#lines to remember (harrison musings)

[practically-an-x-man]

Are there any in jokes or references in any of your fics people seem to be missing that you wish they'd notice and ask you about?

Thank you so much for the ask!!

Talk Shop Tuesday

Oh, SO many! There are so many references in my fics, I can't help myself! It's just how my brain fits things together, and I think it's fun. There's no way I could remember all of them off the top of my head (especially not at midnight, lol), but here's a few that are notable to me.

During the chapter of WWFA? where the tablet shows Ahk a vision of himself with his family, and later a vision of Katherine as a young teen, there are a few references. One is along the lines of "the dead do not sleep", and it's meant as a reference to a scene in Warm Bodies in which the main character (a zombie) sleeps and imagines his love interest and her friends all musing about him. Then, in the scene with Katherine, one of her bullies goes "Polka-Dots saves the day. What a joke." in response to seeing a comic book she drew herself - this is a double-reference to my beloved Suicide Squad, with the Polka-Dots line being a tie to Polka Dot Man and the "what a joke" being the final line in a fight scene between Rick and Peacemaker. That reference doesn't really have much weight for the story itself, it's just a fun little superhero reference since Katherine is also a comics nerd.

In one of the first chapters of Catch and Release, it's revealed that the Star Wars movies don't exist in Ophelia's universe - because Harrison Ford acted in Raiders of the Lost Ark with Alfred Molina, who plays Doc Ock, which causes a bit of a paradox. It's more a joke, since the MCU crosses their wires with Star Wars and other franchises anyway, but I thought it was funny

There are several MacGyver references in Smoke and Mirrors, particularly once Madison is given a multitool as a birthday gift - Lucas Till played both the reboot MacGyver and Havok, the main love interest in the fic

There are a lot of references to American Gods in Desert Song, since it's Quinn's favorite book, but one of the subtler ones is the line "had met the ground like an ex-convict meets his wife after a long stint in prison - gracelessly and with passion". This is a reference to how the book starts, with the main character Shadow eager to see his wife after being released from his prison sentence.

In Heartstrings, Kyle and Jasper are discussing middle names, and Jasper realizes they never chose a new middle name after they came out as trans. Kyle suggests "Django" as a joke - which is, in the X-Men comics, Quicksilver's middle name (though I can never figure out if it's legit or if he's joking) and Evan Peters plays both characters

In Sunshine, one of my Jasper/Kyle sidepieces, there's some description about how Kyle feels after he's been brought back to life - namely, how he feels like he still smells vaguely like death, and how he feels like he's not as warm as he should be. The first part is pulled vaguely from Pet Sematary, where the animals and people that come back are described to have this lingering smell of grave dirt. The second part is another Warm Bodies reference- what can I say? They're my favorite books, and the pinnacle of undead romance.

Obviously all of The Facts Were These (one of my Nik/Abner pieces) is based on Pushing Daisies and is aware of it, but one of the subtle details is that Abner's attempts to woo Nikoletta are lines from the show. For example, his first line is "Care to dance?" which is meant to be an echo of a scene where Ned and Chuck slowdance while wearing beekeeper suits (I want to say it's season 1 episode 2?)

Also in my Nikoletta pieces, there's a long-running Goonies reference: in the first piece I wrote for her, it's described that "they'd find her swinging from a water pipe before they put a power dampener on her", which is effectively the prison scene in Goonies. Then, in Pit of Vipers, Adrian makes a similar reference about that scene when referring to Abner - not only a callback to that first Nikoletta pieces, but a callback to Adrian Chase in the Peacemaker show, where he describes a bunch of inmates as "Sloth-from-Goonies-looking motherfuckers" just before a big fight scene.

And honestly, I'm putting a whole separate section for all the X-Men references in my 6 Underground fics, because... there's a lot

In Nom De Guerrre, AJ questions why One picked "Worthington" as his (canon) code name in one of the scenes, and he responds "Uncanny X-Men #134" - not Angel's first appearance by any means, but it sounded more interesting than just "X-Men #1"

In Desert Song, Quinn's quipping with One and he responds "I swear to God I'll sew your mouth shut" - that's a reference to the X-Men Origins version of Deadpool, who has his mouth sewn shut. Wolverine even says "Looks like somebody finally found a way to shut you up" in the movie

Also in Desert Song, during Quinn's origin flashback where she meets Billy for the first time, he sits down in the alley with her and she "looks at him like he'd just grown a pair of wings". Why a pair of wings instead of the more traditional "like he'd grown a second head"? Well, Ben Hardy played both Billy and Angel. I reference that a lot, but so do the writers of the actual movie, so we're even.

Since One's actual name is never revealed in the actual movie, I have a bit of fun with it in my fics. In Nom De Guerre, his real name is Logan - Wolverine reference, of course. And in Desert Song, it's Nathan Christopher - referencing Cable, AKA Nathan Christopher Summers. In both fics, the other characters are aware of those being comic characters and poke a little fun at him for it.

This one's in reverse, but in my X-Men fic A Love Once New (which features Angel, of course), there's a reference about how Rae lives on the fourth floor of her apartment complex and only "a parkour genius or- well, Warren" (since he has wings) could get to her balcony from the back side. Did parkour exist as a concept in the 80s? Not a clue. But the reference was worth a little anachronism.

And... yeah, there's so many more than just these. If I combed through all of my writing, I'd have hundreds of little hidden references to books, movies, comics, you name it. I love planting in those little references and details even if nobody ends up noticing them. Maybe somewhere out there I've got a reader who's a nerd in the same way I am, and smiles when they notice those little details. I can hope lol.

[austarus]

Harrison Wells (Eobard Thawne) x Reader Ballistic Confrontations (2/3)

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to its rightful owner.

Word Count: 4578

Part 1   Part 3

Oliver’s eyes narrowed at the doppelganger he had struck down. What a fool. Oliver-X nudged the body with his foot before giving the unconscious Thawne doppelganger a rough kick to the chest. The impact of the sound was drowned out by the alarm. The body had lurched to the side and the man’s glasses flew off his face, yet still no response. A cruel smirk crossed the Dark Arrow’s features, secretly feeling satisfied on taking out his pent-up rage towards Thawne against a weak mirror image. A damned fool to not be prepared for a secondary attack. He should have known better. Oliver hummed to his thoughts, his eyes showing nothing but utter coldness. Ruthlessness. This was his path after all. Weak, just like the rest of this world. It’s so-called ‘heroes’. Pathetic. Oliver looked on with no remorse as he walked through the halls, boots.

“Such a shame.”

This is what needs to be done. An image of his Kara drifted to his mind, the way her body convulsed. The blood that lingered. Her smile fading. But Oliver-X shook it away. She would be fine with their forces at the warehouse, there was enough action going on in order to legitimize the scope of their distraction while he infiltrated his doppelgangers base of operation. Thawne’s labs- or as Oliver thought of it, Thawne’s Castle of Cards. He is the only one among them that knows it tech and secrets inside-out. The Queen doppelganger cracked his neck, readjusting the bow in his hand as he braced himself to face-off with the lackeys that were left over in this forsaken excuse for a laboratory. Everything is going according to plan.

***

Mick and Frost had already left, planning to intercept the Earth-Xers in the Speed Lab. Meanwhile you were to stay with the ladies as backup. Electricity hummed through your veins as adrenaline pumped. Multiple camera feeds showed your friends either fighting or getting dragged to the Pipeline. Still radio silence from the others. You gritted your teeth as your eyes focused on the screen where the fiends threw Harry into a cell like ragdoll. Their first victim. One thing was for sure, Oliver-X was here directing the grunts while his cohorts were distracting the dispatched heroes. Felicity had her tablet handy in case she needed to work her tech magic, shutting down the Cortex mainframe from being accessed by Oliver-X and his cronies. Iris had quickly suggested the vents were the best place to hide until they can determine what necessary steps you three would need to take to get to the others. The three of you would not succumb to the position of sitting ducks. Unfortunately, Iris didn’t have enough time to grab a laser rifle from the closet.

You climbed into the vents first with quiet movements, Felicity following and Iris behind her to seal the vent. Closing your eyes for a moment, you focused- tuning out Iris and Felicity’s hushed words of worry for their men and your friends. You tuned out the dull thrum of electricity that emitted from the labs’ computer system, focusing on one type. Cellular electricity. Human generated electricity. Snapping your eyes open, you lead them down a few routes. The two women chalked it up to your knowledge of the ventilation system as you’d hid here multiple times to escape the tension in the Cortex, but really it had been the intensity of electricity that steered you. The multiple electrical signals that spiked made you keen on navigating away from those corridors and rooms. More Nazi’s would be on guard there. One little scuffle with the wrong group could alert Oliver-X. You breathed a sigh of relief as the neural electricity passed by, unaware of what lies just above.

Iris didn’t know, neither did Felicity. No, they would never know. No one would. No one would ever know that you could shatter a person’s nervous system with a flick of the wrist. Never know that you can put the one of the most vital organs into cardiac arrest. Cardiac arrest usually resulted from an electrical disturbance in the heart. It's not the same as a heart attack. Shutting down cells, yet overstimulating neurons. How would the human body fare? They were… morbid curiosities that haunted you. But rather giving into those conjectures you settled for a milder solution, immersing yourself into the field of electrical neurophysiology rather than contemplating how a person can expire by your will. Eobard had been intrigued with your desire to understand the physiological field that your powers can be derived from. He helped you, of course, entertaining the electricity that sparked in your eyes with understanding. You breezed through medical articles and journals, understanding the neural circuitry and it’s outlets. Yet, your intent wasn’t to kill (not to his surprise), just to render an adversary unconscious for a period of time. Or in a speedster’s case, the ability to jumpstart their heart and motor functions. Stimulating a failing organ, should the situation arise. Even in a way to hypothetically understand how a speedster’s body can siphon off your generated electricity without harming their natural laws of the Speedforce.

But like any meta, there were hypothetical limits and lines drawn, even to a possible conclusion of short-circuiting your own body without careful proctoring. You’d be lying to yourself if you hadn’t wanted to push your abilities further than that, but you hesitated. The desire was strong, but the darkness was too powerful. Could you afford the hypothetical blood on your hands? Would you be able to sleep at night, knowing that you’d be just another monster? Questions like that swirled in your head, but it’s the remembrance of your friends that you didn’t give into that… dark instinct.

You’d done it before. Once. On accident of course, but you were overwhelmed with anger and terror and fear that night. Trudging on, that moment resurfaced to the front of your mind. Your skin prickled as you remembered the sensation. Feeling the meta’s heart stop and mind short-circuit with neural electricity. The body shut down. The electricity out as if you’d turn off the lights inside the intruder’s body. You didn’t mean to. You were just scared. There was just… so much blood. Blood on the ground. Blood on Harry. Harry’s blood. Your breath hitched for a moment, but the two ladies behind you were none-the-wiser. Swallowing harshly, you pushed the image of the dead meta and Harry’s half-terrified/half-surprised face. You both never talked about that incident, nor did he ever bring it up to the others. It wasn’t his right to, after all. Two years had past, but that incident remained with you. You’d sworn that a moment like that wouldn’t occur. The guilt was too great on your conscious even if it was for self-defense. But…

Looking down from the vent opening, you realized your electrical instincts had brought you close to the entrance of the Time Vault. It was the one place Felicity and Iris can at least hold off in. You just needed to buy them some time. Felicity is more than capable of utilizing Gideon into locking the Time Vault, especially without Eobard around. After a few minutes had passed, you deemed that it was safe enough to drop down. You found the panel entrance, unlocking the pebbled room with your handprint to the side of the panel. Felicity and Iris jumped down, your plan dawning on them. You eased them in with a push. The fake panel wall reintegrated shut. You didn’t have much time.

“Find a way to get in contact with the Legends,” You spoke as the door had shut. “Smalls and Tinman should be aboard with Amaya.”

“What are you going to do?” Iris frowned as Felicity got to work.

“Buy you some time,” you breathed, pulling out your gloves. “It’s all that we can work with at the moment before the Dark Archer decides to play Cat and Mouse with us. If anything goes south, don’t look for me.” You needed to make sure.

