#in the same universe. and charles isn’t even really in their universe anymore?? like he can be & i still headcanon that he and em would be | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

randomestfandoms-ocs · 7 months

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Any Richie and his aunt/uncle/various family headcanons from his crossover list? 🥺👀

(it took so much restraint to not just make a giant list of Kirsty headcanons but all of these are with the vague hc that the twins share a universe because I can't separate them)

Annabel (shit she needs a new last name now that she's Hope's granddaughter 😅)

Richie finds out that they're related on his first day at Yale, they're in the same class and a professor goes "oh, you must be Richard and Emily's niece" and Richie's brain explodes

Things would definitely be very tense and awkward for a while but then I feel like they'd get along

Charles

Delicate-verse, Charles is a very good uncle and decides not to tell Richie that he's definitely slept with his boyfriends before

Richie asks Lottie if they can designate a room for Charles/if he can maybe move in

He goes to all of Charles' plays and is one of the first people to read his scripts

Charles is one of the first people that he comes out to because he knows that Charles is also queer

Charles loves yelling at Charleston for the twins

Charles also always went to New York with Kirsty and Emily for Christmas, s1 he shows up the first day of christmas break (the year Emily decides she's not going anymore) and asks if the twins are ready to go

When Richie decides to start spicing up his wardrobe, Charles insists on taking him on a Gilmore Boys shopping spree in New York and insists on paying for all of it

Charles punches Christopher for the twins at least once

Charles has a separate phone line in his room so at the last Christmas pre-twins-at-chilton, he gave them both that number so they could talk without their parents knowing?

He's also the first person to know about Kirsty's party year (sorry to steal your moment Troy but maybe at The Party, he found Kirsty and freaked out a bit that his little niece was there and so fucked up so called Richie and then drove her home himself?

"Accidentally" spills wine on Francine and Straub during the Hayden dinner, and on Christopher and Emily at the debutante ball

Richie isn’t really sure what to make of Charles when they start seeing each other more often; the Charles that he saw at Christmas every year and the Charles he sees at school and Friday Night Dinners are very different people

Charles loves to kidnap the twins to go on trips with him

(baby Charlotte is named after Lottie but also Charles?)

When Richard has his heart attack in s1, Richie insists on bringing Charles back to the Donahue house with he and Kirsty and the three of them end up all falling asleep in a pile on Kirsty's bed

Dani

I feel like Dani and Richie & Kirsty have probably always been a bit closer than Dani and Rory (Rory loves her aunt and they get along well but they never quite Click™ in large part because of Lorelai being weird about Dani all the time)

Richie has sometimes suspected that Dani isn’t his aunt for a while because he picks up on all the weirdness but at the same time he’s like “no but mom would have said something… right??”

but anyways so I feel like growing up they probably got along well but only saw each other a few times a year!

Dani is a year ahead of them at Chilton and is so protective when they transfer

And once the “holy shit wait” reveal happens, I think they’d get closer!

I can see Richie being the one to try to reach out and make sure that she knows that no matter what’s up with the whole family drama, she’s his sister and he loves her!

And like I def think that they’d get closer over the seasons, but idk I feel like they’d start off close as aunt/nephew, stumble a bit over being siblings, and then become best friends!

Before Dani moves in with Luke, Richie asks Lottie if she could stay with them for a while because she needs to be away from Emily

Ilsa

jock siblings jock siblings jock siblings

Ilsa's love of sports is definitely influenced by Richie, and even for sports that he doesn't play, he always helps her prepare for tryouts

In her canon her coaches all call her Danes because they used to be Luke's coaches, but in crossovers they all call her Gilmore because of Richie

Ilsa feels like she's letting down Richie & Kirsty when she decides on going to Harvard and just gets the most proud, supportive big sibling speech instead

Aside from post-S2, whenever Richie and Kirsty are spending a weekend or a break or the summer in New York, they always bring Ilsa with them

Luke put bunk beds in Ilsa's room since she mostly lives with him and he wanted to make sure that Richie and Kirsty could stay with her

Either Kirsty or Richie has a trundle bed so they can pull it out and have a bed for Ilsa when she wants to stay at Lorelai's house, and then they either have the same at Lottie's or Lottie designates a specific guest room for her

One of Richie's biggest pre-Chilton issues with Emily (aside from the Kirsty stuff) is how awful she's always been to Ilsa — crossover Ilsa's relationship with her wouldn't improve as much as it does solo verse but Richie still at least appreciates that she finally started trying to be better

Emily offers to pay for Ilsa to go to Chilton, Richie talks to all of the sports coaches about scholarship possibilities and then helps Ilsa apply for them so that Emily won't have control over her the way she does the rest of them

Richie is the first person to know that Ilsa wants to be a writer and the first person to read everything she writes

(bonus: Ilsa-crossover, Victoria's name is Victoria Ilsa instead of Victoria Patty?)

Jocelyn

Jocelyn isn't super present in their lives but they do visit her in California every summer

Once she moves to New York, she invites the kids to visit more often

If/when she learns about the party year and how they celebrate Kirsty's sobriety, she would also help with getting them really good and discounted (or free, depending on the show) tickets to shows

Either Jocelyn is already out to Richie, or she comes out to him after hearing about the Hayden dinner

(makes sure he knows that she loves him and that even though she doesn't have much relationship with their family, her apartment is always a safe space for him if he needs it)

Lili

Not super close growing up (I feel like Kirsty & Lili would be a very weird vibe and Richie is just protective of Kirsty) but when she gets sent to Stars Hollow High, Richie makes sure to still introduce her to all of his friends and show her around town a bit

has a lot lot lot of concerns about her wild child nature because of Kirsty's party year

I don't have a lot of thoughts here yet but I feel like they'd be fun

Lorrie (ft Jamey)

BEST BROTHER RICHIE!!!!

Richie is so excited to have a new baby sister even though he and Lorelai don't actually talk

he and Kirsty replace the jess & rory group chat with her that’s entirely dedicated to “mom and dad/mom and grandma are fighting again pls pick me up”

Lorrie has a room in the New York apartment, in each of their New Haven apartments, when FirstHusbands get their own apartment in New York, and in the white house, and Richie always drops everything to pick her up from stars hollow

Also listen Richie is 20 years older than her, you know that he regularly gets mistaken for her dad!!

But seriously Lorrie would absolutely idolize Richie and Richie would be the world’s softest big brother!

And maybe when he finds out that there’s going to be another Lorelai, he’s the one who suggests calling her Lorrie

one of the rare times he talks to Lorelai (especially in s7) is to yell at her about abandoning Lorrie to marry Christopher

Richie tries to make it to as many of Lorrie's competitions & dance shows as he possibly can

He's always so supportive of her interests and like with Ilsa, always helps her prepare for sports tryouts

Kirsty & Richie were both there for her first crawling, first words, and first steps but Lorelai wasn't

Lorrie thinks that Richie is the coolest person ever she's obsessed

Lucas

I don't have as much for them because we talk about them more 😅

They've never been Richie-Kirsty close but they've definitely always been close

Richie is loyal to Luke's but when he doesn't want to deal with Lorelai, he'll hang out at Weston's while Lucas is working

he and Kirsty are the first people that Lucas and Willow talk to when they inherit Weston's & the Dragonfly

Lucas goes to every sports game to cheer for Richie (bonus that Kirsty & Willow are cheerleaders together? 🥺)

Richie (and Kirsty) has always had a standing invitation to sleepover at Willow's whenever they need it

Lucas ends up with his own room at Lottie's but the invitation is extended to Willow too

Lucas is the first person other than Richie (and maybe Luke?) to drive the truck

Lucas is the only other person that Richie and Kirsty will let in the kitchen when one of them is cooking/baking and they're the only non-Willow people that he'll let in the kitchen when he is

Lucas is in the same quad as Richie at Yale

Lucas is more likely to eat Rory & Lorelai's junk food than Richie and Kirsty, but most of the time still chooses to have dinner with the two of them instead

When Lucas is in Hep Alien briefly, Richie and Kirsty go to all of their concerts (if he's ever in another band, they'd go to all of those concerts too)

Pippi

Richie goes to all of her soccer games

I don't know enough about her to have a lot of vibes yet

but also Richie will absolutely fight Emily anytime she blames Pippi for Christopher leaving the second time

Preston

Like Jocelyn, if/when he learns about the party year and how they celebrate Kirsty's sobriety, he would also help with getting them really good and discounted (or free, depending on the show) tickets to shows

As soon as he finds out about the party year he offers to pay for rehab if Kirsty needs it, and for therapy for both of them

He's one of the first people that Richie comes out to (Richie & Kirsty know he's bi and also know that Emily still doesn't know, so he feels safe)

Preston surprises them by completely redecorating one of his guest rooms to be a room for them

Along with spoiling them on birthdays/christmas, Preston always gets them each a train voucher each year (birthday & christmas) so that if they need to get to him/New York in an emergency, they can (in a non-emergency he'd tell them to call him and he'd sort out the tickets right away)

Lottie is also there of course but he helps them move into Yale (maybe stuck around in Hartford for the summer to help out with Kirsty & the babies and offered then)

Offers to pay their tuition without hesitation (and for Chilton so that they aren't under Emily's control)

Can't make it to all of Richie's games or Kirsty's recitals/competitions but tries to make it to the big ones

In the post S2 summer, Kirsty didn't reach out to Preston because she was embarrassed by how much she was struggling, but Richie gets him involved? He goes to every medical appointment, pays for all of it, half moves into the apartment to take care of Kirsty, and makes sure that on top of Kirsty calling Richie every day, he does too to update him on everything health wise

Tommy

Tommy absolutely doesn't understand Richie's whole jock thing but still goes to his games

Richie is usually one of the first people to hear the band's new music

...I need to figure out more about Tommy

#ask #answered #the witching ash #crossover ask

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babybluebex · 4 years

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retribution pt.1 [charles blackwood smut]

➽ pairing: dark!stepfather!charles blackwood x fem!reader (y/n) ➽ word count: 4.9k ➽ summary: after charles marries your mother to gain a massive fortune, he realizes that he married the wrong woman, and he sets his sights on the real heiress: you. ➽ warnings: NSFW/MDNI. explicit language, smut, thigh-riding, oral (f!receiving), power dynamics, step!cest, masturbation, yandere/obession (i think??), daddy kink, breeding kink, slapping, mentions of murder/suicide ➽ a/n: i know that is different than what i usually post, but charles blackwood just... hmmm he grinds my gears in the best way. so, enjoy! masterlist/taglist in bio (and the sequel will be soon!)

From the very moment you laid eyes on Charles Blackwood, you loathed him. There was something about him physically that turned you off of him. Maybe it was the way his hair was just too perfectly done, the caramel highlights too pretty to be natural. Maybe it was the way his cologne filled your head, dark and lovely, but too masculine, like he was making up for something. Or maybe it was the smile that graced his pink and pouty lips when your mother introduced him to you as her husband.

It had hardly been a year since your father had passed, and you had no idea just how your mother could move on as quickly as she did. It had torn you up in a way that nothing else quite had. You had always been closer to your father than your mother and, when he got sick, you were left to bear the weight of what was happening. You went to visit him at the hospital alone and sat with him and read to him, and you held his hand as the nurses carefully turned off his machines. You guess that it was worth it, though; you found out that your father had altered his will and now, instead of his money being left to your mother, it was left to you. The only condition was that you had to get married to receive the money, going back to a conversation many years ago where your father tried to convince you not to go to university, telling you that the life of a wife and a mother would suit you better. You said that you would think about it.

“You’re not my dad,” you told Charles Blackwood. You expected him to be cross or maybe even hurt by your insistence upon that, but he smirked, as if he had expected that sort of answer. “I’m not gonna call you that.”

“Aw, that’s alright, honey,” Charles said, and he pressed his hand to your mother’s shoulder to stop her from scolding you. “I didn’t think you would. That’s awful, what happened to him. I’m really sorry about that.”

So casual, the way he talked about your father’s death. As if it was nothing more to you than a bad exam grade. You cried that night, locked up in your room, wanting Charles gone already. He was in the kitchen when you went in in the morning, sitting at the table, reading the newspaper, and whistling. He had the glow of a recently-spent man about him, and you internally sneered at the thought of him fucking your mother. “Hey, you,” he said, putting the paper down. “Let’s have a talk, huh?”

You glared at him, but sat down at the table all the same. You dug your thumbs into your orange and raised your eyebrows expectantly at him, and Charles pursed his lips. “I want you to know something,” he said. “I love your mom, right? And I have no interest in being your new dad or whatever. But I expect you to treat me with a little bit of respect, not any of… This.” He waved his finger at you, obviously talking about your current abhorrent pose. “I may not be your dad, but I’m still paying the bills and paying for you to go to university. So you’re gonna treat me like you fucking worship the ground I walk on. Got it, honey?”

“And what do I get outta this?” you grumbled.

“You get to keep living here,” Charles said. “You still get all that money that your father left your mother when he died. I don’t see what else you need.”

You scoffed. “Right,” you whispered. “‘Cause you only care about money. Well, Chuck, that’s fucking hysterical, that you think I’m even remotely like you. I can see past dollar signs and see what people are actually about. Anyway, I could care less about your money. I’ve got my own.”

“Doing what?” Charles asked with a dismissive laugh. “Waitressing?”

“You wish,” you sneered. “Mother didn’t get any money from Father.”

“All that money?” Charles asked slowly. “Where the hell did it go?”

“Into my trust fund,” you said highly, and you watched Charles’s blue eyes widen. “I have every cent of my father’s. All I have to do is get married, and me and my husband can fuck off, away from you.”

Charles stuttered for a moment, then said, “Let me get this straight. Your father left every red dime to his kid and not his wife? And you can only access it if you get married?”

“I told him that I wasn’t getting married,” you explained. “This is his twisted way of guaranteeing that I tie the knot at some point; soon, I guess. But congratulations, Chuck. Welcome to the family.”

As you stood up from your place, Charles’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, and you yelped. His grip was strong, veins in his hand exposing themselves, and his jaw was set with a rising anger. You could see the red flush in his chest and neck, and, as pleased as you wished you were, you were frightened by him. Your father had never grabbed you like that before. Nobody had. “What did I say about a little goddamn respect?” Charles asked through gnashed teeth, and he twisted his hand, pulling your skin and making you cry out in pain. “You don’t call me Chuck. You call me Charles, or Father, or fucking nothing.”

“Let go of me, you fucking bastard,” you hissed.

Charles’s face was red now, and he lashed out and struck you across the cheek. Before you even had time to cry out, he had you by the chin, forcing you to look at him. “Go to your room,” he told you. “Next time I see you, if this fucking attitude isn’t fixed, you’re gonna be really sorry. You hearing me, honey?”

You nodded, using every ounce of your self control to not burst into tears on the spot. You cursed him in your head, wishing for him to leave you and your mother alone. You wanted him gone, maybe even dead. Certainly nowhere near you or your mother anymore. Charles stared at you, watching you, making sure of your compliance, then he let go of your face and tugged you close to his body by your wrist. Confusion overtook you as he hugged you, but then it made sense when you heard the floorboard in the hallway creak. “I know you miss him,” Charles said, quiet but certainly loud enough for your mother to hear from the hallway. “And I can’t be him, but I’ll try my best. Alright, honey?”

He sent a quick pinch to your tender wrist, and you finally let out your caged sobs. “Hey, hey,” Charles said, shushing you in what could be mistaken for comfort. “No need for crying, little one. I’m here for you.”

When you finally tore yourself from Charles, he looked happy. The anger was gone from his face, and he smiled at you. “‘Morning, lovely,” he said to your mother, and he stepped around you to embrace your mother and kiss her cheek.

“What’s going on?” your mother asked, looking at you worriedly.

“Having a little heart-to-heart,” Charles said softly. “Said she missed her father, and I told her that I’ll try my hardest to be there for her.”

“Aw,” your mother cooed and placed a kiss on Charles’s lying lips. “You’re too good to us.”

That conversation seemed to change something between you and Charles. He was still an asshole when your mother wasn’t looking, but you knew not to tell her. She wouldn’t believe it, and it would inevitably just mean more trouble for you. However, there was suddenly something more with Charles. He seemed charming, as always, but you sensed something sinister underneath it. You knew that he was only after your father’s money, and he was now stuck with your mother when it was you who had all the money. You knew that he was mad at marrying the wrong woman, but he couldn’t do anything about it now, and the thought that your presence vexed him as much as he did you pleased you.

Except, as you found out one night, Charles still could do something.

It was still dark outside your window when you heard your bedroom door creak open. You liked to sleep with it closed, and you brushed it off as the house shifting as it settled. Your clock said that it was five in the morning, and you nearly got up to close your door back, but you smelled him first. Fresh from his morning shower, cologne still potent, Charles lingered in the doorway to your room before stepping in. You squinted your eyes to try to see what Charles was doing, but still trying to act asleep, and you watched him cross to your dresser, across from your bed. He carefully opened drawer after drawer, obviously hunting for something specific, and your heart dropped when he crouched to the bottom drawer and his hands came up to brush back his hair.

Your heart burned with hate and disgust as you watched your mother’s husband, your stepfather, pull out a pair of your panties. You had done laundry just two days earlier and hadn’t worn them yet, and you watched as Charles pressed the bundle of cotton to his face. After a moment, he stood up, your panties in his fist, and you quickly closed your eyes to feign sleep as Charles approached the bed. You felt his presence right by your face, felt his eyes watching you as you slept, and he whispered, “Fuck, little one...”. Then, you heard the zipper on his pants. Through your eyelashes, you watched Charles press his half-hard cock into his fist and begin to stroke himself, rubbing himself with your panties. He slotted his bottom lip between his teeth as he masturbated, watching you as you “slept”. “So fuckin’ pretty… Gonna be mine.”

You tasted acidic hate in your mouth, but you couldn’t make yourself confront him. To your knowledge, nobody had ever masturbated to the thought of you before. There was a tiny part of you that liked that Charles was so hung up on you, even if the dominating part of your brain told you how sick it was. Anyway, you hardly wanted to interrupt him and stop an orgasm and give him yet another reason to hate you.

Charles’s cheeks went red in the dim light of the room as his fist moved faster. Your panties were bunched around his cock, flushed and nestled there like it belonged, and you closed your eyes fully. You didn’t want to see him come. You didn’t want to know what he looked like. You moved slightly, adjusting your legs under the blankets, and Charles let out a quiet little grunt. “One day…” he mumbled to himself. “Gonna be mine… All that’s gonna be mine.”

His breath caught in his throat, and you heard the wet squelch as his cum coated your panties. Charles stood for a moment, watching you, feeling his cock soften in his hand, and he finally sniffed and stuffed the used panties into his pocket. He tilted his head as he continued to examine you and the way you gave little noises as you slept, and he smiled. Oh yes, he thought as he brushed a bit of hair from your cheek. You would make a good wife.

Later that day, you were absently wandering around the house. It was too hot to do anything outside comfortably, but you definitely didn’t want to be around Charles or your mother for the moment. Even though you hadn’t seen anything that Charles had done, his grunts and hisses were enough for you to know that he enjoyed his time in your room that morning. You had yet to find your panties, and your stomach roiled when you wondered if he still had them in his pocket.

Your stepfather called your name from across the house, and your heart dropped. As you made your way to his office, you decided to play with him in the worst way possible. If he was going to haunt you and make you miserable, you were going to do just the same. Charles was leaned back in his desk chair when you got there, smoking from his pipe. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his gelled hair coming a bit undone. He looked stressed, and perhaps a little anxious. “Yes?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the doorframe.

“What are you doing tonight?” Charles asked, blowing out a mouthful of thick smoke.

You shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose,” you said. “Why?”

“I wanted to take you to dinner,” Charles said. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I would like to make it up to you, if I can. I… I truly apologize for hitting you. I have a short temper, see, and I’m trying to be better about it.” His lips were pursed, his eyes trained on you.

If you didn’t know any better, you would think that his apology was genuine. But he needed you on his good side in order to get your fortune. He was buttering you up. You sighed. “That’s alright,” you said. “Umm… I’d like that, I think. Would Mother be coming as well?”

“No, little one,” Charles said, and you remembered how he had called you that as he pleasured himself into your panties. “Just us. A father-daughter dinner.”

“Alright,” you said. “Umm… Would you be angry if I called you Father? I just think…” You trailed off and pretended to be ashamed as you played with the sleeve of your dress. “Maybe it would help me adjust.”

“Not at all, honey,” Charles replied. “Anything to make you comfortable.”

You gave him the smallest smile, and you approached his seat. “I should have greeted you with a bit more open-mindedness,” you mused. “I was being childish. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, because I… I just want you to like me, Father.”

“Aw, honey, I do like you,” Charles said, tilting his head. “You’re already forgiven.”

Your smile grew, and you leaned over to give Charles a tight hug. You could smell his strong cologne as you embraced him, and you made sure to give a soft little moan in his ear. “Oh, Father!” you started. “I can’t seem to find some of my clothes. Would you happen to know where they might have gone? Mother’s always on about donating unused things.”

“I have no idea, little one,” Charles said, and you straightened up. “What exactly are you missing?”

“Just a few sweaters,” you said, tracing the etching on the desk. “A skirt or two… A pair of panties with daises on them.” You gave a little laugh, and added, “They were my lucky pair and I just… Never mind, that’s embarrassing.”

“No, I mean,” Charles began, and he shifted in his chair. Your words had done exactly what you had hoped; he was suspicious and uncomfortable. “If it means a lot to you. How exactly are they lucky, might I ask?”

You laughed quietly. “Oh, Father, I couldn’t possibly tell you,” you giggled. “It’s not the sort of things girls talk about with their parents.”

“C’mon,” Charles smiled, reaching forward and playfully tickling your side. “If you don’t tell me, then I’ll assume the worst.”

In truth, the panties meant nothing to you. You couldn’t even remember when or where you had gotten them. But if it made Charles uncomfortable, then you would stretch the truth however far you needed to. You bit your bottom lip and giggled, and you said, “Fine, fine. I wore them the night I almost lost my virginity, and I… I just feel good wearing them.”

Charles straightened in his chair, setting his pipe aside. “You’re not a virgin?” he asked.

“I said ‘almost’, Father,” you whispered. “I still am.”

“Well, that’s not a bad thing,” Charles told you. His hands went to your waist and tugged you closer to him, and he carefully parted your legs with his knee. “Are you waiting for marriage?”

You shrugged. “Or whatever,” you said. “I wanted to do it, but I just… He wasn’t my type.”

“And what is your type, honey?” Charles asked.

Your stomach was curling with disgust, but you kept up the ruse. “I don’t know,” you whispered. With a sigh, you settled yourself on Charles’s thigh, playing with the collar of his shirt. “Just, someone who knows what they’re doing, I guess. Who can make me feel good without making mistakes. Older, I suppose.”

“What else?” Charles asked. His thumb brushed against your hip bone, and you shivered when you felt your walls flutter. You couldn’t possibly be turned on by playing this sick game with your stepfather, could you?

“I like dark hair,” you said softly. “Tall. Nice eyes.”

“So…” Charles began and gave you a satisfied grin, one like a wolf who had cornered his prey. “Me.”

“Oh, God,” you whispered. “I-I guess, when you put it that way--”

“It’s alright, little one,” Charles said softly, and he leaned forward and kissed each of your cheeks. “It’s alright if you’ve got a little crush on me. Tell me, honey: have you ever been touched before?”

“Yes,” you replied with a fake meekness. He seemed to like the more innocent side of you.

“Yes…?”

You swallowed down disgust, disguising it as nerves. “Yes, Father.”

“Good girl,” Charles whispered. “How have you been touched?”

“A boy put his fingers in me,” you told Charles, avoiding his eyes. “And his mouth on me.”

“Where on you?” Charles pressed on. His hand slipped down to your bare legs and let his fingers linger on the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“Father,” you mumbled. “I can’t say it.”

