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hellowoolf · 9 months

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on strawberries and masonry: chapter iv

series summary: you atone for your sins, now, in a jackson garden, learning to care for soft things and yourself. joel miller is a lethal sort of similar, and misery loves company

you live in jackson and meet joel and you’re both damaged little babies and fall in love (but i’m drawing this shit out🫶🫶)

warnings: angst, age gap (reader late 20s/early 30s, joel 50s), mention of killing, mention of knives, SMUT, thigh riding/dry humping (…), fingering, pussy eating, some feelings…. (as always, let me know if i missed any !!)

word count: 5k

authors note: and so here's the thing about this is that-🏃🏼‍♀️💨💨

series masterlist | masterlist

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you wake up with a tug between your legs and your hand around your throat. you smile at the space of your room; you fucked joel yesterday. he was unflinching and hard, concrete under your inky wetness, but you walked away leaving him stained, you know, and this is enough. at last, you feel you’ve marked him just as irreparably as he has you (you cannot linger on this thought for too long).

you killed yesterday, too. sliced someone open at your feet just as you did all those years ago, left the body to rot with the rest of the mold outside jackson’s walls, and the ease of it certainly should frighten you, but the great lifting of your fuzzy secret from your shoulders lightens you as you pull yourself out of bed. joel knows the whole of you now, and in your first moments of consciousness this morning you can admit that the bareness of that pleases you.

you’re off patrol today, jesse insistent on beginning his rounds, so he and noah have inherited your and joel’s route for the day; maria figured the early light would make the induction less horrifying than it is. you want joel again, you think, maybe once the sun’s gone down, and move through your kitchen on your first free day in months.

of course, joel has always seemed attuned to your most secret thoughts, and so when you open your front door to greet your little fruits in the morning sun—you did this so little, these days—he’s there, waiting for you. the curls of his hair reach out every which way and you want to run your fingers through them again like you did yesterday, but he looks worried, almost frantic, so you refrain. there’s mud cupping around his boots and track marks behind him in the newly thawed dirt, like he’s been walking circles outside your doorstep.

“hey, are you o-”

“can i come inside?”

something in your stomach turns over. you step aside to let him through. he paces across the floor, hands tightened into balls and then running over his jaw.

“listen, baby, i been thinkin and i don’t think we can do that again. what we did yesterday. i…you’re tommy’s friend, and ellie likes you so much, and you’re half my goddamn age i mean, jesus.” he says all of it with his back turned to you, but spins to face you, now. “we go on patrol and i…i don’t mind your company, really, but it can’t, i can’t. we can’t.”

joel is sort of winded with the words. you flare up, first, with a searing anger—you’d murdered and confessed and given yourself to him, and it’s taken joel all but 12 hours to decide none of it was worth it. and it was so good, you want it again without compromise. you flinch to lash out, to yell and scream and plead with him.

but then you think of baby. baby. baby is an artifact of the act of yesterday, of him inside you and the stretch and the warmth. despite the rest of it, you know you have him, with baby you have him. so you allow him this moment, allow him to believe himself righteous and you willing to let it go.

“okay, sting. it’s fine.”

because he knows you—an unintentional mistake, but one that will kill you someday, surely—he looks unconvinced. “fine?”

you hum. joel’s knuckles are white with the fists he’s formed at his sides, and you’re certain if you asked him to open them there’d be crescent marks in his palms. you almost break, looking at his tightness there, almost grin at him and laugh that it’s inevitable he will fuck you again, it’s inevitable. but he looks so disconcerted here, a few steps from your doorway. you nod, solemnly, wetness collecting between your legs thinking of when he’ll take you next.

“yeah, joel, come on, i’m a big girl.” he rustles. “it doesn’t have to be a big deal. we can forget it happened.” no we can’t. and it’s your internal dialogue, but joel seems to hear it, too, because he rocks back and forth on his heels, waiting, it seems, for you to convince him further. you say nothing, shifting your weight onto one leg. he nods, to you and himself, and gulps down a sigh.

“alright,” and then more sure, “alright.” he walks to your door, half-turns his face to you with a hand on the knob. “thank you, darlin.”

once he’s gone, out through the door with his musk wafting down your hallway, you consider yourself, and the mud he tracked inside. you know he’ll seek you out again, from how off-put he seems with you now, and the way he twitched in his jeans, but still, a part of you bleeds, wounded at his attempt at rejection. what is wrong with you? it is strictly physical, you repeat to yourself for the millionth time since he came back to jackson. you think of leaving the dirt he streaked on your floor, a reminder that he came for you, but this is precisely the fear, the fear of wanting him for more than what he can give you, and so you move to wipe it up. you figure that joel is likely right; however this ends, it will be widely destructive and perhaps unfixable. but you’re right, too. it felt too good, and you’re both too unforgivable, to feign goodness now. something like giddiness bubbles up in your stomach—even against the doom you’re so adept at conjuring and the deep shadows joel casts, you’re eager, elated, thinking of him and how he touched you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the next day, you and joel return to your rounds like normal. like normal. almost normal. you talk at him from horseback, call him sting because you felt how it made him harder against your dripping seam, and he grunts responses back at you, doing his best, you feel, to believe in the normalcy.

but he watches you. you suppose he might have always eyed you this way, but it’s more feral now, unconcealed. you catch him glancing at your ass as it bounces on the saddle, the curve of your neck when you lean down, the grip of your fingers on the reins. your arousal grates at you, screams from your cunt and up your spine, and you hush it with tenderness. you will be sated again.

“so you heard about tommy and maria?”

joel bristles a little. “yeah, i did.”

“what, you aren’t happy for them? have a heart, sting, he’s your brother,” you smile.

he gives you a tight lipped grimace back. “yeah, and he’s irresponsible, thinks himself a fuckin hero.”

“no, not a hero. he knows himself too well to think that. he’ll be a good father, you know that.” joel stays quiet, and you look him over on his horse. the breeze makes space for the ghost he saddles up with, the one you’ve yet to meet. he is so brittle, always, but you remember how he’d asked where to touch, how intent he’d been on gentleness, at least at first. so you say, “you’ll be a good uncle, i think.”

joel looks at you surprised, and then down at his hands. you’re learning the language of his face; you watch him turn his hands over, reins slung through them, the both of you measuring their size. you’re slapped across the face with that devastatingly terrible want to hold him, the one you felt when he came to you about ellie, though you can’t bring yourself to cut through it as mercilessly as you did then.

“i hate to be the one to tell you, but you aren’t as horrifying as you think you are.”

this shakes him, but so too does it brush some of the mournfulness from his shoulders. joel looks back up at you, a little amused and a lot guarded, and says, “yeah? is that what i think?” he’s deflecting, shielding himself with your shared sexual tension, but you let him.

you hum, grinning. “mhm. you walk around like you’re this big awful beast.”

“i think i might be.”

“well, there are worse things to be.”

joel snorts. you think he likes when you criticize him. “and you’re the authority on this, huh, darlin?”

you twist a little in your seat, your own wetness more insistent. you do your best to smirk, look unaffected, defiant. “yeah, i think i am.”

he shakes his head, smiling more in earnest, trying to keep the ends of his mouth down. “you’re somethin, baby, i’ll give ya that.”

the pet names seem to come naturally now, coming and going as they please, and you notice him shift in his saddle. you know he’s just as coiled up as you are now, can feel the buckle of his body under the memory of you beneath him. you urge yourself to be patient, to wait him out, bate him to you, and let silence fall over the both of you as you trot back down to jackson, hoping the quiet soothes the sparkling ends of your open wiring.

it’s not until you dismount in your horse’s stall, saddle shucked to the side, and walk out to meet joel outside the stables that you’re struck with how immediate the inevitability you’re both playing with is.

he notices your limp—slight, nearly imperceptible to anyone other than him, and far better than it’d been the day before—only as you pad over, his side leaned against the doorway. you make it to him, his features strung together and mouth open slightly, and with frustration that teeters on offense he says, “why are you walkin like that?”

you look down at your legs and back up at him. you can feel your heartbeat in your pussy. “walking like what?”

joel rubs a hand over the side of his face and huffs, lowly and enunciative, “you know what the fuck i’m talkin about. why are you walking like that?”

you know you won’t get the words out properly, so you keep your eyes on him and stay silent. he brings a hand to grab around your jaw, and it reminds you of that night on his porch with the strawberries, but this time he keeps it there, squeezes, inspects the push of your skin. he whispers a goddamnit, mainly to himself, and then pulls your face closer to his and you breathe into each others mouths.

“this real? are you—fuck—are you fuckin limping? or are you tryin to set me off?”

you don’t hesitate. “real.”

joel nearly growls at you, and gives your head one last tug before he drops it. “let’s go,” he grits out, and starts storming towards what you know is his house. a shudder runs through you and you feel yourself clench around nothing; a part of you makes to refuse him, to decline to follow behind him like you need him for the sake of stubbornness and point-proving. in the end, though, you let yourself be led, for the knowing that you’re pulling at him in someplace irremediable.

as soon as you walk through his door he’s got a paw on your bicep, pressing his fingers deep into your flesh, and another at your throat, holding lightly to keep your head close to his. you push your face forward to feel his tongue in your mouth, but he ducks his chin back as he hauls you to the couch in his living room, giving you a satisfied mm-mm and a shake of his head. he sits himself in the center and pulls you down onto one of his thighs, running his hands up and down your sides, under your ass, up around your tits, pressing and pulling. you duck your lips down to his again but he catches you by the throat.

“no kissin this time.”

you whine in response, but he presses his thigh up and the friction on your clit through your clothes makes you mewl. you drag your cunt, soaked through, along his pant leg, and tip your head back with a moan. “i thought you wouldn’t fuck me again,” you say, breathy and mainly to his ceiling.

joel groans watching you, pulling your hips back and forth along his thigh. “an’ i won’t.”

you grip his shoulders and glide your pussy on him, hoping he feels the wetness and unbearable heat there.

“but-”

he lets a breath out hot along your collarbone and you arch further into him. “but nothing. keep going. make yourself come on me,” he pants.

you’re sure you’ll draw blood, even through his coat, with your hold on his shoulders. your moans grow high pitched and loud, wrecked, as pleasure pulls through your limbs and swirls around your clit. and it’s so good, but your self-destructive insistence still finds a way out, between moans letting out “joel, i-” but joel moves the hand on your throat to your jaw, pulling your mouth open with his thumb and pushing the tip in. you swirl your tongue around it, accepting silence and accepting him at last, and he moans wildly as you suck on his finger.

“please darlin, just give me this, just let me watch,” and he sounds so fucking desperate you can’t help but move faster, pressing yourself further into his leg and feeling the dampness you leave in your wake. you move like that, his thumb in your mouth and watching you, intently and mercilessly, while you pant and mewl with your clothed cunt rutting along his jeans, until you feel your orgasm tapping down your shoulder blades.

“jesus, darlin, you’re soakin me, fuck, you see that?”

you nod, his thumb corking any foul response you could possibly throw back at him.

“you need it that bad? sweet thing,” he purrs into your neck.

from around joel’s finger, you moan, “oh god, joel, i’m gonna come.”

joel grunts and groans back at you, “that’s it, baby, make a mess, fuck.”

you go tight and press further into him, thrusting faster and harder, and you’re so close when you realize he’s tipping his hips up and twitching as he moans, and oh fuck he’s coming from watching you. you spasm as you come, screaming into his skin as he pushes his thumb further down your tongue. the taste of his hands, the hardness of his cock as it presses into your leg when you thrust forward, the spreading heat from his come in his jeans, all of it twists you up, hot arousal dragging through you until you’re spent.

you both pant, clothes trapping your come to your body and his to him. he lets himself one deep breath in of your scent, running the curve of his nose through the light sheen of sweat glistening down your neck, before placing you next to him. he’s delicate with your body, limp and all limbs and elbows, as he sets you on the cushion, but still you feel him deflate. you’ve returned to that place at the edge of his bed, of his drowning in self-condemnation and your straining to keep him afloat.

“joel, let’s not do this again, it’s fine, you’re fine, i’m fine. what’s wrong with this?” it comes out lighter than you intend, voice still narrowed by your fading orgasm.

he clears his throat of something thick and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, but he’s not as decisive as he was that first time, and a piece of you lifts. “so much.”

“you’re just being combative now.”

he laughs, then, sort of delirious, but your cheeks warm with it anyway as he says, “it’s like i…” and then he raises his head to peer down at you, “i can’t help myself. i don’t know.”

you sigh. “are you planning on trying again? to help yourself?”

he looks around the room, mostly untouched despite your coming. “i guess so.”

you nod, brushing your pointer finger down his bicep. he doesn’t flinch. you find you aren’t angry at him, what with the overwhelming sense that it’s unnecessary. there’s a resignedness about him, one that’s unbiting and soft; it will give under your fingertip, if you push it.

“okay. come find me when you give up,” you say, and there’s no malice in it. he leans back on the couch and runs a knuckle down your hand splayed between you.

“alright.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

by the time joel looks for you again, you’re altogether impressed—he held off, this time, for a whole 48 hours. when that soft spot you prodded two days earlier finally caves in, he comes to bang on your door in the near twilight darkness. you let him in, and he insists, repeats like a hymn into your stomach as he gets on his knees, that this ain’t fucking either, and pulls your jeans off.

you don’t tell him it’s your first time having your pussy eaten; in your experience, men find the end of the world a wholly viable excuse for avoiding it. the lack of it hasn't bothered you until he presses his face into your cunt, swirling his tongue around your clit and anchoring his hands on your hips.

“oh jesus fuck oh my god, sting,” you moan, still pressed up against the wall by the door. you pull on his hair to grind yourself further onto his face and he groans into your skin “so good, darlin, so good.”

joel laves his tongue over your clit, circling and rolling it on his taste buds. you’re screaming, and hitch a leg over his shoulder. “fingers, joel, please.”

you feel him smirk, frenzied, into your cunt, tongue and teeth still eating at you there, mumbling, “say it again.”

you whine, “please, please,” but he shakes his head, and the friction pulls your spine from the wall into an arc in the air. your toes curl as the heat of his mouth spreads from your pussy through your body and you know you’ll be close soon, but you want to feel him inside. “i’ll say it as many times as you want me to, fuck, please.”

“my name, my name, say it again,” he corrects, sounding about as lost as you are.

you respond immediately, pleading, “joel, joel, joel, please, your fingers, joel,” and as he growls at the sound of his name in your mouth he pushes two fingers into your aching sex. you feel your cunt swallow them whole, pulsing and buzzing around them.