“But-”

“Iris, please.” Your eyes trained on her, reluctance present in her demeanor. “Trust me.” She nodded. You left.

Now, who would be the cat and who would be the mouse, I wonder? You mused, climbing into the nearest low vent.

***

“Excellent, I will rendezvous at the warehouse,” Oliver-X nodded, his hand on his comm system. The heroes have been detained, her doppelganger seized. His own doppelganger caught. No more tricks. The labs were secure, remnants of the Earth-1 fighters detained. All is going according to plan. His lips twitched up.

“Did you know that the human body can only generate between 10 and 100 millivolts?”

You jumped down from the vent, landing perfectly on stable footing. The Dark Archer had his arrow and bow drawn in an instant, readily aimed at you. He watched you with careful, stormy eyes. You both stood in silence. One move and he could off me, but so could I. Your gloved fingers fidgeted; a subtle flicker of electricity honed there. “Such a fickle thing, really, when there’s an electrical imbalance within the body. Various things can go wrong.”

The Dark Archer’s eyes narrowed, noting the underlying threat in your words. “You’d be smarter to run. Wouldn’t want to end up like the others.”

“I don’t run from danger.” You smiled wickedly.

“Such naïve words from a hero.”

The dead meta flashed through you mind again. The blood on your hands. Would you do it again? For your friends? Your family? “I’m no hero.” Yes.

You two had circled each other in the dimly light room, tension thick in the air. Dust collected here and there, white sheets covered table and monitors. Oliver-X was amused, to say the least, his eyes locked on you with every intent to-

“-To my knowledge you have a speedster in your arsenal.”

He didn’t blink. “What of it?”

You rolled your eyes. Really, such a man with little words. “Take me to him.” Your hand balled into a fist The bulb behind Oliver-X shattered instantly, yet he did not flinch or look back.

As fun as this could be, I’m not here to play games.

“You are in no place to make such demands.”

Neither is he.

“It’s not a demand, just an innocent request. Indulge me, breacher.” You held your head higher, “You’re not the only one with a love.” You sensed his hesitation as he understood. So, you pushed. “The radiation is killing her, isn’t it? Flew too close to the sun, like poor Icarus.” You couldn’t help but taunt him. Oh, it felt good. Felicity had given you the run down, reiterating Alex’s hypothesis in regarding what she found in Kara-X’s blood cells. It didn’t take a genius to understand why they came here. Why they’d come now. With Eobard in tow. “Too much is too much, in the end. But… that’s why you’re here, right? To fix your love before- well, before the radiation eats at her.” You huffed a laugh and paused. Another lightbulb burst. Each out releasing electrical energy. “Right?”

An arrow whizzed past your head, hitting the wall behind you. The Dark Archer’s patience was running thin. You swallowed thickly but didn’t cower. Fear tickled the back of your mind, but you pushed it away. You needed emotions to overwhelm him into slipping. It clouded rational thinking in even the most skilled assailants. Eobard had drilled that into you.

Breep, breep, breep.

The SS alarm rang against his person. You tilted your head at him, curiously watching what he’d do next. If he chose to fight, then so would you with every ounce of energy in your system and that surrounding you. That comm, you could use that. That’s assuming it didn’t self-destruct when out of his reach.

Oliver-X grunted. His time was running, he needed to get to the rendezvous point. “Fortunately for you, I’m in a good mood. However, one foot out of line and you’ll be joining your friends on this earth’s makeshift cells.” He grabbed you by the upper arm and dragged you to walk with him. “That or an arrow to the heart.” Blunt just like Ollie. Well, this is better than being dead. Yay for progress.

***

Yawning, you shifted a bit in your seat. Your hands were bound behind you and there were two Nazi soldier guards to each side. In a sense, you were absolutely bored. Neither soldier paid you any mind and your hands were getting kind of numb from how long it’s been held back there. Basically Oliver-X dumped you onto them and gave them permission to kill should you escape your babysitters. Great. How long has it been? An hour? Two hours? Where were the others?

“So,” You broke the set silence. “Does this job give you guys any benefits, or do you guys have to like… find your own medical insurer? Does your Earth even do that?”

“Silence, we do not acknowledge such petty talk from someone of your caliber.” Soldier 1 had his finger on the trigger as he turned to you.

Someone’s crabby today. “Well, that was rude. I was just asking a question. Are you guys always this ill-mannered?”

“No, Ian just didn’t have his coffee today and he’s pulling some overtime.” Soldier 2 spoke up from polishing his weapon. Interesting, meaning that it’d be easier to take him out since he’s running on lack of sleep and is exhausted. This guy, though, seems more alert so I’ll maybe have to take his buddy hostage before whacking him.

“Devon! You’re not supposed to be fraternizing with the enemy?”

“How is it fraternizing if it has nothing to do with the General’s heart?”

I think he’s talking about Kara-X. “Devon does have a point,” you piped up. “Honestly, just-”

You blinked and Eobard had sped into the room, wind blowing as he had entered. Negative electricity deliciously licked in the air. Your heart skipped a bit as his red eyes met yours, but your mind anchored you. “Get out,” his distorted voice had hissed at the guards, both who had which shuffled out like ants. You weren’t going to miss them, though their bickering did entertain you. In an instant you were free from the power dampening cuffs and Eobard had drawn his cowl down from over his head along with his techy face shield-mask thing. Just seemed excessive. He took a step towards you with a hand outstretched, but you leaped from your chair and stepped back with a hardened look.

“Don’t touch me.”

A flicker of pain resonated in his eyes, something hollow hit your own heart, but this needed to be done. You needed answers from him, so you kept your distance. “This… isn’t the welcome back reunion I was expecting.”

“Screw whatever it was you were expecting,” You spat, eyeing the SS on his chest in lightning bolt form with disgust. It replaced his Reverse Flash insignia. “Nazi’s, Eobard? Really? What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re angry. Understandable.”

“Of course, I’m angry! You were gone. All of a sudden, three years ago. Erased from existence. And now you’re just… here. With Nazi’s no less. You hate them!”

He licked his lips, frustration present in his tone. He did hate them, every last one of them. “I was just trying to survive.”

“Really? Really? Like this?”

“I had no choice. I just needed some time. Time that-”

You shook your head at him, anger sparking within you. “-No, do not give me the whole ‘time’ bullshit. You can save that for Barry. You owe me an explanation before I decide to over-write every one of your friends’ brains here.”

“They are not my friends,” Eobard retaliated fiercely, he took a breath to calm down. “Did Barry not tell you?”

“Tell me what?” You questioned through gritted teeth.

“You want an explanation,” Eobard had spoken before he whisked you away to the top of one of the Central City towers. The air was crisp, drizzle cascading onto the city. You regained your footing; Eobard gripped your upper arms to steady you before letting go. Message received that you didn’t want him to touch you. “Fine, I’ll give you an explanation. When Barry saved his mother and changed the timeline, he had pulled me from that night and caged me. Like an animal. But,” The yellow speedster started chuckling to himself, doing the little pace he did when he did his monologues. Yes, he does it frequently. “He needed me. He needed me to fix his mistakes. He was losing his speed, his memories of the previous life he had. And oh, did I relish in making him say what he needed me to do the most.” You just rolled your eyes, arms crossing.

“Get to the point, Thawne.”

“One thing led to another and certain… things happened with the Legends and I ended up in the Speedforce after the Black Flash got me, after being erased again. Or so I thought. I… The Speedforce works in mysterious ways, you see. It punished me in for my deeds by sending me to the most miserable place in the multiverse.”

“Earth-X.”

“Precisely. You’ve seen just how ruthless they are, anyone with powers that had opposed them were decimated. I couldn’t die. Not again. I wouldn’t allow it to happen again. Not like that and certainly not at their hands.”

“But others can?”

That stung him. Eobard paused for a moment before his eyes reconnected with yours. “No matter what I could do, they would have found me out. To the expense of those lives, they were already targeted for death regardless of how they can plea or be helped. There’s a resistance group, it’s only a gamble of fate if they’re snuffed out or snuff out the Reich. I was confined to their labs because of my intellect and speed. My task was simple. Find a solution to Overgirl. Fast.”

“And that was to come here. To cut open Kara for her.”

“Here’s the tricky part that they don’t know,” Eobard grinned wickedly, giving you that little look that says he’s got a wildcard up his sleeve, “a heart that they’re so desperately chasing after won’t save Kara-X.”

Enlightenment flared up in your mind. Eobard took a step towards you, this time you didn’t back away. He recognized that look. “A heart won’t stop the cells in her body from replicating and contaminating the heart cells once more. You threw them a bone to get here.”

Eobard nodded, “I studied her anatomy, I’ve made the calculations. Even with a new heart she’d just revert back to her previous radioactive state. The heart would be a temporary fix, but her internal organs are all infected. Festering.” The man in the yellow suit rubbed his lips with two fingers, a move he does when his nerves were getting out of his control. When things were going south, and he needed to recalculate and try a different approach. “I manipulated the calculations in order to seem like the heart would be a reasonable solution along with pumping Kara-X with new blood. Didn’t take long, of course. But I made sure I was the only scientist working on this project. I couldn’t have a liability if others were involved, else they would have made sure I would never run again.” The speedster had marked those words grimly.

Your throat went dry. Death had been haunting Eobard since he had gotten stuck in your time, it even followed him to Earth-X, the place of his punishment. You could have lost him without knowing. You did. Back when he get involved with the Legends, apparently. The speedster stepped closer, the back of his gloved hand brushing against your cheek. You flinched back to reality at the situation, back to the reality of him. Eobard’s heart tugged at the idea that you were seeing him as the rest of those monsters. While he was one, he wasn’t like the ones from Earth-X.

“And Oliver-X is too blinded by his love for her that he’d go to any extent to get her back to 100%.” You summed up. Like how Eobard had done anything to come back here. You gingerly took his hand. What a mess.

“There wasn’t a moment when I hadn’t thought of you while there. But I needed a way back, I needed to get back here. Back to you. I wanted to come back, needed to or else I was going to go insane without you. I was going to lose my sanity and myself there. But the thought of you kept me together. And I would do anything. Even if it did mean ‘allying’ myself with them,” he had done air quotes around that word, “in order to get back here. To my Earth. To you.”

His words echoed in your mind. Anything could be anything. “That won’t excuse what you’ve done. What… what you’d been doing.” I can’t fathom the thought of him… carrying out those heinous crimes and missions. Yes, Eobard is no stranger to committing a felony or five. But to the degree of these Earth-Xers?

“No, it doesn’t.” He wanted to ask. Eobard so desperately wanted to ask for forgiveness, but he stopped himself. “But I hadn’t participated in anything regarding their goals. Just the Overgirl project. Oliver-X wouldn’t have allowed me to anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“You already understand the type of radioactive issue Kara-X is experiencing, provided by Oliver’s Kryptonite arrow.”

“Yeah, Felicity gave me the run down. Her cells have too much solar radiation. Cells subjected to such energy can be fatal to her system. The cells are essentially overwhelmed and overworked that they’re misfunctioning. There’s no regulation in her system or that regulation is waning.”

“The project was the cause… of her imminent downfall. She wanted to be stronger, fly higher, hit harder, so she ordered I subject her to solar rays.”

“Eo, did you-”

“Yes, I did.” He had said it without hesitation. The most logical thing he could have done. Oliver-X, he could handle in a fight. Only a bow and arrow with some fists being thrown, no problem. But Overgirl… “Solar radiation exposure in concentrated time increments were implicated to avoid suspicion on my part. And like I had predicted she demanded a higher dosage when given smaller amounts. Kara-X isn’t a patient person, when she demanded results, she demanded them now. I delivered. She is her own double-edged sword.”

“She was your death sentence,” You deadpanned, you squeezed his hand and he winced. She had broken his wrist earlier when he and Oliver-X were at it. She was not pleased with her threat. “Should you have slipped up.”