“Show me,” Charles demanded, his face suddenly stony. “Put your hand where that kid had his fucking mouth.”

You let your hand rest on top of Charles’s, and you lifted it to your breast first. “Here--”

“Over your dress?” Charles laughed.

“N-No,” you laughed softly. You bit your lip as you guided his hand down the neck of your dress, and you shuddered at his warm palm on your soft nipple. Your cunt fluttered again, and you fully blushed when you realized that Charles had certainly felt it against his tense thigh. “Here,” you whispered, and you found yourself letting out a quiet moan as Charles groped at your breast. You weren’t supposed to be enjoying this. No, this was supposed to be torture for him.

“You like when I touch your tit like this, honey?” Charles asked, and you nodded quickly. “So good for your father, little one. Where else?”

You took his wrist and pulled his hand up to your mouth, and you placed a gentle kiss to his fingertips. “He kissed me,” you said.

“Did you like it?” Charles asked. He pressed his thumb to your bottom lip, and you took it into your mouth as Charles watched greedily.

You shook your head, and Charles pulled his thumb from your mouth. “What did he do wrong?” he asked softly.

“Nothing,” you whispered. “I just didn’t like him, I suppose.”

“Do you usually fuck guys you don’t like?” Charles asked.

“I didn’t fuck him, Father!” you said quickly. “I-I stopped it. Remember?”

“Oh, right,” Charles said in a hushed tone. “Saving yourself for the right person, who just so happens to have every quality that I possess. Is that right?”

“Father,” you groaned, leaning forward to press your forehead against his shoulder. For some reason, you didn’t entirely mind the smell of his cologne anymore. You didn’t mind his perfect hair. You didn’t even mind the wolfish smile that overtook his pink pout.

“Where else was that boy’s mouth?” Charles whispered. “Did he put it anywhere else? Or just on your pretty little mouth and tit?”

As you grabbed his hand, you realized that there was absolutely no going back. Your plan was set in motion and there was no way to stop it. You took a deep breath to prepare yourself, and you slowly took his hand down your body. You carefully lifted your dress and settled his hand over your cunt, and you shuddered at the warmth of his palm. His fingers were against your hole, the heel of his hand pressed to your clit, and you watched him lick his lips. “You naughty little thing,” Charles chuckled. “You let him put his mouth on your pussy?”

“I didn’t like it,” you told him quickly. “I didn’t like him.”

“Honey, I’m gonna ask you this once,” Charles whispered, pressing his hand fully against you. Even through the thin layer of your panties, you could feel every inch of his hand, and you bit your lip and tried to control your hips from bucking into his palm. Amongst other things, you were sure that you would get in trouble for it. “Do you want me to fuck you? I can show you how good you’re supposed to feel, little one, you’ll love me for it.”

You nodded quickly, but yelped when his free hand landed a smack on your ass. It truly hurt, and you whimpered when his hand stayed on your ass and squeezed. “Use your words, honey,” Charles said. “As much as I like the little dumb whore act, I wanna hear you beg for it.”

“Yes,” you said quickly. “Yes, Charles, please. Please, Daddy, please fuck me.”

“Ooh, Daddy,” Charles purred. “I like the sound of that, baby. Stand up and take off your panties, sweetheart.”

You did as he told you, shivering when the cool air hit your wet cunt, and Charles tugged you back down onto his thick thigh. The roughness of his pants made you whimper louder, and he sent a slap to your cheek. It wasn’t hard and didn’t even hurt, but you gasped all the same. “Keep your fucking cock-hole shut,” Charles hissed. “You want your mother to hear you fucking yourself on my leg?”

“N-No, Daddy,” you whined.

“Good girl,” Charles whispered. “Show me how badly you want me.”

“Huh?”

Charles took fistfuls of your dress and tugged it downwards, letting your tits escape. “I said, show me how badly you want me to fuck your little hole, babygirl,” he growled. “Fuck yourself on my thigh, and maybe, if you’re good for me, I’ll bend you over this desk right now and fuck you ‘til you can’t walk. You want that, baby? Want your daddy’s cock wrecking your pretty little pussy?”

You rested your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, and you rocked your hips down onto his hard thigh. The material of his pants brushed your cunt and clit and made you bite back a whimper, and you squeezed your eyes shut. You hated the way that you were enjoying it. You hated him. Maybe you even hated yourself. But self-loathing could wait until you got off, because the pleasure of everything was too overpowering to focus on much else.

Charles’s hands roamed your body, touching you everywhere that he could manage. He squeezed your tits and pinched your nipples, and bolts of pleasure rocked through your whole body. That, added with the feeling on your clit, was almost too much, and you whined out. “Daddy--!”

Suddenly, his hand was over your mouth, the other clamping down around your throat. “Shut up!” he huffed. His eyes were alert, locked on yours, and his face was red. Was he really angry? The thought that he was truly angry made your stomach flip, and not in a good way. “I told you to shut the fuck up, why can’t you listen?”

You pleaded with your eyes, asking him to forgive you. It was important for your plan that he didn’t have any ill will towards you. You needed him to want to marry you, and to actually do it. Then, you would get the money, and you could find a way to stage a suicide before the money was put into his bank account. Then, you would have your father’s money, and live with just yourself and the fortune he gave you. But, in order to do that, you had to do everything Charles Blackwood asked of you. You had to treat this horrible man like the sun shined out of his lying ass. You had to make him want to marry you. Which, at the current moment, didn’t seem like it would be too difficult.

You mumbled behind his hand, trying to warn him that you were going to come, but he only hit you across the cheek again. “Not another sound, you fucking whore,” he said. “Fucking yourself on your father’s leg. So slutty. You gonna come? You wanna come on Daddy’s leg?”

You nodded quickly, and you started your hips faster. Your legs were quivering and you could hardly hold yourself upright anymore, and Charles took note of the tears brimming at your eyelashes. “Is this the first orgasm you’ve ever had, honey?” he asked. He seemed softer suddenly, and his hand left your mouth; the other stayed secure around your throat, though. You nodded quickly, and he gave a little coo. “Aw, my poor baby. I guess I oughta take some pity on you, huh? You’ve been good to me after all… Take off your dress and sit on the desk.”

Your dress hit the floor, and you settled yourself on the edge of Charles’s desk. It was a hefty thing made of mahogany, and you clenched your thighs together as Charles’s eyes raked over your entire body. “I know you’re not trying to be modest now,” he laughed. “Open your legs and show Daddy that pretty pussy.”

You bit your lip and did as he said, and you gasped when his eyes finally landed on your cunt. You were dripping wet, your slick glistening off your thighs, and Charles let one thick finger glide up your slit and collect your wetness on his fingertip. “Jesus Christ, baby,” he laughed. “You were really close, weren’t you? Let me guess, you want me to shove my cock in you, huh? Want me to fuckin’ split you in two and stuff you full of my cum? God, you would look so pretty, gettin’ all big with my baby.” He paused to suck your wetness off of his finger, and he gave a quiet little sigh. “Oh, God. Of course you taste good… So sweet, like sugar. It’s almost like you want me to eat you out, sugar.”

“Please,” you sniffled. You reached for him and pulled him in by his tie, and he slotted easily between your thighs. “Please, please, please, Daddy, want your mouth on my pussy, please, make me come, Daddy…”

Charles placed a soft kiss on your forehead as a way to placate your begging, and he whispered, “You’re asking so nicely, sugar. How could I say no to your pretty little face?”

You didn’t know what exactly to expect as Charles kneeled down in front of you, and you carefully pushed your fingers through his hair, through those perfect blond highlights. The moment his tongue touched your clit, though, you forgot entirely about how you were supposed to be hating him. You forgot practically everything that wasn’t Charles. He lapped up your wetness and placed a wet kiss to your lips, and your stomach clenched as he looked up at you through his eyelashes. “Aw,” he whispered, his warm breath making your cunt flutter again. “You look so pretty, sugar, all fucked out like this. Can’t wait ‘til I can actually fuck you…”

And, with that, he dived in. He was kissing, licking, and sucking your cunt like it was his only goal in life, your thighs in his bruising grip. You had the instinct to clamp your legs shut, and you nearly did, but Charles pulled his mouth away just enough so that his lips teasingly brushed your clit, and he whispered, “Now, that’s not what good girls do, is it?”

“M’sorry, Daddy,” you whispered. “Just feels so good.”

“I know, sugar, I know,” Charles whispered. “You’re being so obedient for me, though. Do you think you deserve a reward?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please, Daddy, I’ve been so good for you. Done what you’ve asked, please let me come.”

Charles sighed, looking up at you once more. “I love listening to you beg,” he whispered. “But you’ve been doing good for me. Go ahead, sugar. Come on my face, baby.”

The way his lips shined with your cum nearly made you pass out. If it were anyone else, you would have adored the sight of it, but, since it was your awful fucking monster of a stepfather, you loathed it. Still, you pulled him close and kissed him all the same, cringing at the taste of yourself on his mouth.

“What do we say?” Charles asked. His hands smoothed down your body, landing on your waist, and he tugged you flush against his body.

You let out a quiet little laugh. “Thank you, Daddy,” you whispered.

Charles smiled, looking like the cat who ate the canary. “You’re welcome, sugar.”

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x reader smut #charles blackwood #charles blackwood fanfiction #charles blackwood x reader #charles blackwood smut #charles blackwood x reader smut #hehe whoops my hand slipped #and i wrote nearly 5k of awful smut

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velvett-tearss · 3 years

Text

Inertia — Jean Kirschtein

summary: A little gravity and spilled coffee never hurt anybody, and it certainly wouldn’t hurt Jean, especially if coming from you.

warning: cursing, gender-neutral reader (no pronouns mentioned), you won’t get the gist of it if you don’t remember 8th grade science lmao ❤️ (laws of motion)

genre: modern au, fluff

word count: 1.3k

a/n: very much an impulse post, this has been collecting dust in my drafts for too long lmao, I hope you enjoy this <3 I sure didn’t 😀

Jean has never been good with science.

He learned it for a number of years in different classes — biology, chemistry, physics — and he still couldn't tell you anything other than that mitochondria was the powerhouse of the cell.

It wasn't all that bad at first. He did enjoy it in the earlier years of school where most of his teachers breezed past it along with social studies. It was when the class actually started to learn periodic elements that things took a turn.

He learned it, nonetheless. There really wasn't a rule that gets you out of being taught a subject, as uninteresting as you may find it or the class itself.

Despite this, Jean isn't exactly a lost cause in the science department. A few things have stuck with him, believe it or not. Gravity, photosynthesis, some Charles Darwin dude.

But now, he wishes he payed attention more in science class. Maybe he would've understood what you were saying the first time he met you.

"Geez, do you always have somewhere to be?" Jean had asked you with a scowl. He was sprawled on the floor, looking up at you. The two of you weren't acquainted yet. Not necessarily.

He placed you very easily, though. He'd seen you running around the university's campus a lot of the time. You never seemed to be still, in one place, in one piece.

The reason behind it? He didn't know or care.

You had bumped into him a number of times. The first three times, Jean waved the incident off in good-nature. He thought himself to be a man with patience, something you didn't seem to have. There was no harm in running into someone from time to time.

It was the fourth time that he wasn't so pleased with. Each time you bumped into him, you sent him tumbling on his ass. Hard. He always landed on the floor in a comedic position like those cartoon characters on T.V.

And each time — no matter the day — you, somehow, remained perfectly unscathed and standing. That wasn't even the worst of it: you always stood there, a hand on your hip and an impatient expression painting your face.

All that ever did was bruise his ego and ass a bit. You usually went your separate ways after quick apologies, and Jean would see you leave in a quicker speed than when you'd arrived.

But this time around, you had a cup of coffee in your hands.

"What if I do?" you had countered, bending down to help him off the ground. You were scowling. Scowling! How could you look so displeased when it was him who'd been spilled with coffee?!

“Maybe you should manage your time better.” he bit back, allowing you to help him up.

"Maybe you shouldn't walk along the inner corners of hallways."

"Maybe you shouldn't run in the building." Jean told you, trying to ignore the large patch of his damp shirt that clung to his midriff. It was sticky and hot, and he didn't like it one bit. "Besides, everyone knows the inside lane is for leaving."

"No, it's not." you threw back quickly, as if you had been prepared for this interaction. Had you had this conversation with someone else before? How many other people had been victim of your coffee throwing and iron step?

"The outside lane is for when someone is leaving, and the inside lane is for coming in. Same goes for stairs."

Jean raised a brow, patience running dangerously thin on him. "Who made that rule up?" he questioned, unimpressed by your words. He refrained from calling you something that might’ve gotten him a smack to the face.

"Rising is harder than descending." you explained, crossing your arms over your chest. You gave him an expression that mirrored his. "Plus, the inner lane is shorter than the outer lane. It's— Well, it's the law of gravity."

You spoke with such conviction he feared he'd been wrong about everything in his life. Besides, he didn't know a thing about gravity other than that it kept him from flying into space.

"Alright, fine, but why would you run with a steaming cup of coffee in your hands?" Jean asked in retaliation. He may have lacked in the science department, but he knew his common sense quite well. "It's like you want to spill it all over people."

Your mouth opened and shut quickly. He raised a brow, awaiting for your comeback that never came. Instead, you did the weirdest thing.

You laughed at him, eyes crinkling slightly at him. It was then that he realized maybe he wasn't so mad at you after all, Spilt coffee never hurt anybody, right? He would live to see the next day, so was there really any harm?

"Okay, you're right." you admitted, almost bashfully. Your eyes traveled down to the brown stain of coffee on his dress shirt. "I shouldn't run around with hot drinks anymore, but you shouldn't walk along the inner lane when you're leaving the building."

"Alright, deal. No more walking in the corners."

You nodded, lips pursed. "No more running with coffee."

It wasn't long after that he finally mustered up the courage to ask you out to dinner. He isn't gonna lie and say it was all sunshine and rainbows because it wasn't.

You were always running, always on the go. Were you running out of time? You had nowhere to be, yet you feared the thought of being late. Had you ever stopped and smelled the roses?

It was pretty hard at times. Getting accustomed to your way of things was hard. You were a mess before you met him. At least that's what you always say. Jean doesn't think so.

Maybe you were, in a sense. That was fine, too. It didn't bother him. Messes were made to be cleaned up after all, and he didn't mind leading the clean-up crew if you let him.

Things started sailing smoother as time flew. It was nice. Being with you was nice. You stopped spilling coffee on people. He stopped walking along the inner corners of hallways.

You never seemed to stop running, though. That was a constant in your lives. That was okay, too. Jean had to learn how to keep up with your never-ending speed, but you always let him set the pace. Maybe that's his favorite thing about you.

He taught you that being at rest isn't always a bad thing. You don't have to rush to get things done. Sometimes it's okay to just stop and be grateful for what's now and not what can be.

You taught him a fair share, too. You explained to him that the law of gravity isn’t actually about rising and descending. That had just been a lie to get you out of a bad situation. There was such thing as a law of gravity discovered by Isaac Newton.

Maybe Jean should've payed attention in science class when they talked about Newton because perhaps he would've understood what you were saying that first day.

All he knew was Newton's Laws of Motion, mainly the first: an object stays at rest or in motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.

He figured it was something like you.

As fast as you walked, you never seemed to stop. Not until you sent him to the ground on his ass with a coffee stain on his shirt. Maybe he was the unbalanced force that acted on you. He wasn't completely sure.

After all, Jean had never been good at science.

note: self-projected here bc I fucking hate science too ,, does this make sense or was I spitting gibberish skdkskdn

#snk x reader #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #aot #snk #aot x you #jean kirschtein fluff #jean kirschtein x y/n #snk jean #jean kirschtein x you #jean kirschtein headcanons #jean kirschtien x reader #jean kirstein headcanons #jean kirsten x reader #jean kirstein x reader #aot jean #jean kirsten x y/n

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heart-of-gold-outlaw · 3 years

Text

Welcome Home | Chapter Ten: Still Breathing

Finally—finally—, the day comes to rescue Sean. You honestly don’t know what to expect. Most of the others in camp aren’t much help, referring to Sean with a roll of their eyes and something along the lines of: “half a mind to let the bounty hunters keep him.”

They should be saying that about Micah, you think to yourself as you watch Charles and Arthur saddle their horses. Maybe then Dutch’ll kick him out.

Still, Sean is a bit of a wildcard to you. You won’t figure out what he’s really like until you meet him, and until then, you decide to keep an open mind. Worst case scenario? He’s Micah’s long-lost brother. Best case scenario? He’s… well. Maybe it’s best not to think about all the things he could be. Keep yourself on your toes.

You sit on a tree stump while the boys get ready. Taima is an absolute beauty of a horse, and you can tell by the way Charles dotes on her that she’s got a good life. Briefly, thoughts of having a horse of your own cross your mind. That appaloosa gelding is probably still for sale in Valentine. Maybe if you can get enough money, you can buy him.

Arthur and Charles take their sweet time packing more than enough ammo, which means you quickly get bored. Every scratchy detail on the tree stump bothers you, too. Hopping to your feet, you decide to get some chores done. Everyone’s been so preoccupied with the big upcoming rescue, they’ve neglected some of the finer details in camp.

The ax is in its usual spot, surrounded by whole logs that need to be chopped. You grab ahold of the handle. It feels lighter than it used to, and you realize you’re getting stronger.

Goodbye noodle arms, you think as you bring the ax down on to the first log. You don’t quite split it, but it’s getting closer than ever. And hello Jack Lumber.

A few chops in, you feel the muscles in the back of your neck tense. Someone’s behind you, and you’re not quite sure who. But soon enough, a low, sinister chuckle reaches your ears. Micah.

“Well,” he says. “Looks like the camp nuisance is finally doing some work.”

You slowly count to three before turning around. Micah stands by you, a little too close for your liking, and he’s got a smirk on his face that twists your gut something awful. You’ve started wearing a gun belt, and the hand that isn’t holding the ax inadvertently twitches toward your revolver.

“You know something, Y/N?” He takes a step toward you. “I think you’re starting to wear out your welcome.”

Fire ignites in your chest. No. No. Micah doesn’t get to do this, try and make you second-guess yourself and your place in the gang—especially not after you’ve just started feeling comfortable.

“Back off, you useless mineral,” you hiss.

Micah’s lips curl into a snarl as he takes another step toward you. This one feels infinitely more threatening, and you barely keep yourself from taking a step back. You’ll be damned if Micah wins this fight.

“Take another step,” you warn, “and I’ll jump rope with your intestines.”

Honestly, you don’t really expect him to feel threatened, but the odd choice in words is enough to throw him off. You can see him trying to process everything you said, which gives you enough time to throw the ax down and skedaddle.

Your heart thuds frantically in your chest as you hurry to Arthur and Charles. Micah won’t try anything if you’re with them; that much, you know for sure.

“We ready to go?” You ask as nonchalantly as you can. “If I chop one more piece of wood, I’ll have to start wearing flannel.”

Charles looks confused at “flannel,” but Arthur frowns as he glances over at the chopping block. His expression hardens when he sees Micah storming away.

“Micah giving you trouble?” He asks, a hint of something dangerous in his voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” You go to lean against the hitching post, miss, and almost topple over. Face burning, you settle for folding your arms over your chest.

Arthur and Charles exchange looks.

“If he tries anything,” Charles tells you, calm and steady, “let us know. We’ll take care of it.”

We’ll take care of it. How a statement so simple and so general can sound that dangerous, you’ll never know. You wordlessly nod, not knowing how to respond.

Charles leaves, then, to go saddle Taima. You look to Arthur, ready to follow him to Florence, who’s already tacked up and ready. But he doesn’t move.

“Micah been buggin’ you a lot?”

You shake your head. “Not really. I mean, he gave me a hard time when I was cleaning up Pearson’s wagon a while ago, but Hosea scared him off.”

Arthur turns to look at you. “And today?”

“Oh.” You think back to the confrontation. “Well, he called me the ‘camp nuisance’ and said I was starting to wear out my welcome.”

A glint of fury flashes through Arthur’s eyes as he throws a glare in Micah’s general direction. You shiver involuntarily. Thank goodness you’re not on a certain cowboy’s bad side.

“I’ve been called worse, to be honest,” you say with a shrug, and smile slightly when Arthur looks at you again. “I’m kinda used to it.”

He gives you a troubled frown instead of sharing your nonchalance. Confused, you feel your smile waver a little.

“What?” You ask.

“You…” Arthur begins, trails off, then continues: “You know it ain’t true, right?”

“What isn’t?”

“The part about being a nuisance. You ain’t wearing out your welcome, either.”

Something pulls at your heart, something strong, and you’re suddenly at a loss for words. You’ve had so many doors slammed in your face, so many people come and go, never staying, never even wanting to stay… And you couldn’t do anything but watch them leave.

“Oh,” is all you manage around a tight throat.

Arthur looks at you some more. His eyes are soft now, soft and full of what you think is understanding. He reaches out, maybe to put a hand on your shoulder, but apparently thinks better of it and instead motions for you to follow him. You trail a little behind as he walks toward Florence. You ain’t wearing out your welcome, either. Did… did Arthur really mean that? Does that mean the rest of the gang, minus Micah, feels the same way? You can’t help but shake your head in wonder. You don’t think you’ll ever understand these people.

Once you catch up, Arthur easily swings himself on top of Florence, then hauls you into the saddle behind him. You’re starting to get used to horseback. Florence may be absolutely massive, but you don’t feel so unsteady anymore. In fact, you might actually like riding.

“We’re meeting up with Javier just outside of Blackwater,” Charles says as he brings Taima over. “Trelawney thinks the bounty hunters will bring Sean upriver.”

Arthur nods and sets a steady trot out of camp. “Good. We can probably cut ‘em off when they reach the border. I think there’s a canyon that’ll give us some decent cover.”

“Any luck, we’ll take them by surprise.” Charles urges Taima into a canter, which Florence matches. “How many do you think there’ll be?”

“For Sean?” Arthur laughs, and you try not to look too enamored. “Any pair of fools could handle him. But there’ll be a lot of ‘em, no doubt.”

Charles hums in thought, but doesn’t say anything else. Much of the ride passes in comfortable silence. Although you want to focus on admiring the scenery and marvel at the lack of, well, everything, you find yourself thinking about the upcoming fight. You may not know a lot about the past, but you’ve seen enough Westerns to know bounty hunters always put up a hell of a fight. That, and they always keep coming right when you think you’ve killed them all.

Your revolver suddenly feels heavy in its holster. You bite your lip, a little unsure. Yes, you’ve used it once at Six Point Cabin, and yes, you’ve managed to hit a few bottles, but those were honestly lucky shots. And neither of them were shooting back.

Bounty hunters, though? Different story. For as much bravado as you showed Dutch during his little tirade, you have to admit that you’re a little nervous. It’ll be your first real gunfight. You’ll have Arthur and Charles looking out for you, but you can’t help the anxiety knotting deep in your gut.

If I die, I die, you think. No going back now.

///

Conversation lags for the remainder of the ride. Eventually, after crossing a small river, you’re in what Arthur tells you is West Elizabeth. It looks… well, it looks like a perfect snapshot of a history textbook. Rolling hills and open land, bison… it’s absolutely stunning.

Off in the distance, you see two people looking over the edge of a cliff. You recognize Javier, but you don’t recognize the other man, with his mustache and mischievous eyes. He smiles when he sees Arthur and Charles, then peers at you curiously.

“And who might this be?” He asks as Arthur dismounts, leaving you alone atop Florence.

Your brain goes into a blue screen of death, and before you know what you’re doing, you say: “My name is an enigma and holds all the secrets of the universe.”

“That would be Y/N,” Arthur says, exasperated. He helps you down and grabs his rifle from the saddle. “Y/N, this is Josiah Trelawney.”

Trelawney bows with a flourish. “At your service, my dear.”