“jesus, so fuckin tight.”

you dig your heel into his back and he thrusts his fingers faster, stroking your walls and reaching for your cervix. the sound of you, around his hand and dripping down his wrist, makes you both rasp out something unintelligible. you try to mewl out something like i’m so fucking close, and joel seems to understand, nodding slightly. as you tug tighter on his hair and pleasure comes roaring at you, world humming and white as you gush, joel pulls his fingers from you to position his mouth under your hole, pushing his tongue in and out of you. you scream, at him and yourself, that it’s so good, and he moans in agreement, lapping up everything you give him.

when it’s over, you slump slightly against the wall, and he leans back on his haunches to assess you, naked from the waist down and barely standing. he looks down at the fingers he pulled from you, wetness shining here, and then back at your bare thigh. without a word, he begins to bring them up to your skin.

“joel, what are you-”

he looks possessed, almost, unresponsive, as he wipes his fingertips across you. you look down, light catching where he’s touched you. J. the sight of it makes you slide fully to the floor, something quick and beastly baring its teeth within you. the silhouette of his cock, stiff in his pants, draws you in. you feel him watching you as you stare.

“can i?”

he shakes his head, out of breath. “no.”

“please?”

“i think i really will die if i see my cock in your mouth,” he heaves, and you both sputter at the thought. you bump your head on the wall behind you and close your eyes.

“thank you, sting.”

you hear him sniff as he lifts himself from the floor. the door creaks open.

“wasn’t for you.”

he leaves you to cope with whatever that means, dripping onto your floorboards.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

neither you nor joel ever say, out loud, that your rapacious meetings are confidential, but it’s an unsaid promise you keep regardless. the moments come to you much like the strawberries, small and saccharine and due for rot, but yours. he holds you taut against the side of the stables to pet his middle and ring fingers into you, stretching you like a promise he knows he cannot keep; he finds you, before patrol and after, to fuck you on his tongue, leaving marks down the backs of your thighs, blushing letters of his restraint; a few times he allows himself the demeaned enrapture of rutting his cock, through his jeans, along the seam of your pussy, rasping out soft and terrible things about the way you look and feel. all the while he reminds you, into your clit or along your hairline, that this isn’t fucking, though you suspect he says it more for the way it reverberates through you and comes back to him.

you find yourself unused to being someone’s secret. your first, danny, was dark moments in a treeline with the rest of your group feet away; the lot of you were shameless, an incestual sort of family, and nobody minded the noises. you’ve taken a few men home in jackson, too, but they unanimously found merit in the achievement of fucking you, reclusive hermit as you have been, and set the stories of you loose to circulate through the commune the morning after. you might have minded, the first time, but in time you supposed the rumors humanized you, at least, made you more woman than you sometimes let on. besides, such objectifications never materialized; to avoid castration or some other gruesome slice of a death, the whispering always quieted as you walked past, and quickly became uninteresting. before joel, it’d been a year, at least, since you’d taken someone to bed, and now you find yourself more woman than human with him, but the rest will never hear of it. a piece of you remains convinced the secrecy, for joel, is born of his mortification, disgraced by your body and the ways he meets it; this truth is an unrelenting one that twists something smarting through your chest. the rest of you remembers the J he drew on your thigh, painted on with your own slick, and thinks (hopes, if you can be honest with yourself) that he is just as possessive of you as you have become of him.

you sit on your porch bench with a strawberry in hand, red wetness staining your skin as you slice it with your knife. ellie told you a few days ago that she saw a magazine once, with food and chefs in it, and they had a page about fruit art. the both of you laughed at how trivial that sounded, doubled over on the floor of the greenhouse, but when the laughter died out, you found yourselves shoulder to shoulder wondering how exactly one made roses out of little fruits. you make nicks in the strawberry and pull them down with the flat of your knife to fan them out. it looks much more like a little pine cone.

“the hell is that?”

you don’t have to look up to know who it is, but you can’t help watching him approach. the warmth of late spring continues to dance through jackson, and you feel a heat curl in your stomach watching his forearms press from his rolled flannel sleeves. you grin down at your strawberry.

“it was supposed to be a rose, but i don’t feel too convinced.”

the soft rumble of a laugh rings through your ears. joel pulls your open hand toward him to inspect the thing.

“hm. maybe if i squint real hard.”

you pull your hand back, biting your tongue behind your cheek to keep from beaming at him. “you’re impossible.”

“uh huh,” he smirks, and sits down next to you. a second of quiet spreads its legs between you, feline and satisfied. his breathing comes slowly, deeply, and you feel your lungs synchronize with his, continuing to cut at your strawberry and spinning it in your hand.

“why’d you come?”

joel clears his throat. “not for that.”

you hum. “just the pleasure of my presence, then?”

with a smile he tries to hide from you he says, “somethin like that.”

another open moment, the wet scratch of your fathers knife reverberating in the air. joel watches the people of jackson walk by, on their paths to food or sleep or love somewhere, squints his eyes as the horde makes its way and does not turn its head to you.

“you don’t…” he circles his thumbs together, shaping his words very carefully, “you don’t got a lotta people to talk to here, huh?”

“is that what you came here for? to ask me that? don’t be an asshole.” he shrugs. you let out a tiny huff. “i don’t know, i guess not. but i don’t do a lot of talking, so i don’t need that many listeners.”

“don’t do a lotta talkin?”

“no, not really.”

“well shit, darlin, you talk a helluva lot with me. why’s that?”

something biting sinks its teeth into you, cheeks flushing and hands closing more over the strawberry, nearly mutilated now (the both of you). “cause you refuse to say anything and the silence gets exhausting.”

“i’m exhausting?” and there’s a smile in his voice that you take in like a tonic and nearly spit back up. you will not feel this feeling, you will not.

“yes, you are,” you insist, and you know you’ve laid your cards out now with the waver in your voice, feeling him shift beside you. you think he’ll let it go.

“really…” a breath, “why d’you…talk so much to me?” the emphasis, there, to me, surprises you.

“what do you mean why?”

“i been told i ain’t good company.” you smile something tragic at your feet. he continues, “and you’re so young. pretty little thing. and you don’t have any friends your own age. it’s sort of…odd.”

you could turn around, storm inside and slam the door behind you; you consider this option. but what’s one more awful truth? what’s a million more? you seem to relinquish them all, at one point or another. pretty little thing, oh god, oh god.

“i think you’re a lot like me, sting. a lot like me.”

joel shakes his head, admonishes, “don’t say that.”

“i mean it, you are.”

“i ain’t.”

“you are! i am violent and ruthless and the killing doesn’t bother me anymore. i get nightmares and i think i’m saved, but then they slip right off. the people here are so tormented by the blood on their hands, or they have none to begin with, but i don’t even mind it. that’s so much fucking worse.” joel opens his mouth to say something but you stop him. “and that’s what you are, too. i know you’ve killed people, joel, a whole fucking mass of them just like i have. but then you’re…” and here’s the most horrific part, you brace yourself for it, “you’re sort of gentle with me. did you know that?” you look at him, now, and wish you didn’t. he winces at you like you’ve punched him square in the stomach. still, you don’t rush the words, let them crawl out slowly. “that’s not forgiveness, that’s apathy. you don’t care about the things you’ve done. and i don’t either. so i…” you make one last scoring line with your knife before setting it down, cupping the fruit between both hands and letting the juice seep out. “i guess i thought talking to you would feel good. it does feel good.”

joel’s eyes are brown and gleaming at you, and you watch as he unties the things you’ve said. he looks over your eyelashes, the bridge of your nose, at the plush of your lips, and then out onto the street ahead, slouching over. please say something, say anything.

“you got a real keen eye on you, baby.”

something heavy and unforgiven washes out of you, but he sounds like absolution, you think, with the drawl and the sugar in his words. “you think so?”

“mhm.”

the tone of his voice reaches around you, shakes a grin along your lips as you hold back deep heaves in the column of your throat. his broadness sat next to you, his unrelenting appraisals of you, it’s all deeply intimate; he twists you in his palm like you and your little fruit, but he does not slice you open. he raises a thumb to cup around the back of your head, stroking the pad back and forth along your hairline. you don’t dare move.

he whispers, “so soft here.” you shudder, and the bench creaks as he leans over. you feel the heat of his lips press, light as anything but intentional, decided, right under where he’d dragged his thumb. threading his fingers up through your hair he holds you in place, dipping his canines a moment into the line of your neck before pulling back, flickering his lips one final time on the little mark he made. goosebumps raise down your shoulders and wrists at the closeness of him, scent of his spit and skin.

you’re certain he’ll leave as he sits back in his spot, certain he’s pulled you both back to his terror of the sweetness of you. but his hand stays, he stays. you sit there, unspeaking with wet fruit in your hand, until the sun dips below the horizon, his palm behind your neck, brushing his fingers over the fading indent he left. a ravenous thing tugs below your navel, pulling your wetness out, swelling your clit in your jeans, and you greet it like an old friend. but the grip up higher, around your trachea and through your arteries, is new. the beating heart of it grows with the swipe of joel’s fingers, and you know you are fucked, but oh, you’ve fought so hard. you’re condemned to love him—you’re nearly there, it occurs to you. maybe martyrdom and death in halfway love with him is worth it, if he can keep his skin on yours.

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#joel miller #joel miller fic #fem!reader #jackson!joel #the last of us #tlou #hello woolf #on strawberries and masonry #joel x reader #joel miller smut

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colorcodedbeanies · 2 years

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S2E2-"Grilled"

Long pause between updates there. I've backlogged a bunch of episode notes that I'll hopefully be releasing in batches.

TW: Racism, elder abuse, ableism

Ok so I took these notes a few days ago and the first thing that greets me is "car looks like its fucking the sand", with the sub point "put that in the post". I hope this provides insight into the rigorous intellectual process I work with.

The cop scene is basically an endless series of hits, enough that its difficult to not just transcribe it fully. Tuco's head is mounted on a shooting target by Hank, who talks floridly about interrogating his meth-hag girlfriend and then does a whole routine about apologizing to hr for using the word "hard-on" in the presence of ladies, which is frankly only further fuel to the fire in terms of eroticism literally being criminal in Breaking Bad. He comments on Mexico, saying to general agreement "We all know what's going on down there. We sure as hell don't want it going on up here." which is just. Very interesting considering next episode is going to open with two men illegally crossing the border. Finally, when Gomez asks him if he really thinks they'll track him down, he laughs it off, commenting that its about "keeping up appearances". If he's implying that most of the DEA's work is about the appearance of stopping bad guys and saving good guys....well! He said it not me.

Skyler is hesitant about describing Walter as depressed, especially in front of his son. Even in front of the guy who (theoretically) is trying to find him and needs information, saving the face of the middle class white patriarch takes precedence. She softens it to simple stress. This is echoed again later when Marie blurts out Hank's knowledge about the second cellphone. Sure, Hank is very possibly trying not to add more emotional strain onto his sister-in-law. But he's also denying her information (and in his mind, possibly even covering for Walt's affair). They may be more comfortable possibly letting him die than they are ruining his image as a good family man.

I didn't expect to emerge out of this as a WaltTuco truther but literally what am I meant to take from Walt momentarily imagining Tuco as Skyler appearing to him and telling him that she understands.

The yard is littered with a lot of broken toys. While I'm not super thrilled with the way this visually suggests Hector as another "broken" thing in the house, I do think it lends itself into an understanding of Tuco as ultimately, a bit of an overgrown child. I don't say that to be infantilizing. Trauma, especially as a child, can freeze up your mental development a little bit. Tuco tends to approach his circumstances with a very simply and childlike logic. His paranoia (tragically unable to ever catch the actual threats) is his special powers, his visions of the future. While talking about No-Doze and Gonzo he's clearly seeking out some absolution, insisting "I was good to him! I was good!". None of this, of course, makes Tuco any less dangerous or unstable. But he's a lot more vulnerable than Walt (or arguably, the audience) gives him credit for. He takes personal betrayals of his love aso wildly personally, and seeks escape in drugs when he fails to threaten people into staying loyal to him.

So there's a clear disability horror going on with Hector. The first level of that is inherently ableism, implying that there's something unsettling about being in the proximity of someone with an atypical body and atypical means of expression. The second level (and I believe the unintentional one) is the horror movie happening inside Hector's own perspective, seeing a threat to someone who you, in your own fucked up way, love, and being unable to effectively communicate about it because Tuco is not intuitive with how he approaches Hector's communication needs. Regardless I think it is important that treating Hector like an object fucks over everyone, Walt, Jesse, Tuco, and Hank in the next episode.

Speaking of ableism, though, in a rare Jesse L he does briefly position his life as inherently more valuable than Walt's, because Walt's going to be dead soon anyways. Notably Walt does advocate for his life in a way that he did not when chemo was on the table. Still, Jesse, there are so many better reasons Walt should kill himself for your sake.

At this point I don't even need to do analysis, I can just tell you Skyler says "Marie, you don't get hooked on pot like that" and you can put the pieces together yourself. Post-War on Drugs American normalcy challenge Any% never passed never succeeded.

So I'm not going to quibble with Walt and Jesse trying to kill Tuco, or even (for once) Hank succeeding. The guy was an active threat to all parties involved and his life is taken in self-defense. But I want to highlight this line in particular: "We tried to poison you. Because you're an insane, degenerate piece of filth, and you deserve to die." Given how Walt's historically used the term I think its fair to read "degenerate" as interchangeable with "junkie". So of all the reasons Walt has decided to highlight that Tuco might need to die here....the ones he highlights are "junkie" and "mentally ill".

Jesse kicks Tuco into a hole hope this doesn't foreshadow anything in his future.

#breaking bad #brba #analysis tag #long post #walter white #tuco salamanca #hank schrader #jesse pinkman #hector salamanca #skyler white #marie schrader #brba s2 e2 #steve gomez

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abbatoirablaze · 2 years

Text

Bad Girl's Club, Chapter 28

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, sex/smut, over-intoxication, mentions of drug use, mentions of unintentional harm to a child/neglect.

“How is it that the only relationship that managed to work out was Jenna and Lances?”

Avery frowned, “Me and Johnny are still together.”

“Johnny’s been hanging around with Lily, partying with him and the rest of the guys…you know how that’s going to work out!” Jess spat angrily as she glared at Avery momentarily, “she ruined my marriage and she’s going to ruin yours too if you don’t stand up for your family.”

Guys, stop!” Jenna frowned, looking at her two sad friends who were making sure that Rose, and Avery’s two little boys were having engaged tummy time, “we’re not supposed to be talking about negative things today…it’s a happy day!”