“When things don’t go her way she’d take it out on me,” Eobard mused, pulling his hand back to take off his gloves. Recovering bruises and dark spots were on his wrist. Your heart sunk further. “Blamed me for her sickness when even Queen understands it was her lust for power that drove her to this extent.” The genius saw hate flash in your eyes as he felt the electricity spark in the air. “It was either I take her out or the Flash and his friends given her remaining time.”

“Either one would have driven her to her death.”

“Quite frankly, it’d be better for the latter, but since Barry and his entourage were sent away.”

“What do you mean they were sent away?”

“…”

“I think it’s best if I don’t tell you, or else they’ll think something’s up if your reaction isn’t sincere.”

You pursed your lips and deeply frowned. You had gotten your answers, more than that, but then that led to ‘Where the hell did they get taken to?’ And then it hit you like how Weather Wizard hit Barry with an ice ball. Eobard raised an eyebrow at you, knowing you’d figure it out on your own.

“No.”

“I’m afraid so, t-” Breep, breep, breep. Eobard cursed, shutting off the alarm on his person. “We need to go back. Now.” Eobard swooped you up, your arms interlocked around his neck before he sped you back to the labs. Chit-chat over. Back to facing the real problem. Overgirl.

***

What awaited you was a scene you were not prepared for. Kara strapped down to a gurney under red light, one you can assume is dampening her Kryptonian strength to a mere human. She squirmed and grunted, but to no avail. She could not break free. Overgirl was smirking over her, such cruelty and intense demeanor a strange contrast to the kind and soft-hearted Kara you knew. Oliver-X watched with indifferent eyes as guards were stationed outside the med bay.

“I would stop squirming if I were you,” Kara-X mused. “Wouldn’t want your heart to give out already?”

“At least I have a heart.” Kara retorted.

Upon your entrance with Eobard, Oliver-X’s eyes narrowed slightly while Kara-X crinkled her nose. Kara’s eyes went wide but blinked her surprise away as she glared at the speedster beside you. She hadn’t forgotten how he said he’d carve her open from earlier.

“Kara,” you whispered, her eyes were brought back to you and you shook your head subtly.

“Well, well. I didn’t know you liked to play with the rats, Eobard.” Overgirl sneered at you and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at her. Eobard gritted his teeth but remained silent. You’ve had worse scathing comments thrown your way since being with Eobard before the accelerator explosion. Being called a rat wasn’t anything. Kara-X frowned at your lack of response. “Now, who’s this little… rodent?”

“That’s none of your-“

“-His love.” Oliver-X cut Eobard off. Kara’s eyebrows went up from where she laid.

Kara-X drawled in morbid amusement with a clap of her hands, “How touching.” A twisted smile ran across her lips as her eyes scanned you and Eobard carefully. Eobard had placed restraints on you once more but had whispered to you that they were loose enough for you to slip out should hostilities arise. “Who knew that the bastard speedster had a heart. Such emotions. A person that actually ate up his lies and loved him. Just another monster. Interesting, interesting. Makes this all the easier to-”

“You lay one hand on her, and I’ll personally see to it that you never get your new heart and he dies an excruciating painful and slow death.” Eobard didn’t smirk at the Kryptonian-X. His words were slow and they were lethal. Rather his signature smirk appeared, “After all, I’m the only one fully equipped and to successfully perform your surgery before your time runs out.” He glanced at the wall clock, the second hand moving along with each tick. “Tick tock, time is ticking. For you.” Kara glanced between you and Eobard then to Oliver-X and her doppelganger.

“You insolent-”

“Kara,” The Dark Archer stopped her, a hand gripping her upper arm harshly. She looked him dead in the eye, so much hate, so much anger. Clouded emotions. Oliver-X’s own eyes challenged her in a silent match, “Enough. Let’s go.”

The pair left you and Eobard with Kara, but not before throwing disgusted looks your way. You turned back to Eobard, who had changed back into his normal choice of all-black clothing. You gave him a pointed look, which he understood perfectly.

Now what do we do?

[sableflynn]

Felivy - The Choice

Soooo after a solid week of constant gushing about this au with @whumpopology I decided to try writing a bit of it! I'm uh pretty much completely obsessed with this au at this point, the amount of brainstorming we've done is incredible and soooo much fun.

Very brief context: AU where Felicia and Ivy both end up at Volkan's mean man estate together. The girls bond, Volkan is mean, the teams try to find them. Volkan decides to spice things up, contacts the teams and tells them they can choose one girl to have sent home and he'll keep the other. This is the timeline where they choose Ivy to come home.

cw: drugging, noncon kiss/touch, general noncon implications (none happens), whumper pov. ao3 link here.

---

The girl was strapped into a chair, thick leather cuffs tight on wrists that strained against the imprisonment. Even with the needle still in her arm, the drug coursing through her bloodstream, she fought; she had fought from the moment he first showed her just how he planned to transport her back to her team.

Red, Harrison had called her, for the striking color of her thick curls, but her hair color wasn’t enough to set her apart here. That fighting spirit, though; that was something his healer lacked, a tenacity bordering on feral that kept things interesting in a way Felicia couldn’t. And yet all it took was one wandering touch, one comment dripping with innuendo, one look, and she fell apart. Beneath all her bluster and bravado, Ivy was a scared little girl, and he was happy to remind her of that every time.

Her head began to droop and he thought that was it, until she snapped back to full alertness with fresh fire in her eyes. “You’re—” Her words were slurred, the effort to get them out visible in her face. “You’re fucking sick.”

He smiled and inclined his head in acknowledgement. “You should relax,” he said, and just to make sure she couldn’t relax, he leaned over her where she sat, one hand rising to brush strands of hair from her face. “Just let this happen. Next thing you know, you’ll be waking up in your boyfriend’s arms.”

“Nuh—” Despite the determination blazing in her eyes, she shuddered. A thin sheen of sweat broke out across her forehead, and he imagined he could see the drug working its way through her body, slowing her nervous system until she succumbed. Yet she still fought it; she couldn’t not, not with the needle still in her, and the knowledge that there wasn’t a single thing she could do to stop him from taking anything he wanted.

He leaned in for a kiss, and she was still awake enough to snap at him. Pulling back with a grin, he watched the terror dancing in her eyes, drank in the soft hitch of her breath as his hand caressed her cheek before traveling down further. His second kiss dipped lower, lips tracing the curve of her neck, sucking hard enough to bruise until he pulled a weak sob from her. Her pulse was racing beneath his tongue; every touch from him would send the drug through her body faster, which would make her more and more vulnerable to his touch. A delicious feedback loop of her suffering.

He lifted his head to meet her gaze, and the fire he’d seen there moments before was snuffed out. She was breathing heavily, eyes glimmering with unshed tears, mouth working as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t push the words out. He took her in another kiss and she whimpered against him, and god, he was going to miss this. Her fear was so different from Felicia’s, tinged with frustration at her own helplessness, and he could spend months drawing it out, showing her again and again that she was small and weak and nothing. But he had made a deal, and he was a man of his word. Better to leave her a sweet memory to remember him by, then.

When he pulled back from the kiss, he let his hand drift lower, until his thumb fretted with the fastenings of her pants. He hadn’t thought she could become more despairing than she already was, but at that touch she let out another sob, her head shaking weakly, slurring out words that might’ve been stop, please, no, don’t. He didn’t particularly care what they were. Fingers deftly undoing the button of her pants, other hand rising to press a harsh thumb into the bruise he’d kissed into her, he took her mouth in his one more time. She had no resistance left, and his tongue touched hers, his teeth dragging along her lower lip as he tasted her once again.

Her cry left her in a rush of air, and she slid into oblivion.

He studied her face, hands still on her body. In sleep, her features softened, the panic and desperation of moments before dulled to the slightest downward curve of her lips. So different from the wild thing who’d spat blood in his face, laughed under the threat of his knife, fought against him with everything in her. So much more fitting for the weak, terrified girl she became whenever he began to undress her, the lost thing he knew she was deep inside.

Refastening her pants, he took his hands from her body and began undoing the leather cuffs holding her in place. She had somewhere she needed to be, and it wouldn’t do for her to be late.

***

Felicia blinked, and stared at the bare white wall of her room, and fought a losing battle with her emotions.

One of us is going home. Volkan had dropped that bomb on them, and then dragged them off to their separate rooms before they could fully process. Before they could think to ask a single question. Before they could say goodbye.

She couldn’t hope. She couldn’t dare to hope, because if she went home, that would mean Ivy was staying here, and if Ivy stayed here alone she would be dead within the week.

She couldn’t hope, because she wouldn’t be strong enough to survive if her hope shattered and Ivy went home and she was left here, alone, with him.

There was no solution; only branching paths that ended in different flavors of heartbreak. Even when he offered them freedom, he twisted it into a weapon against them. Her heart raged against the unfairness of it all, and she crushed that feeling down, closing herself off, a few stray tears leaking from eyes squeezed shut.

The door to her room creaked open and she gripped the edges of the cot she sat on. He filled the frame, silhouetted against the hallway lights. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, and yet she knew she had to. His expression was unreadable. Maybe she just didn’t want to read it.

“Come with me,” he said, and walked away without waiting for a response. She rose and followed him.

He brought her to his lounge, all dark leather and polished wood and a fire crackling in the hearth. At a gesture from him, she sank into the couch and he poured two glasses of amber liquor, handing one to her. He sat across from her, and in his eyes she saw that look, that fucking look that meant he was savoring the anticipation of breaking her down in some new way, and that was how she knew to prepare herself a heartbeat before he said, “Why do you think they chose her over you?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line and willed herself not to feel. From the moment she had woken up in his office, some part of her had always known she was going to die here. This changed nothing. At least Ivy was safe. She could take this.

He gestured at the glass in her hand, the drink within untouched. “Drink. It’ll help you relax.” She stared through him, setting the glass on the table without a word, and he took a sip of his own liquor. “I just want to talk tonight. I know you must have a lot of mixed feelings right now.”

She shifted her gaze to look him in the eye, and his face crinkled with a genuine smile. “I wish I could’ve been there for the discussion,” he mused. “What do you think was the deciding factor? What was it that pushed them over the edge, made them realize that Ivy was worth more than you?”

He wasn’t going to let up. She bit down the urge to say they made the right choice—self-deprecation was only playing into his hands. And she couldn’t do it, couldn’t dwell on what sort of conversation must have taken place, so she said, “I don’t know.”

“No theories at all?” He raised a skeptical brow. “You have no idea what might’ve led your girlfriend to look me in the eye and tell me that she was choosing to leave you here with me in favor of a stranger?”

Elyse. Her face flashed in Felicia’s mind, and shit, a few tears welled up before she could close herself off to the feeling, and then her chest ached with longing and grief and despair, and her fingers dug into the leather of the couch as her breath hitched in a sob, and then another.

Volkan shushed her with a faux-soothing hum, his hand like fire against her skin as he tucked her stray strands of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I know this must hurt.” Through the haze of tears, the smirk on his face was infuriating. “If it helps, I think their choice makes sense.”

“Nothing about this makes sense, and you know that, you—” Now that she’d started, the sobs kept coming, racking her body with shudders. “You know, because you rigged this fucking game from the start, because that’s what you do, you—”

“Shhh.” He pressed a finger to her lips as he shushed her this time, and she flinched. “You’re getting emotional. Try to think about this logically. I’m sure your team did when they made their decision.” He sipped his drink again, considering. “Ivy’s a strong girl. A much better fighter. She doesn’t just roll over and submit at the first threat of pain. Although,” and his smile turned mocking, conspiratory, “you and I both know she’s not as tough as she likes to pretend. For a girl with two boyfriends, she sure fell apart quickly as soon as I—”

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about her,” Felicia lashed, stomach churning. Her skin warmed with the memory of Ivy’s touch, the only kind thing about this place. Ivy’s beautiful fierceness as she fought Volkan in every way. Ivy’s smile, and her tears, and her whispered promises in the night. “She’s—she’s so brave, and she’s good, and she’s not going to just leave me here.” Please.

Volkan’s eyes sparkled with delight. “Adorable. She already did.”