You instantly decide you like him. Waving hello to Javier, you approach the edge of the cliff, crouching low like everyone else.

“Sean?” Arthur asks as he looks down the scope of his rifle.

“I think he’s in that boat over there.” Javier gestures to a small vessel upriver. “Think they’re docking to take him further inland.”

Arthur turns the scope, then gives a hum of confirmation. “That’s him alright. Giving those bounty hunters hell.”

Trelawney nods and rises before mounting his horse. Setting a slow walk, he motions for everyone to follow him. Arthur helps you on to Florence, and then you’re off once more.

“If we do this right,” Trelawney says, “we can cut them off. Remember: we’re just innocent folk out for a ride on the trail. Let’s not draw their attention just yet.”

The five of you ride toward a canyon. Ahead, you can see the boat docked at the shore, along with several well-armed, intimidating bounty hunters standing guard. They don’t look like they’re in much of a mood to negotiate. In fact, they look ready to shoot on sight.

Everyone takes cover around the bend. Trelawney, odd man that he is, seems more preoccupied with his coat than the problem at hand.

“Now ain’t the time for a fashion statement,” Arthur drawls.

“Au contraire, my dear fellow,” Trelawney says with a smile. “Bounty hunters are even more gullible than hillbillies. I have to look the part if I’m going to make the proper distraction.”

Then, before any of you can say a word otherwise, Trelawney strides confidently toward the bounty hunters. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you just know he’s spinning a tale bigger than the Grizzlies. He waves his arms in a grandiose gesture. In another situation, you would have mistaken it for part of the act. But now, along with Arthur, Charles, and Javier, you recognize it for what it is: a signal.

Arthur fires a quick shot, striking one of the bounty hunters between the eyes. From there, it’s chaos. All you can hear is the sound of gunfire and shouting. You take cover behind a rock, firing your revolver without really trying to hit anything. You don’t know if any of your bullets find their marks. Honestly? Probably not.

“Let’s push up on ‘em,” Arthur commands.

You stick close by him as you make your way up the canyon. The bounty hunters have regrouped by now, which lets them put up more of a fight. A bullet whizzes by your ear—too close for you to ignore—and you yelp and duck further into cover.

Arthur quickly lays down some cover fire, then hauls you up and pulls you behind a larger rock. You don’t even have time to tell him thank you. The firefight picks up again, bullets flying, ricocheting, sometimes hitting their targets, sometimes hitting the canyon walls. It takes nearly all your self-control to keep a level head.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Javier reloading his guns, but also just barely peeking out of cover. You look up the canyon trail. There, off in the distance, half-hidden by gun smoke and dust, you can just barely make out the silhouette of a bounty hunter—and he’s aiming right at Javier.

You steel yourself. You’re not some useless coward who needs to be protected. You’re a member of the Van Der Linde Gang—an outlaw. And one of your own is in danger.

Your anxiety flees, replaced by determination. Edging ever-so-slightly out of cover, you fire off a shot toward the bounty hunter, then duck back behind the boulder. A pained yell tells you that you hit your mark, and it’s followed by silence.

Javier looks at the fallen bounty hunter, then at you. He nods his head in thanks. Smiling, you tip your fingers in a mock-salute, then follow Arthur as he pushes further up the canyon.

It doesn’t take long for your little group to reach a clearing. Right away, you see someone dangling upside down from a tree. He’s also surrounded by vicious-looking men who you would honestly rather avoid.

Well,you think to yourself. That must be Sean.

The bounty hunters have been expecting you, and they fire several warning shots into the tree line. You duck behind the trunk of a massive pine. To your right, you see Arthur considering the situation, trying to figure out the best approach. On your left, Javier and Charles wait on a signal. You don’t know what happened to Trelawney, but you think he’s alright.

“If we can get around them,” Arthur eventually says, “we can come at them from all sides.”

Javier grins. “Like shooting fish in a barrel.”

Charles gives him a look. “Only the fish can shoot back.”

Arthur nods, then looks back toward the clearing. “Someone’s gotta get to Sean quick as they can. I got a feeling he’s gonna be bait.”

“I’ll do it,” you tell him. “There’s enough cover behind that tree he’s tied up in. I’ll be fine.”

For a long, long moment, Arthur looks uncertain. But when you give him a pleading look, silently begging him to let you prove yourself, he sighs and folds the cards.

“Alright,” he agrees. “Wait until you got a clear opening, then go for it.”

Everyone heads off in opposite directions, leaving you to prepare yourself for the sprint of the century. One by one, the boys shoot the bounty hunters, hitting each with impeccable aim. Then, almost before you’re ready, you spy the perfect opportunity.

Making a beeline for Sean, you dive behind the tree just as the bullets start flying again. You sit there for a few seconds, catching your breath. You can’t believe you’re still alive. All that time in open space, and not a single scratch on you.

“It’s over!” You hear one of the bounty hunters shout.

He sounds dangerously close to you. Peeking around the tree, you see him standing not a foot away, pointing his rifle at Sean.

Shit.

You duck back into hiding before you’re spotted. This is exactly what you didn’twant to happen, and it happened anyway. Wracking your brain for ideas, you look around for anything that could be of use.

Think think think think think think—

There’s a corpse not too far from you, and you spy a knife on its belt. Moving purely on instinct and adrenaline, you snatch it from its sheath, turn back to the bounty hunter, and shove it through his throat right in the middle of his next sentence. He stays on his feet for maybe a second longer, then collapses.

You slowly back away from him. Dimly, you realize that the fire fight is over, that everyone else is okay, but you can’t bring yourself to focus on that. All you can do is stare at the body on the ground… the man you just killed.

“You alright there, friend?” Sean asks, still upside down.

“Uh,” your voice sounds far away to your own ears, “yeah. I’m fine.”

After that, you have maybe five seconds before your stomach lurches. Doubling over, you heave violently for a while before coughing, spitting out the taste in your mouth, and wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

“Hiya Sean. I’m Y/N.”

Accompanying Music: Still Breathing | Green Day

Ko-Fi

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #fic #welcome home

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snicketstrange · 3 years

Text

Rereading The Chapter 14 (The End)

I believed that in ASOUE's universe, chapter 14 was apparently written some time after the rest of the book. But I abandoned that idea. Lemony wrote to the editor that chapter 14 could be found at the end of the same manuscript.

We then have the epigraph of Le Voyage. It's an excerpt that portrays the moment of death, and perhaps the acceptance of death. But I don't think this means that Lemony is completely certain of the Baudelaires' death. I think it means he's pretty sure he won't write about the Baudelaires anymore. I think the right question is "why did Lemony decide to stop writing at this point in the story?" "Why did he plan to write more and then stop writing?" I think Lemony didn't promise to write the entire story of the Baudelaires. He promised to write the story of the conflict between the Baudelaires and Olaf. So when he was sure of Olaf's death, and that was only with the additional information he had probably had access to through Beatrice Jr, Lemony realized that the research might be over. The certainty of Olaf's death was the event he determined when the narrative came to an end. So, it makes us wonder what kind of promise Lemony made. Apparently he promised that he would clarify the facts surrounding the charges the Baudelaires went through, as well as the contexts in which these events took place. That's why it was so important to get this information out to the general public. Because it involved the honor of the Baudelaire family. Furthermore, this explains why he could not rely solely on the account given by the Baudelaires themselves: after all, they were being accused of being lying criminals. Lemony needed to clear their name, proving, so to speak, that the facts reported by the Baudelaires were real, and it was not enough just to record what he read in the island book.

I think this is the most sensible explanation, and as a theorist I will defend it. But as a fan willing to come up with slightly bizarre ideas, I feel like imagining Lemony realizing that his own death was close to happening. It would be interesting to imagine that Lemony's research took so long that he was an elderly man when he was publishing The End. And the reason Lemony finished his work at this point would be his physical limitations. That would explain shocking secret #13: "he's finished." And more than that: it would even explain the title of the book: "The End of Lemony Snicket". And furthermore, this would explain Lemony's dedication to Beatrice in chapter 14. After quoting the words of Charles B., in which the poet compares the hour of death with the setting off of a ship, Lemony claims that both he and Beatrice are like boats sailing at night, but especially her. Both were on a dark and lonely journey, but she was already dead. "

Beatrice's last words recorded in the book were really emotional to me when I first read them, and they still are today. Especially after I watched the Netflix series, it's now possible to imagine a very specific face when I picture Beatrice. And it's possible to think of a specific soundtrack when I read this.

About the baby's name, on my Headcanon Violet is the name of Mrs. W, who was presumed dead around the same time as Lemony. And in my Headcanon, just as Lemony didn't really die, she didn't either. I still like to think that she was the mystery woman on TGG, and that's the real reason Quigley used the name Violet in the message he sent to submarine Q.

I think this is the first time I stop to think that the Baudelaires ate crab. This is unclean food for those who practice Judaism as a religion, isn't it? I even thought the roast lamb was a reference to the Passover celebration, but they wouldn't do that by eating crab. Or is it that in a book in which Daniel Handler implicitly criticizes religion, he did so on purpose? I think it's unlikely, but still possible. But, albeit unintentionally, the Baudelaires rejected the religious customs of their ancestors in a book in which religious customs are questioned and this is significant.

"The baby had heard about danger, too, mostly from the register of crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind from which the Baudelaires read out loud each evening, although they had not told the infant the whole story. She did not know all of the Baudelaires' secrets, and indeed there were some she would never know."

The above excerpt is important as it reveals that Lemony has information about Beatrice Jr's future as he was writing this chapter. This explains how Lemony knows what happened in this chapter: Beatrice Jr told him. Lemony did meet her, and he realized that the Baudelaires hadn't told her the whole story.

A detail that has always pleased me in this book is to notice that after 1 year, Sunny stopped babbling words and has a more conventional and extensive vocabulary. I find this compatible with the fact that 1 year has passed and it's also compatible with her character development arc. One of asoue's themes is "how some children are forced to mature too quickly because of tragedy". Sunny, for example, needed to learn how to cook and convince herself that she loved doing it and that she was good at it in a few days. And all this before she learned to speak English properly. She needed to help with a birth long before she fully understood issues related to human procreation. But in chapter 14, she finally had the opportunity to develop without tragedies forcing her to skip important steps in life.

"Do we take this?" Violet asked, holding up the book from which she had read out loud.

"I don't think so," Klaus said. "Perhaps another castaway will arrive, and continue the history."

"In any case," Sunny said, "they'll have something to read."

Please realize how important this dialogue is. Daniel Handler placed this dialogue here to make sure the reader understood the source of information Lemony had access to: the island book. The children wrote about their own story in that book, including their thoughts, feelings, and private conversations. The children shared some details about ancient events, about when Sunny wasn't even born. In the book, Lemony found details about some events that took place on the island before the arrival of the three Baudelaires.

"I want to make sure these life jackets I've designed will fit properly."

Well... It's good to know that, even though the boat sank, the Baudelaires had lifeboats. Their chances of survival really increased a lot. And knowing that Beatrice Jr managed to survive a shipwreck, it's quite possible that they did too.

The Baudelaires watched her approach, wondering what the next chapter in this infant's life would be, and indeed that is difficult to say. There are some who say that the Baudelaires rejoined V.F.D. and are engaged in brave errands to this day, perhaps under different names to avoid being captured. There are others who say that they perished at sea, although rumors of one's death crop up are often revealed to be untrue. But in any case, as my investigation is over, we have indeed reached the last chapter of the Baudelaires' story, even if the Baudelaires had not.

Lemony just reports here what he heard. Although Daniel Handler intentionally wishes the ending to be left open, and I will respect his decision, I will speak my opinion. They didn't die at sea, though. Note that Lemony directly relates the baby's future to the future of the three Baudelaires. The way Lemony wrote here suggests that the baby's future is as uncertain as the future of her adoptive parents. But we TBL readers know the truth about Beatrice Jr.'s future. Beatrice is alive! So the most likely situation is that her parents are also alive. ( And who knows other characters that we thought had died there on TBB... could it be that at least one of them could also have survived?)

But the question is: if Lemony knows the baby survived, why did he hide this information from the reader? Certainly to protect his niece. Lemony didn't lie, just omitted some details.

The baby paused, and looked at the back of the boat, where the nameplate had been affixed. She had no way of knowing this, of course, but the nameplate had been nailed to the back of the boat by a person standing on the very spot she was standing—at least as far as my research has shown.

Lemony once again dismantled specific knowledge through research, which could only have been done through information provided by others. Beatrice Jr needed to tell Lemony exactly where she was at that moment and Lemony needed to compare that with the information Beatrice Sr and Bertrand wrote in the island book. And then, on visiting the site, Lemony was able to ascertain the most likely position for those descriptions. While Lemony is a bit mistaken, the research process must have been like that.

Finally, she uttered a word. The Baudelaire orphans gasped when they heard it, but they could not say for sure whether she was reading the word out loud or merely stating her own name, and indeed they never learned this. Perhaps this last word was the baby's first secret, joining the secrets the Baudelaires were keeping from the baby, and all the other secrets immersed in the world. Perhaps it is better not to know what was meant by this word, as some things are better left in the great unknown. There are some words, of course, that are better left unsaid—but not, I believe, the word uttered by my niece, a word which here means that the story is over. Beatrice.

Oh... How I love this ending. That's when I felt my head explode for the first time in my life, and I'm still picking up the pieces.

#asoue #asoue theory #lemony snicket #a series of unfortunate events #asoue theories #beatrice baudelaire #snicketverse #beatrice snicket #beatrice jr #violet baudelaire #sunny baudelaire

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amyscascadingtabs · 4 years

Text

when all your heroes get tired (i’ll be something better yet)

She realizes Jake and Amy have never gotten to keep anything about their relationship secret; not their pining, not becoming a couple, not getting engaged, or even trying for a baby. She supposes they deserve to keep something to themselves for once, even if they’re worthless at it.

Or, Rosa has always been strangely involved in Jake and Amy's relationship, and the two of them becoming parents doesn't appear to change this.

read on ao3 ✨

...

“You’re really not going to drink that?”

Amy gives the glass of Shaw’s finest - and only - charbonnay a look like she's worried it will bite her.

They’re having a celebration, Holt has announced, to one month without Madeline Wuntch. Then he’d seemed teary by those words, telling the squad it was also to honor her memory. No one’s certain what's going on, but no one minds the free alcohol either.

Except, it seems, Amy.

“I’m driving.”

“Don't you and Jake always take an Uber home?”

“We’re trying to save money.”

“For what?”

“Fertility treatments are expensive,” she says, too quickly and too comfortably. “I don't want to talk about it, Rosa.”

Rosa knows she’s being rude, but she can't help it. She had to be sure. She’s both a detective and a master of secret-keeping, skilled enough to sense from fifty feet away when someone else is guarding them, and she's had a feeling about this particular secret for weeks.

She’d give herself credit, but it’s not like it’s been difficult to figure out. Amy literally told Rosa the day after she and Jake decided to start trying, whispering the words to her with a giddy smile as soon as they were alone in the break room. It became public knowledge rather quickly, and it’s not like the couple was working hard on keeping it a secret when they got wasted during Hitchcock’s wedding, high-fived after Amy’s drunken toast, and proceeded to try and fuck in the guinea pig-closet.

(Honestly? Rosa was impressed.)

They took a break from it shortly after that. Then, Amy started eating some kind of hormonal stimulation medication and morphed into one of the most emotional, irritable Amy-s Rosa had ever seen. Then she got weird.

It started with her and Jake avoiding Shaw’s. Sometimes Jake would show up to have a drink or two with Charles, but he'd never stay longer than half an hour. Terry asked about it once, joking that he wondered whether Amy just didn't like the squad anymore, at which point Jake laughed nervously and changed the topic.

Now, Rosa’s noticed that Amy’s coffee intake has gone down from three or four cups a day to one and a half at max. She makes a point of sitting as far away from Boyle and his lunches as possible. She’s begun to seem distant, always slightly distracted in conversation, and she gravitates towards Jake even more than usual. Several times now, Rosa’s found them in a corner of the corridor, whispering together and stopping the moment they notice her.

So yeah, she’s figured their secret out alright, and no, she doesn’t believe they’re planning to adopt a monitor lizard and that’s why Jake was searching baby names on his computer the other day.

What Rosa doesn’t understand is why Amy doesn’t tell her. She can keep a secret. She was the one who bought every kind of pregnancy test she could find in the bodega when Amy was freaking out at the manhunt, and the one who listened when she finally admitted that trying to conceive was starting to stress her out. If Amy can share something so personal with her, venting her little heart out over a drink in a lone corner of Shaw’s late one evening, Rosa doesn't get why she can't share this.

“So you're doing the treatments, then?”

“I just said I don't want to talk about it,” Amy snaps, then sighs and leans her head in one hand. “Sorry. Tired.”

“You’ve taken a bunch of days off recently, haven't you?”

“I had a family emergency,” she says, and Rosa knows she's lying through her teeth. No one ever uses that line when they're really having a family emergency. “Hey, why are you interrogating me?”

“Just making conversation,” Rosa shrugs. If Amy can lie, so can she. “You want a soda or something instead?”

“I’m good. Thanks for the gesture, though.” She lifts the wine glass in her hand, still looking at it warily. “I’ll just... give this to Jake. Talk to you later?”

“Sure. Later.”

Amy gives her a careful smile, sliding off the barstool and heading towards the table where Jake has joined Terry, Sharon, and the Captain. Rosa watches as Jake makes space for her, his whole demeanor lighting up when he sees her. She places the glass next to his beer, whispering something underneath her breath, and Jake nods before taking it from her and swallowing half of it in quick sips. It’s not even subtle, Rosa thinks.

She's just about to wonder where Charles is and why he isn’t in that same booth asking overly invasive questions when he joins her on the same barstool Amy just left.

“Hey, Ro-ro.” He must’ve had a few drinks already, she deduces from the nickname.

“I’ve told you never to call me that unless you want your tires slashed.”

Charles ignores her. “You're noticing it too, right? With Amy?”

“You mean her acting even weirder than normal? Yep. Pretty sure everyone’s noticed.”

An elated grin appears on Charles’ face, so wide it shows his teeth. Rosa scrunches her nose. “I think I know why.”

“It’s really not hard to guess.”

“That's not why I know!” The shrill, drunken voice earns them a confused glance from Jake, and Rosa shoots Charles a warning glare to make him lower his volume. “Sorry,” he whispers. “It's just - I woke up one night, and I knew.”

“That you're unhealthily obsessed with your best friend's marriage and it's creepy?”

“Pfft. No. I already knew that. I woke up, and I could feel it. Amy’s -”

“Pregnant, yeah. We all figured it out.”

“I can sense it, Rosa.” He gives her a serious nod, the eye contact almost unnerving. “This is not about some groundless guess, some circumstantial evidence… this is real.”

“... yeah. So?”

“So? So! We have to tell them we know! I don't understand why they're keeping this to themselves!”

Rosa bites her lip. She knows where Charles is coming from. She was thinking it too, watching her best friend get nervous just from holding a glass of wine and scrambling to come up with a fake excuse to avoid it. She doesn't get why this has to be a secret. Everybody knows they've been trying, and it's so obvious something is up that even Hitchcock and Scully seem to be taking notice at this point. She could walk over to that table right now and tell Jake and Amy she knows, everyone knows, and they don’t have to pretend or keep this a secret when everyone is happy for their sake.

And yet Rosa stays where she is, because while she laughs at their futile attempts of keeping it on the down-low, she knows why.

It feels like it’s never going to happen at this point, Amy had whispered to her just two months ago. Like it’s not meant to be.

That’s bullshit, Rosa replied, but Amy shook her head.

She knows this has been a long journey for Jake and Amy. She also knows the fear that comes with gaining something you’ve spent a long time fighting for, then worrying that the universe is messing with you, and you’ll wake up tomorrow finding it was all a dream. There’s a reason Rosa’s kept nearly all her relationships secret until her partners have been begging to meet the squad, and it goes beyond her just being a private person.

“We can’t tell them we know,” she decides. Charles opens his mouth to protest, but Rosa hushes him.

“But -”

“Nope, Boyle. Look, I get that it's obvious, but it's their choice. Just because you told everyone the moment you decided to adopt doesn't mean Jake has to tell every perp he arrests that he's going to be a dad.”

Charles looks down at his shoes and swallows the last of his free wine. “I just want to celebrate with them. Seven years I’ve waited for this - ”

“You’ll get to celebrate with them. They can't keep it a secret forever. Maybe they're just waiting until the twelve-week mark or something.” Rosa takes a swig of her whiskey. “It can't be that much longer anyway. She's going to start showing at some point, right? Makes no sense to hide it from us after that. I mean, what’s she going to do? Wear a hazmat suit?”

Charles sighs. “Yeah, yeah. You're right.”

He gives Jake and Amy a longing look. Jake has his arm around Amy now, and she’s resting her head on his shoulder, eyes closed like she’s moments from falling asleep. Jake whispers something to her, lips brushing against her forehead, and she blinks before mumbling something back. Small, tender gestures of affection, the kind that would drive Rosa crazy if it was anyone else, but ones she’s gotten used to with them. After the stress and lack of romance Amy described to her during the months they were trying, it even makes her happy to see.

It must be making Charles happy, too, because he’s tearing up.

“Anyway,” he says before Rosa can tell him to stop crying. “I’m going to go vent about this over the phone to Genevieve so I don’t go crazy. Good talk, Ro-ro.”

“Don’t”, she warns him, but he’s already halfway out the door.

Jake and Amy stand up only a minute after, grabbing their jackets and saying their goodbyes. Amy meets eyes with Rosa for a second, mouthing a quick bye, and Rosa nods in return. She watches them as they make their way out of the bar, arms still around each other, and hides a smile when she sees Jake’s hand rest softly against Amy’s stomach through her sweater. It's only a second before Amy moves it away, looking around in fear that someone will have noticed, but it’s enough for Rosa to know.

She might be a good detective, but Jake and Amy also happen to be the world’s worst secret-keepers.

...

There was more than one reason as to why Rosa Diaz dropped out of medical school, but right now, as she’s flipping through the pages of the very detailed and very graphic book she found on Jake’s desk, she can only remember the one.

It was the second day on her final rotation in third year - obstetrics and gynecology - and for some reason, her supervisor thought it’d be a useful and educational experience for her to be part of a birth. She wouldn't have to do anything, just observe and learn. Not one to complain, Rosa had accepted, put on her gloves, and entered the delivery room with a forced upbeat smile on her face.

At the end of the day, that smile had since long been wiped off, as had what felt like a bucket of blood, goo, and other equally gross, slimy stuff. Also, Rosa had dropped out of medical school.

She’d observed during surgeries, been puked on by sick and screaming children, and once met a patient with a broken arm where the bone was sticking out, but childbirth had been the final straw. Three years of medical school and thousands of dollars in student debt went down the drain. She applied to business school in hopes of making up the money and told herself she hadn’t been that crazy about med school in the end. Having to put on a smile and be polite to needy patients wasn’t her thing anyway, and at least in business school, people were upfront about being jerks.

Sixteen years had passed since the day Rosa almost threw up from watching the so-called miracle of life. Tonight, it seemed she was about to unwillingly witness it again.

A drawn-out, pained moan brings Rosa back to reality, where Amy has since long given up all attempts of hiding her contractions. She glances at her watch, grimacing as she realizes it's the third contraction in five minutes coming to an end. Amy's started leaning with her elbows on the pool table for the duration of them, muttering a creative string of curses in mixed English and Spanish, and it might have looked funny if it wasn't seeming like this baby was about to be born in the break room.

“Fuck this shit,” Amy mumbles, and Rosa can only agree. “Fuck everything about this. This wasn't how it was supposed to - fuck.” She goes down on her elbows again, swaying from side to side. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Well worded.”

“Shut up.”

“They're getting worse?”

“Mm-hmm.”