“Easy for you to say,” Jess frowned, “you and Lance are all rainbows and sunshine. Ransom married me two months ago and now we’re getting a divorce because Lily ruined it!”

“What actually happened?” Avery asked quietly, nervously, as she feared for what type of thing Lily might be setting Johnny up in, “you’ve never told us…just kept saying it was Lily’s fault.”

“Harlan and Linda wanted to celebrate Evan’s birthday, so I stopped into Blood Like Wine, because Harlan was there for the day. We went out to lunch, and Ransom missed it. Lily insisted on having lunch with him alone, but I knew something was up…he wouldn’t answer his phone either. And when I got back with the kids, he was beyond blackout drunk, with Lily’s mom riding him. That son of a bitch now has bastard Drysdale number four cooking up in his exes stomach.”

Both of the girls gasped, shocked to hear that coming from Jess’ lips. But she only nodded, a few tears welling up in her eyes, “he didn’t even realize I’d walked in and was telling her that he loved her…telling her that he missed her while she rode him…in our bed.”

Avery bit her lip, her own anxiety growing as she looked down at her identical sons, Dominic and Alex. They were spitting images of their father with his oceanic eyes and sweet smiles, “L-Lily wouldn’t mess with anyone’s marriage…sh-“

“She messed with mine, Aves…” she spat, “and ever since she went to that stupid event last month with Sam, she’s been schlepping around Stark Tower…left Curtis for that one guy that claims he’s a god. She’ll mess with you and Johnny.”

“Johnny wouldn’t do that,” she whimpered as she played with Dominic’s little curls, “he-he wouldn’t do that…”

Jenna put her hand on her friend’s shoulder, “Jess is just upset, Avery…Johnny wouldn’t cheat on you, Avery.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t think Ransom would cheat on me either.”

“Jess…”

She sighed, picking Rose up, “you’re right though, I’m being too negative. I’m going to go feed Rose…”

“Jes-“

But she was already walking away, moving around the back of the couch and towards her diaper bag so that she could get some cloths to put between her shirt when she fed Rose.

“S-so what’s going on with you and Lance, Jenna?” Avery asked after a moment, “you always talk about how well things are going with the lecture circuit and stuff…and I know you and Lance moved in together last month…”

“Yeah,” she smiled softly, thinking about her boyfriend, “we uh…we’ve been talking about it since before graduation, and Lance and I are going to adopt…”

“What? When?”

“We-well, we met this really nice woman while I was touring and she didn’t want the pregnancy, but she didn’t have the heart to abort it…Her partner is trans, and in the middle of transitioning male to female…they didn’t think they could have children…and didn’t really want children,” she admitted sadly, “but we got to really know them, and they offered us the baby…and well, I really want to be a mom, and Lance really wants to be a dad.”

Avery gasped, “Jenna…that’s amazing…wh-when is she due?”

“Next month,” she admitted, biting her lip, “I-I didn’t know if I should tell you guys until it happened. Lance is very skittish about it, because he’s worried they’ll see the baby and want to keep him.”

“You know the baby’s going to be a boy?”

She smiled, “yeah…we uh-we want to name him Ryder.”

“Jenna, that’s so amazing,” Avery cooed, “I’m so happy for you.”

“I’m not going to lie, I’m pretty scared,” she admitted, “I mean…it’s all happening really fast. I didn’t expect it to all go so quickly.”

“It does sneak up on you pretty quickly,” she answered, “I mean…it feels like just yesterday Johnny and I found out that we were having twins…and now here they are…”

“Lance is putting up the bassinet today while I’m out with you and Jess,” she smiled, “he’s been over the moon since we agreed on it…I didn’t think we’d ever get to start a little family of our own…but here we are…”

“Well yeah,” Avery smiled, forgetting about her own concerns for a few minutes as she reached out to her friend, “Jenna, you’re going to be a mom.”

“I’m going to be a mom!” she repeated happily.

“This isn’t working for me anymore, Curtis,” Lily scoffed as she looked at her husband who was cradling his newborn daughter in his arms. Curtis looked up at her with an emotion that she couldn’t recognize, “why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re drunk again, aren’t you?” he asked softly.

“I’m telling you that I want you to get out!” she spat, “butt out of my life, Everett!”

“You live in my cabin,” he growled, “if anyone’s ‘getting out’ it’s going to be you!”

“Well then I’m taking my daughter!”

She went to reach out for her, but Curtis held tightly to his daughter, “you’re not taking Maritza anywhere, Lil!”

“She’s my daughter!”

“She’s our daughter!” he pointed out, “I may not have been a consenting partner, but she’s mine just as much is she is yours, Lily! And I’ll be damned if you think you’re going to take her away from me!”

“I’ll have my father call up the lawy-“

“And do what?” he growled, “I can prove that you’re a neglectful mother! I can prove that you’re a partying, lazy alcoholic, Lil! I don’t even have alcohol in the house because of you! Because I’m worried that if I go to work in the Fall that you’ll be left alone with her and hurt her!”

“I would nev-“

“YOU ALMOST DROWNED HER LAST WEEK!” he yelled. The little girl didn’t so much as shift in his arms and he frowned, “she’s already deaf because of you…you had to harm her while she was still developing…but that wasn’t enough. I came home from grocery shopping, and you were passed out in our bed while she was in the tub. The water was almost at her nose and mouth. Imagine if I’d gone out and got your dry cleaning like you demanded too! Our daughter would be dead!”

Lily wanted to argue.

She wanted to yell and scream at her husband, and tell him that he was wrong, but he wasn’t. And she couldn’t tell him that he wasn’t. The tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and Curtis frowned.

“You need to think about someone other than yourself for once, Lily…” he growled as he clung to his infant daughter, “you may have willed our daughter into this world, but I’ll be damned if I let you hurt her anymore than you already have!”

“Fucking asshole!” she seethed as the man below her bucked up into her core. Her manicured nails pressed down onto his chest as she rode him, allowing herself to feel every inch dragging along her inner walls, “Fuck. Right there! God, it’s about fucking time. THERE!”

“Sammy,” Chase whimpered pathetically, his eyes closed tight as he bucked his hips again. Lily frowned, knowing that the one person that stood up for her was the object of her lovers’ fantasies in that current moment. Her orgasm ruined, she started to shift, attempting to move herself off Chase’s rock-hard length, but he stopped her. His hazy inebriated eyes shot open as he held onto her, “baby don’t leave me.”

“Chase you’re drunk…too drunk. This isn’t working for me,” Lily commented, pulling her arm from Chase’s grasp as she rolled off his bed, “I’m Lily, asshole…”

Lily Everett?” he asked, his eyes finally opening even more as though he was actually just now seeing her, “wh-what are you doing here? Where’s Sammy? Whe-where’s my girl?”

“Sam left at the beginning of summer, asshole!” she hissed, collecting her clothes, “not that you’d remember any of it. You’ve been drunk since she broke up with you!”

“Whe-where are you going?”

“Home,” she growled, not bothering to shoot him another look as she threw on her dress and started on her heels, “or maybe to that club in Soho…Johnny texted me again…needed to get away from his nagging wife and kids”

“Johnny?” he asked shortly, sitting up, “Johnny’s married to Avey!”

“Maybe tell your daughter to be less of a whining bitch next time she comes over and makes sure you’re not passed out in a pile of your own vomit,” Lily spat, rage filling her to the core as she thought about her one-time best friend and her so-called picture perfect life, “he likes it when a woman is quiet between his legs and he’s high as shit a lot better.”

“What?” Chase asked, clearly confused. Lily rolled her eyes and started towards the door as Chase began whimpering from his bed, “SAM WAIT! Baby come back!”

“I’m not Sam, you drunk prick!” she called, slamming the door behind herself.

#bad girls club #chase collins smut #chase collins #the covenant #curtis everett #snowpiercer #snowpiercer au #hugh ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #knives out au #knives out #lance tucker #the bronze

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super-hero-girls-netflix · 2 years

Note

You didn't talk about Diana or the villains.

Fair. It would be my pleasure.

Okay I mentioned Babs, Kara, Jess and Karen. So that leaves...

Diana- was training to be a villain from the start, thinks good is weakness and wants to eradicate it from the world. constantly training, always planning scheming, is the only one who takes being a good villain seriously everyone else does it because it comes naturally or feels good. Clueless at technology but that's why she has her sicko nerds. Seen as a good girl, if a little odd, as a civilian and as a criminal mastermind as a villain.

Zee- never really considered being a villain but she has quite a talent for it, condescending to her enemies, is the subject of many buzzfeed quizzes, acts like she is in a movie 24/7, makes sure everyone looks good while they are fucking shit up. is like a unintentional platonic sugar mommy. Intimidating and awe-inspiring as a civilian, down right infuriating as a villain.

The VILLAINS, now HEROES

Giganta- being a hero is kind of a gut instinct, she has the ability to help so she does, 'jock gf' meme generator, really only follows orders but she will take her own initiative if you piss her off enough, constantly eating protein, has no social grace but its okay bc she has Leslie

Livewire- being a hero makes her feel powerful, she loves the attention and fame, is a journalist 24/7, is fine with taking orders but there are lines that only she is aware of and is easily offended. Secretly enjoys having her fights somewhere populated or on camera bc she be like that. A bit unnerving as a civilian, downright disturbing as a hero. (She acts like a bad guy but she be a good guy.)

Poison Ivy - being a hero is a way for her to fight for what she loves, highly empathetic to nature, is only happy if she is talking about what she is obsessed with, will save people but only because her friends are doing it and it makes it easier for her to fight for the earth! Very intense or awkward as a civilian, very suave and righteous as a hero .

Catwoman - being a hero is something she does because she can, it's an impulse. She loves shiny stuff and is often seen encouraging jewelery stores to give her a bracelet or necklace as a token of gratitude, has a slightly obsessive fan club, is fast and efficient, enjoys the banter between villains immensely. Gives the orders. Cool as a civilian, cool as a hero

Cheetah - she was pissed off into being a hero and now she just rolls with it, gymnastic queen and snarky nemesis. Doesn't really bother with banter and is quick to use her claws. She is always trending on Twitter for being a #mood. Boba tea always. Can follow an order but she'll be really salty about it. Bratty as a civilian, cold as a hero.

Star Sapphire - she really only meant to impress her (now ex) boyfriend but she could never ditch her friend group, has a blog called 'forever alone', is aware that most of the battle she fights are due to personal emotional things but no one really cares because she is powerful and on their side. Won't fight if her nails are not dry. Will follow orders if it suits her. High maintenance as a civilian and exactly the same as a hero.

Harley Quinn- being a hero just looks like fun, is always forgetting to hydrate, inspired by her all time favorite hero the Joker. (Will reference him in every conversation if she can.) People over cause is her mentality and she just happens to love and know a lot of people so doing good it is!! Loves popping balloons. Will follow orders but never in the exact way it is asked of her. Chaotic as a civilian, chaotic good as a hero.

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bardicbeetle · 4 months

Note

i'm torn between two/technically three questions for the red asks so asking all of them feel free to ignore some if you want

For Vee (your choice for When): CRIMSON - What would it take for them to kill someone they know?

For Daniel and/or Alex: STRAWBERRY - What part of them is most like you? Was this intentional?

Vee - Depends entirely upon the person, Vee's killed people he's known before, not always on purpose, not always a bad thing, but not often a good one.

A couple Notables from the Past include: Lysander Aloria, who was his first kill and near completely unintentional. Enea, the head of the People's Church of Final Dawn, who you could technically argue Rin killed but Vee definitely finished it.

Present day is probably lower in likelihood as far as potential for murdering those he knows, he's had to kill patrons before on account of them breaking Damask's no-kill rule, he definitely bare minimum threatened to kill Cassidy's brother when he came looking for her--but none of those are strictly known.

For someone like Hen or Cassidy or even Adrian it would take a significant action or betrayal of some kind, and even then, when it comes to people like that, Vee is more of a second-third-fourth chances kind of person.

~*~

Daniel - You know for someone who started out as the main antagonist we share a lot. I know I always harp on about how Jesse and I are likely the most similar, but there is very little you will find in Daniel that you will not also find in me.

However, the biggest offender is likely his tendency towards putting everyone else he cares about and their well-being before his own. He takes care of himself only in so much as it is required to care for those around him. He never really grows away from this, it's the reason he is so afraid of Amalthea coming back, it's the reason he didn't tell Jesse and Moira about his past for the longest time, it's the reason he has so much guilt about what Eric did to Alex.

Everyone else relies on him, so he has to be stable and solid and there. He cannot manage that when memory rears its ugly head.

anyways i'm very normal and well adjusted and so is he.

#questions concerns and or rotten tomatoes #character ref da #character ref vf #the magician cries #flyingbananasaur

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moki-dokie · 2 years

Text

OTP Relationship Asks

from @/commander-krios

just cause i felt like answering these about jess and russ

1. Who most initiates PDA? Russ. Jess is very shy about PDA - especially Not Straight PDA. society hasn't been all that kind until very recently about that sort of thing and he doesn't like ruffling feathers or bringing attention to himself.

2. Any sleep habits either had to get used to? Not sleeping specifically. Jess starts his day hella early and Russ isn't about that. he's slooooow to get up in the morning.

3. Hot and Steamy or Soft and Tender? hot and soft or steamy and tender. there is no inbetween.

4. How did they first meet? Jess was doing some shopping for his next landscape job out in the local garden center when a distracted and not looking where he's going Russ walked directly into his cart, and then proceeded to run when Jess tried to help him pick up his stuff.

5. What is their love language? Touch, big time. they're always touching even in some tiny way. for Russ, his second would be cooking.

6. When did they realize they loved each other? It only took Jess a couple of months to realize it was a lot more than infatuation, about three to admit to himself he loves him. He's too scared to actually say it out loud though. Russ was a little faster, about a month 1/2 to two months in that he told Jess he loved him.

7. Who is more sentimental? Jess, by like, a LOT. very old fashioned romantic he is.

8. What’s one way their personalities compliment one another? Jess is quiet, patient, reserved, and very modest. The less he's the center of attention, the better. He's a listener, not a talker. He's very insecure and suffers from a plethora of problems like ptsd, severe anxiety, and major body dysmorphia and is extremely hesitant in a lot of areas of life because of it. Russ is loud, blunt, shameless, and high energy. He loves being the focal point and can talk about anything for hours if he's allowed to. While he can be kind of impatient about what he wants, when it comes to someone else his patience is infinite. Having raised his four brothers in poverty and navigating the dangers of running hard drugs, he's got the skills needed to work Jess through ptsd episodes or panic attacks calmly and effectively.