The flash of Ivy’s hazel eyes, wide with shock as she was dragged to her own room to wait for a decision to be made. “She didn’t leave. You took her.”

He chuckled. “Technically, you’re correct. Would you prefer she was still here with you?”

“I—” Felicia hated herself, then, for how close she came to saying yes, and she hated him even more for the slight quirk of his lips as he saw the indecision play across her face, as he read her like a book. “I’m glad she’ll be safe now,” she managed at last.

“Safe is a relative term,” Volkan said, setting his empty glass down on the table. “But I’m sure we can both agree she’s in a better place than you are.” He leaned in closer to her, pressing her against the couch, and his arms surrounding her were the jaws of a trap closing in on her.

[darlingpetao3]

Thank You For Ruining My Life: An Homage to Tom Cavanagh

“You’ve ruined all my future expectations of men.”

The costume-clad woman had the courage of steel to say this to the then 53-year-old actor, Tom Cavanagh of The Flash, in front of a ballroom filled with a couple hundred people. This brave utterance was spoken during the 2016 Fan Expo Vancouver convention during a Flash question and answer period with actors Tom Cavanagh and Candice Patton. In its third season, the show was undoubtedly still hitting its stride in popularity, and the room was packed to hear these two speak.

The brave woman whose turn it was at the microphone was referring to Tom’s role as Ed Stevens on the NBC 2000 hit, Ed. I had not known of this show previously, but having now heard such a proclamation intrigued me. “You’ve ruined all my future expectations of men.” That was a tempting notion, and as I continued to listen to this disarmingly charming and wittingly funny man steal the stage, Tom intrigued me even more. I’d watched him play three different versions of Harrison Wells on The Flash since the show’s premiere date, yet I hadn’t truly noticed him in a “life-ruining” way before.

Little did I know that Tom Cavanagh would not only eventually ruin my expectations for men as well, but he would change my life in other ways, too.

After the Q&A, I had this urge to buy a S.T.A.R. Labs T-shirt from one of the vendors at the convention. In my head, I thought I would purchase something so that I could have an excuse to talk to Mr. Cavanagh at his signing booth. Again, he intrigued me, and I wanted to experience more of his incredibly likeable personality. So, I dragged my friend with me to wait for what was maybe ten minutes in a queue. Shortly, I was paying the assistant for my autograph I would soon acquire. They wrote my name on a sticky note so that Tom would know how to sign a personalized message to me. And then, it was my turn.

His eyes sparkled when he turned his attention to me. I instantly had a feeling this was just the way he was naturally. Oh yeah, and I swear to God I’d never seen eyes that blue in my entire life. It genuinely stunned me.

“Hi!” he greeted me.

“Hi!” I responded, equally as thrilled. Tom admired the T-shirt I had brought and took note of my name on the piece of paper. I remember us joking together about the extremely lax security in and around S.T.A.R. Labs on the show, which prompted his message to me on the heather-grey cotton. He wrote my name, [followed by a heart!] and a very welcoming, ‘Come on by, just walk right in!’

I had official clearance from Harrison Wells himself.

I thanked him very much, leaving with my treasure folded over my arms. My friend and I walked towards the hall’s exit, and I couldn’t shake this feeling inside me. It felt strange—I couldn’t name it for the life of me. It felt like an odd fluttering with a simultaneous yet contradictory slightness of breath. My head was confused and would continue to be so for the rest of that weekend.

As I waited at my gate in the airport on that Sunday evening to head home, all I knew was that the moments at the con featuring Tom were the highlights of the weekend for me.

And that I was going to begin watching more of the other films and television shows he’d been in. What was the show the brave cosplaying woman had said ruined her expectations of men? Oh yeah, Ed.

Maybe I’ll start there…

***

Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad…

In my house, it’s never really Christmastime until Michael Bublé croons through the speakers of the wooden stereo system in the living room. It felt especially festive as it was now Christmas Eve—a month and some change since the con. It was late, possibly ten o’clock. I was lying on the floor in front of the Christmas tree with my trusty laptop, a word document open. I was writing three holiday-song short stories featuring the new muse in my life, Harrison Wells. I wanted to be able to post them the next day, so my fingers were taptaptapping away.

I had written a handful of things before 2017, most of which had been Marvel-related, under my second, ‘rebirth’ pen name online. I was a little fish among all the grand and fabulous writers on Archive of Our Own, and in many ways, I still feel like that little fish. I was only just learning and feeling out the psyche of the Wells characters. Each one is so different. In my rewatch of the previous seasons of The Flash, I’d taken diligent notes, and as I’d later learn with each following rewatch, I would know them all—what they think, how they talk and behave—like the back of my hand. It was fun to suss out these guys, and I found that I was growing to love the act of writing even more.

One month later, in January, I would post all the stories I’d written thus far on Tumblr. I’d just created an account and, who knows? Maybe I’d get a wider range of readers on here, too.

Might as well give it a shot, right?

***

Wild horses couldn’t keep me from attending Fan Expo Vancouver 2017, especially when the big news dropped. Not only would Tom Cavanagh be attending again, but so would Carlos Valdes, Danielle Panabaker, Candice Patton, and the convention-elusive star of the show himself, Grant Gustin.

Before the moderator for the Flash cast’s Q&A panel could utter the final thanks to the actors at the end of the session, I bounded from my seat and sped down to the photo op booth where the cast would be taking “Team Up” photos with fans. ‘Sped down’ has to be the most appropriate couple of words because I indeed felt like a true Speedster dressed head to toe as the small screen’s adaptation of Jesse Quick, the angsty and brilliant daughter to Harrison Wells turned superhero.

After waiting in a queue that felt like ages, I was next to stand with Team Flash. As I took a step forward, all of the actors’ and actresses’ eyes—the people I spend time with every Tuesday evening—were on me. I heard a familiar voice approve of my costume. It was Danielle.

“Tremendous.”

Grant even joked that he thought for a second Violett Beane, the actress who plays Jesse Quick, had shown up to surprise them. “I was like, what’s Violett doing here?” he said.

I stood in the back row, happily sandwiched between Tom and Carlos. I dared to let my hands rest on their backs, and I couldn’t contain my joy. Shortly after, when I received my near-instant physical photograph of the moment, I saw Tom had pointed at me. In my mind, it felt as if in his gesture, he meant, hey, look at this cool person. Haha. I couldn’t be further from it.

I would go on to further be uncool in public as I later found myself virtually shaking and almost hyperventilating in line for a one-on-one photo op with Tom. The guy dressed as Kid Flash behind me gave me a few encouragements of the “it’ll be okay” variety. As my turn finally arrived, the lovely man of the hour greeted me with a bright smile in recognition of my Reverse Flash T-shirt (I had done a quick change before this photo op because I had worn a Flash T-shirt for a photo with Grant).

“Great shirt!”

The internet comes up with many hilarious and fitting words, but none such so than the term “Cavanarms.” One of the said Cavanarms found its way around my shoulder in such a casual way. My hand rested on his back, and I have told anyone who will listen about how soft his sweater was. What was approximately a five-second interaction will stay with me forever. And to this day, I will always regret how I’m standing beside him in the picture—there’s a distinguishable gap between us. I could have been closer—should have been!—but I like to use the fact that I felt as if I’d combust into flames if I were any closer to the man.

Maybe I’d have another chance to combust later again that day because, believe it or not, this fan hadn’t had enough of seeing Mr. Cavanagh in person. And since he was appearing at the con for this day only, there was no way I was going to squander any opportunities. Besides, there was still one final thing left on my convention docket: the autograph. In my mind, going to get his autograph was an excuse to get to talk to him and simply be in his presence for longer than five seconds. Here, take my money. I’m a sucker, and I’m proud of it. I saved all year for this kind of thing, and Fan Expo has always been my ultimate nerdy Treat Yoself Day.

Plus, this year I came equipped with a question for Tom (something for which I may have prepared a little too far in advance).

“Which of your characters would win in a lawyering battle: Ed or Miles?”

Miles was Tom’s latest character from his newly released project Darrow & Darrow, a fellow lawyer as Ed Stevens (remember, the man who ruins women’s expectations of men?), whom he portrayed almost two decades prior. What I loved about Tom when I got to ask him this was that he was silent for a moment following the question. He was genuinely putting thought into my question. As he pondered, Tom continued to autograph the photo of us together taken mere hours ago.

“Ed. He would wipe the floor with that other guy. Like, Miles is great, but Ed has a rapier-sharp mind, you know?”

I wholeheartedly agreed with his answer and felt relieved inside for some reason. We thanked each other (as politely as two Canadians can) before I left him to pay attention to the next lucky soul in line. I made the mistake of casting my eyes downward at the signed photo.

Tom had signed two little hearts over the I’s in my name. He really needed to stop adding hearts to my things, or I was just going to melt to the floor. In fact, I started to make these strange noises as I tried not to completely maul everyone in front of me while exiting. My friend ushered me as fast as physically possible on our way out of the main hall. One man took one look at me and asked, “Are you okay?”

No.

“Yep!”

The second I made it out of the herd, I broke out into open space. First came the minor hyperventilating. Then came the squealing followed by laughter. Top it off with various fangirlish comments of, “He’s so beautiful!”, “His eyes are so blue!” and “I love him!” and I was probably quite the sight to see (but at a convention, that’s considered normal!). My friend smiled on as she let me express everything that I had to keep inside until I had the right time to expel my emotions. I was on cloud nine. Ten, if at all possible.

The next day would be the con’s final day, which I would attend alone. My friend needed to catch the ferry in order to prepare for her courses the day after. I did a scan of the convention hall one final time in case there was something I missed purchasing. Afterwards, I sat on the cold hard flooring of the convention centre hallway for a bit of a break. I was wiped out. With my phone in hand, I smiled at the messages from this one Tumblr blogger who had been following my posted adventures at the con. I had seen and replied to many of her comments on my stories I’d written thus far, and I enjoyed her matching enthusiasm for Tom and The Flash in general. I felt her to be a kindred spirit. I had no idea then that I was chatting with one of my future best friends, L.

***

I spotted her.

She was wearing an identical shirt to the one I had on—a light grey T-shirt with a sequinned Spider-Man mask in the corner, which around it read, We met on the Web. A giddy me couldn’t wait for the short escalator ride to end. Her back was to me and facing the baggage claim, so here was my chance to surprise her instead.

I towered over my friend, E, and donned a low, authoritative voice.

“Excuse me, Miss, can you come with me?”

She squealed a greeting to me and I returned it as we hugged for the very first time after two and a half years of online friendship. We would still have about two hours to kill until our mutual Tumblr best friend, L, touched down at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport from across the Pond.

Something I noticed was that E and I carried on talking during our wait like it was second nature, that we hung out like this all the time. Whereas when I met L in person for the first time the year previously, our first meeting was that of quiet, delighted shock, unknowing how to react to one another’s physical presence. It almost felt like a fantasy. The closest thing we’d ever gotten to this was visiting over video chats! I’m not sure what each of these different reactions in these separate meetings meant, but what I do know is that I’ve never had such strong female friendships such as these—so full of uplifting support and love for one another. They are the greatest ladies I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

And as a searching L eventually turned the corner to meet us in the Arrivals terminal, I caught sight of her Tom & Grant bandana tied around the handle to her carry-on bag. It was an item she had received in return for helping fund the short film produced in 2018 (I’d bought the ringtone). Seeing the accessory jolted me to remember that the former of the titular short was the reason for this long-awaited get-together holiday in the Windy City in the first place. Tom Cavanagh, unbeknownst to him, had just officially united three online friends, each from a different country, to spend six full days of in-person bonding and a whole lot of fun.

***

I should have been shelving books.

I should have been doing a lot of library-related tasks, but my head was elsewhere. Anywhere other than the small-town public library where I work. Instead, I sat on the carpeted floor of the Junior/Young Adult section with my phone in hand and a dreadful article title staring back at me.

“The Flash: Carlos Valdes and Tom Cavanagh to Exit after 7 Seasons.”

My world felt like it was falling apart.