All traces of the confident sergeant that insisted she didn’t need to go to the hospital, who’s spent the blackout answering every offer to help with a razor-sharp remark about how they could help her best by following her orders, seem to have disappeared. When Amy exhales, Rosa can see tears in her eyes, a reserved expression of panic amid the frustration.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to be,” she repeats as she sits down on the well-stained couch. “Look. I wasn’t even that picky, okay? I didn’t need a super wholesome and peaceful dream experience or anything. As long as everything went well, the baby was okay and I was okay. But I wanted a hospital,” she sniffles. “And I wanted Jake there. I didn’t think that was too much to a-aa…”

She leans against the side of the couch this time, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth through another contraction. Rosa feels helpless. It’s not a feeling she has often, and it’s not one she's a fan of. She reaches out to gently pat Amy’s back, but it feels awkward, so she stops.

“It wasn’t too much to ask,” she says. “But you’re not going to make it to the hospital. So we're going to need another plan.”

“The firefighters.” Amy blushes. “I know we hate them, but…”

“They’re basically a bunch of glorified EMTs who sleep in bunk beds. Meaning, they can deliver a baby in an emergency.”

Amy nods, drawing a shaky breath and rubbing her hand against the top of her stomach. “I don’t want to do this to him, Rosa.”

“What do you mean?”

“What if this doesn’t go well? What if he won’t be okay? What if something happens and it’s my fault because I couldn’t go to the hospital? What if this makes me a terrible mom?”

Amy’s eyes are wide and she’s chewing on her lip, and Rosa thinks she would start braiding her hair if it wasn't already in a messy ponytail. Most of her worries sound like straight-up insanity to Rosa’s ears, but she supposes that wouldn’t be the right thing to tell Amy at this moment.

“You think you’re the first woman ever to give birth outside of a hospital?” She asks instead. “Because you’re not. That baby’s going to be fine. He’ll probably plop right out onto the floor -”

“Oh my god, don't let him touch the floor!”

“Fine. No floor. Whatever. But you can do this.” She stares right back at Amy and channels all the persuasion she has inside of her. “Okay?”

Amy hiccups. “I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, well, neither do I.”

Amy groans and stands up to lean against the pool table again, doing the same rhythmic swaying with her hips. A uniformed officer gives her a curious look as he walks past.

“It’s what we’re doing, though. So get it together.” Rosa regrets it the moment she says it and Amy freezes. For a split second, Rosa wonders if she’s going to punch her, or at the very least yell something, but Amy just looks surprised before letting out a noise sounding vaguely like a cackle.

“Did you just tell me to get it together?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.” Rosa shakes her head. “Just - stay here while I go get a firefighter. Try not to give birth while I’m gone.”

Three firefighters are still hanging around the bullpen, drinking coffee from paper cups and laughing at some anecdote. Rosa scrunches her nose at them from a distance. She wonders why she didn't force Amy into a car to the hospital hours ago, but it's too late now. No matter how much she hates the fire department and how humiliating she finds it to have to ask for their help twice in one day, she loves her friend just that little bit more. Marginally, but still more.

In an ideal world, Rosa would have wished a luxurious birthing suite with a wide range of pain relief, some nerdy relaxing music like the Harry Potter soundtrack, skillful doctors, and Jake there for her best friend to go through something as terrible as labor with - but since none of that seems to be in the realm of possibility anymore, the least she can do is make sure there’s some kind of a medical professional there. She owes Amy that much.

Rosa grabs the arm of the firefighter standing closest to her. He’s short but muscular with a beard that reminds her of a childhood best friend’s stay-at-home dad, giving out a caring and reliable energy in the midst of the precinct’s inferno. He feels safe, and although Rosa’s never given birth herself, she imagines that’s a valuable trait for the situation.

“Need any help?” Even his smile is like taken out of a pamphlet for parent cooperatives and terrace-houses with collective barbeques.

“I do. Have you ever delivered a baby before?”

“Oh, that's a funny story!” He chuckles. “I’ve actually delivered three. They're great stories, you should hear -”

“Cool, cool, cool, don't have time, don't care. Wanna deliver a fourth? Like, tonight? Right now?”

Without waiting for a reply, she drags him to the break room.

Judging from the strained expression and eyes clenched shut, Amy’s in the middle of a contraction when they return.

“I found a firefighter.” Rosa points to their new companion. “This is, uhm -”

“Curt.”

“Huh. Anyway, he's delivered three babies before, and they're all fine. Well, I think. He can help. Right?”

“Absolutely!” Curt nods. “You’re Amy, right? Tell me where we're at.”

“Contractions at one to one and a half minute apart, lasting about thirty to forty seconds,” Rosa fills in for her friend, pointing to her watch.

“Can you talk through them?” Curt looks to Amy, who shakes her head with her lips pressed together before exhaling.

“Not anymore. There's -” She screws up her face. “Ouf. Pressure.”

“Pressure like you need to push?” Curt’s voice is calm, even though Rosa can't for the life of her understand how. Amy nods shortly.

Rosa stares at her. “Are you sure?”

Amy stares back with a death glare, and Rosa holds up her hands in retreat.

“Okay, not going to question you on that. Cool.”

“Well, that answers my question,” says Curt, the most cheerful one in the room by far. “I’ll get my emergency kit and we'll make some space on the couch. Let's do this!”

“I'm scared,” Amy whispers once they're alone again. Her timid voice is a sharp contrast to her earlier groans and screams. Rosa looks at her and sees the same Amy she comforted during long nights when Jake was in Florida, the Amy that shines through every time her husband's in danger again, no matter how hard she tries to suppress it. Rosa's never been great at comforting, but she could never leave her best friend like this. That instinct is just enough to overpower some of her hate for the situation.

“I know,” she says, stroking away a few pearls of sweat from Amy’s forehead. “But you’re going to be okay.”

“You really think so?”

She nods, and it seems to be a relief to Amy, who manages a tentative smile in return. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

In the end, it’s probably Hitchcock and Scully - and maybe Lieutenant Peanut Butter - who end up being the most unlikely heroes of the day, but when the ambulance finally arrives to relieve her of her duties, Rosa’s still pretty damn proud of herself.

If only Dr. Mervin could have seen me now, she thinks as she burns the afterbirth-covered outfit, remembering the snarky supervisor who had simply nodded and shut the office door in her face when Rosa told her she would be dropping out.

She’s never, ever, delivering a baby again, though.

...

Rosa’s not crazy, so she waits a few days after Jake and Amy come home from the hospital before she asks to visit.

Even then, she’s careful. She remembers how militant Gina was with her minimal-visitors policy after Iggy was born, how she demanded everyone who came brought food and offered to clean up because she ‘sure as hell wasn’t doing any of that crap five days after pushing a living human out of her vagina’, and the last thing she wants is to be a nuisance to two new parents who are probably exhausted as is.

Mac is a week old the day Rosa texts Jake and Amy to ask if she can come over. She assures them that it's okay if they're too tired, that she can bring food if they want, but it's only ten minutes before Amy's replied Not necessary, you're always welcome and Jake's added Mac misses his auntie Ro-Ro. The nickname makes her touched, and she wonders briefly who she's become.

She brings food anyway, a hearty chicken stew made from a family recipe, plus a batch of oatmeal cookies; she’s got manners, and, well, she's not an animal.

It's Jake who opens. He looks surprised to see her, even though they were just texting hours ago.

“Hey, Diaz.” He can't have washed his hair in a while. It looks crazy, curls and tufts sticking up in random patterns, it doesn't look like he's shaved and his outfit seems taken from the days when they worked that apartment murder that drove them both insane. At least he’s wearing pants this time. Sweatpants, but Rosa supposes he's got an excuse.

“Amy's in the bedroom with Mac,” he explains before she can ask. “They were napping, but I just heard him start crying and instantly go quiet again, so now I’m guessing they’re nursing. They’ll be out soon.”

“It’s fine,” she assures him. “I came to see you, too.”

She’d expected their apartment to be way messier, but it looks surprisingly neat. The dining table has been taken over by flowers and greeting cards, there are bottles drying next to the sink and a baby swing next to the armchair, but the space is still tidy. Rosa’s impressed, and a little worried about Amy.

“I brought food,” she says, putting the first container on the kitchen counter.

“Oh my god, you did? I’m sure it's even edible!” Jake lights up. “Charles has given us loads too, but, y’know. I love him, but he's Charles, and anything he cooks is also… Charles.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Yeah.” He gives the chicken stew a closer look, poking at the plastic lid. “This looks great. Thanks, Rosa.”

“You're welcome.”

He smiles, a yawn following suit that he makes no effort to hide. Rosa feels bad for him, but it looks pretty funny, like his mouth is about to stretch into an abyss before he's done.

“Tired?”

“I’ll be real with you, I have not slept in a while. You want coffee?”

“Dude, it's 8 p.m.”

“Excellent observation, Diaz. Would you mind explaining that to my son?” Something in his expression changes when he says the word son. There’s a pride in his voice as he pronounces it, weighing the syllable like he can’t get enough. “I love him more than anything, but wow, he’s a shit sleeper. You want tea instead?” Jake's already digging in a cabinet. “We have, uhm… Earl Grey, lemon, and something called lactation tea. Maybe you don’t want that.” He sniffs the jar. “Smells pretty good, though. Don’t knock it ‘til you try it?”

“Lemon’s fine. Oh, and I’ve got cookies, too.”

“Who are you?”

“I gotta say, I thought your place would be chaos.” They’ve brought their cups to the couch, where Jake is already on his third cookie and getting crumbs all over the blue flannel. “I’m impressed.”

“Well, my wife is a superhero.” Rosa raises a brow, and he quickly adds, “fine, I’ve done most of this, just so she doesn’t have to stress over it. And my mom was here yesterday. The first thing still stands, though.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for being there with her,” he says, and the gravity in his tone takes her by surprise.

“I did nothing,” she mumbles. “You would have done a much better job. Maybe she would have even listened to you if you’d told her to go to the hospital.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain about that. She can be pretty…”

“Obstinate?”

“I was going to say determined, but sure. Sometimes.” Jake shakes his head. “I say that with love. Anyway, I’m glad it was you. Can you imagine if it had been Charles? She might have killed the man, which would have put such a damper on the whole night, don’t you think? Nah. You were great.”

He meets her eyes again as he says it, and Rosa looks away. She’s rarely one to appreciate flattery, but after the intensity of the situation and the slight guilt she felt afterward over not being the source of calm medical school taught her she should be - some of it’s welcomed.

“Sorry your son had to be delivered by a firefighter.”

“Yeah, that’s tragic, isn’t it?” Jake laughs. “But you helped, too. That’s a pretty cool story to tell Mac about his aunt Rosa one day. I know you hated it, but thank you for staying with her.”

“I wouldn’t have left her.”

“I know.”

Neither of them says anything else in response. She can tell what he means anyway, and knows he can do the same with her. She forgets, sometimes, how long she’s known him; longer than she’s known anyone else at the precinct. She still remembers the goofy student who was restless in a classroom but always sharp as a knife during practical training, the guy she met her first day at the Academy and immediately took a liking to; not just because he seemed like the type who didn’t care about her past or personal life, but also because he was passionate. About Die Hard, taking down bad guys, and about making the people around him feel better, not that he would have confessed the last part.

She still remembers one morning during their second month of the Academy, when she’d arrived at training red-eyed after a bad fight with her boyfriend at the time. Without asking what had happened, Jake spent the entire day pointing out every detail he thought had a chance of making her snicker, and by the end of the day, she’d forgotten about the fight. He’s still the same, she thinks. A few years older, more emotionally mature, and less insistent on dying a heroic death while saving the city from a terrorist attack - but the thoughtfulness and the need to make sure the people he loves are safe and taken care of remains the same.

Rosa hears steps in the hallway, accompanied by what sounds like the shy whining Arlo does when he’s hiding after doing something naughty, and looks up to see Amy. She’s holding Mac against her chest and stroking his back through the baby pink blanket, but he’s still fussing a little. Jake jumps up faster than Rosa knew the man could move, and she watches as the couple exchanges the infant between their arms with so much carefulness. They look practiced, but in a way where they don’t trust it about themselves, where the confidence doesn’t yet match the skill.

“Diaper change?” Jake asks, and Amy nods. “Amazing. Dad duty calls,” he grins, disappearing with Mac to the nursery.

“You make him do all the diaper changes?” Rosa asks as Amy joins her on the couch.

“Almost. I did the hard work, he’s gotta catch up.” She reaches for Jake’s cup, swallowing the last of the lukewarm coffee. “And he offers.”

Amy looks far more exhausted now than when Rosa last saw her in the hospital, the bags under her eyes not even hidden by makeup and her ponytail frizzy. She's wearing sweatpants again and the same flannel and shirt-combo as Jake, only hers is pink and not blue. Rosa wonders if their coordination is intentional or simple habit.

“So… how are you doing?”

It's not a question she asks often, but this time, she cares about the answer.

“I’m so tired,” Amy fires back the second Rosa finishes her sentence, like she's been bursting to complain over it. “Sore. Crying at everything. We’re just trying to figure it out.” She sighs, and then she gets a smile on her lips. “But it’s good. He's objectively the best, most wonderful baby ever.”

“Worth it?”

“Yeah, but that was never a question.”

Jake returns from the diaper change with Mac, who still doesn't quite seem content where he squirms in his father's arms, instantly gaining Amy's attention.

“Clean baby, still not happy,” Jake reports. “Maybe he didn't finish eating?”

“Could be,” Amy says, stretching out her arms to take him. “I’ll see if he's still hungry. You can go take a shower if you want. I’ve got Rosa.”

“Do I need to shower?”

“Yes, babe, you do.”

Jake grimaces, but he's off to the bathroom as soon as Amy returns her focus to the baby in her arms. Mac’s turning his whole body against her chest like it couldn't be clearer what he's after, and Amy sighs as she starts unbuttoning the flannel.

“You don't mind, right?”

“Why would I mind? You're feeding your baby,” Rosa shrugs. “I’ve seen a lot worse, if you remember. I think I can handle accidentally catching a glimpse of your boob.”

Amy blushes. “Guess you’ve got a point.”

It takes them a minute, Amy talking to her son in a low, soothing voice as he keeps tensing and fussing before he catches on. Rosa looks away, wanting to give them some privacy, but she can hear the moment Mac starts suckling and the sigh of relief that follows from Amy.

“There you go,” she says. “We just need to relax, and we’re good.”

There’s a tenderness even to the way she speaks to him, like love is packed into each word. Rosa thinks of the way Amy hid her pregnancy for months in fear that something would go wrong, and how scared she was that giving birth under less than ideal circumstances would somehow make her a bad mom. She doesn’t seem as scared anymore. Rather, there’s an air of quiet confidence over her when she’s holding him, and it’s moving to see.

“Slow down, McClane,” she whispers, thumb stroking over his cheek. “I know you’re hungry, but if you keep going like that, you’re going to puke, okay? We’ve been through this.”

“I’m proud of you,” the words spill out of Rosa, and Amy blinks.

“You’re proud of me?”

“Yeah, I’m proud of you.” A shy smile flutters across Amy’s lips. “But if you ever have another kid, I’m not going near you a month before you’re due, okay? I’ll transfer precincts or something. Never again.”

Amy laughs, but Rosa just stares at her, and she goes silent. “Got it. Cool. That’s fair.”

“Do you want to hold him?” The question takes Rosa by surprise. Mac has finished eating and burped Amy in the face - babies are charming - and seems content again with his head on Amy’s shoulder. “He’s clean and wearing clothes.”

“Uhm, yeah.” Rosa tries to remember when she last held a baby. It was probably Iggy, but Gina’s daughter is three years old now, and she hasn’t wanted to cuddle with Rosa for at least two. “Okay.”

Her heart is beating fast as she holds out her arms and Amy gently transfers him to them, but then he’s there, and it’s not as scary. Mac looks up at her with his big, brown eyes, like he's trying to figure out who this new person is that's holding him, but he doesn't seem too bothered by the change.

“Hi,” says Rosa, tracing one of the rainbows on his onesie. “We’ve met before.”

The fact that she saw this baby be born is something she most of all wants to forget. She won't for a second pretend he looked cute then, all purple and slimy and half-Cuban Jimmy Neutron-like, but now she can actually distinguish some of his features. Dark hair that won’t quite lie flat, a pointy little nose, the sweetest round cheeks, and a curious expression when she meets his eyes with equal focus. There’s some resemblance to both of his parents, something she imagines Charles has probably talked their ears off about already, but he looks like himself, too.

Mac opens his mouth like he’s trying to communicate, and Rosa makes the same face back at him. He closes it, pursing his lips, and she mimics him again. He’s pretty cool, she decides, as long as she doesn’t think about how fragile he is or how soft his head is. He’s this unscarred and innocent, brand new little person with his whole life ahead of him to be filled with successes and mistakes, heartbreaks and dreams, and now that he’s not seconds-out of a womb anymore, Rosa can’t deny that he’s adorable.

“He’s perfect, right?” Amy’s voice is just above a whisper.

“He’s so cute, it’s fucked up.”

Amy laughs. “It is fucked up,” she nods, and then she gets a far more serious look in her eyes. “Thanks again for being there. I know you hated it, but... I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Rosa finds herself lying, but Amy shakes her head.

“No, it was. I’m happy it was you.”

She thinks of Jake’s comment earlier, that Amy might have killed Charles if he’d been the one to try and coach her through contractions, and smirks. “It was worth it.”

Amy smiles. “Auntie Ro-Ro.”

“I get to say that. You don’t get to say that. It’s different.”

“Fine. Can I take a picture of you two? Just to have for him? I won’t ever show it to anyone else, I promise.”

“Sure.” Mac’s started moving a little in her arms again, scrunching his face and looking worried, but he’s not crying, so Rosa raises him slightly anyway and angles him so Amy can get a better picture.

“Adorable,” she says, about to snap the first shot, and right then Mac squirms and spits up. Right over Rosa’s leather jacket. Then he smiles, like everything just became so much better.

“Oh no!” Amy peeps, reaching for a washcloth. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’ll take him off your hands if you want -”

“It’s fine,” she hurries to say. “It wipes off.”

“Are you -”

“I said it’s fine.” Rosa gives her a look, as if to say don’t you dare take this baby from me.

Amy looks nervous, but she takes a couple of pictures anyway. Rosa thinks that they’re probably from her bad side, but she doesn’t care to protest. It’s for Mac, anyway, and maybe a little bit for Amy and Jake. She can look ugly in a couple of iPhone pictures if it means she gets to hold this perfect baby for a few minutes more.

“So cute.” Amy sounds teary as she looks at the pictures before putting her phone away, and then it's as if she's been reading Rosa’s mind, because she asks,

“Are you okay to hold him for five minutes? Just while I go to the bathroom?”

“Yeah, I’ve got this.”

Rosa has got this, at first. Mac has gripped her index finger and is holding on tight to it while she tickles his chin, boops his nose, and even sticks out her tongue to entertain him. He seems happy, watching her with the same wide eyes and intense eye contact, but then, something suddenly comes over him. He scrunches his forehead, making a face like a sad kitten, and the next second he’s crying.

It takes Rosa by surprise. She's got no idea what to do with a crying baby - she's always just given them back to the parents - but Jake’s nowhere to be seen and breaking into the bathroom to place a screaming baby in Amy’s arms seems rude, although she definitely considers it. Rosa stands up instead, swaying from side to side while bouncing on the heels of her feet.

“Shh, shh,” she tries, to no effect. “It's okay.”

Mac lets out another wail like something is making him well and truly heartbroken, and the sound tugs at her heartstrings.

“Where are your parents?” She asks him then, like he's not wondering the same thing. “I’m sorry, Mac, I don’t know what to do -”

An idea hits her. Babies like music, right? She could sing to him. Babies probably don’t like aggressive German rap, but that’s fine, Rosa knows other songs, somewhere down deep -

“The itsy bitsy spider, went up the water spout,” she sings the first song that pops into her head. “Down came the rain and washed the spider out…”

She's not prepared for it to work, but then, as suddenly as the screaming started, Mac calms down again. He lets out the sweetest snuffling noise, and then he goes quiet.

“Out came the sun, and washed up all the rain, and the itsy bitsy spider went up the spout again…”

Rosa doesn't dare stop. She keeps rocking and singing, rocking and singing, all the while staring at this baby who has such a grip on her somehow. When did a baby last make her sing? He's still staring at her with wide eyes, and she doesn’t want him to start crying again, so she sings the song from the top.

“The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout..”

When she finishes the song for the second time, Mac’s closed his eyes and is slowly waving a tiny fist, so she holds it in her hand and lets his grip close around her thumb.

“If you ever get an enemy in the future,” she whispers, “you text me, okay? I’ll beat them up for you.”

“Aww.” Rosa flinches, noticing Jake a few feet away. “You guys are adorable. How are things going?”

“He started crying, so I, uh, sang to him? He's fine now. I think.”

“Yeah, I heard the singing.” Jake steps closer to her so she can slide Mac over to his arms. “Truly beautiful.”

“Never tell anyone about this.”

He winks. “Our secret.”

Mac lets out another whimper, and Rosa tenses, but Jake just lifts him so he's resting against his chest, like a little frog with his head resting on Jake’s shoulder. Then he pops the pacifier he was holding into Mac’s mouth, and as if through a stroke of magic, the baby relaxes. Jake buries his nose in Mac’s hair and kisses the top of his head, and Rosa can't hide a smile.

He looks so grown up like this, so in love as he holds his son. She’s proud of him.

Amy returns from the bathroom with a stressed-out look in her eyes, but once she sees Mac with Jake, it melts right off her. She stands on the tip of her toes, kissing Mac’s cheeks first and then Jake’s.

Rosa feels like she’s lurking, spying on this intimate family moment, but then she remembers she literally saw this kid be born. This family has nestled its way into her life from the very beginning. She’s earned the right to be here.

She still excuses herself after a moment, but she doesn’t leave before she’s stolen a final dose of baby snuggles. How this baby has got her so wrapped around his tiny little finger already is a mystery, but at the same time, it makes all the sense in the world.

“Be nice to your parents,” she whispers to Mac as he gets a final turn in her arms. “They’re a little crazy, I know, but they really love you a lot. So do I,” she adds, under her breath, “but don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Mac blinks, like he understands.

#OKAY FOLKS I FINALLY DID IT #my writing #b99 fic #brooklyn nine-nine fic #amy santiago #rosa diaz #mac peralta #b99

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thorne93 · 4 years

Text

The Stars Made Us (Part 11)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 2790

Warnings: angst and language throughout

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @dontshootmespence, thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong and @arrow-guy and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

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

On the plane ride down, you weren’t sure what to think of everything. Of course you were excited to start this new chapter of your life, but you were still very aware of everything you’d be leaving behind.

You had to meet with your landlord to give up your office space, tell your patients that you would reach out on communicating with them later, tell your parents, box up your house, put your house up for sale… It was a lot to do in one week. Thankfully, Charles was there to help you with it all. He could box the house while you got things sorted on the business side of things.

First thing’s first, going to your parents. They hadn’t heard much from you in a month. You’d only called twice, but you kept it vague, as you wouldn’t be sure when you might return home, or even if you were staying.

“So I thought we could swing by my parents first,” you stated as you two got through airport security. “They deserve to know what’s going on, and I think they’d like to meet you first and all that jazz.”

“Sounds good to me. I am here for whatever you need, darling,” he cooed as he held your hand, kissing it and stroking your knuckles. “Just point me in the direction you need.”

A warm grin spread on your face while walking through the terminal before hailing a taxi. Both of you got in with your luggage and you gave him your parents address, which was over an hour away from the airport.

“Is it embarrassing to admit that I’m nervous?” Charles asked once you got out onto the road.

You blushed and grabbed his hand. “No, I think it’s absolutely adorable.”