9. How are their personalities different? Jess abides by societal rules of wolves more than he does humans. He was born, raised and lived relatively isolated from the majority of human activity except for their allies with the tribe. the wolf way of life is hard ingrained into him. A lot of obvious things to a human fly right over his head. Russ has only been a wolf for less than a year, and came into it traumatically. He knows nothing at all about how to be a wolf, nor does he particularly care to learn sometimes. They see the world through very different lenses and it leads to a lot of unintentional miscommunication.

10. What are some non-sexual activities they do together? They work together pretty often, Jess teaching him lots of things about gardening. Jess likes to take him out on dates. Watching movies and chilling. Going out for joyrides on Jess's bike. walks along the beach. once summer comes around, surfing and swimming. also working on russ's car.

11. Which member is more physically affectionate? In private, Jess.

12. Which member is more verbally affectionate? Russ

13. Which member steals borrows the other ones clothing? Russ, if only because Jess is too big to use any of his lol

14. Are they an introverted couple or an extroverted one—AKA would they prefer to go out to a party or event together or would they rather stay in? Both. Jess prefers quiet dates, but he's not all that opposed to going out to party or concerts, as long as he can stay somewhat lowkey and unnoticed.

15. Who is more likely to make an impulsive decision and who is the voice of reason? Russ hardly ever thinks ahead. Jess is always thinking ahead.

16. Who stays up way too late and who tries to drag them to bed? Russ is definitely more of the night owl. Jess usually goes to bed pretty early but he can pull all-nighters pretty easily if he needs to.

17. Who fell in love first? Russ

18. What song fits them perfectly? SYML - You & I Bastille - Shut off the lights

19. How do they deal with being away from each other for a long time? They don't lol but in the beginning before they were together all the time, there was a LOT of texting and sending selfies and random pics throughout their day.

20. Who holds a grudge the longest? Neither of them really hold grudges

21. Which of the two is quick to speak and which one is quick to listen? Russ almost never shuts up, and Jess is perfectly fine just listening.

22. Who gets more easily embarrassed? Jess, absolutely. He's always embarrassed about something.

23. Who overthinks the most? Jess. He's an overthinking disaster.

24. Which of the two is the most competitive? They're both pretty competitive. Jess enjoys a challenge, Russ likes to be challenging.

25. Who’s the most stubborn? Depends on what it is. Jess probably just a little bit more though.

26. How do they comfort each other? Physical comfort is highly important to them both. However, Russ tries to be a caretaker for Jess, since he's always taking care of everyone else. Jess tries to find things to distract Russ from whatever's bothering him and redirect his attention to better, more positive things. Also very sensory-driven comforts.

27. What random everyday object/activity makes them think of each other? Jess has a jar of local honey that Russ got for him before one of their dates that he uses sparingly. Russ's couch that Jess got for him shortly after they met.

28. Do they get along with each other’s friends and family? Very well, actually. Jess's friends are just as much Russ's, and Jess has pretty much adopted Russ's brothers like his own kids.

29. What is their sex life like? Complicated. Jess has LOADS of hangups and anxieties around sex. He's been celibate for the last 30 years, so it's been a slow process getting back into sexual things. Russ is thankfully very patient and understanding, though sometimes he does get a little too excited and they go a little too far too fast. Very bumpy, but overall good.

30. What is their favorite place to kiss the other? (Cheek, hand, closed eyelid, neck, nose, etc.) Jess is partial to the top of his head, neck/collar area, and legs. Russ likes his chest and hands.

31. What’s the relationship like? Smooth? Rocky? Bumpy. Treat each other very well, lots of love between them, both help each other heal from their various hurts, but they both suck at communication. Lots of misunderstandings.

32. How do they resolve their arguments? Talk through the issues and figure out what they got hung up on or where they failed to understand each other. Lots of apologies and making up and making genuine efforts to do better.

33. Who has the most nightmares and how do they deal with them? Jess. Russ typically tries to wake him up before they get too bad. If he's able, tries to get Jess to get back to sleep. If it's a bad one, then Russ will take the steps needed to get him to calm down and anchored. Lots of comfort and love.

34. Do they give each other nicknames? Russ calls Jess Handsome as a term of endearment. Calls him Daddy in the bedroom. Jess calls him Macushla, a kinda old fashioned Irish term like 'darling'. Baby and Good Boy in the bedroom.

35. What movies do they enjoy watching most? A little bit of everything, but they're a little more partial to comedies.

36. How’d they meet each other’s families? Russ's brothers call him pretty much every day, often facetime/videochat. After a few times of them calling while jess was around and the boys asking to talk to him, he just sort of started being part of the conversations all the time. Now he talks to them even outside of their daily brother chats. Jess doesn't have any family left.

37. What do they like the least about each other? Russ can't stand how Jess is always trying to shoulder everything by himself and blames himself for nearly everything. Jess gets irritated that Russ doesn't listen to him when it comes to very important matters, especially wolf-related, and that he hardly ever thinks before doing something.

38. What was their most memorable date? Their unofficial first date and official first date are both about equally memorable for very different reasons.

39. What other couple would your otp get along with the best? They get along with just about everyone, but frequently hang out with Ed, Cole, and Lucky and their weird, chaotic polycule.

40. Who makes the other smile with almost no effort at all? Russ. Jess is always staring at him and smiling like a dopey idiot when he's doing nothing particularly significant.

#my ocs

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austarus · 3 years

Text

Harrison Wells (Eobard Thawne) x Reader x Harry Wells: Six Crows - Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Extrication From The Void

*A/N: This edit does belong to me, though the individual photos don’t belong to me

**Please don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. It means a lot to content creators of all kinds!

***I’d also like to thank @grimtamlain-writes for being my beta reader.

Harrison Wells (Eobard Thawne) x Reader x Harry Wells: Six Crows

Word Count: 7152

MASTERLIST

You watched the timer as it hit ‘zero’; your heart dropped heavily in your chest as the numbers flashed in red multiple times. Time was up; five days had passed – a decision had been made. Eobard had set that timer right as you had come back home from Harrison’s, after the talk you two had in the Speed Lab. At first, the countdown wasn’t so bad – you’d only check it at the end of the first two nights, but as the hour ticked to signal the end of the third day you dreaded every silent minute. Your nerves were spiked, and anxiety crept in your mind; sleep was just as nearly as impossible as before. What had been little glances at the timer turned to checking it every thirty minutes to every ten minutes and waiting. Waiting and waiting. Sometimes you forgot to eat, other times you were too preoccupied in your thoughts that Eobard had sent Thad and Jesse to coax you into leaving the Speed Lab to get some food and rest while he worked on perfecting the extraction plan. Your mouth felt dry as Jesse and Thad put the finishing touches to assembling all the equipment. Your eyes stung as you stared at the open space in the newly refined lab, such an endeavor by Thaddeus when he grew bored from working on optimizing the NTE (Negative Tachyon Enhancer). Eobard’s gaze softened as he watched you clench and unclench your hands a few times. Jesse and Thaddeus glanced at each other with sagged shoulders, their eyes flickering back to you who had your back turned to all of them.

“I’ll go get him.” Eobard’s voice brought you out of your trance – his heart was still shaken about the condition of your future self. But Eobard reminded himself that this was for your happiness and for his children, he’d do anything to secure their safety. He’d burn down the world and build it back up for them. You knew that. So did Thaddeus and potentially Jackson. It was not below the villain to travel back to Harrison to drag him here kicking and screaming to bring back a man he’d have to learn to get along with for future’s sake. For Jesse, Thad, and Jack. Since Thaddeus’ arrival and revelation, Eobard’s thoughts had been consumed with how you and he would make things work with Harry. How in the distant future, this union would be the establishment of an intricate legacy built on affection, compromise, and understanding… That is, if Harry was even willing to make things work after hearing the truth in this timeline. Timelines vary, decisions can be altered. Was he himself ready to make such a compromise for your sake? Eo had about 3 months to collect his thoughts and feelings on the matter, coming to the conclusion that he would be willing to try to make things work for your happiness.

But Harry? This would no doubt be sprung on him once he returns in one peace. And using what knowledge he knows about the Wells doppelganger; Eobard can predict very few reactions from the man. Eobard had already come to terms that if Harry makes you happy then he wouldn’t lay a finger on him even if he rejects the notion firsthand. Even if deep down, Eobard’s jealousy would fester until bursting that your attention would not solely be on him. This would take some getting used to – the sharing, another person to look after. The speedster knows you all too well that you wouldn’t force this onto Harry, yet surely the prospect of Jack and Thad will change his mind through time. Jackson, the son he has yet to see. The son that would disappear should Harry decide that this wasn’t worth trying for with you and him. An unintentional casualty. Thaddeus would be robbed of his twin brother once more, this time by Harry’s hand.

“Do as you must,” you whispered, throwing a look over your shoulder to your speedster. Before Eobard could even summon his suit, a portal opened before you, causing you to take a step back with a hand ready to pull out some carbon from your body. Slight wind whipped in the air. Jesse and Thaddeus took a step forward, but Eobard held an arm out to stop them. There would be no threat here tonight. Your breath caught in your throat as Harrison stepped out with an all too familiar scowl on his face. His clear-framed glasses were perched on his face as always and his hair was mussed from the time travel. Tension hung thickly in the speed lab as Harrison continued to lock eyes with you. Your hands felt clammy as you chewed on the inside of your cheek.

Harrison’s eyes landed on the young man in the room; one of the nephews you had mentioned to him a few days ago. The dark-haired genius noticed traces of familiar features of himself from the young man, noting the tell-tale signs that he was also a speedster. His father’s son. The young man’s eyes burned brightly, watching him with curiosity and by no mistake that aspect only fueled that he was your child. You had done the same when he first came to STAR Labs to reveal himself before brushing him off with a cold attitude. A little ball of bitterness developed inside of Harrison as his mind wandered. Maybe I could…? No, that’d be selfish and everything in the timeline would go to absolute shit. The timeless being gritted his teeth as no one dared to speak up. Harrison would only bring in an aberration into the world if he were to do that. He would not make the mistake Martin Stein had done – a recollection from Harry. Harrison shifted his eyes to the young woman beside the speedster – his heart twisting as Harry’s memories seeped into his mind. Jesse “Quick”; Harry’s brilliant daughter and the child he would never have with his Tess. Licking his lips slightly, Harrison saw Tess in Jesse, a moment he had dreaded and a desire that would never come to fruition. While he knew Harry had lost his Tess when Jesse was young, the man still envied his doppelganger for having the one thing he had planned to have with Tess when he had first proposed – the very first time before Eobard had killed the love of his life and stole his molecular structure as a facade.

Harrison’s light blue eyes finally landed on Thawne who stood in front of Jesse and the young man protectively. Hatred gripped at the genius’ heart; the selfish speedster that had ripped his happiness away all for the price of revenge against a child. Harrison could have had a family; a daughter or a son or both with Tess. Jesse could have been his daughter too. A little family that he would return to from the labs and take care of. A life beyond the miserable time loop he had allowed himself to live in for some semblance of normalcy with the woman who had captured his heart and soul. But happiness came at a price, didn’t it? He would never attain that happiness; not in this timeline and not in another. And as much as Harrison wanted to stay out of it – to rid himself of the issues that you bring to his door, Harrison couldn’t deny that he was intrigued about your little family quip. There was more to this story of yours than meets the eye.

“You came.”

“I did, but I didn’t come on the premise of a sudden change in heart.” There was no warmth in Harrison’s words, neither in his eyes as he finally looked at you. It took sheer willpower to muster such an expression to you, sheer mental control to push memories of you from his other versions away. The feelings and affections they have towards you. But that was why he was here after all. One less series of memories the Wells can do away with and you would be bound by your agreement to never seek him out again. “I came here out of pity and with the soul promise that your cursed family will leave me be,” Harrison brushed you off before sending a glare towards Eobard, who only narrowed his eyes at his mirror image. “Mark my words, if the deal is not honored then you will regret it.”

“The deal will be honored,” you responded firmly.

Eobard almost snorted, only raising an amused eyebrow at the Timeless Wells. The villainous speedster took the threat lightly because really in comparison to him, Harrison was no real threat. The dark-haired speedster could easily take down the man he had killed to masquerade, even if he had time-based powers. Every set of abilities has its own weakness and Eobard would make it his goal to be Harrison’s should he choose to come after his family. You would be a little hesitant on retaliating, but that was fine with Eobard since he knew you’d ultimately defend yourself. He understood how a familiar face can cause reluctance to inflict pain, after all he’s done it so much to Team Flash using Harrison’s face. Instead of responding to Harrison, Eobard simply ignored the threat as a greater insult to the genius. He gets time-based powers and suddenly he feels he can act all high and mighty in this situation. Oh, how wrong you are, Wells.

“He’s certainly prickly like dad.” Jesse nudged you with her elbow as Harrison approached Eobard with cautious steps. His eyes examined the pieces of technology that have been assembled. The pod that lingered near two seats that were placed back to back and connected to the pod with various tubes. Harrison noticed the generator hooked up to both stations as well in the Speed Lab.

You briefly glanced at her before stepping over to the others. “Trust me, he’s only like that because of me and Eobard. He’s much sweeter to the others.” To me when he arrived at STAR Labs.

“So, how does this plan of yours exactly work, Thawne?”

Eobard licked his lips and cleared his throat, tell-tale signs of a scientific lecture that Harrison will no doubt be able to follow accordingly. They were both geniuses, after all. “Simply put, we will be extricating Harry from you.” Harrison raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, biting back a remark to let the speedster continue. “As we all know, Harry and the rest of the Wells’ organic particles reside in you, allowing you to come into existence after their downfall with Barry’s artificial Speed Force machine. Their organic molecules pulled you into existence from whatever void you had been in with the addition of you being able to harness their memories. I’ve replicated the Neural Bridge device that Team Flash had made in order to sync brainwaves, further enhancing it to accommodate for the different frequencies of brainwaves for people outside of Earth-1.” The futuristic speedster holds two simple devices that will encase the head. Jesse had been the one to piece it together from what she remembered 4-5 years ago as the young genius made the necessary modifications with Thaddeus to project Earth-2 signal frequencies. She glanced at her brother seeing that he was just as nervous as she was

You took a step forward towards the two men, with pocketed hands. “Cisco and Harry had used this device to pull Barry out of the Speed Force five years ago.” You added in solemnly. “Later it was used to communicate with Savitar, Barry’s evil time remnant, to take him down, and then against Devoe. We will be syncing Jesse’s Earth-2 brainwave frequency to yours while the two of you are rendered unconscious by the Neural Bridge. You’ll be hooked up to her signal.”