Tom was leaving? There had been rumours and wonderings spreading around the fandom regarding whether he was leaving the show. With a storyline ending with a monumental sacrifice and a time-travelling man saying his farewells, it all seemed to point to the fact. I should have known… I could have rivalled Supergirl as being the Paragon of Hope after all the optimism I doled out to my followers and friends who would come to me worried Tom would exit the show. I would always give reasons to deny such a thing could happen, claiming that I’d believe when I saw it.

Well, there it was, and I definitely saw it.

One could feel the ripple effect over the internet of the shards of broken and riled-up hearts around the world.

Tom’s exit was on his terms, having not felt challenged by his character’s plotlines, as mentioned in a recent Entertainment Weekly article. As a viewer—and I am a viewer (Mike and Tom Eat Snacks, anyone?), it has been increasingly difficult to look past the missed shots made by story editors and showrunner, so understandably, the actor would want to seek something more exciting and meatier. That said, Tom has always shone on-screen and taken what he’s been given in stride. He turns unearthed material into diamonds and indeed shines on screen. Steals it, even! Tom easily makes the episodes he’s in better, and when he’s missing, you feel the loss. The few episodes of Season 7 without him only give us a tiny hint at how the show will be without him going forward. It much resembles when you might bring out your favourite jigsaw puzzle, only to find that the one piece you need to complete it isn’t there.

***

On a personal note, as I write this, I am roughly 20 followers away from reaching a milestone of 2,000. I have written well over 200 stories for The Flash alone (whether they be short or long, one-shots or chaptered), and goodness knows how many words I’ve generated altogether over the course of these many years with inspiration from the show and my favourite character. I’ve written and co-written novel-length stories, one monumental Wellsian story of which was done alongside L and E (almost solely done through alternating text messaging in the app, Line) that reached over 108,000 words and consisted of 42 chapters. And when I’m not writing for my blog, I’m also working on trying to accomplish my dream of becoming a published author. Just as I thought before I launched my Tumblr blog, I think again now: Might as well give it a shot, right?

***

I have watched virtually everything Tom has been in that I could get my hands on, both physically and electronically. Sure, a few titles are out of my reach and probably lost to the very early 90's forever, but from what I've seen through Tom's filmography is enough to know that he can do anything. He can play the romantic leading man that will make you fall head over heels for him or a deranged killer that will have you genuinely scared of him. That is talent. Tom always brings something new to the table from each role to the next, and (when he's not playing those psycho killers) you can't help but admire his craft.

Not only is his acting stellar, but from what we as fans have gathered on the man, Tom has got to be one of the kindest men in the business. His humour and sheer ridiculousness could get anyone through a tough time (we’ve seen plenty of bloopers and behind-the-scenes videos to prove this!). He has clearly bottled and stored an endless supply of Fountain of Youth™ and each year continues to wow us with his handsomeness. Tom is charming, dedicated, and yes, arguably holds the world record for Bluest Eyes.

In my eyes, Tom Cavanagh gave me the two best friends I could have ever asked for, as well as plenty more lovely friends I’ve continued to make online. (One day, I hope to meet him again so that I can tell him in person how because of him, I’ve met such very important people in my life). Through Tom, I have truly found my passion for writing, and in doing so, segued me to dare to dream of becoming a published novelist. I wholeheartedly believe all of this would not have happened if it weren’t for those first series of events that led me to meet Tom and love and admire him immensely. He is indisputable proof that there are indeed men like him out there. Indeed, he did ruin all of my future expectations of men. He ruined my life in the absolute best way and I am eternally grateful.

I am very much looking forward to what Tom will do next. I think it’s rather needless to say that I will follow him in his career, as he has gained a devoted fan for life. He represents so much to me and so much of it I have gained since meeting him that fateful day, when I thought to myself, Maybe I should buy this T-shirt and get this guy to sign it. Wherever Tom goes in life, I’ll be here to cheer him on.

I have a pretty good feeling plenty of others will, too.

[mittensmorgul]

musings while watching the pilot of supernatural for the elevnty-billionth time, but the first time after watching 15.20...

15.20 would’ve served as a decent finale to like... s2. Sam and Dean finally unified in working together, John’s original revenge quest against the thing that killed Mary laid to rest with John and Mary happily in Heaven together, none of the other problematic shit like angels and Dean and Sam having been to Hell, having suffered more losses but also saved the universe too many times to count, having started dreaming of a future out past the obligate hunting and settling down with specific people who they knew loved them in return. Plus, Harvelle’s in Heaven? El Sol being declared “terrible?” That’s s2 shit. Those are the dreams of s2 Dean, before 13 years of personal growth. Same with Sam. Running away from the life, from his family’s true legacy, and pretending to be normal while hiding the Impala and metaphorically his entire life up to that point under a tarp in the garage, where he goes out to have a good cry once in a while remembering that his life used to have a purpose outside of his Brother Replacement Child. And I of course became irate travelling down this line of thought, because honestly... >.>

All because Sam’s 1.01 motives match up with what he got in the finale-- a “safe” (read: specifically not NORMAL, he corrected Dean’s assessment of what he wanted from NORMAL to SAFE. He thought he would be SAFE living a life away from hunting) life, without Dean there to drag him back into it. Jess, in this case, could be just as blank a slate as Blurry Wife could be. It was never her specifically that Sam was in love with, just the idea that she was “safe,” because he’d kept her untainted by the Supernatural and never intended to tell her anything about it, until she was literally dragged into it by her death.

It also feels reasonable to assume that John harbored deep suspicions about Sam, about what we know he learned about the demon blood and the events of that night in 1983 later on. But even in this episode, John walking in to find Sam in his crib with Mary pinned to the ceiling above, and zero evidence that anyone else had been involved in that scene... I just imagine he HAD to have at least wondered if Sam himself played any role in her death more directly...

We saw in later episodes that Sam had been sheltered from the Supernatural as long as possible (didn’t even discover the truth about what John and Dean knew until he was EIGHT), and then was relegated to research or other side-roles until he finally left hunting behind. Even in 15.16 flashbacks, to 1993 when Sam was nearly 10, it was framed as his “first hunt” of sorts, despite the fact he didn’t actually do any of the “hunting.” It makes me think that Sam’s first ACTUAL hunt where he was given a more active role was the woman in white.

Plus, we know that's one of mary's fears later on, terrified that Sam would hate her because of what her deal did to him most directly, but it's never actually addressed with john. Which... makes it impossible to see 15.20 as even remotely plausible out past 2.22 for me. It could’ve worked before we learned anything more about the cosmic manipulations of their entire lives out beyond Sam’s Special Child status, but beyond there it begins to completely fall apart.

One final thought, since the finale centered Sam as The Main Hero of the series and relegated Dean to Accessory Brother Who Dragged Sam Into The Story:

I don't know how they thought the audience would identify with Sam as the Main Protagonist, when the premise of the show was "welcome to this shady underbelly of a world filled with monsters, and here is Dean, your competent and engaging tour guide." Maybe before they started actually writing this series, it seemed a solid choice to assume the audience would identify more with the kid who wanted a normal life in the suburbs with a blonde nurse-fantasy wife... but we weren’t here for a legal/family drama, we were here for the Supernatural. Like... how did that framing even last beyond the first episode?

If they’d actually shot Kripke’s first draft of the Harrison Brothers learning about the Supernatural together after a lifetime being raised in the ‘burbs, then maybe that Sam=Luke, Dean= Han framing would’ve held up, but... it absolutely does not in the story Kripke actually laid out for us over the first few seasons.

And again, Dean needing to die so Sam could be “safe,” so he could have a life free of the Supernatural, doesn’t really hold up out beyond Dean’s literal self-sacrifice to give him that chance in 2.22, and Bobby’s tearful reprimand about Dean having that low an opinion of himself to throw his life away so Sam could live... it’s just... not plausible as an ending after that point. Even out past Cas, and “what’s the matter, you don’t think you deserve to be saved?” It makes zero sense. It’s the ending Chuck would’ve written in a bland world before the apocalypse. If Sam and Dean had been allowed to just... die... rather than being resurrected over and over just to tell another version of his eternal ego-soothing, self-congratulatory story of doomed siblings and manpain.

[cryinginblaseball]

First line meme

rules: list the first lines of the last ten (10) stories you published. look to see any patterns you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any. then tag some friends.

I was tagged by @polkadotpatterson​

okay okay okay

Looking For Lost Things (Ziwa Mueller muses about Eugenia Garbage): “Sometimes, when you're dating a sentient garbage hive mind, you have to be prepared for strange behavior.“

Food Is An Act We Do For One Another (3 short stories centering around Lachlan Shelton, the Talkers, and food): “Lachlan Shelton woke to the sound of slamming coming from his kitchen.“

Hobbs Cain’s Wednesday Night Nightmare Club (Hobbs, Richmond Harrison, and Eugenia Garbage hang out and draw pictures and talk about fear, love, and personhood): “Hobbs Cain looked around before he crept into the Moist Talkers’ clubhouse, trying to muffle the rustling of the plastic bag he was carrying.“

PolkaDot Patterson Enters The Vault (The Fans choose to Vault Swap PolkaDot Patterson and York Silk, and Dot prepares to go into the Vault, once again For York...): “At this point, Dot Patterson should have been used to elections being utterly disruptive in their life.”

Garbage at the End of The World (Eugenia Garbage and Greer Lott watch the Horizon get closer.): “At a certain point, Eugenia Garbage stopped questioning the things that happened to her.“

i can let you in now (The Moist Talkers are Knocking at the Hall, and the Monitor quits. Hobbs Cain is on a mission.): “i quit”

Oliver and Oliver (Oliver Trashcat makes friends with the other Oliver on the team during practice): “It was sunny for once at the Gleek Arena, and batting practice was pleasant.”

I Just Wanted to Join a Rec League and Now I'm Playing Blaseball in an Alternate Dimension??? (My unfinished Blaseball isekai starring my Blaseball OC, Oliver Trashcat): “Do you remember where you were when the sky split open?“

Greer Elsewhere (Greer Lott is swept Elsewhere and comes face to face with something she's been trying to ignore...): “There was a phenomena Greer Lott was fond of called The Oz Effect.“

My Garbage Champion (It's the day after the finals, and new champion Greer Lott just wants some quiet time.): “There was a spot in the Gleek Arena that belonged only to Greer Lott.“

OKAY THOUGHTS: So I think I like short openings a lot. “i quit” may as well be my magnum opus. I like to put the main idea up front and just kind of go from there. Also, aside from Trashcat (my beloved), you can see my main cast of players: Hobbs, Eugenia, Greer, Dot show up the most. I could probably write an entire book about Eugenia making Greer feel emotions. I also love to start with some exposition. Greer loving the Oz Effect, Eugenia’s world changing around her, Greer’s hidden spot in the Gleek. I do have a style lol

If you want to do this too, go for it, and tag me so I can see it!

[welcometophu]

The Meaning of Home, Chapter 4

The Meaning of Home Chapter 4

Tags for all Welcome to PHU novels will be available at the PHU tag list on Pillowfort. This list is under construction as of Sept. 5, 2021.

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Dinner is the very next night. Conor packs a bag before they leave the house, because even though it’s a Wednesday, he’s determined that he can sleep over. He doesn’t seem to care about permission, assuring Pawel that they do this all the time and it’ll be fine.

Pawel figures he’ll make sure Colt and Leo are okay with it at some point.

Somehow. If he can get a word in edgewise.

The Papa/Harrison household is sheer chaos. They arrive at six, a lanky boy with a mop of light brown hair yanking open the door before Conor reaches the doorbell. He stands as tall as Pawel’s shoulder, but his face still has a soft roundness. His gaze stays on Pawel, brows slightly furrowed as he says, “Emma’s in her room. Jennie’s been bugging her.”

“Thanks, Matt.” Conor slips by him and disappears down the hall Pawel can see to the left.

Pawel can’t step inside without going through Matt; he’s blocking the door just enough. “Can I come in?” Pawel asks.

“Matt, let Pawel through the door!” Leo’s voice comes from somewhere deeper in the house.

“He stinks like Conor.” Matt steps back, pulling the door open. “Can I go over to Luke’s tonight?”