“Of course you would, you're my mate. But I’m over thirty, meeting your parents shouldn’t have me giddy like a schoolboy meeting your parents on prom night. It’s ridiculous.”

“Don’t look now, Charles, but I think it means you’re actually caring for me,” you teased.

“I’ve always cared for you,” he said emphatically, no joking in his voice at all.

All you could do was stare back into those haunting eyes and give the tiniest of smiles.

You settled in together for the ride and leaned into each other.

Eventually, you were home -- well your home away from home. The place where you grew up and your sanctuary when you were in college and med school. Once you paid the fare and grabbed your bags, you set up towards the steps. You tried the door, but it was locked. You pulled out your keys from your purse and tried the old house key. It was in the lock and… click.

You opened the door and waved Charles in behind you.

“Hey, anybody here?” you called out. When no one responded, you turned to Charles. “Well this was home sweet home for a while. This was where I was when we first… communicated,” you informed with a soft smile.

“I’d very much like to see--”

“Y/N?” your mom’s voice sounded from the end of the hallway. Your eyes went straight to the sound.

“Mom!” you said happily before walking to her and giving her a hug. Your dad right behind her in the hallway.

“Short Stack?” he greeted, calling you by your nickname.

You let go of your mom and then hugged your dad. “It’s so good to see you both.”

Your parents looked at you, holding you in their gaze before their eyes flashed back to Charles. You laughed slightly before backing up and taking his hand again. “Mom, Dad… This is X.” You peered at him with love in your eyes. “Or, his real name, Charles Xavier.”

They stared at you both, their eyes darting back and forth between you two, before finally landing on your face.

“This is him?” your dad exclaimed.

“He’s the guy?” your mom said simultaneously

“He’s the one who hurt you?” your dad said.

“The one who ignored you for a year.”

“The one that let you think you’d done something wrong?!”

“He’s… he’s… he isn’t worthy of your love!”

You frowned, confused. You had no idea your parents would react this way. You thought they’d be happy for you.

Letting go of Charles’s hand, you stepped forward, raising your hands. “Woah, woah. Don’t attack him for--”

“For what? For breaking your heart? You two were inseparable, if that’s what you could call it, for ten years, and he just up and leaves you. Not a word. No explanation.”

“Dad,” you started, trying to defend him.

“Your father’s right,” your mom agreed. “He wasn’t good to you. He abandoned you,” she reminded.

“I know,” you assured. “But I’ve been with him, for the past month. We met, we talked, he explained it all. I forgive him, all I ask is that you do too.”

“We can’t,” your mom simply said, shaking her head with a sorrowful look on her face. “We… want you to be happy, sweetie, we do, but if he can do this to you, who’s to say he won’t do it again?”

“If I may,” Charles began, taking a step towards your parents.

“No you may not,” your dad said. “We used to think you were good. You gave Y/N so much hope, so much life. As long as she had you, her life was on track. But then you… you broke her. I’ve never seen her so upset. You ignored her for weeks, months… How… how could you do that? What kind of person does that? I’m sorry, I used to support this… union, but I can’t any more. I watched my little girl dissolve into a shell because of you. No. I won’t watch it again.” He shook his head, his hand making a gesture of slicing.

“I’m with your father, Y/N. He’s right.”

“No, Mom, he’s not. Look, I agree with you that what he did was shitty, but he’s explained what happened. I don’t think he’ll hurt me like that again. We’ve met, we’re on the same page…” You took his hand again. “We’re in love,” you breathed.

“That... isn’t enough,” your father said. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but our answer is final. We just can’t support you two being together.”

“Dad,” you tried but he just shook his head.

“Sorry pumpkin. It’s really good to see you though. You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” he encouraged with a sad smile.

You turned to Charles and gestured for him to follow you once your parents retreated to the kitchen. He followed you up the stairs and you went to your old bedroom that was now a craft room for your mom. You didn’t mind. They kept some of your old stuff from highschool on a table on one end.

“This was my room,” you explained, walking in and turning. You let out a sigh and Charles walked over and put his arms around you. “I thought you wouldn’t read my mind,” you said before a sob broke out of you with a laugh.

He rubbed your back lovingly before he said, “I didn’t. You know, even without my powers I’m capable of detecting social cues, believe it or not.”

You laughed through the tears. “I just....I love you so much, and I know they did too. I just can’t imagine that they don’t want you in my life anymore. You’re so perfect for me and they know this but--”

He pulled away slightly, his hand still rubbing your arms. “They’ll come around, darling. I can’t say that I blame them. I did… well almost ruin you.”

You scoffed out a laugh before wiping your face. “Don’t take so much credit,” you teased weakly. “I wasn’t ruined… Broken, maybe. But I would’ve been alright.”

He smiled at you, adoration on his face. “I know you would’ve been. You’re stronger than I am.”

“I’m not sure about that,” you responded. The air hung heavy for a moment before you took a deep breath and began walking around. “My bed was right here. My computer was there,” you pointed to the wall in front of you, the one that the door was on. “I was sitting right here on my bed, contemplating whether or not to write you, well, whoever might have been out there.”

“And I’m glad you did. Who knows where I’d be without you,” he boasted with a proud smile.

“Probably with Hank, eating junk food in front of a TV,” you remarked with a smirk.

He laughed. “Probably so.”

“God, I was so nervous when I wrote out to you. I wasn’t sure who I’d get, when they would respond, if they’d respond at all. At first it was just this silly challenge Jen put me up to, but then I was actually really excited. Then I got worried that I would be disappointed if no one responded.”

“I was equally surprised. I wasn’t expecting text to show up on my arm in the middle of the night,” he remembered.

You peered at him. “Hey, why didn’t you ever try to reach out to anyone? You know, try what I did?”

He shrugged. “I never really thought about it. I was busy with college when I was 18 so love didn’t cross my mind.”

You nodded. “Makes sense, I suppose.”

“Do you ever regret it… reaching out to me? I mean… was I a disappointment to you?”

A curious, concerned expression crossed your face. “What? No. Of course not. You’re a miracle,” you said with a sense of relief. “You’re handsome, incredibly intelligent, and compassionate. You’re more than anything I’d ever dreamed of.”

“Even when we met?” he asked with a peculiar tone, curiosity burning in his voice.

“Even then. You being a little down on yourself wasn’t a deterrent.” Your eyes raked him. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re trying to get rid of me. Trying to prove to me that I don’t deserve you or something.”

“No,” he assured, taking your hands in his as he stepped closer to you. “Not at all. I love you and I’m so happy we found each other. I just… your parents are against us and I don’t want to cause a wedge.”

“They’ll come around,” you said. “They’ll see how good we are to each other and they’ll have to agree.”

“I hope so, because I wasn’t planning on letting you go.”

You smiled briefly before the two of you kissed.

“I don’t want to mention that I’m moving, just yet,” you stated.

“But, that’s why we’re here,” he reminded with a frown.

“I know, I know. I just… I didn’t know they’d take the news of us meeting this badly so I want to give them some time.”

“Y/N, you’re moving this week. They’re going to figure it out pretty soon.”

“I know, but let’s give them a couple days to cool off, please? Then we can tell them.”

He eyed you for a moment before nodding.

Then your mom called that dinner was ready and you all ventured downstairs.

Once you were seated and about to start eating, your dad began talking to you. “So, how’s the practice going?”

“Good. I, uh, had to take a short break. I’ve been kind of working with another doctor. I had to go and see Charles so my work had to be put on hold,” you informed carefully.

“So you put your work on hold for him?” he questioned, irritation evident in his face and voice as he looked at the two of you.

“Well, yes, but not exactly. I’m still going to work. I still have my practice, it was just a break. Like a vacation.”

“Except it wasn’t a vacation. You were with him,” he stated, the word ‘him’ falling out as a curse.

“Dad,” you tried. “I just want a nice meal with my soulmate and my parents. Come on, we haven’t seen each other in over a month…”

“You’re right,” your mom agreed.

“Charles is a professor,” you offered.

“Did he decide to teach before or after he broke your heart?” your dad asked.

“Actually, before,” Charles responded. “I wanted to be a teacher for a long time.”

“I’m not sure I like the idea of someone like you leading the youth of the country.”

“Dad, Charles was a great mentor and professor to several students. He funded a whole school by himself--”

“Was this why he disappeared or was it to find another girl?” he asked.

“Dad!” you cried out.

“What?” he responded innocently. “It’s a fair question. You two were constantly connected then one day he just poofs out of existence. In my experience the only thing that can divert a dedicated man’s attention like that is a woman.”

“Sir, actually, it wasn’t a woman - at least not romantically--”

“I don’t give a damn what you have to say. This wasn’t like you two went to prom and you didn’t call her the day after,” your dad retorted, his voice getting louder. “You two are soulmates. Something we’re supposed to believe is special. You talked every day for years. You made Y/N smile, happy, laugh. We’d never seen her like that. Then you stopped responding and she was a wreck. She had no idea if you were dead, alive, anything. She was a mess. She barely got her work done. Then you have the nerve to show up here and act as if you didn’t hurt her at all.”

“That’s not my intention. I take full responsibility for hurting her. I should’ve never done it. I was in a very dark place and I didn’t want to drag her down with me.”

“Well a lot of good that did.”

“Dad, it’s not his fault, alright? He isn’t responsible for my happiness,” you interjected.

“No, but he sure as hell didn’t help it. He could’ve told you that he was in a bad place. He could’ve said to give him some time. But he didn’t, did he?”

“I made a mistake,” Charles responded. “And I’m deeply sorry for it and I’m doing my best to correct it. I can’t ask you to forgive the pain I put Y/N through, hell I don’t forgive myself. But I would like it if you gave me a second chance. Y/N is.”

“She’s blinded by love,” your dad said in a lower, softer voice.

“That may be, but I have no intention of hurting her ever again. It’ll be hard to vanish on her again, given the circumstances,” he mentioned.

Your parents frowned and your heart stilled -- oh no.

“I’m sorry, why is that?” your mom asked, confused.

“Oh, uh,” he said, stumbling. He realized his mistake, but it was too late. The cat was out of the bag. “No reason. I just mean that now that we’ve met she can easily find me…” he tried, but his lying wasn’t doing terribly well.

“Y/N, what the hell is he blabbering about?” your dad demanded.

You clenched your fists, slowly closed your eyes, and took a deep breath before answering. “Uh, I was… I’m considering… Well I’m going to move.”

“Move? Move when? Where?”

“This week… I’m moving in with Charles.”

“And where exactly is that?” your mom asked.

“New York.”

“New york?!” your parents exclaimed together.

“We’ll never see you,” your mom said.

“You’re seeing me right now,” you argued softly.

“You know what we mean. New York is so far away.”

“I’ll come visit every chance I get,” you assured. “It’s just best if I go with Charles --”

“Why doesn’t he move down here?” your mom offered. “We don’t support this, but if you’re going to stay with him, then you could at least do it down here.”

Shaking your head, you answered, “We can’t do that. Charles has a huge home that’s already set up for schooling. He can’t give that up. I can move my office, but he can’t move his school.”

Your parents exchanged a glance, one that didn’t look good.

“Mom, Dad,” you tried feebly. “Just… give us a chance. I was just as mad as you were when I met Charles but we’ve made amends. Please try to understand…”

“I’m sorry, honey, we just can’t…” your mom replied dishearteningly.

You put your fork down, scooting your chair back. “Okay, alright. It’s clear you two aren’t willing to listen to to either of us. I’m an adult, and my entire life I’ve made the right decisions, and on the love of my life, my soulmate, you won’t hear me out? Fine. Come on, Charles, we’re leaving.”

You walked out the door to order an uber.

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

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#the stars made us #charles xavier x reader #charles xavier fic #charles xavier #stephen strange fic #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange

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filmmakerdreamst · 4 years

Text

‘Boy Meets World’ Re-watch (as an Adult)

‘Girl Meets World’ doesn’t count as a sequel. Not because of the writing/tonal choices but because in the original show - despite continuity issues - the characters felt like real people e.g. the way they spoke/acted/dressed was the way people behaved in the 90s where as in the spin off, they were Disney characters e.g. hyper versions of themselves especially Cory and Eric. And the transition between both shows didn’t come naturally. It’s not an objectivity badly written show but it was pretty much a re-do of the old show with the same storylines/tropes without continuing the story. (I say the same thing about ‘The Incredibles’. vs ‘Incredibles 2’.) Also there were too many cooks in the kitchen pushing one way or another. You could see Micheal Jacobs style, all the aspects were there, but he was also creating a ‘DISNEY’ show at the same time. I don’t know about you but the one message I took from the original show was ‘finding out that life cannot be packenged into a lovely little present ’ which kind of contradicts everything that the new show is. If anything GMW is an AU universe (and it really felt like that, rewatching it right after BMW e.g. it felt flipped) almost like Disney’s version of ‘what happened next?’ The primal difference between both shows is BMW is portraying what is real and GMW is based on what is real.

Going off my point, I will however be always thankful that it exists because I probably wouldn’t of found out about ‘Boy Meets World’ otherwise. Although saying that, I never thought that the original show needed a continuation of any kind (a lot of things make sense about the spin off if you acknowledge that Disney requested it - I think it would of been much better off on its original platform) ‘Boy Meets World’ was very much a product of its time i.e. when tv shows were still relevetivley new and had no rules - like there is stuff in there that not even adult shows today have. Plus there was something about it that felt very personal (such as the characters and setting) as if the creator based it on his own childhood growing up and I think that was part of its charm and why it had such a big effect on pop culture - I’m not so sure you can repeat that.

BMW is big on meta I’ll tell you that. I love how it’s so aware of itself. The amount of depth that it has never ceases to amaze me. It’s whole universe is so dense and huge. Every quote/storyline is so unique it sticks in your brain forever. (I swear the humour got more and more deranged every season). The show was also incredibly queer and progressive. It didn’t give a crap about sexuality. Much more than I remember. Proof to never use ‘but it was made in the 90s’ excuse.

I loved how the show kept reinventing itself every season as Cory grew up so you really felt you were growing up with him and all the characters. The Character Development on this show was so natural/authentic. Every single character got a chance to shine. No one changed their look in one episode and no one had an intervention every time someone had an identity crisis (GMW) My favourite development was Shawn Hunter. He went from a cool kid to a ladies man to a poetic soul. It was so satisfying to watch.

I realised that Cory Matthews is actually my favourite character (before it was Eric or Shawn) I already have a special soft spot for ‘annoying’ characters because they tend to be the most memorable/real. For example, Karma Ashcroft from ‘Faking it’ was my babe while everyone was hating on her. I really related to his anxiety/self hatred about being average and I loved that he constantly made mistakes. It was very refreshing. He’s also incredibly queer-coded. I found that alot of his mannerisms make sense if you see him with extreme compulsory heterosexuality (because identity’s such as bisexual or gay couldn’t exist normally in the 90s) There are moments in the show where he literally mimics his best friend’s behaviour around girls e.g. when the class pretty much gets brainwashed by the sex ed video in ‘Boy Meets Girl’ Shawn gets asked out by a girl, making Cory jealous - which pushes him to ask out Topanga.

It’s funny how a few years of life experience can change perspectives completely because when I was sixteen (aka the same age as Cory and Topanga) watching BMW for the first time, I was mad at Amy for ‘not understanding that they were in love’ (in ‘A Walk to Pittsburg’) but now that I’m older I’m actually agreeing with her. Yeah, what do they know about love? Because all season long they were acting quite superficially.

Cory and Topanga became somewhat of a toxic couple in seasons 5 -7. Reminded me of my parents relationship because my mum gave up her chosen university to be closer to my dad and they aren’t together any more. Topanga’s love for Cory was very conditional and Cory cheated on her multiple times/openly begged for sex (Again like my parents) And you should never be in a relationship with someone who makes you say “You make me think not so very much of myself” There are arguably much more signs of emotional abuse than love in their relationship especially from Topanga’s side. Plus their story was altered so many times to give it more basis (they retconned Shawn and Cory’s friendship to do this) I could write an essay on how Kevin and Winnie’s love story on ‘The Wonder Years’ is much more believable because it actually addresses how toxic it was and they grow apart in the end. If GMW was a realistic continuation, they would be divorced with a little girl - leave them in the 90s where they belong.

Alan and Amy were couple goals! Cory and Topanga wish that they could have what they have. Literally the definition of ‘a healthy relationship on tv that keeps thriving and over coming obstacles without big drama’. Best TV parents ever.

I loved the Matthews family; how they all had individual arcs and developments of their own. One of my favourite arcs was in season 5, when Eric and Cory were both jealous of what they ‘didn’t have’ with their dad, so Alan made an effort to give them both that they needed. Honestly, I had never seen so much healthy communication on TV before. Alan is the best father around. His whole personal arc of giving up managing a supermarket because he wasn’t passsionate about it anymore and buying a mountain store was so inspired. I found it funny that the family had more of a relationship with Shawn than Topanga.

Shawn Hunter never caught a break. It got a bit tiring. He was never allowed to be happy for five minutes. Every time he laughed or smiled, 5 years were added onto my lifespan. Why didn’t Johnathan Turner adopt him? I loved their dynamic. Why did he let him go back to his abusive father who just dumped him anyway?

Jack and Shawn’s complicated dynamic was possibly the most unique/interesting arc of the entire show and no one talks about it. I don’t care what y’all say - despite them being very different, Jack was the only one who fully took care of Shawn without second thoughts (Turner and the Matthews family had doubts)

I liked Shawn and Angela. I thought they were much better suited than Cory and Topanga. I honestly wouldn’t of minded if they ended up together even though I always had a feeling they wouldn’t. (Like I’m glad she went with her dad in the end) And considering how important they were as a interracial couple in the 90s, GMW handled that very poorly.

Shawn and Cory should of ended up together. And before you come at me with ‘it’s important to have m/m friendships without toxic masculinity’ (which is an important arguement to have) - yeah no shit there’s an entire Industry based around that/pitting women against each other. While it is important to have those friendships between men that are close and even intimate (take Chandler and Joey, Schmidt and Nick, Isak and Jonas and Jake and Charles for example) there was also another layer to their relationship which the narrative played off sometimes as them “going out” or “in love”. I actually recently found out that a writer - who came into the show in season 3 - confirmed that she wrote gay undertones into their relationship on purpose ‘In my opinion as a writer, they thought they were “straight”, they both didn’t realise or understand their feelings for eachother’ but couldn’t deliever because the producers wanted to keep the show “kid friendly”. Kind of like Xena and Gabby. I know people prefer Jack & Eric (I love them as well) but everything got ruined for me as soon as they introduced the ‘love triangle’ and I always tend to prefer emotional tension over sexual. They were just so unconditional with each other/ their friendship was so good and healthy and now I’m so bitter that it never happened.

I never understood why Shawn and Cory had to stop being best friends after he got married. He’s not Topanga’s property. I always hated how Topanga tried to interrupt/interfere with their dynamic — although now I realise it was because the two of them purposely left her out. Looking back at it, If it really was just a intimate friendship then why would she get so easily jealous if she didn’t sense there was something else deeper going on? You should never marry someone who puts you second.

I didn’t like Topanga when she was with Cory (or vice versa) Especially after they got married. She was a great character on her own. Feminist before her time. Hermione Granger before her time. I always felt she deserved a lot better than him in a way e.g. if someone I considered a friend speard a rumour around high school that we slept together - I would never speak to that person again. SHE SHOULD OF GONE TO YALE GOD DAMN IT. And as someone pointed out the other day, if the roles were reversed some of the stuff she does or says to Cory would be considered domestic violence. ‘She’s always blaming Cory on shit that isn't even his fault or makes him feel bad or shuts down his emotions and turns it around so he's comforting her instead.’ There was even a moment in GMW (not that I consider that show a continuation) where she locks him out the house for a few days after he insulted her chicken, and his son Auggie had to bring him spaghetti. If Cory was a woman, that would not be played off as a joke - that would be considered abuse. They were however a better couple in GMW ironically.

Angela Moore is now one of my favourite characters on BMW. She was beautiful. Her friendship with Rachel (and Topanga) was the best. And I frickin’ loved her and Cory’s friendship development - when they could of easily not played into that. I hate that she got villiaized in GMW.

My favourite seasons are 4, 5 & 1. My least favourites are 3 & 2 & 7. And even then the show was still pretty darn good.

The back and fourth clash between Turner and Mr Feeny in season 2 was very entertaining.

Mr Feeny and Eric are my favourite relationship on ‘Boy Meets World’. I love how Eric was the only person that Feeny directly told that he loved him. Also, why didn’t Eric become the new Mr Feeny? He showed more traits of becoming a teacher in the show than Cory did.

Eric and Tommy was probably the most heartbreaking plot line in season 6. (That season was an emotional train wreck) I cried for a fourth time. The world doesn’t deserve him.

I loved the development of Shawn and Topanga’s friendship. Even though there was a silent competition over Cory, they eventually became good friends. I found out that the song ‘She will be loved’ was inspired by them which is awesome but it’s also proof that people ship for less if it’s an m/f dynamic - just sayin’. I however see a more convincing potiental romance with the two of them than Cory and Topanga sometimes.

On Cory and Topanga again - they weren’t a bad couple overall. I liked them in s1 - 3. They had some great moments. But upon my rewatch (getting out of that 90s idealised headspace) I found them to be too similar at times - chafing as another person put it - to the point where they cancel each other out. A lot of people pointed out that Riley and Maya paralleled them and I was thinking “That’s not nesserily a good thing.”

‘Dream. Try. Do good.’ is on my mantelpiece.

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punksarahreese · 4 years

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I haven't had another episode, except last night was touch and go + Mr Crockett

Episode | Crockett Marcel

Excerpt from a psych!AU I’ll never write; Crockett is an inpatient in the psych ward and he has therapy with his favourite Psychiatrist

Prompt: “I haven’t had another episode, except last night was touch and go.”

Word count: 1797

CW: Psych ward, talks of depressive episodes, brief mention of dermatillomania, schizoaffective disorder, child death

***

“Mr. Marcel?” the voice at his door made Crockett groan, recognizing the voice as the nurse who always disturbed him at ridiculous hours. He wanted to have a talk with whoever decided pill time would be at six in the morning, how was he supposed to “heal” if they never let him get any sleep?

“Maggie, can’t you let me sleep for another hour,” he rolled over and sighed when she shook her head. Medication and vitals were a morning routine, every day before the sun even thought about rising completely. Routine was good, they told him, a routine would help with figuring out what was reality and what was his mind playing tricks. He didn’t think so, nothing would stop the fact that he saw his daughter clear as day despite the 5th anniversary of her death steadily approaching.

“Up and at ‘em, mister,” the nurse mused as she marched over with his tray and the cart carrying the monitors. He obliged because he had no choice but to do so, even though he hated the way the pills made him feel. Antipsychotics were something Crockett hated, ever since his diagnosis back when he was just twenty-one. They made him feel incorrect, as if he was floating through life with blinders on. He knew they were supposed to help, to show him what was really there, but he couldn’t help but think it made him more miserable.

“You have one-on-one therapy today,” she reminded him as she watched Crockett take his pills and then checked under his tongue to ensure he wasn’t hiding them. He had tried that a couple times and sometimes it worked on the younger nurses, but not Maggie. She knew all, especially these kinds of tricks, and Crockett wasn’t about to risk mandatory IV medications for another month just for one day without the drugs.

“Oh lovely,” he muttered, “Not that Charles guy again, right? He’s insufferable.”

Maggie laughed, “Oh please, Daniel is just fine.”

“Insufferable,” he restated with an eye-roll, still complying when she held out the pulse oximeter to clip it to his fingertip. Maggie just hummed, watching the machine for a moment before speaking.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. If it makes it any better, though, you’ll be seeing Doctor Reese today.”