“By using Jesse as a beacon, we’ll be isolating Harry’s Earth-2 signature as well as his organic molecules that resonate within you. She’ll be the anchor that will pull him back,” Eobard continued as Harrison looked over to the young speedster. Jesse sent a little nod to the Earth-1 Wells, her insides squeezing at the prospect that they were actually going through with this. She was going to see her dad again and she was going to meet her other brother. The Timeless Wells saw hope twinkle in her eyes – how could he rip such a thing away from her? “All you need to do is to let go of anything that belongs to Harry. His quirks, his memories, his feelings. Jesse will need to focus heavily on Harry through her memories – any vivid memory that will harness Harry’s DNA and memories into the Organic Extricator Pod.” Glancing to the side, Harrison eyed the glass pod beside the young man who drummed his fingers against the glass a few times.

“And the primary power source that’ll be used?” Harrison dropped his crossed arms to study Eobard and you over his shoulder.

“Thaddeus,” you gestured to your son, “will use his speed to power up the generator. He’s capable of running at Jesse’s speed”

Harrison took a glimpse at Thaddeus, seeing a flicker of red in the young man’s eyes. Traces of the Negative Speed Force. The young man sent him a cheeky smile and a little wave; he was completely harmless compared to his bastard speedster father. Harrison ignored the gesture instead fully turning to you and Eobard. “Will it hold?”

You glanced at Eobard when prompted by Harrison’s question. Eobard firmly responded, “It should hold.”

“‘Should’ and ‘will’ are two different words,” Harrison huffed out with a slight cynical laugh. He adjusted his glasses before asking, “And what about the potential physiological damage that can happen to me?” The dark-haired time traveler challenged your fiance, staring him down with doubt and hostility present in his questions. Harrison doesn’t doubt Eobard’s genius and the calculations made, but the Wells doubted his current position for safety. Eobard pursed his lips, holding his irritation in. “You certainly didn’t think I’d go through with it after such an explanation. Would this be your way of tearing me molecule by molecule, Thawne? Would this be your assurance that my time loop ends with my demise?”

Your hand gripped onto Eobard’s larger hand tightly before he could say anything. You responded in his stead with a jab of your own, “I will be monitoring your vitals. Should anything happen to you then I will step in, I’m a physician after all. Surely, you’d gathered that much from the memories that reside inside of you, Harrison.”

Harrison stood there speechless for a moment before gathering himself to respond. “You planned to save me?” His throat felt dry.

“You do have your own love to go back to,” you nodded simply, sending him a small smile. As pointless as it might seem to me, you’ll desire to go back to her no matter how much it upsets you deep down. Harrison pressed his lips for a moment, silent as he looked over the board of equations. Eobard didn’t like it when people second-guessed his work, especially if it came from this Wells. Harry, he might be able to tolerate it as they can try to work together for your sake. Key word ‘might’. But Harrison? There was no common ground between them. “I promised you we’d leave you alone. Whether you desire to see your nephews from then on would be up to you. I have no doubt that they wouldn’t turn you away from being their uncle.”

One look at Jesse and Thaddeus’ hopeful faces had Harrison sighing from deep within and averting his eyes from them. The pleading looks tickled his heart – he couldn’t bear the feeling if they were to look at him any longer. The little seeds of guilt that had been planted. Never had he thought he’d be doing this. “When do we start?”

“Now,” had been Eobard’s immediate response.

“Now?” Harrison’s eyes narrowed slightly at the speedster, and you nibbled on your bottom lip as their interaction continued.

“Yes, now.” Eobard retorted, powering up the devices and the generator, though it needed to siphon off Thad’s speed to be at its full capacity. “The more time we spend, the more you’re likely to re-think your decision and leave. Might as well rip the band-aid off.” Eobard sent the Original Wells a side-smirk, handing the Neural device to Jesse who was already stepping up on the podium that mounted to the back-to-back seats. A huff left Harrison to which you patted his arm, sending him a thankful whisper and a meaningful look. He hated it; hated how he had a slight weakness for you because of Harry, HR, Sherloque, and Nash.

Thad took a step towards the Timeless Wells while swallowing thickly. His anxiety was flaring since his uncle had stepped through the portal. Scratch that- since the timer had whittled down to zero. “Uh, Uncle Harrison?”

“Don’t call me that.” Harrison responded brusquely, putting the Neural bridge on his head and adjusted it to fit comfortably with his clear-framed glasses perched on his nose. “I’m not your uncle, I’m not part of your family.” I don’t want to be part of this dysfunctional family anyway. I wanted to have a family of my own… but I can’t. Because of your damned father.

“Right. Sorry, um…” Thaddeus responded sheepishly, continuing to fiddle with the palm of his hand. A memory flickered through Harrison’s mind. It was when Sherloque spoke of your nervous habit to you when you two first met. The Original Wells was pulled out of his thoughts once more by the young speedster. “Thank you for doing this. For helping us bring my dad and brother back. I… it means the world to me and Jesse that we get to see them again.”

“…” Harrison said nothing, and Thaddeus took that as his cue to walk away to where the Speed Chamber’s entrance was. Maybe I shouldn’t have been harsh on him. Once he got the signal, then he’d start powering up the generator for as long as he could. “How long will we be under?” Harrison directed his attention towards you, who was securing all the power lines and making sure Jesse was all prepped. The young Wells was more determined than ever, but Harrison still sensed a bit of unease from her as she sat behind him. You kissed her forehead and squeezed her hand, whispering words of comfort and reassurance. Jesse’s heart squeezed tightly, thanking you for everything before you moved away from her.

“Maximum 10 minutes, optimally though five minutes is the desired time frame to pull Harry out before Thad and Eobard switch places,” you answered, coming over to stand in front of him with your tablet. Your eyes ran over the results of the diagnostic scans before your eyes met his baby blue hues. “You should be knocked out within a few seconds of initiating the Neural Bridge.”

“Why not have Thawne run first? Surely, he’s faster than your son.”

“You’re right, but Thaddeus is determined to use any bit of his power to bring his brother back. Let him have this. Jack, his twin, is mainly of Harry’s lineage, but from what he’s told me then those two are inseparable.”

“Interesting. Fraternal twins born of the same mother,” Harrison leaned back in his chair, “but two men who are supposedly genetically identical. One child inherited speed, the other child did not.” To form fraternal or dizygotic twins, two eggs (ova) are fertilized by two sperm and produce two genetically unique children. In this case one egg received Thawne’s and the other received Harry’s genetic DNA.

“That seems to be the case, yes.” You nodded with an edge of pride in your voice. “My future twin boys.”

“Are we ready?” Eobard moved from the main monitor that would track Harrison and Jesse’s vitals along with their brain wavelength. You licked your lips throwing Harrison one last smile, one last look filled with hope and gratefulness, before you moved back a step. An expression you’d never given him. Should something happen, the extrication will be halted, and an assessment will be made to modify the current technology. But everything should run accordingly, the kids and I worked hard on this. Jesse threw a look over her shoulder, nodding at the villain she had grown close to – even almost seeing him as another father in these last couple months. Harrison averted his eyes for a moment, hesitant before looking up and nodding at you and Eobard. Thaddeus fidgeted from foot to foot with his speedster suit on, his eyes trained on you and his father before glancing at his sister. Thaddeus gave her that goofy smile to which she shook her head at him before a smile crossed her own face.

Harrison watched you step away from where he sat to stand beside Eobard. The scientist took a deep breath in, mentally preparing himself for what’s about to unfold. “Here we go,” Eobard murmured softly to you, letting your hand drop as he let his fingers dance across the control panel. Right as Eobard flicked the appropriate switches, Harrison and Jesse lost consciousness – laying limp in their chairs but breathing softly. Thaddeus had started running when his father had given him the cue, hitting Mach 2.7 with ease and gradually increasing to Mach 2.8 with the NTE attached to his chest. Red and black lightning licked up in the air, streaking the circuit as energy was released into the system. A smile twitched on Eobard’s lips; Thad was getting very close to his average speed.

2% Complete

***

Jesse snapped her eyes open, a vague light in the darkness that surrounded her. She stood in the middle of the Pluto Exhibit at the Central City Observatory; all was silent. Not a single thing moved in sight. Blinking a few times, she looked around – a miniature version of the Solar System hung above her head while multiple wall hangings of space faced her. This must be one of my memories. Why the observatory though? Jesse frowned to herself before the sounds of multiple footsteps and rough mumbles greeted her ears. Instinctively, the speedster ducked behind a far corner to peer cautiously at the scene. Her mouth dried at the site of her father; dark hair all ruffled while sporting his black clothes as security guards flooded the exhibit. Harry was younger then, but he still wore an angry expression on his face with worry ever present in his eyes as he threatened Griffin Hodge, the Observatory’s owner. How can I forget? Dad had lost me in the Constellation Exhibit – well, I sorta wandered off when he wasn’t looking. A sigh left her as a feeling of longing pulsed in her heart. Here she was, obscuring herself behind a wall to a memory she never thought she’d revisit. A sharp pang echoed in the young speedster’s heart as one of the security guards pulled a 6-year-old version of Jesse from underneath the tables that held the time’s information on Pluto. Giggling at being found in her little game of ‘hide and seek’ with the guards.

He was so mad that day, but he was so relieved to see me… He got me ice cream on the drive home and played with me all night until I fell asleep for school the next day. Wouldn’t let me go. Never, not since mom passed… How long has it been since this had crossed my mind? Swallowing thickly, Jesse heard a little click behind her as if a door had been unlocked. Turning her head, the metal doors gently swung open, and light filtered out towards her, beckoning her forward. Standing up straighter, the speedster took a step before throwing one last look behind her. Jesse saw her dad crouch down and enveloped her younger self in a tight hug, no doubt whispering that she shouldn’t leave his side like that again. I miss you so much, dad. She could only wonder how Thaddeus feels… Turning back to the source of light, Jesse walked forward into the next memory.

We’re coming for you.

***

Harrison blinked at the darkness in his own mind, a slight headache forming. Adjusting his clear-framed glasses, Harrison floated in the darkness – one that rivaled your own conjuring that night above the labs when he was to return to Tess. The venom in your words that you had spat in his face. The only light that came was the green aura-like light around Harrison. Noticing the white string that was wrapped around his wrist, Harrison looked on into the direction the thread led off to. There was nothing but darkness. Who was Harry Wells? I’m Harrison Wells, but so was Harry. Yet, we’re different. A breath left the genius as he shut his eyes and tried to focus. On what though? What should I be focusing on…? A giggle drifted from the darkness. Turning his head, Harrison’s eyes widened as his feet gingerly landed on the tiled floor of the hospital. He stood in the doorway, the two people in the hospital room were none the wiser to his presence. An odd wave of nostalgia hit Harrison at the scene in front of him. He watched his doppelganger gently smile at his own Tess; a little bundle swaddled in her arms. The child was sound asleep, breathing gently. Harrison’s heart ached at Harry’s memory, jealousy slipping inside of him. He watched Harry’s Tess Morgan giggle at the baby, who’s eyes were shut.

“What should we call her?” Harry asked, visibly struggling with caressing his child’s soft cheeks with his thumb. He saw how Harry’s fingers shook, afraid that he would hurt his new baby girl. Harrison knew Harry had been reluctant in having children – they weren’t for him, but… Tess had her ways in convincing him, after all.

“Jesse. Her name will be Jesse.”

Harry Wells was not a cruel man. Harrison breathed out through his nose as he left the scene through the open door down the hospital corridor. The Timeless Wells walked back into the darkness, the door shutting tightly behind him. That should have been my moment too. That should have been my happiness with Tess. Pivoting, Harrison saw that the memory had bubbled. Watching it with intrigue, Harrison let it settle in between the palms of his hands and felt such warmth radiant from it. He pushed that memory down the direction of the string that was tied to his wrist. He could only assume that the string led to Jesse and the Organic Extricator Pod. I’m supposed to let go of anything that is Harry Wells.

Harrison’s ears were greeted by the screams of agony and command shouts to the side of him. The smell of blood lingered in the air in the direction of the rusted door. Harrison felt frozen in place - the sounds of war he was not accustomed to had drawn him close to the door. Before his hands could even turn the door’s knob, the memory sealed itself in a bubble only allowing Harrison a small preview window of The War of The Americas. The time traveler could sense bitterness and malice as the bubble drifted in font of him. He peered into the memory, bodies were falling left and right as blood sprayed the ground and bullets rained from the heavens. Harrison gritted his teeth at the blatant disregard for human life. Bombs went off, limbs flew in the air. The Original Wells wanted to throw his guts up as soldiers were maimed battle after battle. The physical and mental scars that would haunt Harry for the rest of his life. Harry was a man that was prepared for every possible solution – a veteran of war and one hell of a sharpshooter. Harrison gazed at the open palm of his hand solemnly before clenching it tightly. Harry has had his fair share of loss and sorrow. The anguish, the terror, and the hostility… the trauma Harry must have suffered... War brought out the worst in humanity - greed took the form of leadership as soldiers were moved around the chess board as pawns in this accursed game of life.

Harrison swallowed thickly, sweat had collected on his forehead as he was faced with a new memory – the clouds were overcast as the heavens cried this time. Droplets fell, but he never got wet. The Timeless Wells watched Harry stand with an umbrella in one hand while Jesse, no more than three years old, was cradled in his other arm. Their backs were turned to him. Harrison’s heart stung as his eyes scanned over the tombstone; he can only imagine the pain that will forever linger in his existence. A pain that had dulled in Harrison time after time in his Time Loop with Tess. He had to harden his heart when his wife died.

He was a father. Another door had appeared, this time of opening a scene to Harry frantically searching every corner and crevice at an Observatory. Harrison watched Harry in his panicked state as he called out Jesse’s name. The security guards aided him, looking into every exhibit as he stood there threatening a man who had shrunk in his place under Harry’s heated gaze. It wasn’t until a security guard had pulled out the giggling child that Hell’s wrath had dissipated in Harry as he took Jesse in his arms. Harrison heard the child whisper a small apology as her father held her tightly. The memory bubbled once more as he left and again, he sent the memory down the thread. Memory after memory was sent down. Some didn’t make sense to Harrison, he assumed that they no longer came in chronological order, but some included what he suspected were the events leading up to Zoom and his stay on Earth-1 with Team Flash. Moments of banter, frowns turned into reluctant smiles with witty comments between him and the others. The anger and frustration to throw his tools around to piss of Cisco, something Harrison would never do. But I guess that’s one more difference between Harry and I. The death of ‘The Turtle’ and the guilt that fed into the scientist, for his actions had led to Iris’ hospitalization. The hope and determination of going back to Earth-2 to get his daughter. There was so much darkness around him. One thing had been clear though. Harry Wells was… is one of a kind and no Wells would replace the other in the hearts of Team Flash. He was stubborn, overprotective, grumpy, rough, serious and snarky, but Harry was not an evil man.

