Maybe it's inevitable, Izuku thinks, he's never been particularly good at escaping trouble without receiving at least one new injury.

He's tired though, absurdly so. It's a feeling that drags him down, makes it difficult for him to sort through his thoughts. It's almost like he's forcing himself to search through murky water for a penny, it's impossible.

Instead, he blinks until his eyes feel less heavy. Glances around the white medical room. His arm is linked to an IV, and it's itchy against his skin, but Izuku's isn’t stupid enough to rip it from his arm. He hardly wants to bleed out, and he doesn't have the energy to press against the hole in his arm until blood congeals and seals the puncture.

His arms don't feel so burnt any more.

Which is probably good, considering the sting he'd felt. A glance at his skin shows that it's slightly red – like a faint sunburn, but it's not as severe as he supposes it must have been to make his pass out. Damn... that means he must have missed the other fights.

And he'd almost been hoping he'd be able to watch them this time...

It doesn't matter, he supposes – after all, he already knows their fighting styles. Just not how much they've developed them so far. Maybe he should know, should remember, but frankly it's been so long and most things about UA come back to him in a haze.

“Midoriya, my boy!” All-Might seems to notice that he's regained consciousness, and he steps away from recovery girl – away from the scolding he'd been receiving for not teaching Izuku to use All-for-One without injuring himself – turning to his student. “You're awake.”

And Izuku, barely conscious, finds himself muttering. “All-Might... It's really you.”

All-Might coughs. He looks small too, when he's living his life as Toshinori Yagi, unable to stay in the inflated body his fans know him to wear. It's not a quiet small though, Izuku thinks, but rather a strong and determined small.

Izuku has missed it. Has missed being able to see his mentor without it being a memory he's conjured from his head to convince him to keep going.

“Of course it's me Midoriya,” All-Might responds. He looks confused for a moment, but it's not overly worried. “Who else would it be?”

Who else indeed.

“Sorry,” Izuku says, and he smiles sheepishly, “I think I'm still half asleep. And it's not until I fully wake up that I convince myself this isn't a dream.”

He's not even been here a day and already the pressure is loading itself onto his shoulders. Izuku will be able to deal with it, he's dealt with worse, but until then...

“It's not a dream, my boy,” All-Might says, “you're going to become a hero.”

Ah. Yes – he must be thinking that Izuku is excited about becoming a hero, that he thinks attending U.A high is just a dream. Which... well it was, once. Somewhere between then and now, it'd changed into something more desperate. The dream twisting into a nightmare until the only thing he'd desired was to survive.

“Yeah.” Izuku says, and he knows he should smile at this point, but he closes his eyes instead, tries not to grimace. “I'm going to be a hero, and I'm going to save everyone.”

All-Might doesn't respond. He probably thinks that Izuku's fallen asleep again. He doesn't sleep though, remains awake listening to his breathing until Recovery girl wakes him up and tells him class has come to an end.

He has to grab his bag to leave for the day, but Izuku doesn't think he'll be able to do so rather quickly. He pulls half heartedly at the bandages around his wrists, something just to ensure the burns that haven't fully healed yet won't grow agitated, but it doesn't offer any comfort.

Izuku's classmates, he knows, will be waiting for him.

Last time, they had offered him sympathy for losing his match against Kacchan. Kirishima has offered to spar with Izuku until he felt more confident in his fighting technique, but he'd never really taken him up on it. Had felt far too embarrassed about losing. Now, he's not sure whether he'd be able to actually say yes – not without letting them see the skills he's picked up.

Although... Izuku will need to reteach himself certain techniques, moves that had relied on instinct and quicker reaction times...

“Oh, it's Midoriya!” Kirishima is the one who drags his attention from his thoughts, as he opens the doors. He looks impressed, as he leans forward, glancing at the smaller boy. “You're fight was epic.”

Izuku offers him what he hopes looks like a shy smile. “...Yeah?”

“Definitely!” Ashido jumps in as he makes his way towards his desk, grabbing his bag. She fist pumps the air in excitement, offers a grin. “You dodge really well.”

“And those moments when he just went straight into the flames!” Tsuyu adds, joining the mini crowd around him.

“Oh yeah man,” Sato says, “I wouldn't have the balls to do that!”

They introduce themselves after that, which... would have been useful if he didn't already know them. Izuku rubs the back of his neck, and grins, feels awkward about the entire thing. He'd actually been trying to hold back... but had he still done too much?

“I grew up with Kacchan, that's all,” he says. “I know some of his tells.”

Some tells meaning, all of the tells he'd had as a teenager.

“But still!”

Izuku tunes the praise out, and he grabs his bag. He interacts when it's his turn to speak, but his mind is on other matters. Like Kacchan's who's probably leaving school already. And the home he's going to have to step inside when he leaves the school gates behind.

“I'm sorry,” he says, waving his hand in what he hopes looks like an apology, “but I need to go catch up with Kacchan before he leaves. Can we pick this up tomorrow?”

His classmates seem very understanding – Uraraka states that they'll have to work together another time, and Kirishima still asks if they could train together some time, and Izuku leaves the classroom behind feeling both happy and lonely at the same time.

First he needs to deal with Kacchan.

He finds him just outside of the school building. The other boy's shoulders are slumped slightly, and he kicks at a pebble as Izuku calls his name, trying to grab his attention. It works, but Kacchan doesn't turn to look at him. He stops walking though, and Izuku thinks maybe that's enough.

Now, he just needs to think of what to say.

His quirk – something about that, he supposes. He can't spend much time with Kacchan thinking he's been fooled for years, so he should say something about that. And then, he should also mention the fight in a way that doesn't sound boastful...

Ah, why is it difficult to deal with teenagers?

“Listen,” Izuku says, racing down the steps, nearing to Kacchan, “I can't tell you much, because it's not my secret to tell. But... I've not been lying to you – This quirk... It was given to me.”

Kacchan turns to face him. He glares.

Izuku thinks that it's prompt enough to keep going. He says, “I only won today because Uraraka and I worked together. I wouldn't have won against you by myself-” a lie, but Kacchan needs a little ego boost after a loss like this, “so... next time, let's fight just you and me. Okay?”

The glare deepens.

“Goddammit,” Kacchan growls, and if Izuku's right, there are tears in his eyes. He decides not to comment on them. “I don't understand what you're saying at all. Gifted power? Listen, I lost to you today, but next time... I won't lose to you again, got it Deku?”

Izuku nods, and Kacchan turns away, stomps down to the gates.

Now that he's dealt with Kacchan – one difficult task checked off the list – he thinks over what he's got to do next. The thought fills him with dread, the next task that he won't be able to put off. He has to go home for the day. And he'll have to pretend everything is fine.

He has to go home.

[Next Chapter]