That brought a smile to his face, though it was one that never quite reached his eyes. Maggie wasn’t sure if she had ever seen a genuine smile from Crockett, certainly not since Harper’s death and the worsening of his illness. Still, if one thing made his days more bearable it was sessions with Doctor Reese, who Crockett had started to consider more of a friend than a physician by that point.

“Our Sarah,” he hummed as she took the device off his hand, “She’s lovely.”

“She is,” the nurse agreed, “Now go get ready for the day, Crockett. You’ll be expected in the dining hall by 7:00 and I certainly won't have you slumming around in your pyjamas all day; you know the drill.”

***

By noon, Crockett was ready to go back to bed. Breakfast had been as dull as always, with his friend Ava in solitary for the next two days he didn’t have many people to speak to. Well, Natalie liked to talk to him but, if he was being honest, she could be a little much. She was just excited, Maggie insisted, but she tried to get Crockett to talk about his hallucinations far too often for him to be comfortable.

Jimmy sat with him that day, though. He didn’t talk much, or ever really, but he was decent company. They played cards together sometimes and always partnered for the team-building exercises in group therapy. Crockett didn’t press for verbal communication and Jimmy never judged him for his episodes; it was a friendship built on silent respect and they were both pleased with that arrangement. Still, Crockett often preferred to be alone, and that day was no different, so he retreated to his bedroom the second they allowed him to.

When nurse April arrived at his door with her tablet in hand, Crockett had been staring blankly at the TV. It wasn’t on, never was, but he watched it as if the most riveting program was playing. He wasn’t focusing on a delusion, though, and he promised April that when she asked if he was okay. The meds got rid of most of his visual symptoms, though the auditory ones were still a frequent occurrence with or without the drugs. He just liked to look at the TV, letting his mind wander to a time where he could actually enjoy television. It had been about five years by then, the last movie he remembered watching being the Princess and the Frog. Harper had loved that movie and talked excitedly of visiting New Orleans to see where her papa and Princess Tiana were both from. She never got there, unfortunately; the cancer taking her before her dad had the time to buy plane tickets.

“Come now, Crockett. Sarah is waiting in the conference room for you.”

He let the nurse lead him down the hall, silent because his head was still miles away. He was alert and lucid, that wasn’t the problem. Today it wasn’t delusions that plagued Crockett, instead it was the memories that had started to hurt him the most. Sarah would ask about that, especially once she saw the semi-lunar marks along the inside of his wrists, turning to scratches that curled up towards his biceps. Maggie hadn’t seen them because of his long sleeve shirt that morning but Sarah would check, she always did. It’s not as though Crockett did it on purpose, but when he couldn’t sleep at night and his skin was crawling all he could do was dig his nails in and pray for it to stop. The bugs weren’t there, Sarah always said they weren’t real, but his skin felt wrong and nothing would stop it. He had to scratch, he would tell her; it was the only way to make it stop.

“Crockett,” she greeted him cheerfully the second he stepped into the room, “Have a seat.”

“Hello, Sarah,” he replied as kindly as he could, though he was a bit distracted. His mood had been pretty low all morning, which was probably evident in his posture and demeanour.

“How have you been doing?

Crockett just shrugged, occupying himself with studying Sarah’s name badge. She had gotten a new one, the piece of plastic now boasting “psychiatry fellow”. She had been his secondary therapist since she was just in her second year of residency, so it was nice to see her climbing the ranks. It was well deserved, of course; Sarah had been the one constant in his most recent stay that kept Crockett relatively sane.

“Crockett?”

“Fine, I guess,” he muttered, “I haven’t had another episode… except last night was touch and go.”

“How so?” She was always so patient, not pushing too much, but she did need answers. If he was still having episodes on his antipsychotics, they may need to adjust the dosage again. He hoped she wouldn’t, though, because he hated the constant brain fog that came along with high dosing.

“A low, again.” he was fidgeting with his sleeve, not able to make eye contact at that point. His depression was a topic he never liked to discuss, since it was an aspect of his disorder he hadn’t been aware of until after Harper. Before it was just schizophrenia, a diagnosis that came about after a paranoia episode landed him in handcuffs in the security office at his university. However, when he hit a major low after Harper’s leukaemia was found, his primary psychiatrist noted that his diagnosis may be more than they expected. Schizoaffective disorder with the depression variant, he was told, and that was probably a factor in why he didn’t respond to the medications in the beginning.

“I see,” Sarah typed something onto his chart before looking up at him with gentle eyes, “Do you want to share how you felt?”

“I miss her,” he admitted softly, “It’s hard.”

“I know, I’m genuinely sorry, Crockett. Harper must have been so loved, I’m sure she misses you.”

“The meds…” Crockett huffed, “I can’t see her anymore.”

“Crockett, she’s not there,” Sarah’s words were gentle but still firm, as if he needed a reminder that his only daughter was dead before she even got to live a proper life. That reality was something that never left his mind, a nagging feeling that haunted him every single day. Meds or not, it was hard, but without seeing Harper daily, Crockett began to feel like he would forget her.

“Sarah, I need to see her.”

“I can’t do that, you know how unsafe it can be to take you off such a high dosage. I know you are upset but we can talk through this, okay?”

“No!” he was getting frustrated, even though he hated to yell at Sarah. She didn’t understand how important this was. He didn’t care if she was dead and she claimed the delusions weren’t real, he just wanted his daughter back. Even if it wasn’t the proper reality, maybe Crockett didn’t want to live in one without Harper. He told Sarah that much, upset that she would claim that she isn’t there anymore. She is always there; sitting on his bed and playing with her stuffed bunny, singing songs from those Disney shows she adored so much. Crockett saw her, held her close when the bad feelings returned and he felt like he was drowning. His baby would never leave him, she couldn't; Harper was all he had left.

“Hey,” Sarah spoke quickly when she recognized his agitation, “I’m sorry. Tell Harper I didn’t mean any harm, next time she’s around, okay? Can we start over, please?”

He frowned, knowing what she was doing, but nodded all the same. He didn’t want to fight with Sarah, she was one of the only staff members around here that he properly trusted. She didn’t want to upset him and she didn’t want to take his daughter away, it was just hard to recognize that sometimes. She wanted to help, to understand his mind, and maybe it was time for Crockett to let someone in again. It had been far too long.

“Start from the beginning,” she prompted as he slowly relaxed again, “How long ago did this low start?”

#q #I wrote this in record time after having a whole mental break down today <3 #can you tell I’m not okay #goodbye friends i am gone #crockett marcel #harper marcel #sarah reese #maggie lockwood #april sexton #asks #anon #userglow #fractured reality #psych!au #my aus #cj add this to your fic masterpost

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of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog · 4 years

Text

Come away with me

Commission for @cancerjournalsfortwentysmthings ! I’m so sorry this took so long, it’s past 5k words now. I hope it’s worth the wait!

If you would like to commission me, my info is in my about page!

CW: ableism, psychological abuse

The alcohol burned, but not as bad as the tears in his eyes.

Charles wasn’t even sure what he was saying anymore; something about love, something about loneliness, something about fearing death. All he knew was that finally, someone was listening to him.

Erik sat beside him quietly, listening, watching Charles. He hadn’t drunk any alcohol at all that night. He hadn’t been at the reunion, either. The class reunion—where everyone had brought their partners, or kids, or both, or stories of their adult dating. Charles hadn’t dated in six years. He had never married. He was falling behind and that frightened him.

“I’m gonna die alone,” he sobbed, “I’m gonna die alone and everyone is going to pity me and n-no one will care.”

Erik touched his shoulder softly. “That’s not true,” he said firmly. “Raven and I will care. Your students will care. Your son will care. And we won’t pity you just because you don’t have a partner.”

“I’m almost forty, Erik!” Charles burst out, looking at him and almost sobbing again. “No one will want me when I’m old!”

“Forty isn’t old,” Erik replied sharply. “You’re being an alarmist, Charles.” He paused, frowning in the way that meant he was thinking hard. Then he said, a little more gently, “Hey. You’re gonna have summer break from university, right? Why don’t you go somewhere nice? Like an actual vacation, not just shutting yourself away in your apartment for three months straight.”

“I… I don’t know where I would go,” Charles said, a little startled at how much the idea intrigued him. Just… get away. Hide somewhere safe. Maybe not for longer than two weeks, but definitely for a long time. It would have to be somewhere accessible; he couldn’t travel without his chair. That narrowed things down considerably.

“I’ll look for something,” Erik said firmly, and ran his fingers through Charles’ hair. “Just try to get through the last week of classes. You’ll be okay.”

Charles had no reason to believe Erik about being okay, but if Erik helped him look for something, Erik would find it. He was just wonderful like that.

Charles swallowed hard and nodded. “Alright,” he whispered.

The hangover was worse than he’d had in years. Charles grimaced and reached blindly for the glass of water he always left on his nightstand, and… encountered nothing. Fuck. He probably forgot after Erik left. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around his room, eyes still blurred from sleep.

Everything was perfectly in place. Everything was normal. Except for the fact that Erik was sitting in his armchair, slouched and with his head propped on his hand, fast asleep.

Charles stared at him for a long moment. He rarely got to anymore. They were both busy, or with friends, or Erik would notice and Charles would have to think of a lie quickly. Erik was extremely handsome and Charles hardly ever got to admire that for long.

It wasn’t just his looks, though; he always denied it, but he wore his heart on his sleeve and his emotions on his face. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes, mostly from laughing; the lines around his mouth, some from smiling, most from his default grim state; and when he slept, his expressions were so free. Right now, he was having a nice dream—his brow was relaxed and his mouth curled up at the corners and his jaw was unclenched.

Charles felt the usual urge to touch him, perhaps kiss him. They hadn’t kissed since they were twenty-three, though. They’d moved on from such childish feelings.

Erik looked so peaceful. Charles wanted to cry.

Instead of crying, though, Charles got to work wiggling his way towards his chair. He still wasn’t the best at getting out of bed in the morning, but that hardly mattered; he’d been living alone for twenty years, he didn’t need to get up perfectly.

Erik woke up as soon as Charles got his feet placed right on the rest and straightened to grab his wheels. The taller man rubbed his eyes and grunted, “What time is it?”

“Six in the morning,” Charles replied. “Ah. Shouldn’t you have gone home?”

Erik shook his head. “No one waiting, might as well stay where I’m useful,” he answered. There was no pain in his tone or face, but Charles’ throat still caught. The divorce had been painful for everyone, but most of all for Erik and Magda. Charles had never gotten the full story of why they had broken up when they had been so very in love, and he didn’t really want to; it wasn’t his place to pry.

So instead, he said, “Right. Well… I’m going to get ready for work.”

Erik’s eyebrows snapped together. “You look like shit,” he said sharply. “How are you going to work with a hangover that bad?”

“It’s not the worst I’ve had,” Charles replied, fidgeting a little in embarrassment. “I can work.”

Erik continued to stare at him, eyes narrowed, inspecting his face. Then Erik stood, and said, “Fine. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Alright,” Charles said, a little weakly.

A shower was taken, a toilet was used, and Charles brushed his teeth before wheeling out of the bathroom and heading for the kitchen. The headache was worse, so bad he almost couldn’t see. Ah, well, he’d gone through studying for his PhD with worse pain. It wasn’t that bad.

Except then he vomited all over his knees and feet and sat in the middle of the hall, stunned, unable to drag his brain out of misery to realize what had happened.

“Ah, fuck,” Erik muttered, hurrying towards him. “Right, you’re not going to work.”

“It’s not that bad—”

“Charles, please shut up.”

So Charles did.

Somehow, Charles ended up tucked in on the couch with water, aspirin, and toast at the ready. He was rather bewildered about why Erik was doing this for him. It grated on his nerves, being fussed at like an invalid, but… Erik’s attention was nice. Charles liked it.

The day passed slowly, but calmly. Charles napped a lot. Erik seemed content to shove glasses of water into his hands and read Charles’ books. Lunch and dinner were simple, but much tastier than anything Charles could cook for himself.

Around 8PM, Erik sat on the footstool beside Charles and shoved his laptop into Charles’ hands. “Found a place,” he said. “It’s pretty remote, and the lease is for three months, no shorter, but it’s accessible and has a great view.”

“Thank you,” Charles said, looking through the pictures. They were… honestly quite beautiful. The house itself was a bit small, but it had two bedrooms, a full bathroom with plumbing, a generator for electricity, a mostly modern kitchen, and a fireplace. The amenities listed said that deliveries of basic needs arrived every Saturday. There was a small town only about twenty minutes away, but the “road” was cobblestone, and Charles did not fancy traversing that more than once.

It had a lovely garden, too, and access to a private beach. It was perfect for hiding from the world.

Charles pursed his lips, thinking. He really did want to hide… but did he want that because the idea of being alone was nice, or because he was bitter? Did he want to go here to rest, or to make people feel bad and contact him out of obligation? Did it really matter? He wanted to hide. He wanted to cry alone, in a place where no one would hear. He wanted a change a scene.

He wanted to get away from Erik.

That thought was… nasty. Selfish. But it was true. Charles’ gut clenched, but he forced himself to look up at Erik, smile, and say, “It truly is lovely. Thank you for finding it.”

Erik nodded, looking satisfied, and stood. “Book it for two people,” he said firmly. “I’ll come with you.”

Alarm thrilled through Charles. “You don’t have to, really, you don’t—”

“I want to.”

Charles shut his mouth, stunned. Erik just picked up his laptop and set it on the coffee table. “It’s late,” Erik noted, frowning at the clock. “Are you tired?”

“Not really,” Charles answered softly.

“Alright. I’m going to bed.” Erik took a step towards Charles, stopped short, frowned, then shrugged and walked away, to the guest room.

Charles sat very still on the couch for a long time.

Erik insisted on carrying their bags, which was exasperating to no end, but, well, at least Charles didn’t have to use that cheap bag he’d bought to hang on the back of his chair.

There was a bit of trouble when the airport pretended they didn’t have his requirements on file, and then the flight attendant told Charles he wasn’t allowed to sit in the disabled seats because they were close to the door. Erik snarled and the flight attendant backed down. Charles was pissed enough to not care.

The plane ride was rather long, but Charles passed the time by reading some research papers that he had downloaded to his laptop as PDFs. They were engrossing enough that he didn’t even notice that when the snack cart came around, the flight attendant gave him a juice box and a bag of goldfish crackers, instead of asking what he would prefer. When he did notice, it was too late to complain, so he scowled and kept reading, ignoring the juice and crackers.

The next thing to do after they exited the plane, reclaimed Charles’ chair, and swept past the annoyed looks of the other passengers, was to find somewhere to sleep. Erik had engaged a night at a motel near the middle of the large town, and thankfully, it was on the ground floor.

As they prepared for sleep, Charles remembered something, and smiled.

“What are you laughing at?” Erik asked irritably as he set a cup of water on the side of the nightstand closest to Charles.

“Oh—I wasn’t laughing,” Charles assured him. “I was just remembering that roadtrip we took about fifteen years ago. Remember how we went to the coast in Washington state and the motel had the exact same wallpaper, only with shag rugs hung all over to hide the water damage?”

Erik snorted and shook his head. “And then the ceiling in the bathroom broke and you got knocked down by a naked, soapy grandma. I remember.”

“At least they gave us our money back.”

“Yeah, after she and her husband threatened to sue the motel and you mentioned that you had a family attorney who was good with lawsuits.”

“What can I say, I was pissed.”

Erik smirked, and opened his mouth to say something, and then decided not to. His frown returned. “We should sleep,” he said abruptly, and flopped on his bed. “Good night, Charles.”

Charles, flabbergasted, stared at him for a moment, then said, “Good night, Erik.”

The house was even more delightful up close. Charles was charmed immediately, and the realtor handed over the keys with a big smile.

The first day was unpacking and settling in. The sun was sinking, gilding the ocean waves with gold and turning the shadows of the water purple and green. It was beautiful sight. Charles spent half an hour just looking out the window at the sea, entranced.

A snort brought him back to his body, and he turned to see Erik looking at him with a wryly amused expression. “What?” Charles asked.

“I haven’t seen you that engrossed in just looking at something in ten years,” Erik replied. “You usually have something in your hands, or you’re reading.”

Charles blushed and ran his hand through his hair. “I haven’t really had a chance to just look at something, without having to do anything else,” he admitted. “This is… nice.”

Erik’s face made a strange expression, and he swallowed hard. “Good,” he said gruffly, and turned back to making dinner from the provisions they’d brought.

Quiet and darkness swathed the island not too long after dinner. Charles got into the rather lumpy mattress and let the sounds of the ocean and the wind draw him into that empty space he so often had trouble getting to. This really was nice. He sighed contentedly and fell asleep gently, easily.

The next morning, he woke up to pale golden sunshine and the smell of pancakes.

He yawned, sat up, and looked around blearily. He hadn’t noticed last night, but the walls were painted in swirls of blue—shades of paint that were so similar in saturation and tone that it was hard to pick out without such bright light. Charles smiled, oddly cheered by this. Small, beautiful details.

For some reason he thought of Erik’s eyes, shifting shades of blue and grey.

He shook his head and got out of bed, wheeling himself out to the large room that had no walls between kitchen, dining area, and sitting room. Erik was making pancakes and frying sausage patties, humming to himself and not realizing Charles was there. Charles watched him for a moment, his chest aching with the shivering joy of being near Erik and the dread of what might happen if he told Erik about his love. It would be terrible to say anything. But he wasn’t sure he could survive such close quarters without letting it slip.

He would just have to try, then.

Charles cleared his throat, and Erik jumped and spun. “Damn it, Charles, make noise or something,” Erik snapped, scowling hard. “How many pancakes do you want?”

Charles smiled. “Three is enough, thank you.”

Breakfast was nice, and Charles listened to Erik’s humming with a smile. He’d forgotten that Erik hummed his favorite songs when he was happy with his food. He recognized all the tunes, though; it hadn’t been that long since they’d been roommates.

Ten years. Charles’ smile faded, and he stuffed another piece of pancake in his mouth. Ten years of steadily drifting apart. He didn’t even know why Erik had come when Charles had called, the night of the reunion. They hadn’t spoken in six months.

But here they were. On vacation together, like when they were young and stupid and impulsive. Charles wondered if this would end horribly, or if they could still be friends. The corners of his mouth turned down, and he sipped his grape juice with no sense of enjoyment.

“Hmph,” Erik said, swallowing his last mouthful. “You better not be making any stupid decisions.”

“How would you know if I was making any decisions?” Charles objected, lifting his head to glower at Erik.

Erik pointed his fork at Charles and replied, “You always make that face when you’re torn about something. And the face you’re making right now is exactly how you look every time I call you out.” Erik’s mouth began to curl up at the corners, and his eyes crinkled a little. “And now you’re embarrassed,” he taunted. “Don’t lie.”

Charles covered his face with his hands, cheeks burning, and Erik laughed.

The whole day was like that. They went down to the beach after lunch, and Erik started loudly singing the British national anthem and cackled when Charles threw a seashell at him. Then Charles started singing “Part Of Your World” from The Little Mermaid, and Erik lunged and pinched his cheeks, stretching them out so he couldn’t sing properly, and then Charles was laughing too.

Going back inside, Erik folded a paper airplane and they played that game they made up in university: whoever had the plane had to make up the most ridiculous fact they could, and then when the other person had the plane they had to refute the fact in the most obnoxious way possible. They spent several hours doing that, throwing the plane across the room and having a stupid debate about penguin social structures. They were both smiling by the time night fell.

The next day dawned grey and chilly. Charles got out a book, and then pulled out another and offered it to Erik.

“Here,” he said, “I know you were interested in this one.”

Erik blinked at him, then accepted the book. “I haven’t read this journal in eight years,” he said slowly, beginning to frown. “It’s university exclusive.”

“Exactly. I, ah, borrowed that one when no one was looking, because...” Charles trailed off, looking up at Erik’s frown. “Do you not want to read it?” he asked, beginning to feel tight with anxiety.

Erik looked up at him, apparently surprised. “I do want to,” he said. “I just—don’t know how you remembered.”

Charles shrugged, blushing. “I’ve never met anyone else so interested in the same journals as me,” he said uncomfortably. “It stuck with me, is all.”

Erik was silent for a moment. Then he reached out and bopped the top of Charles’ head with the journal, just like he did when they were younger. “Alright,” he said, and sat on the couch next to Charles.

The first week passed easily; Charles found that close contact with Erik reawakened, not just his romantic nature, but all the memories of the things that made them friends. All of Erik’s charming habits, all of his annoying actions, it reminded Charles of how they had dealt with each other in the past. Instead of endless compromise, there were arguments that never ended, but were not painful or infuriating. Instead of listening to silence because they hated each other’s music, they annoyed each other endlessly by blasting their songs on the other’s phone through Bluetooth. Erik tackled Charles into the couch cushions and put him in a headlock for playing Depeche Mode.

Instead of surface pleasantries, they would sit up until 1AM talking about all the things they could never tell anyone else. Instead of bitterly complaining about the world, they talked about all the beauty they’d seen in the past few years.

Charles went to bed every night strangely content, and woke up every morning ready to begin another day of calm, and quiet, and companionship.

The problems started when Raven called him.

They were in the middle of the Plane Game, arguing about the shape and size of the average plesiosaur’s testicles, when Charles’ phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, perked up, and answered immediately. “Raven! Hello!”

“Charles, it’s been a week,” she snapped irritably. “When are you coming home?”

Charles blinked, surprised. “I’m not sure,” he lied. “A very long while yet, I suppose. Why, is something wrong?”

“Yes, you were supposed to come to Kurt’s recital.”

Guilt bit Charles’ stomach—but so did irritation. “I was not aware I was invited to any recitals,” he said calmly. “Is it the same venue where the stage director asked me if I wanted a lollipop?”

“Well—yes, but that shouldn’t matter. Kurt wants you to come.”

Charles thought for a moment. He did love his nephew, and loved being part of his life—but he knew exactly what would happen. If he were there, Raven and Azazel would dump Kurt in his lap, ask him to watch the boy, and then wander off and not come back for an hour or two. Charles may love his nephew, but he was not capable of catching a child that fast in a public area with other adults around. If Charles went to the recital, Azazel would make cruel jokes and when Charles got upset, Raven would be mad at her brother, not her husband. If he went to the recital, he would not be comfortable or happy, no matter how well Kurt did.

“Please tell Kurt I’m sorry,” Charles said, “But I won’t be available. Thank you for telling me, though.”

“Ugh, you are so selfish, Charles! Tell me when you get back.” And Raven hung up.

Charles lowered his phone into his lap and stared at it for a moment.

“What happened?” Erik asked.

“She wants me to go to Kurt’s recital,” Charles answered without looking up. “I do hope it goes well, and I know Kurt will be spectacular, but… I don’t know. I don’t exactly like being called a cripple and when I say something Raven gets mad at me.”

“Who calls you that?” Erik demanded sharply. Charles looked up, startled, to see actual anger on Erik’s face.

“Azazel,” he replied. “He started doing it about a week after I came home from the hospital. That’s why Raven stopped helping me; she said Azazel had told her that I needed to learn independence.”

Erik’s frown deepened further. “That fucking asshole,” he growled, and grabbed his own phone.

“Erik, wait, you don’t have to—”

“Hush.”

So Charles put his face in his hands and listened in horror as Erik called Azazel and chewed him out. Apparently Azazel kept trying to justify himself, because Erik kept shutting him down. Erik was right, of course. But he didn’t have to do that.

When Erik hung up, Charles kept his face hidden. There were tears in his eyes and he felt utterly ashamed. He shouldn’t have said anything. He really shouldn’t have. Now Azazel and Raven were going to be pissed at Charles again, and Erik, and it was going to be horrible. Maybe it was a good thing they wouldn’t be back for three months.

“He did deserve that,” Erik said grumpily.

“You could have waited,” Charles croaked. “Now he’s going to tell Raven, who will call me again to yell at me for lying, and then they will both be pissed at us for even thinking that they’re wrong.”