Harrison craned his head to find himself in STAR Labs. Not the one on Earth-2, but the Labs that should have belonged to him and Tess in the future he envisioned with her. Another memory, hmm… The lights flickered in the dim corridor and the air felt heavy. Tension hung thickly as Harrison took one quiet step after the other down the winding corridor. Ragged breaths and crazed shouts became clearer the closer Harrison got. The blood in his body froze right as blood splattered everywhere right in front of him – the walls, the ceiling, and the concrete ground. What the-? Harrison’s eyes widened as his breath hitched in his chest, tightening at the sickening sight of so much blood. The burly man in front of you instantly crumpled to the ground, blood flowing heavily from his chest as your ‘shadows’ that had pierced the man from inward out in every direction began to dissipate. It was a gruesome site, such were the capabilities of your powers. Your back had been facing Harrison the entire time, your shoulders shook as one hand was limply hanging by your side and your other was clenched tightly in a fist close to your upper body but still in the air. Harry was on the ground, a tired look was prominent on his face with sweat trickling down his face, but fear was present in his wide eyes as he cradled his bloodied side with an injured arm. His other arm propped his body up on the ground. Dried blood was caked down the side of Harry’s face.

“(Y/N),” Harry whispered your name softly, his throat had felt dry, and his body screamed at him for even the slightest of movements from the pain embedded in his side. A shudder ran through you as Harrison watched you drop to your knees, bringing both shaky hands in front of you as you remained covered in blood. Harrison felt sick to his stomach, but he couldn’t look away from you – this version of you who was only a few years younger than the one he was talking to earlier. Not the cool composure you typically have, but vulnerable like this.

“What have I done?” Your breathing picked up; you were on the verge of a panic attack.

With all the strength left in his body, Harrison watched Harry scoot his wounded self towards your humbled form. Tears left your eyes, puffing up and reddening from what you had just done. “Hey, hey. Stop. Look at me-”

“-I-I didn’t mean to. He was going to kill you.”

“Look at me,” Harry rasped out firmly, a hand gripping the side of your face to meet his gaze. His thumb rubbed a tear away. “It was a mistake, ok? It’s not your fault. He-”

“-I just killed a man, Harry!”

“But not out of cold blood.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve killed in cold blood.” Harrison felt the sting in those words on Harry’s part. “Because you’re shaking right here, right now and you feel regret. Regret for someone you don’t know. Because killing was never your intention, it’s not you. Because all you did was react in self-defense to seeing me like this.”

“I feel like a monster,” you breathed out, your hands falling limply in your lap as you averted your eyes.

“You’re anything but a monster.”

“… You can’t tell them.”

“What?”

“Barry and the others, you can’t tell them about this.”

“What are you-”

“-If you do, I’ll let them know about you and Zoom.” You had snapped your eyes back onto Harry, a guarded flicker in your eyes as those words left your mouth. Harrison blinked at the scene.

This must have been early before Harry had stolen Barry’s speed and his confession to the others. When Zoom had forced his hand into cooperating in exchange for Jesse’s safety.

Harry’s eyes widened in panic, his hand falling from your blood-stained cheek. Harrison watched his body go rigid, Harry’s expression steeled under your gaze. His mission to bring Jesse back would not be compromised by you. Harry pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment before speaking, “How do you know about Zoom?”

“I followed you that one night, in the 'shadows'. I hid in the darkness of the alley where you were meeting Zoom at night, and I watched the exchange. I knew there was a reason for you being here other than wanting to stop Zoom. He has your daughter.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“… My secret is mine to tell, yours is your own. Just… Please, Harry.”

“…” Harry looked into your pleading eyes, your strained voice from the shock in your system. A rough sigh left him as he grunted in response, “Get me to the med bay.” His eyes became cold, and you only nodded with a dejected look as you helped him. An expression that meant to say, ‘I didn’t want to threaten you, I just… didn’t know if I could trust you’.

Harrison was pulled out of that memory abruptly, the door shut tightly and the memory bubbled instantly in front of him as he gathered his bearings. The hair at the back of his neck still stuck up at this revelation, but he can’t deny the sympathy he felt for you. The haunting look in your eyes from taking a life. Such innocence at the time. Did the others find out that he knew? Harrison was hesitant in sending this memory bubble down the line. More was revealed of your exchanges with his Earth-2 doppelganger, the closeness that developed between you two during the events with Zoom. The dependability and reassurance of one another even if the flower of love had not bloomed yet - the little touches and missed looks. The more Harrison had let go of each memory, the more he learned about you and your past struggles through Harry’s eyes. Through Harry’s eyes the Timeless Wells began to understand who you truly were and how Harry felt for you. How you had struggled with the trauma of Thawne’s initial death and the depression that followed.

Harry had been your cage, your safe space for your powers not to go as rampant from your distressed emotions like it had in the Labs’ corridor. Thawne’s death had caused you to spiral - your control over your powers slacked as you seldom used it when the Team was dishing it out with Zoom. You had been the one visiting Harry the most during the Savitar events, confiding in him the underlying words Savitar had told you during the team’s interrogation. He had been the one to entrust you with Jesse’s safety as she spent time on Earth-1 with Wally. Mentions of HR here and there, a sweet man really, but Harrison sensed moments of jealousy on Harry’s part even when you’d remained by his side. This version of you was not aware of Thawne’s return due to Flashpoint. Harrison wasn’t watching a sappy rom-com, no; he was sincerely watching two people fall in love and get so close but have to reel back from each other because of the circumstances that constantly befalls the two of you for the sake of Team Flash. He saw the connection that you had with not only Harry, but the mentions of HR and Sherloque. If these memories were reaching Jesse, how would she react? She didn’t seem phased with your powers nor on how they operated. Meaning Harry could have told her once returning to Earth-2 after the events with Devoe. Only then does Harrison begin to see the bitterness that had built up inside you since HR’s death shown in your eyes - the outburst in the cemetery against Barry and Iris- whenever you’d return from Earth-1 even when 3-4 years had passed.. Always so close, yet so far. The reluctance, or rather the hesitance hung in the air.

Harrison continued on, sending memories down the thread one after the other. How long had he been in his own mind? Surely, it’s been more than 10 minutes. He had to hand it to Thawne, using Jesse as a prime signal to reel anything and everything that belonged to her father was a genius idea. The strong connection that Jesse and Harry had was already a very good starting point. A wave of dizziness hit Harrison as his chest howled in pain, his breathing quickened to shallow breaths. Must be Harry’s organic particles being extricated. I didn’t think any pain would surface because of the millions of other organic Wells particles in my body, but that must have been wishful thinking... Sweat beaded at Harrison’s forehead as the closing act of Devoe was sent through and what surfaced next was Harry’s intellectual recovery on Earth-2 during the Cicada events. The dark-haired Wells is disheartened by Devoe’s deeds to experiment on Harry; blatantly disgusted when The Thinker had called his genius doppelganger nothing more than a “guinea pig for the Enlightenment”. For without technology, how could man progress in the world?

One thing was for sure, Harry Wells was a man full of secrets. But he loved select people in his life, and when he did, Harry loved deeply.

Feeling a presence lurking behind him, Harrison turned only to meet the back of his doppelganger. An aura of light blue pulsed dimly around Harry in contrast to Harrison’s green aura. A split second of wonder flickered in his head, what would HR’s light be? Sherloque? Nash? Harrison shouted Harry’s name, but nothing. He tried once more, yet earned no response. It was like Harry couldn’t hear his Earth-1 version, as if he wasn’t on the same field or plane of existence. The war veteran was just suspended in the air quietly, out of reach. Harrison reached a hand out and-

***

42% Complete

Taking a quick swig of your water, your eyes lingered on the vitals screen rather than the progress bar. Your mind was plagued in doubt at the thought of either losing Jesse or Harrison. True he was your only link to Harry and the other boys, but he was still a human with his own feelings of longing for times when things were just simpler for him and Tess. In a split second your eyes widened in fear as the power levels that had increased to 47% suddenly plummeted to 28%, the screens flashing red and beeping. “Eo,” you slapped a hand on his arm to pull him from his staring at the Speed Chamber. “The energy level is dropping!”

“No, no, no,” Eobard whispered in disbelief before summoning his suit and on instinct channeling his speed to run into the Speed Chamber with Thaddeus. Instead of running beside his son, he surged past Thad to bring the energy levels back up.

78% Complete

“It’s only been a few minutes.” Your breath was caught in your throat as you looked away from the timer to focus on Harrison – a prominent strain was on his face as pained grunts left him. His eyes were screwed shut while Jesse remained in perfect stasis. The OEP’s glasses were fogging up as the numbers climbed gradually to 90% due to Eo and Thaddeus’ couple energy – a rough silhouette formed amongst the mist. The pounding in your heart became ominous, “Please. Please make it through,” you begged in a low voice. Come back home, Harry. Come back to all of us and bring Jack with you. It didn’t take long for the generator to start sputtering odd noises, shaking as the glass of the pod started to crack with each second that went by. Your breath hitched as red lightning crackled in the air around the generator. The tubes that connected the generator to the OEP visibly surged red electricity into the pod. Letting out a tight breath, you summoned black carbon to encase Jesse and Harrison in an impenetrable sphere with barely enough time to make one around the generator.

100% Complete-

The generator exploded...

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soysaucecas · 3 years

Text

i’ll lend you this, i’ll lend you that (ao3)

1k, t4t samjess’s first meeting at stanford the rhonda bit is inspired veryyy heavily by this fanart by @skepticalfrog written for @spnprideweek day 1: coming out

cw for some unintentional misgendering

Sam brings a journal to Stanford to record the names and faces of everyone she meets. This is going to be her home for the next four years—no packing bags in the middle of the night or saying hasty goodbyes to half-baked friendships she’ll never find again. The people she meets are here to stay. She’s here to stay.

California’s hot in August (though not as hot as some of the places Sam’s been), so Sam ties their hair up. They’re not sure how out they plan to be here yet; honestly, they’ve been going back and forth about it every night for weeks, but some guys have ponytails, so it shouldn’t be too risky. Sam takes another quick look at the students in their first day orientation group. Some of the students look super preppy, but there’s plenty in extremely casual wear, plus some scene kids. She sees a few people with outrageously-dyed hair, and one guy who seems to be wearing lipstick. No one is bothering him, nor is anyone shooting her looks yet, and it’s still hot even with their hair up. Can she…?

With a slight rush of adrenaline, Sam takes the bottom of their shirt and ties it off at their waist. Rhonda Hurley had shown them how to make any shirt into a makeshift crop top years ago, and Sam’s muscle memory follows her simple instructions well, even if their hands are shaking a little. It’d been one of the many bits of wisdom Rhonda had imparted on Sam during the one year she was in Sam and Dean’s lives, bits of wisdom she’d always dropped with a small smile that seemed to say, “just for us girls, huh?” Sam doesn’t feel entirely like a girl most of the time, but the word always felt right coming from Rhonda, who was always okay with Sam crashing her and Dean’s dates and regularly called Sam her trans sister-in-arms.

Alyssa, the orientation leader and tour guide, lets them take a ten-minute break for water, bathrooms, and socializing. Sam gets the names, faces, and cell numbers of Sarayu and Brady, though her sketches end up being far less detailed than she’d like. Looking down at her first filled page, she finds that it reminds her a little of John’s hunting journal. The thought makes them shudder. No more hunting, no more monsters. Sam’s not going to kill anyone in this book. As soon as they can borrow someone’s stationery, they’re going to draw colorful borders around each entry, borders so floral they’d make the old man gag.

“Five minutes left!” Alyssa says cheerily. “Just to give you a little taste of what’s to come, we’ll be going to Meyer after this.” She delivers the next line like a joke, but no one really laughs—“Don’t tell anyone this, but it’s actually my least favorite library.”

“She’s perky, isn’t she?” someone next to Sam whispers. Sam turns, confused, and their neighbor inclines a head towards Alyssa. Sam stifles a startled giggle. The speaker appears to be a blonde girl, pretty, and wearing a clearly well-loved friendship bracelet. She gestures at Sam’s notebook, which is still open. “Art major?”

Sam, flattered, shakes their head. “No, pre-law. This is just sort of… a phonebook. I have people’s names and numbers and what they look like in case I forget who they are.”

“Hm. Very cool,” Pretty Girl says. “Can I be next?”

“Sure,” Sam says. “What’s your name?” She tells her, and Sam asks, “Is that with an I-E at the end or just a Y?”

Jessie or Jessy chews on her lip, as if considering something. Her gaze returns to Sam’s midriff (Sam resists the urge to cover up), and seems to come to a decision. “Just… just with an E. J-E-S-S-E. Jess for short.”

Sam tries not to react, but they clearly do a bad job of it, because Jesse steps back a little. “Is that a problem?” he(?) asks.

Sam shakes her head rapidly and starts scribbling the name down like her speed might indicate her acceptance. “No, no, definitely not. I think… I think that’s really cool, actually. Did you”—there are definitely better ways to ask this, but oh well—“did you pick it yourself?”

Jesse relaxes immediately. “It was a collaborative effort.”

“Got it. Phone number?”

Jesse rattles off a cell, then asks, “What about you? What’s your name?”

“Me? I’m Sam.”

“Short for Samuel?”

Sam considers agreeing; after all, that is what it says on their birth certificate, but they stop at the last moment. “Short for—short for Samantha, actually.” The flash of recognition in Jesse’s eyes is both thrilling and terrifying. Sam quickly adds, “But maybe don’t go spreading that around.”

Jesse makes a lips-sealed gesture, eyes dead serious. Sam laughs gratefully.

“So,” Sam says, as quietly as she can, “do you—do you go by ‘he,’ or by ‘she,’ or—”

Jesse unzips his(?) mouth before replying, “Any of the above? Though… kind of like you said, you should probably stick to ‘she’ when there’s unfamiliar people around.”

“Deal.” Sam sticks out her hand, and the two of them shake on it. Jesse holds on a little longer than necessary, a small smile playing at his lips.

“It’s good to meet you, Sam. Really, what are the chances?”

Sam considers the question. “Pretty low. I didn’t know if I would find any tr—well, any people like me at Stanford.”

Jess nods. “I wasn’t that hopeless, but I definitely didn’t think it would happen day one. It is college, though. And California.”