“We’re having dinner, and you already know that.” 

That’s not Leo speaking. No, definitely not. Slightly shorter than Pawel, his hair perfectly coiffed, his cheekbones softened from the sharpness he’d had as a teenager, his tie askew and his lavender sleeves rolled up… Pawel catalogs all the similarities and differences in Colt after a decade.

“Fine.” Matt disappears and a long-tailed grey rat slinks out of the room between Colt’s feet.

There’s a shriek and a clatter from the room beyond. “Jesus fucking Christ! Matt!” a girl yells out. “Do that one more time and I’m going to step on you if Duke—no, Duke, please keep stirring, oh God, we’re already late, and I promised we’d get everything done on time, and this was going so well.”

“It’s okay, Nevaeh. And language.” Leo’s low rumble shakes Pawel out of his stillness.

Pawel turns and carefully closes the door, and when he looks back, Colt is still there. He stands in the doorway, shoulder against the jam, arms crossed.

“What?” Pawel asks.

“The first time I saw it, I thought I was imagining things.” Colt’s voice is deeper than Pawel remembers, a low rumble, musing as Colt tilts his head, staring at Pawel. “On the other hand, the first time I met Conor, I knew he had to be your son, even before Emma introduced him.”

Pawel is not used to being the one off-balance in a conversation. “What?” he asks again.

“Your aura is distinct.” Colt unfolds himself. Every step towards Pawel is deliberate and slow, as if he’s being stalked. Colt might be a couple inches shorter, but he still manages to give the idea that he’s looking down at Pawel when he’s close. “Most people have one dominant underlying color, with flickers for their current state of mind. You’re a constantly shifting shower of opalescent sparkles, like you’re trying to be invisible, and be the brightest thing in the room at the same time. It’s disconcerting. I thought I was going nuts when we were in high school and you started shimmering.”

He might be following this. “You Emerged in high school?” Pawel asks. “You never said anything.”

“Neither did you,” Colt points out.

“I, uh,” Pawel waves a hand at his head, not sure exactly where Colt’s seeing these sparkles. It’s not like Jennie, that’s for certain. Pawel rarely sparks visibly, unlike Conor, who does it all the time when he’s with Alan. “It’s very possible I was Talented before I knew it, but as far as I’m concerned, I really Emerged when I got to PHU and was surrounded by a very large amount of both Lineage and Emergent Talent. The start of fall semester wasn’t easy for me, and if it weren’t for—”

Colt raises an eyebrow when Pawel cuts off. He’s apparently oblivious to the banging in the kitchen behind him or the constant stream of chatter from someone Pawel guesses is Nevaeh. “If it weren’t for…?” he prompts.

“Long story.” The last thing Pawel wants to go into detail about is Chelsea, when he’s currently standing in the house owned by both his high school sweethearts. “I met a Lineage Mage who helped me get through my Talented growing pains and get myself under control.”

“Glad you had help.” Colt turns as he hears his name from the kitchen.

“Set the table,” Leo calls out. “We are actually almost done. Nevaeh, the bread is fine. Please go find Matt. He might be in the crawlspace again. Duke, carry the butter out to the table; do not attempt to float it again. Nevaeh, after you find Matt, get the kids from wherever they’ve disappeared to. Tell Jennie that yes, we expect her to eat dinner. Donuts were not dinner.”

Pawel follows as Colt heads towards a room that looks like it was once a porch, built off the side of the house. It’s cool and bright, windows open and ceiling fans hanging from the sloped ceiling, blowing down on them. As a dining room, it’s a little cramped. Built-in benches line both the longer walls, the table fit between them, and there’s a door at the other end of the porch as well. Squished as it is, Pawel can see that they can likely fit 10-12 people around the table; there’s just no space for much else.

Colt pulls a stack of plates out of the cabinet at one end of the room and hands them to Pawel. He has to slide down the bench to be able to reach and lay out enough plates, napkins, and silverware for the six children and three adults. He assumes that Leo and Colt will take the chairs at either end of the table, so he leaves himself a plate on one long side of the table.

“I take it Jennie has a sugar problem,” Pawel says. It’s not really a question; he saw how she devoured the donuts at the store.

“It’s not so much a problem as a need.” Colt takes a pitcher from a solemn-faced teen who appears just long enough to make the delivery before he disappears again. “We’ve had her checked several times; the doctors are concerned by the amount she consumes, but it seems to be a part of her Talent. She’s a real-life animated sparkle princess.” He puts the pitcher on the table, sliding it as close to the center as he can get.

“It’s—” Colt cuts off, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m glad you’re okay. When I heard about—we were worried. Leo and I. Conor’s a good kid. He’s welcome here any time. Not like he’ll add much more chaos to the house.”

“I add just the right amount of chaos,” Conor says, sliding onto the bench on the other side. He moves all the way to the middle, Emma next to him, and Jennie next to her. “You love me.”

“Conor,” Pawel warns.

“It’s okay. Like I said, he’s welcome here any time.”

“I like him better than Matt and Duke.” The girl is at his elbow so abruptly that Pawel wonders if she teleported in, like Mac. This must be Nevaeh. She’s wearing an old PHU hoodie, despite the warmth already encroaching in late May. Her hair is pulled back in braids, held in a twist low against her neck, and the shape of her dark-skinned features reminds Pawel abruptly of Jennie. For all that there’s a dozen years between them, it’s clear what Jennie will grow to look like as a teen.

She leans past Pawel to put a large bowl of risotto, laden with broccoli and colored a bright yellow, on the table. “Hi. I’m Nevaeh. You’re Pawel.”

“Mr. Szczek,” Colt corrects her.

“You have to major in Magical Studies at PHU before you earn the right to call me Pawel.” The joke falls flat when he says it, Nevaeh staring at him with a studied gaze, while Colt rolls his eyes. “I’m a professor,” he says. “I’m also a believer in learning to pronounce names and use them correctly. They have power.”

“That’s a fairy tale,” Nevaeh scoffs. “Most of what we know about magic is just a fairy tale.”

“Fairy tales come from somewhere,” Pawel replies. It’s easy to settle into this mode, even though he can hear a long-suffering sigh from his son. “The question is: what are the roots of most fairy tale magic? How do the stories we learned as children tie into what we know about Talent today? And what don’t we know yet, that we might be able to learn by listening to the words of those who took the time to write those stories down? We found one of the keys to unlock the secret of how to save the world writ in the lines of a Clan folktale.”

“Da-ad,” Conor whines loudly. Emma snickers next to him.

“Nevaeh.” Leo’s voice is soft, but Nevaeh still straightens up, turning on her heel when he speaks. “Go help Duke bring out the rest of dinner. Pawel, why don’t you sit down next to Conor. Since Nevaeh couldn’t, I’m going to hunt for Matt, then we can eat.” Leo’s gaze falls on Colt, and Leo reaches to bridge the distance between them, fingers tight on Colt’s shoulder.

Pawel looks away.

“Sit,” Leo says.

The chair scrapes as Colt pulls it out and falls into it. When Pawel glances at him, Colt has a hand over his face, fingers pressed against his eyes. “Sit.” Colt echoes the phrase, the single word muffled by the palm of his hand.

Fine.

Pawel sits on the edge of the bench, aware of Conor next to him, turned to be forehead to forehead with Emma as they talk quietly. At the other end, Jennie sits, her feet kicking hard enough that the bench sways slightly with every movement.

Leo returns to drop a mouse on the end of the bench nearest his chair. Matt reappears, scowling as he leans on the table, then sticks his tongue out at Jennie.

“If you make enough faces, I get two desserts and you get none,” Jennie says mildly.

Duke must be the solemn-faced silent boy. He slides into the center of the bench Matt already occupies, setting a platter in front of him. When Matt reaches out, Duke pushes the platter closer to Pawel.

“You can wait,” Leo says, and for a moment, there’s a glint of amusement in Duke’s expression.

“I did two whole loaves of bread.” Nevaeh slides one basket down the table, and as soon as it settles to a stop in front of Matt, he grabs out a slice of bread and rips into it. “I hope it’s enough. I mean, Matt can eat half a loaf on his own and Duke’s always hungry and you’re all boys so you all eat a lot, but it’s not sugary so maybe—Jennie, put that down, it’s not dessert yet, how did you even get that?”

Jennie blinks, a brownie in her hand. “It was on the counter in the kitchen. I brought it with me in case you forgot.”

Leo holds out a napkin spread across his hand, and Jennie places the sweet there. Leo puts it down within her reach, but not in front of her plate. “Dinner first.”

“Yes, it’s always like this.” Colt smiles when Pawel looks at him, and there are laugh lines in the corners of his eyes, too. Pawel remembers Colt laughing, but it was always in those rare, unguarded moments. Now it looks like he might laugh more often. The smile seems easy, too, as Colt watches Nevaeh take a piece of chicken from the platter, then nudge it closer to Colt. “We thrive on chaos in this household.”

“Conor fits in perfectly,” Nevaeh says, pointing a fork at him. “He eats too much, runs everywhere, and he almost caused a fire once.”

“Conor—” Pawel starts.

“I did not!” Conor protests. “She’s exaggerating. There were a few sparks, and they don’t make fire, there was just all this confetti around because Jennie was doing a project, and Duke helped, and it was like it exploded just when I sparked.”

Nevaeh jabs her fork in his direction as if to say, “see?” 

This is absolutely alien to Pawel. He’s never been to a family dinner this large. His life was him and his father and mother. He has vague memories of his father’s parents before they passed away when he was small, and he never did know his mother’s parents. She claimed to have emerged from the forest created from magic, and these days he wonders how truthful that might have been.

Probably not, but all the same, he thinks she had her reasons for cutting ties, even if he doesn’t know what they were.

Once his mother was gone, it was him and Dad, and they made do.

It was never anything like this. Not even close.

Pawel accepts the food passed to him, adding risotto, chicken, and bread to his plate. He lets the conversation swirl around him, not trying to focus on any one particular thread but instead letting it all trickle into his brain and take root there. He was never known as a child for sitting quietly in the corner, but he’s learned how to observe since then. How to sit back and absorb information for his subconscious to parse for him.

He may have no idea what’s going on in the moment, but chances are he’ll wake up in the hours before dawn with a sudden hypothesis.

Not that this is academic research that he needs to pick apart and find a solution for. This is merely a family dinner. For a family that is not his own.

Duke and Matt seem to race to see who can finish first. Nevaeh wasn’t exaggerating about their appetites; between them, an entire bowl of sliced bread disappears, along with healthy servings of risotto and chicken. As soon as he’s done, Matt grabs his empty plate and Duke’s and slides from the bench, announcing, “Gaming,” as he walks off. Duke waits half a beat before following him.

“One moment they’re mortal enemies, the next they’re best friends,” Colt murmurs. “I think it’s because we make them share a room. Don’t worry, you’ll hear Matt yelling again soon enough.”

“Does Duke…?” Pawel’s not sure how to word it politely. He trails off as Leo and Colt exchange a look. Maybe he should drop that line of questioning.

“Bedtime!” Nevaeh announces cheerfully. “Or well, time to get ready so you can play before bed.”

Conor looks up from his still half-full plate. “I—” He stops abruptly, making a face. “Fine, no talking, just eating. I know.” He and Emma both tuck into their dinners.

Jennie nibbles delicately around the edges of her brownie. Her plate is clean, but Pawel has no memory of her eating any actual food. “I need another brownie before I brush my teeth.”

“You do not need another brownie,” Colt says firmly. “And you do need to brush your teeth.”

“You’re sparkly enough for tonight.” Leo slides a hand over her head and she smiles up at him. “Any more and you’ll shine so bright you’ll keep Emma and Conor up.”

“I’m a star,” Jennie whispers. She tucks the remaining half of the brownie in her mouth in one go, chewing as she slides off the bench. She says something that might be “let’s go” but Pawel can’t tell for sure through her full mouth.

“Done!” Emma says, slapping her fork on the table at the same time as Conor. They both slide off the bench and under the table, emerging on the other side. “We’re going to get brownies. We’ll see you upstairs.” She grabs Conor’s hand and races out.