“No they—”

Charles’ phone rang again.

He swallowed hard, took a breath, and answered. Before he could say anything, Raven said, “Fuck you, Charles. Never come near me or my family again.” And then she hung up.

Charles did not attempt to stop the tears as his hand lowered again. There was no point. There was only Erik to see. And Erik wouldn’t tell. He had promised years ago, and Charles believed him. He wouldn’t tell anyone that Charles had cried.

“I’m sorry.”

Charles turned his head to look at Erik. He was too depressed to be startled. Erik had never apologized for losing his temper on Charles’ behalf, so this was new; but Charles didn’t really care. “Sorry for what?” he asked.

Erik pressed his lips together tightly, then answered, “I’m sorry for not listening to you. You were right, I didn’t think it through. I won’t do it again.”

Charles nodded and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Thank you, Erik.”

After a moment, Erik stood, walked over, sat beside Charles, and hugged him. Just like he used to before they broke up. Charles relaxed almost immediately. He remembered this. He remembered what it meant. He was grateful for it.

Over the next two weeks, Charles had to field calls from students, fellow teachers, and even his physical therapist, all of them worried about him. No one would say why. Several of them asked if he was safe, and he always said yes with a puzzled frown. Of course he was safe. He was with Erik.

Kurt called him at night once, on Raven’s phone, crying. He said Raven and Azazel were fighting and he was scared. Charles stayed on the phone with him and Erik called Emma to ask her to go over and make sure Kurt was okay. Unexpectedly, Raven wasn’t even annoyed that Kurt had called Charles; instead, she took Kurt to a hotel for the night. Erik and Charles thanked Emma, who told them it was her pleasure and they’d better not expect her to be the go-between.

Charles laid awake for hours after that, caught in a panic attack brought on by memories. He fell asleep around dawn, and slept all the way to noon.

“You alright?” Erik asked, looking worried as Charles picked at his salad.

“Yes,” Charles replied softly. “I’m fine.”

Erik made a face, then said, “It’s nice today. Let’s go to the beach.”

The beach was, indeed, quite pleasant. Charles even smiled at the glittering water, and Erik rolling up his pant legs to test the water and find shells. He snickered a little at Erik’s small yelp of “Cold! Fuck!”

Warm sun, brisk breeze, the scent of the ocean, and the realization that no one could actually come here and guilt or pressure or terrorize him, made him feel better with every breath. He wished he could touch the sand.

Erik walked over and said, “Do you want to feel the water? It’s fucking icy.”

Charles looked up at him, and grinned. “Sure, why not,” he said.

So Erik picked him up in his arms and carried him to the edge of the water, and set him down on the sand. Charles immediately put his hand in the waves and squeaked.

“Told you it was cold,” Erik said smugly, then yelped as Charles rubbed a handful of dry sand in his hair.

They stayed by the water until the light was almost gone, looking out at the ocean and talking about mermaids and sirens and other water-beings. Charles felt suitably relaxed and melancholy to say, “I used to wish Selkies would steal me from the beach when I was little. Even after Raven came. I wanted to disappear from real life. Under the ocean was the only place I could think of where no one would ever find me.”

Erik tightened his arm around Charles’ waist. “Then we wouldn’t have met,” he pointed out softly.

“Well, no. But you could’ve made better friends than me. You were popular because you were you. You would have been just fine without me.”

“Charles, that is not true.” Erik dragged Charles onto his lap, startling another squeak out of him, and grabbed his chin to make him look at Erik. He was scowling, and his eyes may have been shinier than usual. “You’re the one who got me through Shaw’s trial, remember?” he snapped. “You’re the one who helped me get into Oxford. You’re my best friend and I wouldn’t trade you for any other friend in the entire goddamn world.”

Charles stared at Erik. He wanted to cry, but he also wanted to kiss Erik. He was so close. And he was so supportive.

Instead, Charles rested his head on Erik’s shoulder and said softly, “Thank you. You’re my best friend too.”

“Good.”

They sat in the gathering dark and growing cold, holding on to each other tightly, and didn’t speak for a while. There was so much to say, and yet no words for any of it. Charles closed his eyes and listened to Erik’s heartbeat. It was a good sound.

“We should go back,” Erik sighed, rubbing Charles’ arm.

“Mm,” Charles hummed in reply, not making any movement to pull away.

“We’re both covered in sand.”

“Yes we are.”

“Your chair will be full of sand.”

“I know.”

“I’m starving.”

“Go without me.”

“And leave you alone by the sea after that Selkie stuff? Absolutely not.” Erik stood, cradling Charles in his arms, and returned him to his chair. Charles pouted, until Erik cupped Charles’ cheek in his hand and said sternly, “You don’t get to disappear on me again, Charles. Got it?”

“Got it,” Charles replied, and almost said that Erik looked otherworldly and breathtaking in the light of the seaside moon. Silver tracing his cheeks, glowing in his eyes, glistening in his white-streaked hair… concern and care and worry on his face. It made Charles’ chest ache. Before he could stop himself, he reached up and ran his fingertips down Erik’s jaw.

Then he remembered the situation and snatched his hand back, looking away and clearing his throat.

“We should—go,” Charles stammered, and turned his chair towards the slope up to the house.

The phone calls to “check up on him” declined sharply, and Charles enjoyed the peace. He and Erik spent a lot of time reading, or arguing, or playing chess. Moira video-called Charles to talk about classes next year, and to pass on Emma’s message that Raven and Kurt were staying with Emma for a while. Charles bit his lip, worried, then said, “Thank you, Moira. Please tell Emma I’m grateful, and Raven and Kurt that I love them.”

“Will do, Charles. By the way, did you read the university newsletter? That guest lecturer who talks about overcoming physical disability through optimism is coming by during the first semester. Do you want to come with me and we can ask him questions until he gets angry?”

Charles grinned. “Actually, Moira dear, I would love that.”

Moira laughed. “You are scary sometimes, you know that? Ah well. Anything else we should go over?”

“Not that I can think of. How are your cats?”

A few days later, Erik got a call from Azazel. He took it out to the garden. Charles bit his lip and kept playing with the interesting new fidget Alex had bought for his birthday, trying not to listen. He couldn’t even hear Erik speaking, the walls were too thick, but he thought he heard a raised voice. When Erik slammed the door coming back in, Charles flinched.

“It’s official,” Erik announced, flopping on the chair across from Charles. His face was a mix of satisfied and irritated. “Raven handed him the divorce papers this morning, and he’s blaming me.”

Charles gaped at him.

Erik ran his hand through his hair, mouth twisting in consternation. “He said it was because I—what were his words? Oh, yes, encouraged you to pit Raven against him. I swear I had no fucking clue he was that abusive.”

Charles closed his mouth and swallowed hard, then said softly, “It’s alright. I didn’t either. I thought he was just an asshole.”

Erik snorted. They were both quiet for a moment. Then Erik asked abruptly, “What do you want for dinner? We got a squash with the delivery yesterday.”

“Squash sounds lovely.”

On the fifth week of their stay, a storm hit.

It rattled the roof, beat against the windows, shook the earth. The rain sounded less like rain and more like small caliber bullets. The ocean roared and moaned and lightning flashed over it far too often for comfort.

Charles and Erik sat in the pantry, Erik shivering and curled up in Charles’ arms. He hated storms. He once told Charles it was because it reminded him too much of the night those nazi bastards broke into his home and—

Charles pressed his face to Erik’s sweat-spiked hair and hummed a lullaby, over and over, until the storm abated sometime after dawn. Erik still needed a few minutes to collect himself, but by the time the sun was out, shining apologetically, he was calm.

And then he had a panic attack around noon and Charles got on the floor with him and worked through it with him, until Erik was exhausted and trembling, but no longer glassy-eyed and with a clenched jaw. Charles ordered him to go sleep, and Erik did so, squeezing Charles’ shoulder in thanks. Charles chewed his lip worriedly, then shook his head and went to make himself a sandwich.

The next time there was a storm, Charles woke up to Erik crawling under his blankets with him and hiding his face in Charles’ shoulder. Nothing was said about this—but every time the wind picked up around the little house, Erik huddled against Charles, and Charles held him and tried so hard not to kiss him.

It was the end of the second month when Charles wheeled out of the bathroom, yawning, to see Erik dancing in the kitchen.

He had headphones on, and was listening his phone, and apparently didn’t care that the eggs were done. He looked a little bit like an elementary school kid trying to dance, except his hips were certainly smooth enough to make Charles blush. But he looked happy, and that was… wonderful. Charles just watched him, and found himself smiling. A silly dance from a silly man. It was adorable.

“I love you so much,” he whispered.

Of course, then Erik saw him, and almost fell down he was so startled. He ripped off his headphones and barked, “Damn it, Charles, warn me!”

“You had your music on, you wouldn’t have heard me,” Charles shot back. “You’ve gotten better at dancing.”

Erik stared at him, stunned. “Ah… I have?” Erik asked, and there was a current of disbelief and hope in his carefully neutral tone.

Charles smiled and nodded. “I remember the first time we danced around in our dorm, you were drunk and couldn’t stand straight but you were far more enthusiastic than me. You’re much better nowadays.”

“Oh.” Erik looked down at his feet, fidgeting with the headphones. Then he looked up and gave a tiny smile. “Thanks,” he said.

“Of course. Are the eggs burned?”

It happened so slowly that Charles didn’t even register it at first. But suddenly, in a spark of clarity, he realized that he and Erik were… growing into each other. It was so natural to sit tucked under Erik’s arm, to share a bed, to let Erik carry him into the ocean so he could feel the waves. And it was so natural to tell dumb jokes until Erik threw a pillow at him, or sing to him softly when he couldn’t sleep, or put on a show or movie that he remembered Erik liking.

Erik wasn’t as broody and quiet anymore. Charles wasn’t as scared.

Erik kissed him on their last day there.

It was actually quite disappointing to arrive back in New York and be swallowed up by noise and smells and lights and things moving quickly. Charles held Erik’s hand in the taxi tightly, his heart beating too fast. What would his coworkers think? What would Moira say? What about Raven, would she be angry? Then Charles looked over at Erik, who was watching him with a soft expression, and he felt a little more grounded. It didn’t matter what others thought. Erik loved him, and he loved Erik, and that was the only exchange of emotions that he should worry about on this topic.

Neither of them had said love, of course. But that’s what they had.

After dropping off all of their trunks at Charles’ apartment, Erik did some quite entertaining mouth movements before asking Charles nonchalantly, “So, got a spare room?”

“Don’t even try it,” Charles admonished. “My bed is more comfortable and you know that.”

Erik grinned. “Just wanted you to say it,” he said, and dropped a kiss on Charles’ head. “Nap time?”

Charles wove his fingers with Erik’s and chuckled. “Nap time,” he agreed.

#Cherik #Cherik fic #commission #gosh this is over 5k words and I am EXHAUSTED ahsdlgahepas

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orangenfrottee · 4 years

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Hey ho there, feel free to ignore this and I hope I'm not bugging you as I awkwardly slide in here, but I must ask: if you had full creative control of the show, how would you run season 5? You can pick and choose whatever leaks you want to include.

Ah!!! Thank you for your ask <3 I might have spent a couple nights typing out my answer, but in short: I'd cherry pick old story arcs, bring back everyone I like and who doesn't run when they hear Riverdale's calling.

I'd definitely get some decent writers (I'm partial to Jane Espenson, but no idea if she'd be a good fit) and definitely some diversity. I might accidentally fire all men and then play up all their shitty recurring themes for fun as a weird inside joke between me and the show.

I think if they ever gave me creative control of the show it would swerf hard to the crazy and not leave that lane because honestly, i think that's what Riverdale does best.

So, where would I start...

Instead of giving season four a decent ending, I would start with an extra long pilot with the title 'previously on' where the best and most important bits of the teens' school lives is shown with a heavy focus on Jason and the Farm. Parallely, we get to see the lovestory of Chic and Charles. The episode ends with a few very short scenes of the prom where everyone's happy and pretty.

Then we'd start on the real season five. It's been seven years and our characters are older and more grown up.

The show would at first only present the present lifesbof our characters and the barest bones structure to keep as much a little mysterious as possible (but here I tell you what happened during timeskip, too).

Archie is often considered the main character, so let's start with him:

Archie went to the Army after school (though he didn't actually pass his exams and thus didn't graduate, Mr Honey was quite amused). On his most recent tour he met someone special: Eric, his new friend.

Archie was wounded in battle with a... giant mutated elephant with sharp teeth and hallucinogenic venom. Or something. He isn't really sure what happened, but he's got a huge new scar all over his torso. The abs stayed in tact, but oh his pride. During recovery he met new wheelchair user (and on occasion crutches) Eric who has trouble walking since his legs are misshapen/he only has one. Archie thinks Eric got maimed by the same elephant he was, but thinks it rude to ask.

For Eric I'm picturing Sabrina's Ambrose.

With his hurt pride, Archie can't stay with the military and decides to go back to Riverdale.

Eric doesn't have a place to go, so Archie invites him along.

They need a job and since Eric has a calendar full of sexy half naked firefighters AND since they both have abs, Archie decides that type of uniform is the perfect fit for them and trades his newly renovated and well running boxing gym against the old fire station Penelope Blossom owns. (Literally, they even meet at Pop's to exchange keys and sign papers Penelope brought that Archie doesn't even skim.)

The fire station is quite out of everything, but it has a huge pool Eric likes to swim in and a fire truck. To make ends meet Archie sells his sperm to the Greendale sperm bank.

Archie is of course in love with Eric but unfamiliar with the concept of bisexuality and struggles to identify his attraction for what it is. Eric is a foreigner to Riverdale (or is he?) and unfamiliar with the town's culture and quirks. Still, something going on in Sweetwater River seems to be related to him.

Archie and Eric share the Andrews' House - and in the house next door... live Gladys Jones and Polly Cooper!

After Jughead and Betty left for College Alice' horrid mom impulses settled on Jellybean who didn't stand back, grind her teeth and took it but instead broke Alice' teeth. Her and FP were not amused (though FP was also angry at Alice for being too strict). Alice moves out but stays as a journalist in town.

FP gets in trouble for being a brutal gang leader without a gang beating up criminals behind the boxing gym on tape. Not wanting to go to an illegal fighting club prison, he hides with Canadian Serpents behind the border. (Joaquin's identical twin brother and Ricky live there, too. They're happy there.)

Maybe he'd call once or twice with misleading wrong snake facts that have nothing to do with the current mystery of the episode but fit into perfectly by chance.

Jellybean was invited along, but she chose to stay because she thinks Riverdale is rad and the old Cooper House is luxurious as hell. Also, her mom came back to become the new Sheriff!

Nearly seven years in, Gladys still holds the position because no one legally qualified wants it and she manages to keep gang violence at an all time low for Riverdale. Plus, she and Mary Andrews are not exactly friends but able to work well together. When there's another serial killer running wild in town she has no problem with having another girlfriend of Mary who happens to be a skilled professional in the most relevant field take over for a bit. If needed, the Riverdale gangs are usually willing to add muscle to good causes, too.

Jellybean has left Riverdale for university and will only be present for holidays and breaks. She'd still be played by Trinity because I love her and honestly, real nineteen year olds look like fourteen year olds everywhere in the world. Also this gives the viewers 'Archie vision': he will always see his best friend's toddling baby sister in the young woman which makes her the only undatable (legal) female on this planet for him.

While attending Riverdale High she lead the Andrews Boxing Gym and made it the most successful gym in the area. It won't be a plot point in the show (apart from her being angry at Archie for just trading it against trash) but there will be framed newspaper articlesband the like in Gladys' house.

Around the time everyone graduated, Polly was released from Shady Grooves and is back to her old smart self - and really missing her babies! As Choni leave for whatever private college Blossom women have always gone to, Polly takes them and goes home - just to learn on the porch that not only did her mother sell her childhood home more than a year ago without anyone ever telling her, the college fund she never had gotten legal access to and planned to use for the twins is gone too and her sister left town without saying goodbye.

Gladys has always taken care of all the stray kids she found no matter how tight the budget was and now there's this young desolate mother with twin toddlers in front of her posh murder house she'd gotten for cheap and she has this new gig as sheriff. Of course, she takes them in.

They stay in Betty's old room at first, but they soon get to remodel the attic to give Polly her own room. At present, Dagwood has Polly/Chic/JB's old room and Juniper the one facing Archie's. (When Archie sees her in the room, he actually has a flashback once to when he and Betty used to be so young, but then Juniper turns her gead, stares at him really creepily and smiles weirdly. Archie will be somewhat scared from then onwards and be reminded of when everyone thought Polly might gave killed Jason. Juniper would murder.)

At first, Polly's a full time, stay at home mom, but once the kids are older, she starts working part-time: for Gladys.

It turns out they work amazing together. Gladys tends to jump to convenient conclusions and threatens violence way to freely. Also, she is intimidating as fuck.

Polly is everything she isn't: level headed (to a point, in comparison at least), brilliant at combining clues and steering people (remember how she infiltrated Thornhill and made Cheryl unknowingly assist in her snooping plans?). On top of that, she has these stepford smiles and all the ways to appear unthreatening drillend into her head. Honestly, she and Betty are quite alike. While Betty has the lockpicking skills and knows her way around cars, Polly used to be really into fashion (or something) and, with all her experiences at the Sisters, the Farm and Shady Groves, Polly knows psychology.

She started solving some of Gladys' cases at the breakfast table, but now she's officially a deputy or an advisor or something. They're essentially like FP and Jughead, just that Polly is an adult (and that she wouldn't be in a gang beating suspects up regularly).

(These characters would all be mostly in the background though.)

Veronica finally gained perspective on her relationship to her father and grew up. Hiram's cut out of her life for good. They won't ever interact. (In fact, Hiram either moved to New York or he had a minor traffic accident where he lost all of his memory for good and now lives as Ram Rod and works as a trainer at Penelope's newly acquired boxing gym. Everyone is confused about it but doesn't care to ask.)

Veronica is successful at whatever she's doing and doesn't plan on ever moving back to Riverdale, but maybe something is up at Pop's that requires her checking up on in person and she just happens to cross paths with Betty who is also just there for the weekend. And they haven't had quality time together for years, because it's so hard to stay in contact sometimes even with people you love so much you'd die to keep them safe.

If I could come up with something meaningful for them to catch up on emotionally, I'd have them sitting together in a booth at Pop's for a whole episode just talking (but I'm not that deep).

Veronica might be engaged, but we see it fall through without really getting to meet the guy. She mostly just talks to Betty about him on occasion but in a somewhat messed up way. Ultimately, she realises how she treats him in some regards like Hiram treated her and her mother. She wants to grow up further and not be like her father anymore. Since the fiance was only a trophy pawn, she breaks it off and concentrates on introspection/ maybe therapy for a bit.

Later that season her sister comes back and surprise: Hermosa embraced becoming Daddy.

(These would have to be restricted to two half episodes only, she definitely deserves story arcs that aren't about her dad.)

Careerwise: she has a couple businesses, maybe a restaurant chain or a franchise and she seems to collect startups. She reinvests a lot and has to travel quite a bit but can work remotely too.

Everyone seems to want FBI agent Betty and if I'd go that route I'd have her demask Charles as the fraude fake FBI who hires guns for hire and fake emergency teams while making up fantasy horror stories about serial killer genes to scare his biological family into killing each other that I wholeheartedly believe he is. But I also like Betty's interest in mechanics and would love for her to have a career in mechanical engineering. Maybe she switched majors at uni and now works for a company developing prosthetics. Maybe she tries to get Eric into joining a study. (I mean, prosthetic legs would help his work as a fire fighter...).

She's in town to visit Polly and the twins but after talking to Veronica she spontaneously stays in town. She can do her work remotely, really. The two of them move into a two bedroom 'shared bnb' (or whatever it was called in season two) and we finally get to see their friendship on screen.

Betty isn't in a relationship at the moment abd she's so into her work, she isn't looking for one either.

Jughead had broken up with Betty seven years ago and never really had a well working relationship after. He's grown obsessed with finding a way to recreate what he had with Betty.

Not in a totally creepy psycho way, he's simply not understanding that he might be sex positive and he had been in love with Betty, but he is ace and quite aro, too. It doesn't help, that he finds people sexually attractive on their online profiles just to be repulsed by the tought of even kissing them goodbye in person.

(I don't think tv is generally a fitting medium for this, but I guess he can narrate for himself and make it work.)

I guess he has to be an author. Obsessed as he is about finding love again (he wouldn't call it like that) he figures it had either been the location or the constant fear for his life. He chooses to return to Riverdale. He probably instantly moves with everything he owns to Riverdale (not that it's much beside a modern laptop, the typewriter and his camera).

Archie gives the great advice how Jughead is obviously still innlove with Betty, duh.

He of course runs into Betty some day, they end up investigating some random murder together and find themselves in familiar positions and kiss - but it just isn't there anymore. Jughead feels nothing and Betty isn't really into it either.

Veronica later points him in the direction of maybe not being allo (because she used to question herself as aro).

Funfact: Jughead would have failed graduation with Archie if Mr Honey didn't forge some records that weren't actually submitted from Stonewall (they claim all records were deleted during a power outage). Jughead knows and is deeply shamed.

Thornhill has been renovated! Toni is pregnant! Choni will be raising their kids (surprise, it's going to be twins!) in Cheryl's ancestral home. Choni are married and happy.

Toni has reopened the White Worm with Fangs somewhere at the Southside and yes, let's make her the official Serpent Queen. Let her work lots of social causes (remember toys for tots?), grey area rule bending for good and of course she works well with Gladys. I've seen talk about her being a social worker floating around and honestly, I think that works amazing. She's working the local cases (and a few unofficial ones) and I think she and Cheryl are registered foster parents. On occasion (like once) they'd be shown taking care of a random kid.

Cheryl used her College time to study two things: business and Riverdale town history. Remember how in season two she took so much pride in her ancestors because she believed them to be good people? She might be disillusioned but she is the Blossom heiress and her and Toni's as well as Jason's kids will one day inherit a better family legacy. She'll invest in Southside rebuilding projects, advocate for new town memorials, maybe rebrand some of the Blossom product lines. Something like that

She won't run for mayor yet, but she's definitely invested in (local) politics.

Of course the pregnancy was with artificial insemination, the donor was either an unsuspecting red head from the Greendale Sperm Bank or they use some of Jason's that has surly been saved to guarantee the Blossom line when everywhere was scary talk about sperm counts going down due to mobile phones.

In addition: the maple factories need worker bees! Cheryl has a few programs with Toni to get Serpents/random Riverdalians newly released from prison or just with bad luck into a steady job and a cushy appartement overlooking the ex prison on the Southside. Pop's is also participating. Ethel works as a landlady for said appartement complex.

Also, why not add a second Blossom-Topaz lovestory to underline this incest-adjacent show and bring back Toni's grandpa and set him up with Nana Blossom. XD

Then during this season's arc, the Blossom uncle's corpse will be found in the river and the mistery is whether the FBI will figure out who the corpse us and what happened or not.

I love Reggie. Since Varchie is unlikely thanks to Eric, him and Veronica rekindling their relationship would definitely be a possibility I'm into, but he also seems to have an interesting connection with Kevin and Fangs that could be built on.

He would definitely have a car he'd love very much and I think it would still be Bella.

I'm not sure about his career, but it wouldn't include his father's car dealership. Maybe he'd be a successful movie star just in town between movie shootings.

Kevin was doing something with musicals on Katy Keene, I think? Writing or directing? He was trying to nake it big, but some plans fell through. Now he's back in Riverdale. Luckily, they are just about to open Riverdale's first theater in the relatively newly built but forever closed prison. Next to the Southside Theater the complex holds a mall and the White Worm.

Fangs works full time as the manager of the WW that he co-owns with Toni. He meets Kevin again once he's back in town.