Sam’s not certain what the significance of either of those things are, but before she can ask, Alyssa is calling the group back together. The rest of the students get back in formation behind her. Sam looks down at the second page of her notebook, which just has “Jesse” and a phone number written on it—no portrait yet. Damn. Though, Sam thinks, looking up at Jess walking ahead of them, maybe that’s a face she won’t need help remembering.

#samjess #sam winchester #jess moore #jessica moore #[though that's not her name here]#spnprideweek #spn #supernatural #fic #my fic #sam #jess #sj

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eldrai · 3 years

Text

I'm All Yours (If You're All Mine)

Whumptober 2021 - day 6 - prompt: touch-starved

Words: ~1.4k

Warnings: none

This one is definitely light on the whump part but I have to give them a break at some point lol. No warnings apply. Teenage Hotch & Haley. This is literally last minute, I’ll edit this section properly later, I swear.

AO3 version has proper author’s note. This probably won’t appear on my tumblr masterlist until tomorrow but yeah, enjoy!

masterlist / ao3

Haley lets her hand brush against his as they walk.

She isn’t sure if Aaron actually notices – if he does, there’s no indication; she’d take him ignoring it if it meant he’d acknowledge it first. Just give her something to work with instead of moving a touch to the side, as if it’s accidental.

(Jess says boys are just oblivious. But Jess also says boys are immature and sometimes she has to be the one to start the awkward conversations. And Jess doesn’t have a boyfriend, so… how much does she know?)

And it’s not like this is some big step: they’ve made out and he was just as into it as she was. Really, that should’ve been the grosser part than holding her hand every so often.

It isn’t often. She’s not like Hannah from her French class with a boyfriend practically attached to her hip; they’re both too busy, for one thing, and she doesn’t need to constantly prove it. And Aaron doesn’t like the attention. He’s told her about the boys in their grade, the ‘accidental’ pushing and shoving and they’re mostly morons, but that’s no reason to give them something else to hassle him about.

Haley understands that. Just wishes that times like now, with few people around and a quiet moment, he’d ever seem to want to reach out.

“What?” he asks, when she breathes out in an unintentional sigh.

She laces their fingers together, her shoulder just brushing his. “Nothing.”

“It’s never nothing when you say that,” Aaron says. His tone is light but he has to slow down to walk beside her, as if he has to think about each step. She squeezes his hand and he squeezes hers in return.

It doesn’t last. It never does. Haley isn’t surprised when he eases out of her grip and – perhaps thinking it is more subtle a movement than it is – wipes his hand on his pants, buries it in his pocket like his other.

“If you don’t want to do that, just say it,” she says, more irritable than she meant to. At his questioning look, she clarifies. “Holding my hand, or… whatever. That kind of thing.”

“It’s not you,” Aaron says.

No protest. No assuring her she’s wrong. Nothing. She rolls her eyes and hitches her bag up on her shoulder, curls her fingers around the strap for something to do. “Wow, thanks.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Aaron says. He looks away. “I don’t not like it – I do – but it’s…”

“It’s…”

“Different,” he settles on. “Girls, you all – I swear you have to hug each other even if you’re only apart for an hour. The world’s not gonna end if you don’t.”

Haley thinks of the boys in her classes, when their roughhousing really is pure friendliness and now it’s crossed her mind, she can’t recall them getting closer than an arm slung over a shoulder. “Yeah, because it’s nice,” she says. Nudges his shoulder. “And it looks less painful.”

Aaron tilts his head in acknowledgement. “That’s what I meant. It isn’t you. Just not – you know.”

“Boys,” she says lightly. “The world’s not gonna end if you actually do care about each other for a second.”

“Try telling them that.”

His hand reaches for hers this time and Haley grins, a warmth in her chest. Maybe he is a little oblivious but that’s hardly worth a huge argument, is it? “I just don’t get why! It’s not even something we think about – I mean, when was the last time you had a hug?”

Aaron shrugs, a faint amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know.”

“No, no,” Haley says. “Seriously.”

His gaze flits to the side as he thinks; a moment later he shrugs again. “I don’t know, I don’t… keep track of it.”

His expression softens into a flat neutral. She’s never quite sure if he’s aware of it, how she struggles to read him like that. If he wants her to. Haley leans into his side and rests her head against his shoulder, lets the moment go.

They meander down to a quiet spot near the edge of campus, where the sun warms the grass and the shade from the ancient tree is just cool enough. She drops her bag on the grass, digs out her lunch and her half-finished English essay. Aaron doesn’t bother: pushes his sleeves halfway up his forearms and uses his own bag as a pillow, one arm thrown lazily over his face to block out the sun.

She scratches away at her essay and they sit in a companionable silence, but it only holds her attention for so long before Haley starts and realises she’s zoned out, watching Aaron instead. The colour of his hair when the sun hits it at the right angle, the light curving along his neck when he eases his head to one side or another.

Haley shuffles closer. At the rustling grass, Aaron tilts his head back and squints at her. With her essay balanced on her lap, the crown of his head rests against the side of her leg. She brushes wayward strands of hair from his forehead.

“What..?” he murmurs.

“You had hair,” she says, because she hadn’t thought: had done it with the same careless motion Jess would do to her, and her to Jess. “And I really don’t want to get on with this stupid assignment.”

Apparently satisfied, he closes his eyes again. “Isn’t it due next period?”

“Unfortunately,” Haley says. She skims the last few lines, end of the pencil resting just between her lips, and strikes out the last part. The phrasing just doesn’t work.

Her other hand runs through Aaron’s hair, soft and sun-warmed, and she doesn’t realise. Not until she reaches the next break in her writing and stills, pulls it away, because if he doesn’t like regular—

“What was that?” he says. “That a thing girls just do?”

“No, I don’t know,” Haley says, glad he can’t see her face flushing. “I don’t think so?”

“Why’d you stop?”

“…I don’t know,” she lies. “I wasn’t doing it on purpose, I’m just stuck on this one paragraph and it won’t go.”

Aaron laughs. Still without opening his eyes he reaches back and finds her hand, places it down where she’d had it. “You know it’s fine. I’ve seen your essays.”

She cards her fingers through his hair, slow, gentle motions. “You’re biased.”

“Everyone’s biased,” he says, “if you think about it.”

Humming an agreement, she returns her attention to the work, as well as she can with him right there – that is to say, not very well. Haley follows the rise and fall of his chest. His hair just falls back into place whatever she does with it and instead she changes to tracing her nails over his scalp. Hardly a touch at all. Aaron goes still for a moment and she freezes, but then he pushes his head into the palm of her hand in a wordless insistence.

And if his breathing stutters for half a second, if he swallows with a quiet, wet sound, she doesn’t say anything about it.

The sun warms her back as she works. It’s flowing a little better – she supposes it’s not bad considering it’s due in half an hour and she’d only started twenty minutes ago – and for the most part Haley doesn’t struggle.

“Is it affect or effect?” she asks.

Aaron breathes.

“The whole sentence, is the grammar off or is it me?” she says, reads out the offending section.

Aaron doesn’t respond.

She sets down her pencil and it rolls along the paper, off her lap, and in a hushed tone: “Aaron?”

His breathing is softer, more even, and she smiles. “You awake?” she whispers.

Evidently not, because he does stir but doesn’t give any real sign of having heard her. Haley leans down and kisses his forehead.

She checks her watch every so often and time moves faster than it has any right to; she shakes his shoulder to rouse him when there’s only five minutes left to get back to class. Aaron mutters something unintelligible.

“Lunch’s nearly over,” Haley says. “You fell asleep.”

“Wasn’t asleep,” Aaron murmurs. “Just had my eyes closed.”

“Uh-huh.”

She gets to her feet, slings her bag over her shoulder and offers him a hand up as he blinks at the light. Aaron slips his hand into hers, this time, and the weight of his trust only really sets in as they make their way back. To accept the touch is one thing, to be so relaxed as to sleep is another.

“What?” he says, catching her gazing at him.

Haley smiles. “Nothing.”

#whumptober 2021 #no6 #touch starved #criminal minds #fanfic #eldrai does whumptober

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crispyjenkins · 4 years

Note

I might spam your box with ideas haha. S U F F E R. I’ve never liked the idea that after the Hardeen mission even Cody and Obi-wans men were all mad at him. There’s no one that would understand more than the troopers and Cody in my opinion. They understand having a duty and Following orders, even if you don’t agree with them. So I need me some Codywan + Obi getting so much more closer with his men and them being his support system now + ahsoka not being mad at her grandmaster. Please & thanks

(i have that one fill about the space fam™ figuring out obi-wan isn’t doing too hot after the deception arc, which is all well and good, but yeah the clones would absolutely understand and support obi faking his death for a mission and the fandom needs more of that. so here is fiori enabling me. and rex loving and supporting his general but also being super unimpressed with his tantrum

thank you for all the prompts, ad'ika ( ˘ ³˘) altho now I've had to shuffle my entire prompt list so that it's not you every other fill for the next month lmao)

“And he just goes right back to work?” Anakin snarls with a vague gesture across the bridge, to where General Kenobi is speaking with Cody and Wooley, and Maker, does the General look young. He had been reluctant to waste time on cosmetic corrections, and had only allowed the Jedi healers to give him some of his hair back; for better or for worse, he's letting the beard grow back naturally.

If the absurd amount of cooing that had happened at the Temple is anything to go by, many of the Jedi miss Kenobi’s baby-face, that he had supposedly covered with a beard as soon as he'd taken Anakin on as his apprentice. When Kenobi had given his first debrief after the Jedi had fixed his features back into his own, Echo had panicked and called him “cadet” in front of three different battalions, and the 501st is never going to let him forget it.

Anakin had not laughed.

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir,” Rex says carefully, turning back to the datapad in his hand to look over the command roster for their coming deployment. “General Kenobi’s injuries from the mission were superficial, he’ll be fully healed before we even make it to the Mid-Rim.”

Scoffing, Anakin continues to glare at his former master. “You can’t tell me you’re not angry, Rex,” he says, and leans against the console behind him.

Ahsoka had warned him that his general clearly wasn't over Kenobi’s supposed betrayal, and Rex is Mando enough to admit he’s been avoiding this conversation; he won’t lie to Anakin, no, they’ve been through far too much together for that, but no matter how close they are, their friendship would not save him from Anakin’s wrath.

So he pretends to be reading the roster for another long moment, wishing he had Kote’s diplomacy. “I am not, sir, just as I was not angry when Kix feigned desertion for the mission on Odos II.” Glancing up, he’s relieved to see Anakin isn’t glaring at him yet, but if Ahsoka hadn’t been able to talk him down, Rex doesn’t stand a chance. “The Supreme Chancellor's life being at stake is no small matter, the High Generals had many factors to consider, including that Count Dooku would be watching you closely in the wake of General Kenobi’s death.”

“Are you saying I can’t act?”

“I’m saying that if Count Dooku thought for even a moment you were faking it, the whole mission would have been in jeopardy. Sir.”

He doesn’t need to know banthashit about the Force to feel it when Anakin goes from simmering to incensed, not with the way Anakin warps the air between them, saturating it with his rage until General Kenobi sends them a concerned frown across the bridge. Anakin doesn’t seem to notice, glare fixed on Rex, and this really isn’t how he would have expected them to fall out.

Or that they'd have to fall out at all.

The tragedy of the thought makes Rex bold, meeting Anakin’s rage with a calm and confidence stolen from far stronger men. “You were not the only one made to believe in the General’s death, you forget there are others who care for him as deeply as you do.” Kote, he doesn’t say, Vos and Ahsoka and the Duchess, Wupi and Choke and Boil. “I perhaps would not include myself in that count, but should you not put aside your anger and be relieved that the General was not actually murdered?” Kote catches his eye and taps at his wrist guard, his concern obvious as he asks Rex in didi if he’s alright, and Rex will gladly take the unintentional out his brother has given him. “Just something to think about, sir. Here is the adjusted command roster, Captain Sage was transferred to the Coruscant Guard following his injury during the campaign on Aslo. Excuse me, sir, Commander Cody seems to have a question for me.” He hands the datapad to Anakin, who is miraculously too stunned not to take it, before Rex moves quickly across the bridge.

Ahsoka sits gingerly across from Rex in the almost-empty mess, murmuring, “I take it the talk didn’t go well.”

He snorts into his cup of caf. “From a certain point of view, it went better than expected.”

Wincing, Ahsoka rubs her own arms and casts her eyes down to the table. “I tried asking him about it before we left Coruscant, I’ve never seen him so angry, not even at the funeral.”

Rex is used to being the little brother, of both his batchmates and the CC track, and this is one of the times where he laments that: when he doesn’t quite know how to comfort the way his brothers comforted him. “If I may, sir,” he says, quiet enough that the few vode at the table across the room won’t hear, “are you not angry with General Kenobi?”

“No?” She chews her bottom lip. “I mean, yes, I mean– I’m happy he’s alive. It hurt, being kept out of the loop, but it’s not as if I was singled out for that, right? And I... I understand why he did it, why it had to be done and why it played out like it did, but it still hurt. But I’m also so relieved that Master Obi-Wan is alive, that I don’t think my hurt matters.”

“And General Skywalker hasn’t come to that conclusion yet.”

She shakes her head. “How... How has Cody taken it?”

“I think he’s more angry that he was forced to miss the funeral than Kenobi faking his death." Rex isn't sure where Kote and Kenobi stand now, they had been heading towards a collision before this Hardeen fiasco, and he doesn't know where they've landed. Brothers? Lovers? Whatever the hell Echo and Fives are? He hadn't been able to ask before the 212th and the 501st split ways. "It was for a mission, wasn't it? We're soldiers, Commander Tano, we're born with 'Mission First' imprinted on our brains."

Ahsoka giggles at the mental image, and Rex is relieved to see her shoulders relax. "All the padawans expected Knight Vos to react the worst," she says, crossing her arms on the table. "He grew up with Master Obi-Wan, you know? But he just... accepted it, he simply understood and... Letting go is part of being a Jedi. Knowing when you can't change things, and accepting failures, and understanding no matter the circumstances."

It would certainly not be the first time Anakin has stumbled on the Jedi path.

"General Vos was a Shadow, no?" Rex asks, considering his watery caf and wishing he knew how to approach his general about any of this. "He would empathise most, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose you're right," she says, bouncing her legs. "How have the others been? Echo and Jesse and them?"

"They're most disturbed by Kenobi’s face, to be honest."

Choking on a laugh, Ahsoka reaches across the table to steal an unused sucrose packet from Rex's tray. "I did hear something about Echo and cadets," she admits. "Oh no, how did Kix react?"