A moment later there’s an annoyed shriek. “Matt! Duke! You took all the brownies!”

Footsteps thunder up the stairs. Pawel wonders if anyone’s going to intervene, but Colt sits there cutting another bite off his chicken, and Leo just glances at Nevaeh.

“I’ll make sure no one dies, and that Jennie doesn’t steal another brownie from the boys,” Nevaeh replies. “They’d better not have eaten them all. I haven’t had one yet and I made them.” She holds out a hand and Jennie tucks her hand into it. “Oh and—tomorrow I have my last driving lesson and Mr. Storm thinks I ought to get more practice before I get my license so we need to make the appointment for my test and I need some help because I can’t practice on my own, so maybe think about who wants to take me driving, okay? I really need a lot more night-time practice, and probably some regular daytime practice, too. And he said if I’m going to be driving the kids around at all I should practice with them in the car, because kids are distracting.”

“Colt’s in court tomorrow, so I’ll take care of getting in touch with Mr. Storm to get the details,” Leo promises. “Kids ready for bed now, please. And stick around upstairs and make sure no fights break out, and that homework actually has gotten done.”

“But I could—” Nevaeh makes a face halfway through the sentence and she grumbles under her breath. “Adults only. Got it.” She makes her exit quickly, yelling, “You’d better still have a brownie for me!” as she races up the stairs.

“She thinks she’s an adult,” Colt says, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

“I remember what I was doing at her age, and right now I’m glad she doesn’t have her license yet,” Leo admits. “But yeah, we’re going to need to talk about that. We’ll squeeze it in somehow. At least she managed to get through driver’s ed with the school.”

“I can help.”

They’re both staring at him before Pawel realizes he’s the one that said that. Well, shit. He’s not supposed to be getting involved, and taking their eldest foster out driving is definitely involved.

Then again, his kid is practically living here. He’s already involved.

“You’ve taken in my kid half the time,” Pawel continues, trying to get this back on track. Colt’s brow is furrowed, like he’s waiting for Pawel to name a price. He can’t read Leo at all, but then, Leo perfected that blank expression long ago so it isn’t that much of a surprise. “I owe you. And if I learned how to drive a Jeep, I can help teach how to drive a normal car.”

“She needs practice in the minivan,” Colt says slowly.

“I drive a sedan, and I’m assuming you’ll both have your cars at work,” Pawel replies. “She can start with my car. If it’s better for her, I could walk down and pick up Leo’s car from the station. It’s—” He spreads his hands. “Conor’s apparently staying over tonight. You’ve helped a lot. I owe you both.”

Colt’s brow furrows deeper, the lines etched across his forehead. Pawel wants to reach out and smooth them. This is fine. It’s all going to be fine. There’s no need to stare at him like there’s a thunderstorm brewing over his head.

“Thank you.” 

Leo’s soft words seem to break Colt’s concentration. Colt sits back, looking down at his plate. “Yeah, thanks,” he echoes. “It’ll be a help. We’ve both got long hours, and while we’ve balanced it as much as we can, it’s usually one of us being overrun by five kids. I get them on the buses in the morning, so Leo can get in early for his shift. Nevaeh and the boys take the bus home, and Leo picks up Emma and Jennie after school. We don’t have a lot of extra room for new activities.”

“Between teaching, grading, Coven, and the PHU taekwondo club, I’m running ragged when it comes time to get Conor to and from school, as well as to his taekwondo classes. I lean on our neighbors a lot,” Pawel says. “You know me. I hope you still trust me. Feel free to lean on me while I’m here.”

“While you’re here,” Colt echoes.

That is a point. Pawel will go back to PHU in the fall for classes. But that’s several months away.

An enraged, shrill shriek cuts through the house. “I need to sparkle!”

Colt and Leo exchange a look. Leo bellows, “No more brownies, Jennie. Brush your teeth!”

Pawel doesn’t even try to hide his snort of laughter. “So,” he says. “You have five kids. Talented kids.  I’ve heard a little about how this got started from Dad. I uh… Dad and Leo both mentioned Lucy and Rowan, and I know them, too.” At the confused look Colt leverages, Pawel adds, “Their kids are at PHU. I’m planning to go see them in concert this weekend.”

“We’ve told Lucy that we’ll take any more kids she sends our way, but if there are more, we’re either going to need to have them start sharing beds, or get a bigger house.” Leo glances at the stairs. “We’ve already got Matt and Duke in together, and Jennie shares with Emma. Nevaeh’s got her own room, because we moved into the old playroom over the garage when Emma arrived.”

Colt rests a hand on the table, Leo mirroring the gesture at the other hand. Pawel’s fairly certain that if they were next to each other they’d be touching.

“I know what it’s like to Emerge,” Colt says quietly. “And I know what it’s like to feel adrift in a sea of normalcy. My brothers aren’t Talented, neither are my parents. I’m the only one.”

“Did they…?” Pawel can’t imagine Colt’s parents kicking him out over it, but he also hasn’t talked to them in years. He doesn’t know how they feel about the Emergence and the knowledge that magic is real.

Colt shakes his head. “No, but things were awkward. Still are, sometimes, but they’re good with the kids. I think my mom considers Nevaeh a daughter she didn’t have. She’s only six or seven years younger than Jacob.” He pauses, and Pawel nods to say that yes, he does remember Colt’s youngest brother. Colt glances at Leo, with a soft huff. “Leo’s parents are better, of course. I mean. What’s another kid or five in that house?”

“There were only seven of us.”

“Spanning fourteen years. Nevaeh and Bri bonded pretty well.”

Pawel doesn’t want to think about their families. About the large, welcoming families that he walked away from when he walked away from Colt and Leo.

“Conor seems to think you’ll adopt Jennie and Nevaeh,” he says.

Leo rises and slides down the other bench, ending up opposite Pawel. His legs are long enough that his feet bump Pawel’s under the table. It also lets him twine fingers with Colt on the table as they exchange a slow smile.

“It’s complicated,” Leo says. “We would, if we could, but I don’t think we will unless we can give that option to all the kids. Right now, Duke’s the only one without living parents.”

“Matt’s parents gave him up when he Emerged, and Nevaeh kidnapped Jennie from their parents because she was afraid of them. They’ve been declared unfit. And Emma… you already know,” Colt adds. He turns his hand under Leo’s, thumb sliding along the side of Leo’s palm. “She’s sure everything will change and she’ll go home.”

“And I offered to help. I—” Pawel glances at the stairs. “It’s quiet. Does that mean they’re getting along, or that they’re trying to listen in on our conversation.”

“Depends on the kid. They’ll be coming downstairs soon—” Colt cuts off at Pawel’s expression. He points to the stairs. “Those lead to the attic, which has been finished as much as we can, and is the new playroom. There’s a hall from to the old playroom over the garage, which is our room now. The kids’ rooms are all on the main floor, in the back.”

“So if you have conversations you’d rather have away from prying ears, this isn’t the time for it,” Leo murmurs. His head tilts, eyes closing for a moment. “Matt and Duke are playing games. Jennie’s talking to them. Emma and Conor are at the top of the stairs with his tablet, pretending not to listen. Nevaeh’s further down the stairs. They aren’t even trying to hide it.” His voice is low, and amused.

They haven’t talked about anything Pawel would be upset about them overhearing. But his theories on what might have happened to Emma’s parents aren’t something he wants to discuss in front of her. “Then we should save some topics for another time,” Pawel says. He takes in a deep breath, holding it for a long moment before he exhales slowly. 

He doesn’t want to talk about the past.

He doesn’t want to talk about what he’s been doing for the last year, and how that might relate to where Emma’s parents are.

He pastes on a smile that he’s sure doesn’t fool either of them. “So. Colt. I hear you argue for a living now. How does that work with the whole aura thing? Which I’d like to hear more about.”

“I’m not a research project,” Colt says as Leo’s eyebrows rise.

“What has my dad been telling you?” Pawel’s not that bad. Is he?

“Everything,” Leo says dryly. He squeezes Colt’s hand. “Catch Pawel up,” he tells him. “It’s been a while. We’re not the same people we were in high school. None of us are.”

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[fics-of-culture]

Kiss Kiss

Summary: Your favorite Wells invites you to a gala

Ship: Harry Wells x Reader

Words: 2,247

A/N: I am reposting all of my old fics because my old account accidentally got deleted.

  You’re not quite sure how you ended up in this situation. You’re dressed up to the nines hanging off the arm of the Harrison Wells as you step into a beautiful ballroom that’s been decorated for tonight’s gala. You should probably back up a bit. First off, the Harrison Wells who’s arm is currently interlocked with yours is actually Earth 2 Harrison wells. Or Harry for short. In fact, you’re not even on your Earth at the moment. After working with Team flash to put a stop to zoom, Harry invited you to come back to Earth 2 with him and Jesse as a vacation of sorts. After seeing how fascinated you were with earth 2 on your first little visit, he knew you’d be unable to refuse.

You were sitting in his office in Star Labs a few days ago, waiting for him to finish up his work as you look through the photos you’d taken around the town. It was really amazing how similar and yet completely different this Earth was. You swiped to a photo of a frowning Harry. He had been acting as your unofficial tour guide while you visited Earth 2. He gave you his famous Harry scowl when he saw you point your camera at him. You were happy to be spending so much time with the man without having to worry about your lives being in danger. You had developed a crush on him when you first met on Earth 1. Despite the physical appearance, Harry was nothing like Eobard Thawne and you were glad for it. Despite his rough exterior, you two had warmed up to each other rather quickly and you were hoping this trip would be the perfect opportunity to get to know him more.

Your musings were interrupted by the object of your thoughts and affections. He stormed into his office, letting out a harsh sigh. He walked straight past you as though he hadn’t noticed your presence. He fell into his desk chair and started running his hands in his hair as he muttered to himself.

“Hey Harry, you doing okay?” You ask him gently. He looks up at you sharply, having just realized he was not alone and let out another harsh sigh as he realizes it’s just you.

“I’m fine.” He says simply, dropping his hands into his lap and avoiding your gaze.

“Yeah, you really look fine.” You respond, giving him a skeptical look. He quirks up an eyebrow at you. You’ve known him well enough at this point to know that he’s challenging you. Silently daring you to question him further. You stand and walk over to his desk, waiting for a response. Harry huffs as he realizes that you don’t intend to back down.

“It’s nothing really, I was just reminded by my secretary that there’s an important gala coming up. My presence is required and I don’t...” You hear him mutter something else but you can’t hear what he’s saying.

“What?” You ask. Leaning against his desk as you try to hear him better.

“I don’t have a date! Okay? It’s usually expected for people like me to not show up to these things alone.” He sighs a third time and runs his hands over his face. He’s obviously uncomfortable with confessing this to you. You can see him trying to cover up a slight blush with his hands.

“I figured there would be people lining up to go out with the famous Harrison Wells.” You tease. He looks horrified at you from behind his fingers.

“I’m not going to just take some random stranger to this thing. This is an important event with-“

“Harry! I’m just teasing!” You cut him off, not really wanting to let him go into a rant about how important this event is. You lean towards him and gently pry his hands off his face. “Look, if it’s so important, I can go with you. You know me well enough to know I’m not going to embarrass you in front of all your big, important friends.” You give him a cheeky look, waiting for him to retaliate at your little jab. Instead when you look at him all you see is his slightly dumbfounded expression. His cheeks are flushed and you realize that you’ve been holding his hands this entire time. You let them go and mutter a small apology, assuming that you’ve made him uncomfortable. He seemingly snaps out of his little trance and clears his throat awkwardly.

“I wouldn’t want to ask you to do something that would make you uncomfortable...” He trails off, looking at you warily. You smile at him in a soothing manner and he seems to relax a bit.

“You wouldn’t be making me uncomfortable. I just want to help. Besides, I’ve never been to a gala before. It’ll probably be fun!” He gives you a dry chuckle.