Sweet-Pea somehow ended up as a junior doctor at the Riverdale hospital. He spends all of his scarce free time at the WW.

Some of the background Pretty Poisons officially work for the police now. Different than Gladys, they are actually ccccc for the positions they hold.

Peaches works as a manager for one of Cheryl's companies. She's happily married and has a kid (or something).

How long in prison do you get in the US for standing in as the head figure of a crazy pen and paper cult that has literal murders committed in his name? As a blond white dude probably just parole? So honestly, once they actually bring his case to court (and they have nothing against him because anyone could have been under the mask at any one time and people know of different gargoyle kings) he's released of all charges. No one in Riverdale actually knows though since his case took forever, Bughead had already left Riverdale and Alice didn't step up to follow the case. No one wrote about it, so no one knows. They just assume that of course the guy will be locked away forever, he's guilty.

In reality, he and Charles have bought a house somewhere in a different street of Riverdale where they aren't quite known and have adopted a couple kids.

Charles meets Alice regularly for lunch and she thinks he's this workaholic FBI agent only living for solving crime. They play a long con game I don't know the goal of.

(They have been behind the tapes even if that storyline gets totally ignored. They pretend FP being in exile is their doing, but the tape responsible was just a random security camera in the area.)

Josie's plans in New York sadly fell through (I haven't seen any Katy Keene but I want her back)

Lot's of bonding scenes with her brother Kevin who's also back in town. The two share a flat and on occasion burst into song together. Since I've already invented the Southside Theater, maybe she'd find a job there, too.

Val and Melody stayed in Riverdale aftee highschool and made careers in town for themselves. Maybe Melody at city hall and Val as a marketing specialist at the farm, Riverdale's most outstanding new grocery mart. Half of all Riverdalians don't get the controversy of the name, the others either think it's brilliant or tasteless. (Kevin for example has repressed the nemories so gard, he doesn't get it. Josie is very protective and angry at Val for working there.) The store belongs to the eccentric redhaired Eva Everafter or whatever pseudonym Evelyn can come up with to thinly hide her identity behind.

Somewhere in it I'd throw in a few lines vaguely referencing older happenings like "I still can't drink tap water" and the very first time Veronica sees Archie again after seven years she identifies him through his ab muscles.

So in short: Archie would be very dumb, everyone else is just there.

Also: Pop's would serve 50% vegan burgers and milkshakes so I could dig in with gusto.

#riverdale speculation #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale #asks #arsenicpanda #fun #my writing #i guess

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faedawayyy · 3 years

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DALLAS JACKSON.

my forever obsession. i feel like his story and margo’s story go hand in hand and when they’re put together, it makes so much sense why they are the way they are.

TW: DRUGS, ALCOHOL, VERBAL AND PHYSICAL ABUSE

CHILDHOOD (0 - 11)

dallas is the youngest of two. he was born in april and from the moment he was born, he became the centre of his mum’s universe. he never did anything to be that way; she always told him that he came at just the right time. he never really knew what that meant but it’d end up being the main thing that sent so many other things spiralling in the wrong direction as he grew up.

anywhere his mother went, dallas would be taken too. their parents couldn’t go on dinner dates without dallas coming along in his pushchair while margo stayed with her nanny. he’d go to lunch dates with friends and parties he was too young to be at. his mother was incredibly attached but to him, it felt like love and what child doesn’t want that? she’d suffered with postpartum after margo and dallas was her chance to redo motherhood the “right” way.

dallas never saw much of his dad growing up and when he did, it was during the late hours of the nigh when he’d come home in his suit looking tired. around the same time dallas would go to bed. they were fine though and had a better relationship than margo did with her parents.

dallas spent very little time with anybody his own age. he was desperate to be close to margo but jealousy pushed them away. he’d spend most of his time going to events with his parents and being around other adults.

he loved school because it gave him independence. he was free from his mother’s attachment and he got to make friends with kids his own age. he loved maths, sports and music the most; he was a member of many sports teams and also took part in any school concert that came his way. he was best on the drums and didn’t start singing until much later.

spending a lot of time at home meant that he got to see his dad’s career grow and has more happy memories of his childhood and his parent’s marriage than margo does. however, his mother’s obsession with him did used to make him feel like his dad resented him in a weird way, though. it never showed in huge ways and he came to the conclusion it was just in his head. he was only 11, after all.

TEEN YEARS (12-18)

high school started out weird for dallas. knowing who he is now, people would expect him to have been popular from the get go but he actually really struggled to make friends. spending most of his childhood with adults over 30, he struggled to connect with teenagers - and especially boys - his own age.

he did get in with a group of guys but he was very clearly the weakest link or the one they’d bully and pick on just because they could. he’d shrug it off as a joke but it made him hate school. a lot. it was in the 12 - 14 year old range that he stopped doing sports or putting a lot of effort into school. it didn’t effect his grades because he’s naturally gifted in academics, but he lost his love for learning and school in general.

dallas spent most of his younger teen years not being invited out and watching his friends have fun without him. he still went to events with his parents just to get out of the house. agreeing to sing at a christmas party led him to signing a contract with charles hamilton’s music label. over a summer, he made his debut EP and released a single.

he blew up. almost instantly. the song ‘one time’ was a hit and he was almost certain that this would earn him respect at school. it turned out to be the reverse; he was mocked. people would play his songs ironically and he was called every name you could think of. he even got beat up a few times because of it. it made him miserable and he begged charles to terminate his contract. that never happened but he never, ever wanted to make music.

studying and working on his first full length album, dallas met ruby at school at around 13 and she was the first friend he had that didn’t insist on making a joke of him. he learnt she was adopted by edwin carmichael which made her a family friend; she was the person he mainly started hanging out with and he gradually got to know her friends which opened him up to a new circle too.

separating from his first friendship group was positive, he started to love sports and music again and school became somewhere he could tolerate. he posted music online and ended up releasing ‘baby’ - another song that absolutely blew up and sent him into stardom way too early.

his mum became his manager and helped him balance school and all of his new career success, something else that earned him a string of horrible texts and comments from margo. at this point, he never saw her and she despised him for taking everything she wanted.

he didn’t have much time to think about it. the older dallas got, the more financially successful he became and by the time he hit 15, he was the highest earner in his family. at around he same time, cracks in his parents marriage was showing at home.

his dad never tried to hide the fact that he hated dallas for earning more than him and for a good few years, his father had control over his money. anything he earned went straight to mr jackson. dallas never saw a penny...and because his dad had a gambling addiction, a lot of it went down the drain.

by the time dallas reached 18, he had multiple offers from talent academies and academic universities. he originally chose to go to yale and study physics. he’d had a taste of fame and the music industry and didn’t want it.

dallas’s father had put money aside for him when he was 18 for college. so, he used that to pay his tuition fees. however, after only one term, the account was drained and he didn’t have the money to stay. he worked jobs at bars and shops to pay his way but one job payed more than most and that was drug dealing. not hard to come by on a campus of over privileged kids. however, he was quickly caught and asked to leave.

dallas came home to a completely different environment. his family were bankrupt and his dad had sold the law firm. they were living on loans and their parent’s marriage became massively toxic. he saw his dad beat his mum, multiple times, and when he rushed to defend her - which he would every time - he’d get the same treatment.

he felt like he didn’t have the option to move away like margo, who would take care of their mum? that’s what drove his decision to stay local and go to st judes. but, he hated margo to leave him to deal with his dad’s mess and find a way...on his own...to get them money. suddenly, he was trying to find a way to pay rent, his sister’s rehab bills AND tuition for st judes so it was back to dealing.

YOUNG ADULT (18 - 23)

easily the hardest years of his life. his young adult years have been stress, after stress, after stress, but he’s also not one to ask for help. still being massively successful in music, he threw himself into his rising fame with his albums ‘BELIEVE’ and ‘PURPOSE.’

any chance he got to act like a kid and forget about the responsibility he has, he takes it. whether that’s getting into petty fights, dating around, getting too drunk or acting impulsively.

pressure from both being a big name at the academy and from his family has driven him to darker places. he’s struggled - multiple times - to have healthy romantic connections because he’s used to people being dependant on him; starting with his own mother. the minute somebody gets too attached or asks too much of him, he’ll lash out. on the flip side though, he likes to be needed.

mental pressure is mainly what led his last relationship to become abusive and after that, he hit rock bottom. believe it or not, it’s definitely learnt behaviour and the last position he wanted to find himself in.

dallas’s mental health has taken the biggest blow. after a handful of seriously failed relationships and having no home life anymore, he was diagnosed with depression mid-2020. something else he rejects intensely. he refuses to have the same diagnosis as his dad and refuses to speak of it or tell anyone or ask for help.

TW: SUICIDE

2020 and early 2021 had him make two separate suicide attempts that were recorded in the press as drug overdoses. the truth of the matter is that he isn’t an addict. he takes drugs but isn’t a slave to them. he doesn’t want to ruin his life or become numb to it; just end it.

END OF TW

in more recent months, dallas has picked up on his music career again and is STILL trying his best to support his parents and pay margo’s withstanding rehab bills. after being in hospital, the academy have forced him to go to therapy, something he does privately and this accounts for him slowly improving in his behaviour again but he’s definitely forever on thin ice with how his life’s going.

#character saves #my favourite always

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atmilliways · 4 years

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And if you'd like another one, Charles & Melmord - 22(drunk) !

Okie, here it is. Warnings for, let’s see... Mature rating, Questionable employer/employee relationship, references to extensive scarring, and a Pity Handjob.

At the first opportunity after he’d been weaned off the pain medication and was no longer under quite so much surveillance, Melmord tracked down some booze and got drunk. He hadn’t found much, but after an interminable stay in the hospital, living on IVs and hospital food, it didn’t take much either and hit him a lot harder and a lot faster than he’d expected.

How Charles knew to find him in the communal employee kitchen—one of hundreds, probably, but the closest to his new, starkly furnished room—he would never know. By that point he was already swaying in his chair and didn’t think to ask.

“Having a, ah, little nightcap there, hm?” the man said as he took a seat directly across the table.

“Fuck you,” Melmord muttered into his bottle.

Charles shrugged, blank expression unchanging. “Suit yourself. But if you end up putting yourself back in urgent care with alcohol poisoning, any time off is coming directly out of your salary.”

“You don’ give a shit.”

“Not really, no. But you’re an investment of Dethklok Inc. now, and it’s my job to protect the band’s assets.”

Melmord took another drink, trying to forget all the stupid choices he’d made to end up here . . . up to and including everything that had happened on that rooftop. Signing that contract didn’t even make the list; by the time it came to that, his course had already been irrevocably locked in. He hadn’t bothered to read the fine print. Hell, fuck reading—on the first attempt he’d signed the bit of bare hospital tray next to it. But it was a contract drawn up by Charles Offdensen, the man who had stabbed him and thrown him off a roof mid-blowjob, and that didn’t bode well.

He found that he didn’t much care. The booze was definitely helping with that, so he downed another mouthful. As numb as he was becoming, it still burned pleasantly on the way down.

“Why’re you here?” he mumbled, and heard that his voice was tougher than usual from the drink and whatever emotions his body was going through that he was too drunk to feel. The disconnect reminded him of being in the hospital.

Instead of answering, Charles just shrugged. Melmord stared at his blank face and wondered if he even fucking knew. If anyone fucking knew anything. Of course they didn’t—life was one big hustle and the universe was in charge of the game, which was always fixed.

“Why’re you here,” Melmord mumbled again, more to himself this time. The next swig from his bottle missed his mouth and slopped down his chin, leaving him staring stupidly down and wondering how his shirt had gotten so wet. He pawed at it, then rose swaying to his feet. “I gotta . . . go laundry. Go do laundry. Only have the one shirt.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been issued a week’s worth of work shirts, Fjordslorn.”

“They ain’t mine,” Melmord spat back. His hands latched onto the back of the chair he’d just vacated—probably that chair. He didn’t know anymore. He wasn’t sure where his room was anymore or how to get back to it. All the hallways looked the same; all of Mordhaus was a fucking murder labyrinth, the innards of a beast that had swallowed him whole and now had only to sit back and digest.

He let do of the chair and took a first wobbly step, only to stumble and fall into a very solid chest. Blinking, trying to focus, a suit and bright red tie swam into his field of vision.

“It’s this way,” Charles said in his usual, flat, carefully removed voice. Not trying to blunt the edges of anything. (Good, Melmord thought. Maybe by falling on those edges he could kill himself for good this time, and not have to come back to all this.) The man seemed to have a knack for guiding drunkards though, because they were in his room with minimal delays or arguments in no time.

Melmord started haphazardly undoing his shirt buttons as soon as they stepped inside, not wanting to spend another second than necessary in his wet, wasted smelling only real shirt. Charles continued holding him upright while he did so, without comment.

But halfway through unbuttoning, a thought hit Melmord like a bolt of lightning. He paused and asked, “You wanna fuck me?”

“Not particularly,” Charles replied dryly.

“Why not? Y’already fucked me over, why not get your rocks off too. Inn’t that my job now?” Melmord gave up on the shirt buttons and started pawing to get his own pants open.

When he succeeded, all he got was another raised eyebrow. “You’re freeballing?”

“What can I say, I live as I died,” Melmord declared, shoving his pants down towards his ankles. It was difficult; they kept wanting to bunch up around his knees, and pulling the top of the pants down over the bunched up material wasn’t helping. He tried to stand on one foot and tug everything off, but all it did was unbalance and pitch him against Offdensen’s chest again.

“You’ve still got your shoes on,” Charles observed with a sigh. “Just get on the bed.”

Next thing he knew, Melmord was on his bed staring up at the ceiling while his mortal enemy and boss got his shoes and pants off. Right, he thought, I did offer. Might as well get ready. He palmed himself clumsily, trying to see if his cock was too drunk to wake up.

“Stop that,” Charles told him firmly. “I’m not going to fuck you.”

“Why fuck not?” Melmord rasped, incredulous. “That’s the job, isn’t it? That’s. What I said I’d do. Isn’t that in my contract?”

Charles rolled his eyes and started working on undoing the buttons of Melmord’s shirt. “I’m not in the habit of fucking people who are about thirty seconds away from being unconscious.”

“How long did it take me to fall off the roof?” Melmord shot back. He heard the whine in his voice—fuck it, he didn’t care. Of all the things he wanted, Charles fucking Offdensen definitely wasn’t one of them, but everything had felt wrong ever since he’d woken up at the hospital and wasn’t allowed booze, weed, or to look under his bandages (which he’d done anyway and ended up screaming until they’d sedated him), and the room was spinning like a broken compass, and he needed something to get the needle to settle. Even if ‘something’ ended up being a smack across the face.

From the tightening of Charles’ mouth and the deep lines around it, that was probably a definite possibility. And then—

Charles’ hand closed around his mostly limp cock, the other pushing the now opened shirt aside as his eyes fixed on the network of scar tissue that was Melmord’s upper body. “You have five minutes.”

Melmord grunted and closed his eyes, not wanting to look at himself. Not yet. Too new. “Gimme an even seven, man, I’m not a fucking teenager.”

“If it’s an even number you want, then six,” Charles retorted with a warning squeeze, making him groan. “And you don’t finish, before then, do it on your own time.”

It was the most clinically expert handjob Melmord had ever experienced, and he already knew that he was way too fucked up to get even a weak orgasm out of this. Charles was completely in control of the situation the entire time regardless of who was getting jacked off. Melmord felt like a kite on a string, and Charles was flying him . . . except not quite.

No, he decided hazily, it felt like he was a puppet and Charles his master, and there wasn’t one string but many. Charles pulled at them all, even the ones that made his lungs draw in and expel air, even the ones that made his muscles twitch around the metal ‘bones’ in his right shoulder and ribcage and parts of his spine. The very fact that he was alive and the very fact that he shouldn’t be were both in the puppet master’s grasp.

He kept his eyes squeezed closed, but he could feel the scars. Felt Charles’ free hand running over them, tracing, exploring the topography like a dedicated map maker. Felt drunken tears dribbling out from between his own eyelids and down the sides of his face because fuck, fuck, he’d screwed up so badly and now this was going to be the rest of his life: just another cog in the machine, with the occasional pity handjob thrown his way the same as one might toss scraps to a dog. That Charles was showing him some amount of charity here was irrelevant; it was a calculated mercy.

Even through all that, Melmord arched his back and laughed. Despite the fact that Charles had undoubtedly won, they were still sparring. Back and forth, push pull, verbal blow for verbal blow, and now this—it was funny.

It was like Charles didn’t know how to stop fighting, and Melmord, to his credit, at least knew the same about himself. They would continue scrapping like this forever, and that—even as his consciousness did indeed begin to fade into a deep, dark blackout—almost gave continuing to live some sort of meaning.

#metalocalypse #metalocalypse fanfic #my fanfiction #charles/melmord #melmord fjordslorn #charles foster offdensen

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sambergscott · 5 years

Text

you’re a light in the dark

post-7x06 // Jake and Amy (and me) dealing.

Her parents had eight kids. She has a million nieces and nephews and a million more cousins. Jake’s dad seemingly made babies in every major airline hub in North America. And yet, for some reason, this isn’t happening for them.

The first couple of months, they don’t think anything of it. Trying to make a baby is fun and magical and neither of them are gonna complain about having more sex.

She consults the baby binder a little more as time goes on and her period arrives on the twenty fifth of each month like clockwork. They throw out their favourite take out menus, start eating healthier and run together every morning before work.

They also buy a new couch and a family friendly mid-size sedan and the cutest baby Adidas Superstars she’s ever seen, because they’re convinced that they’ll be pregnant before they know it and Amy Santiago is nothing if not prepared.

They schedule sexy times and foreplay and fantasise about what their baby will be like in their post-sex haze.

When that doesn’t work, they try The Jake Way: a super sexy mission to rescue her husband from kidnappers ending in a super sexy Airbnb tryst.

Still, the pregnancy test comes back negative.

As the leaves turn from green to amber and the air cools, forcing Amy to get out their winter coats and turn their apartment heating up to high, she starts to worry. They’re doing everything right, they’re taking the vitamins, eating healthy, having sex all the time. There must be a reason why it isn’t working.

After watching an episode of Friends on their new couch -- The One With The Fertility Test -- she decides to book them a doctor’s appointment.

“As a precaution,” she tells her husband when he furrows his brow in concern.

“Uh, OK, yeah, sure,” he agrees, pausing the episode.

She phones the doctor, books the first available appointment (Monday at 2.15 pm) and adds it to their joint calendar. “Snuggle with me?” She asks once he has accepted her invite.

“C’mere.” He pulls her into his arms and holds her tight as she cries into his shirt.

They don’t watch any more Friends. It hurts too much, seeing her favourite fictional couple going through the same heartbreak as them. They don’t watch much TV at all, not even Die Hard. The trailer for the new Babies documentary starts playing as she flicks through Netflix one night while Jake is working late and she almost breaks the TV with the way she throws the remote across the room.

The doctor’s appointment rolls round and they’re both nervous as hell.

They booked the entire day off work as advised by the kind receptionist on the phone, who warned them that they would be extremely emotional both before and after. Booking the day off was an ordeal in itself when Terry wrongfully assumed they were getting a sonogram. There was a crushing feeling in Amy’s chest listening to her husband explain that no, they’re not pregnant, not yet.

Not yet.

They hold hands tightly as they wait for the doctor to call them in. Jake bounces his leg, Amy chews her lower lip, they both try not to cry when another couple walks in with a baby in one of those carriers that all the cool dads seem to wear. Jake’s been eyeing them up online for months. If John Legend can rock the baby carrier look, so can he.

“Why are they at the fertility clinic when they’ve already made one?” Amy mutters darkly.

The doctor says their names before Jake can respond.

He squeezes Amy’s hand as they follow the doctor to her room, a silent reminder that they’re in this together.

They have to explain the issue -- how long they’ve been trying, whether Amy has suffered any previous miscarriages, what their lifestyles are like. It’s a little embarrassing, going into the specifics of their sex life, but it’s all for a good cause. The best cause. Creating a new little life, a baby just like the dozens of pictures of success stories on the walls, Santiago-Peralta stylez.

“You’re doing everything I would usually recommend to my patients,” she says and despite herself, Amy’s lips twitch into a tiny smile. She knew her research was thorough. “Sometimes your body takes time to adjust to coming off birth control or reacts badly to stress. Sometimes it just takes a while and there’s no real reason why. We’ll take some samples from you both, but my advice is to just keep doing what you are.”

The tests come back negative, which should be good news, but it just sucks even more.

If there’s nothing wrong with them then why can’t they get pregnant?!

As they grapple with their situation, it seems like everyone around them is getting pregnant. Celebrities on Instagram. A couple of Amy’s uniformed officers. Santiago cousin after Santiago cousin. Hitchcock and that Russian chick with the missing tooth.

She tries to be happy for them, she really does, the façade crumbling as soon as she’s alone with Jake and sobbing into his shirt again.

They get hammered at Hitchcock’s wedding and attempt to have sex in the bathroom, alley and supply closet at work before giving up and just having sex in their own apartment, in their own bed. It’s not as crazy as Hitchcock’s story, but it’s still pretty hot and the sex is as stupid good as it’s always been.

She really thinks it’s worked this time. She’s got the sickness, the sore boobs, her period is late...

Jake runs to the store to get a new pregnancy test and a cute onesie he saw and just had to buy. They’re both positively vibrating as she chugs a litre of water, pees on the stick and sets the timer on her phone.

It’s second nature to them now, waiting for the test to say Pregnant.

Amy paces the width of the bathroom.

Jake twists his wedding ring on his finger.

They share apprehensive smiles.

When the timer finally goes off, Amy picks up the test, feeling hopeful for the first time in months.

Her face falls. “Negative.”

“We’ll try again next month,” he promises as she throws it into the trash. She is so sick of hearing next month, next month, next month. She wants a baby now.

Which is why the decision to stop trying is so painful.

She doesn’t want to stop. All she wants is to see Jake holding a baby -- their baby. But nothing is working and the last six months have been so difficult, a literal rollercoaster of excitement, disappointment, excitement, disappointment. And Amy has never liked rollercoasters.

She feels guilty, like it’s her fault they haven’t got pregnant yet, like she’s just bad at making babies. She confides in Rosa about it and she knows Jake talks to Charles, their friends both coming to the conclusion that as much as they want this for them too (and Charles really, really does), they’re clearly exhausted and sad and stressed and maybe taking a break would be a good thing.

So she tells Jake she’s done trying.

It’s hard enough to walk away from him, from their dream of having a family, and even harder to go to Hitchcock’s party and pretend like everything’s fine when it’s not fine. Everything is garbage, just like Holt said at Captain Dozerman’s funeral.

But then Jake joins her at the bar with a slice of cake with a heart on top and is all sweet and understanding and the best husband she could have possibly asked for. He tells her that they’re already a family and whether the universe wants them to be just a two or a whole squad of Peraltas, he’ll be happy either way.

“I love you,” she says after he finishes his speech.

“I love you,” he responds.

They lean in for a kiss. It starts off sweet, gentle, heating up when she realises just how much she’s missed this, kissing him without the constant pressure of needing to conceive. It feels nice.

“Should we go?”

“Yes,” he answers immediately, without question.

They use their final pregnancy test a couple of weeks later. It’s still negative, but it doesn’t feel like the end of the world anymore. They’ve taken down the command center, getting their living room back, their morning and evening routines are so much shorter now they’re not taking all the vitamins and sex is considerably more enjoyable. Sure, they still want kids one day -- they both smile wistfully every time they pass a stroller in the street and volunteer for regular babysitting duties -- and when the universe finally grants them a beautiful baby of their own, they will no doubt be the happiest parents this side of the East River, but for right now they’re OK, just the two of them, their little family, their own slice of perfection.

#b99 fics #my writing #jake x amy #this episode hurt like hell but..... this helped #I can't wait to see how happy they are when it finally happens

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