Rex smirks at the memory. "He really does like Kenobi’s hair, doesn't he?"

"He must have been devastated!"

"I think he tried to get the General to let him shave designs in the undercut."

"I suddenly know what I'm doing for the next Disaster Lineage prank war."

Rex winces, remembering the last prank war and how long it had taken Anakin to stop smelling like hot sauce. "Jesse's the best with the razors," he says blandly, mourning his now-empty cup and the broken caf machine in the kitchen, "and will work for extra shower tokens."

is this what you wanted, fiori?? 1,400 words about obi-wan without obi-wan in it for more than two seconds???

Mando’a: didi — a Clone-dialect specific form of dadita, a Mandalorian nonverbal communication similar to morse code. i think the clones would have a modified version of dadita that utilised placement of fingers on their arm as well as the actual taps, for quicker communication in close quarters, so in this case, didi is short for gadi dadita, “wrist dadita”. They would use this alongside standard military hand signals!

vode — “brothers, comrades, siblings”, sing. vod, technically gender neutral but used most often in fandom as “brothers”

#prompt fill #crispy writes #theclonewarsbrokeme #codywan #implied anyways #post-deception arc #captain rex #i think this is my first time doing rex pov?#prequel trilogy #clone wars #ask #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #actually forgot you'd asked for codywan and slipped that one line in because i'm a predictable bih

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mldrgrl · 4 years

Text

Broken Things 9/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

He likes her more and more with every minute that passes. In some ways she reminds him of his sister. Samantha was such a determined and spirited little girl and he can see the same qualities in Katherine, though it’s clear she tries to suppress them. He suspects that’s a product of both her upbringing and her previous marriage.

He’s excited to get her settled on the ranch and to have her there. As a man raised by a strong woman of considerable influence, he’s missed both the female perspective and the companionship. There is a different energy that women bring with them that has been inspiring poets and heroes throughout history. Perhaps that energy is what Monica Doggett was referring to when she was talking about auras.

The ranch is alive with activity when he arrives. Jesse and Jimmy are training in the corral. Richard is mending fence posts and Trevor is moving the sheep from grazing back to the pen, with Queenie keeping the small herd in line. Melvin is nowhere in sight, which could mean he’s getting supper together or tinkering in the barn.

Mulder stops the wagon just outside the barn. He helps Katherine down and she waits to help with the unloading of her things. He gives her the valise and insists on doing the rest even though it will take a few trips.

“Go on ahead,” he tells her. “I’m going to see to the horses and I’ll be along in a minute.”

Trevor comes along as Mulder is unhitching the wagon and he takes the horses away to be watered and fed. Before he unloads the packages he stops by the corral and checks in with Jesse and Jimmy on the training.

With his arms loaded with packages, he steps into Katherine’s room, but stays just inside the doorway to wait to be invited in. She has removed her hat and has the valise opened and is standing before the open wardrobe.

“Looks like Melvin has been busy,” Mulder says, noting the vase of fresh wildflowers on the side table and the quilt folded at the foot of the bed. The room smells of lemons and a feather duster has been abandoned on the side of the wash stand.

“He shouldn’t have gone to any trouble on my account,” she says.

“I’ll be sure to scold him later and send him to bed without supper. Where would you like these?”

“I’ll take them.”

He hands off the packages to her and she places them almost gently on the bed and then touches one almost reverently. He wonders when the last time she had something new and for herself was. He hopes she got everything she needed and at least a few things that she just wanted.

“I need to take care of a few things with the horses so I’ll let you settle in.”

“I’d like to get started on my responsibilities as soon as possible.”

“You wouldn’t like a day or two to yourself before you start taking things on?”

“No, thank you, I like to keep occupied.”

“I’ll track Melvin down and send him to you.”

“I’ll put my things away then and wait here.”

Mulder takes a few steps to the bed and then twirls a bit of the twine knotting one of her packages around one finger. “This is your home now,” he says. “You are the lady of the house.”

“Are you trying to gently remind me that I should not act as a guest here?”

“Or reminding myself not to treat you like one.”

“Then I will find Mr. Frohike as soon as I have unpacked my things and have him show me what needs to be done.”

“As my lady wishes.” Mulder smiles and then bows slightly. “I will see you at supper.”

↭

She doesn’t have to find Mr. Frohike, he finds her, whistling as he enters the room and then stops when he sees her. He’s carrying two oil lamps, one in each hand. She has just finished putting her packages away in the wardrobe and is folding the paper and balling the twine to repurpose at some point.

“Mr. Frohike,” she says. “Please, come in.”

“Pardon me for not knockin’, Madam,” he says. “I didn’t know you was here. And we’re not big on formalities, you can just call me Melvin.”

“Only if you call me Katherine. Could I help you with those?”

“These are for you, actually. I was just makin’ sure they were filled and the wicks were cut. Got one for the table and one for the desk. I can rustle up a few more, I think, if’n you want.” He sets the lamps down where he said they belonged and then grabs the feather duster that was left behind and shoves it handle-first into the back pocket of his pants.

“No, I can make do just fine with these. I’m glad you’re here, I was just going to come look for you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, I’m ready for you to show me what my duties are.”

“Duties, huh? What kind of duties you after?”

“Cooking, cleaning, mending. Or anything else you think I should take care of.”

“Oh, so Mulder brought you here to overthrow me, did he?”

“You can think of it as lightening your load.”

“Alright then, I’ll give you the rundown on who does what ‘round here.”

Katherine learns that Trevor is the youngest and newest hand on the ranch. He’s sixteen, orphaned from a tender age, and came through town at the beginning of summer, looking for work. Melvin happened to be at the sawmill that day for some lumber when he came asking. He took one look at the boy and knew he was still too puny for hard labor, so he brought him to the ranch and Mulder put him to work seeing to the livestock.

The livestock, she soon learns, was also unintentional. They started with keeping chickens for the eggs, but then Mulder started taking in injured or abandoned animals. It was fairly common for folks to pick up stakes after some time and turn their stock out when they left. And there were also folks who Mulder may have nursed a sick horse back to health for and they may have shown him their gratitude for his time with a pig or a goat.

“That old gal right there,” Melvin says, pointing out a grey goat mixed in amongst the sheep. “She’s called Lucy, which is short for Lucifer. Folks dropped her off with us and said she was the devil himself and they were either going to put her down or see if Mulder could tame her, since he’s so good at breakin’ horses.”

“She looks alright to me.”

“Oh, she is now. Sweet as pie. Mulder knew there was somethin’ bothering her from the start. Said she was buttin’ and stompin’ because she was mighty afraid and just pretendin’ not to be. Turns out, them chickens at her old place were harassin’ her and causin’ the terrible disposition.”

“How did Mulder know that?”

“He says he asked her and she told him.” Melvin laughs. “Likely he just observed that she got ornery when the ladies of the coop got to cluckin’ and put two and two together. He moved the goat pen to the far end over here, away from all them chickens and now she’s got no worries as long as they keep to their end of the ranch. The folks said we could keep her and so we’ve had her with us since.”

“He really cares for these animals, doesn’t he?”

“That he does.”

She learns that Jesse and Jimmy are brothers, the youngest of a family of eight. Their parents have a sheep farm about fifty miles out on the way to Fort Worth. Their two oldest brothers and their wives run the place now and Jesse and Jimmy figured it was time to set off and do for themselves. A lot of mouths to feed out there and there wasn’t much of a place for them any longer. Jimmy is the same age as she is, twenty-two, and Jesse is only a year older. They’ve been working for Mulder for more than two years and spend most of their time helping with the exercising and training of all the horses. At Mulder’s insistence, they ride out and spend at least one week’s end with their family every few months.

Mulder met Richard in Fort Worth when he was there doing some trading. He was skin and bones and crazy whiskers when he boldly went up to Mulder’s wagon, opened the jockey box, and started tinkering with the wheels. When Mulder asked him just what in the hell he thought he was doing, Richard shrugged and said that the pivot was loose and the pin needed fixing.

Richard could fix just about anything, but he’d been kicked out of the army for arguing with the sergeants one too many times. They don’t know nothing about nothing, is what he will say about that.

“He’s a bit of a lone wolf,” Melvin says. “Set in his ways and nobody can tell him nothin’ when he’s tryin’ to solve a problem. Got hisself a temper, but only takes it out on hisself too. Got a wanderin’ spirit, and I think he would pick up and go sometimes if’n the streets hadn’t been so mean to him, poor beanpole.”

“What about you?” Katherine asks.

“I’ve been here from the beginning.”

“But, what’s your story?”

“Bah. I ain’t got a story.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I know that some things have to be kept inside.”

“It’s time we started on supper, let’s get on in the kitchen.”

Katherine follows Melvin into the house, noticing as he walks up the stairs that he has a hint of a limp. He shows her where pots and pans are, where the dishes are, where the spices are kept, how to open the cellar door for the canned vegetables and salted meats. She learns what the boys like for breakfast, what a typical noon dinner is like, and when supper is served.

Melvin is slicing beef steaks and she is slicing potatoes when he starts to talk. “I had a wife once,” he says. “Eliza. Her family settled near ours in what’s now called Lee’s Summit in Missouri. She showed up at the schoolhouse one day with her sister Becky and I was smitten.”

“How old were you then?”

“Nine. She was eight, but she was one of them kids that takes to book learnin’ like a duck to water, so teacher put her next to me to share my reader and work on sums together. I knew I was going to marry her the day I met her.”

“And you did.”

“Yes, we did. I was seventeen, she was sixteen. I got a little plot of land to start a farm and she wanted to be a teacher. We did good that year. The crops were profitable and she was teachin’ at a nearby settlement called Blue Springs.”

“Excuse me a minute, I’m going to put these potatoes on to boil.”

“Almost done with these steaks here and I’ll help with the carrots.”

They move about the kitchen in silence for a few minutes as they tend to supper. She checks the fire on the stove while he greases a pan and then she starts to chopping up carrots and he joins her.

“We weren’t too far off from Independence,” he says, continuing his story from where he left off. “People were comin’ through all the time gettin’ themselves ready to head out to the Oregon territory.”

“I’ve heard tales about the journey. They say it was long and harsh.”

“Yes, it was.” Melvin stops chopping for a moment and looks off into the distance.

“You went to the Oregon territory?”

“Eliza had an adventurous spirit. As a girl, her family come to Missouri from Wisconsin, and I think she remembered the trek with a child’s excitement. All them folks comin’ through, eager for new land, new starts and the like, it caught her like a fever.”

“She wanted to go, but you didn’t?”

“I wanted what she wanted. We waited until the followin’ spring, sold the farm, and then headed out to join a caravan up in Independence. Our parents begged us not to go, said it was too dangerous and we ought to stay right where we were with our nice farm and all our family and our friends. But, Eliza could not be swayed and so neither could I.”

“You were eighteen then?”

“Just turned nineteen. We left the day before Eliza’s eighteenth birthday, the twenty-sixth of April, 1850.”

“I bet that feels like a lifetime ago for you now.”

“Several lifetimes. You know, I just had a thought, if we peel up them apples Mulder brung in, we could spice them for dessert. The boys will like that.”

“I’ll get them.”

Melvin gathers the carrots into a bowl to boil when the potatoes are finished and he checks the fire in the stove this time while Katherine gathers the apples. It takes her some time to find the peeling knives, and she makes a few mental notes on how she’d like to organize the kitchen when she takes it over to maximize efficiency. She’ll have to ask Melvin about it later so as not to cause any offense.

“What happened next?” Katherine asks, as they sit down to peel the apples.

“The first part of the journey weren’t so bad,” he answers. Nothin’ real excitin’ to look at, but the journey itself was excitin’ enough, I think. We got to Fort Kearney where people did some swappin’ and then we followed a river up to Fort Laramie. I got a little worried because even in the summer it was so cold up there, but Eliza said it was nothin’ what compared to a Wisconsin winter. And the rain was just...so many folks got themselves stuck in mud and we had to leave them behind and hope they’d catch up down the way. We come close a few times, but I think I had the strongest oxen on the earth and they managed to pull us out. I wish they hadn’t, though.”

“You wanted to be stuck?”

Melvin is quiet for a few moments. “We carved our initials on this great big hump of a rock they call the Register of the Desert. Soon after we made a slow climb up into the mountains and on to Fort Hall. By that time there was only half of the caravan left. Some folks just gived up a long way back and turned for home, some folks just died where they was because it was too hot or they were too sickly or it was just too dadgum tough.”

“Did you ever think about turning back?”

“All the time. I think I knew it was a mistake before we even set out, but Eliza was as certain as I was skeptical.”

“What happened, Melvin?”

“They’re called the Blue Mountains. Steep, hard to navigate, rough terrain. I told Eliza to get on in the back of the wagon because I was afraid she’d fall off the seat, it was so uneven. The oxen were slippin’ and I could tell they were tired, but we couldn’t stop. I’ve never been so grateful for anything in all my life when we reached the top and I figured the way down would be easier. It was just too narrow. Too dadgum narrow.”

Katherine stops her peeling and puts a hand over Melvin’s. He lays down his peeling knife and lifts one arm to wipe his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. She finds that her own eyes are wet and she doesn’t need him to say anything else to know the rest.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “You don’t need to tell me anymore.”

“It’s alright. It’s been thirty-six years, but it stays fresh in my mind. The back wheel went off the path and I know them oxens tried real hard to pull it out, but the fact is, it was just too heavy for them and it happened too fast. We overturned and providence saw to it that I landed with no more than a busted ankle, but Eliza was inside the wagon. I always wonder if things could’ve turned out different if’n I hadn’t told her to go on and get in back.”

“I ask myself a variation of that question all the time. I try not to think like that, but I know it’s harder said than done.”

“It pains me the most that I was spared, and not her. I made it to Oregon with a family that carted me and my busted ankle in the back of their wagon, but she was the one that wanted to go. I spent a lot of years after that feelin’ sorry for myself, roamin’ around this country and refusin’ to settle.”

“You didn’t go back to Missouri?”

“Not ever. I couldn’t face Eliza’s parents after what happened. Or her sister.”

“And you didn’t remarry?”

“There’s no one compares to Eliza.”

“How did you end up here?”

“Same way you did, I guess. Or Richard, or them goats or the whole lot of us. We was in the right place at the right time and we run into a collector of broken things.” Melvin wipes his eyes once more and then lightly slaps the table. “So, that’s my story. Maybe one day you’ll tell me yours.”

“Perhaps I will,” she says. Unlikely, she thinks.

#i wrote this #broken things #chapter 9 #AU #MSR

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