“You’d be surprised how boring these things can be. But if you’d really like to go, who am I to oppose you.” You spend the rest of the day with Harry in his office until he finishes his work and the two of you head back to his house where you’re staying for the duration of the trip. You find yourself slowly getting more and more excited for the upcoming gala.

~~~

You snap back to reality as Harry leans down to whisper in your ear.

“You look gorgeous tonight.” A blush spreads up your neck as you feel Harry’s breath dance across your skin. You do your best to suppress a shiver. Harry had given you his credit card earlier that day to buy something to wear to the gala. It was clear that your efforts had paid off. Harry hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you’d met up outside. He insisted that he escort you into the building ‘properly’. Know you’re just wondering if that’s just an excuse to have his hands on you.

“I’m going to get us some drinks. You stay here.” You could still feel Harry’s breath on your neck as he spoke. You only vaguely noticed that he was much closer to you than necessary. You breathlessly nodded your approval to him and he went off in search of champagne. You took that moment to catch your breath and look around at the other couples in the ballroom. It was clear to you that these people make more in a year than you probably would in your entire lifetime. People in beautiful suits and gowns drinking, laughing, and dancing the night away.

Your line of sight is cut off as a man steps in-front of you. You hold back a shocked gasp as you look up at Leonard Snart. You’re about to ask him what he’s doing here when you remember that you’re not on your Earth. You’re on Earth 2. And on Earth 2, Leonard Snart somehow becomes mayor. You’re still not sure you trust him, but you remain silent as he introduces himself.

“Well, hello there. It’s not often you see new faces at functions like these. I’m Leonard Snart, Central City’s mayor. It’s nice to meet you.” You shake the hand that he offers. Still not quite sure what to say.

“Name’s Y/n it’s nice to meet you as well. I’m sort of new in town which is probably why we’ve never met.” You force yourself to play nice with the Snart doppelgänger, reminding yourself that you promised Harry you’d be good.

“Well, allow me to be the first to welcome you to this fair city.” He smiles at you and you know he’s trying to be charming. You’d spent enough time with Snart prime to know his mannerisms.

“Thank you so much, Mayor Snart. I haven’t been here very long but the city is beautiful!” He smiles at you. And for a moment you think that if your Snart after more like this one, you could easily fall for him. That is, of course, if you’d never met Harry.

“Please, call me Leonard. I try to avoid professionalism if I can.” He winks at you and you find yourself giggling at his flirty nature. “I must say,” he continues, “I’m surprised to find someone so beautiful all by themselves. You’re not with anyone tonight by any chance?” Just as you’re about to respond you hear an intimidating voice sound off behind you.

“She’s with me, Snart.” You feel Harry behind you as he hands you your drink. Snart’s preciously flirtatious expression slides into a cool smile as he regards your date. Harry places his hand possessively on the small of your back. He takes a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never breaking contact from Snart. You suddenly feel very awkward.

“It’s good to see you again Harrison. Everyone was concerned with your sudden disappearance a few months ago.” Leonard suddenly seems a lot less friendly and you get the feeling that these two do not like each other.

“Yeah, well, I’m back now.” Harry speaks sharply. He pulls you closer to his side, conveying to everyone in the room that you are off limits. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to spend some more time with my date.” He practically spits those last two words at Snart, who seems disappointed at the revelation that you are, in fact, taken. Before anyone can say another word, Harry all but drags you to the dance floor. Forcing you to put down your glass on a nearby table as he pulls you into his embrace. You start to sway back and forth and you feel as though you can barely focus due to the close proximity. You desperately think of something to say in order to dispel the nervous feeling bubbling up.

“What was that about?” You ask, looking up at Harry. He groans a little at the question.

“That guy’s a jerk no matter what Earth he’s on.” You laugh a bit at his petulant expression. He reminds you of a child who refuses to play nice with the other kids on the playground. You decide to tease him a bit for it.

“He seemed very friendly to me.” Harry foxes you with an icy stare while you smile back at him. His lips slide into a smirk when he notices you’re playing with him. He leans in slowly to whisper into your ear again.

“I’m sure you’d rather be dancing with him right now.” You feel breathless. From the dancing or from the way Harry looks at you you can’t say for sure. You’re shocked at the way he’s acting. The two of you have flirted a bit before but he’s never been this forward with you. You can do nothing but stare up at him in silent awe. Harry seems to take this as a sign to keep going. “You feeling alright? You seem to be out of breath. Perhaps you’d like to find someplace more private.” You’re not quite sure where this is going, but you eagerly want to find out. You nod silently at him. You’re not sure you can manage words right now. He smiles at you and takes your hand in his as he leads you onto the balcony.

It’s quieter outside, there are no other couples out here and you take a few deep breaths of fresh air to calm your racing heart. Harry watch’s you intently as he leans on the railing of the balcony.

“You’re gorgeous when you’re flustered like that.” You huff out a small laugh as you look at him.

“I sincerely hope that you aren’t mocking me right now.” You step closer to him as he turns to fully face you. He seems to be considering something before he relaxes.

“I’m not teasing you. I always think you look astounding.” He responds absentmindedly. His hand reaches out to run through your hair. He tugs at the ends of a strand he has pinched between his fingers. You laugh as he plays with your hair.

“Are you trying to tell me you have a crush on me?” You ask quietly. You try to make it seem like a joke, but you’re secretly holding your breath. Waiting to see what he says. He straightens up a bit. Suddenly looking very seriously at you. You notice how close your bodies are. An inch closer and your lips would be on his.

“Yes.” He says quietly. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” He looks from your eyes to your lips. Desperately wanting to close the space between you but too afraid to do so.

“Well good.” You say quietly. “I have a crush on you too.” His lips quirk up into an unbelieving smile before he surges forward and kisses you. His hand raises to cup your cheek while the other holds your back, holding you against him. Your palms are pressed against his chest, enjoying the feeling of his muscles flexing under your fingers. One of your hands raises to thread your fingers through his short, black hair. You tug a bit and he groans into your mouth. Before you can go any further, a voice cuts through the air.

“My goodness, get a room you two!” You turn to Snart. Standing there with a smirk. You shouldn’t be too surprised that this Snart is just as sassy as the original. Harry just rolls his eyes before taking your hand. Fully intending to take Snart up on his advice.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

hiii 5 30 and 32 for harrison pls (my king <3)

5. Your oc has to make something for an art exhibition. What would they make? How terrible is it? Would they enjoy making it?

on one hand Harrison would do something like splat paint on a canvas OR have y’all seen the episode of suite life on deck when zack sneezes jelly on a canvas and all the rich white people are like yessss we love itttttt THAT would be the art he makes! (yes i’m watching shows from the 2000s ok it’s breakdown time) ON THE OTHER HAND harrison is actually a visual artist lol (I always forget this because it seems so out of character but it’s been canon since book 1!) SO! if anybody follows SLEW on YouTube, that’s totally how his art would look! Either way he’d love making it! he would draw Lonan yes I said it (I have a few scenes I cut out from Feeding Habits where he actually does this which I’ll put under the cut)!

30. What topics does your oc know the most about? Are these obvious or would these be surprising to others?

Harrison knows a lot about building things and taking them apart etc though I can never do that justice for him because I am incompetent at both :) that is definitely expected he just has that vibe (is it because he wears flannel?? maybe??) like I said he is also a visual artist so I would assume??? knows a lot about art history?? I don’t enjoy art history because I have no attention span but I think he would love that and know tons of little facts and that would totally be surprising to others! again I probably don’t do him justice in that field because I was the worst at art history!

32. What five ingredients would you throw into a cauldron to make a potion based on your oc? How would you cook/mix them? What would the potion do?

The 5 ingredients would be 1) WAFFLES (loves them, would die for them), 2) pasteis de nata (LOVES these I cannot blame him) 3) coffee (he has no blood it’s just coffee) 4) cinnamon (i just re-read book 6 of fostered and the amount of times reeve compares harrison to cinnamon?? yall i’m no longer calling it cinnamon i’ll be calling it harrison) and 5) hot sauce (because he’s SPICY). Because Harrison is chaotic I would put it all in a blender and make a smoothie :) The potion would make you ~happy and ~relaxed and just generally chill and in love even if that’s with yourself (the only vibes harrison wants)!

This is the first Harrison Drawing Lonan moment which is from a subplot that no longer exists!

In his room, he scales his bed and tacks sketches to the ceiling with dashes of masking tape. He is so fast, if anyone sees him do this, they will question their sanity, and by the time he’s done and all the pieces are up, he’s in the centre of a black hole, and the black hole is a single face of charcoal, and the face has got hair that carves his forehead like raven wings, his eyes swathes of cyan pastel, his body staining Harrison’s hands irreparably and hours later, Harrison lies on his sheetless bed like the next star waiting to be vacuumed into the mouth of his muse.

(why am i fangirling over my own writing it’s so CUTE i cannot harrison loves lonan so much oh my he really does!!)

This is a random flashback that never really went anywhere?? but apparently it’s an entire scene oops! maybe I’ll put it somewhere if it fits!

Lonan’s eyes in monochrome still look like the ocean. He’s vivid in charcoal, a good model, slushing the rind off a mandarin.

They sit knee-to-knee on the jute mat by the hearth. Fire icebergs Lonan’s retinas and embers pinch his hair.

Harrison scrawls onto a scrap advertisement for a washing machine set, Lonan’s jaw melding with its Best Offer: $599 Two Piece. He is firelit and juddering with heat. He is peeling the mandarin like its his own work of art, each removal tear of skin nearly a fresco, ready for auction. He is the only thing Harrison is interested in studying.

Harrison finishes a flare of Lonan’s hair. From above the notebook he watches, aware he is noticed, so unashamed in his staring. Tonight, Lonan is his raven with the ocean in his eyes, his muscle memory, his magnum opus. At one point, Harrison no longer looks up to check his reference; he remembers exactly where every slot of him goes.

On Harrison’s last lick of hair, Lonan has finished peeling the mandarin. The segments sit, unpaired like jewels. A line of juice dribbles off his palm. It is only inevitable that they lean toward each other, charcoal and citrus, and Lonan looks at the portrait and Harrison feeds off that fruit with fervor.

“It’s missing something,” Lonan says, their bodies criss-crossed as Lonan examines the portrait and Harrison eats the mandarin. When Lonan gestures for the pencil, Harrison nudges it to him.

Lonan retrieves it and leans over Harrison so their hands morph. The pencil makes contact once more with the paper, and together they pull lines against the paper, curve up, hook down, hatch. They move in singularity, their fingerprints one fingerprint, their palms one palm. Harrison tastes mandarin, so Lonan does too. Lonan stamps charcoal onto his ring finger, so Harrison does too.

By the time they’re finished, the portrait has become two. Lonan’s right charcoal eye becomes the left charcoal eye of another face, Harrison’s, their faces combined into monochrome together.

It is inevitable, not choice, when their single hand tears the portrait from the book and reels it into the wall of flame. It is inevitable, not choice, to simultaneously feel a jilt of joy for at last burning together.

did harrison just call lonan his magnum opus oh my GOD so cute okay i’m going to go bye!!

[alliemu]

mediocre intro to my muses: 

penny michaels

peyton adams

vinny santorini

penny michaels. twenty four. pinterest board. 

harrison’s twin sister

they have a tragic backstory filled with foster homes and codependency. 

penny’s chill. 

she’s always loved sports, and in particular found herself a love for the water and swimming. 

like harrison she got an athletic scholarship, but she only really took it to stay close to her brother #codependent 

as much as she wanted to continue to swim, she decided college wasn’t her thing. 

penny has always been more of a hands on learner, she is too active to dwell over text books and honestly none of it really interested her. 

her love for cars took her down the path of automotive work. she has no regrets. 

the girl is her brother’s biggest fan. she has been at every sports event he has competed in - who needs parents when you’ve got an obnoxiously loud sister in the stands. 

she still swims daily, but it’s more for her sanity than anything else. 

with no mom figure in her life penny googled most questions girls would ask their mama... or she’d ask harrison. therefore she’s not great with either fashion or boys. 

finger guns are an acceptable way to flirt. 

she doesn’t really think much about her sexuality... she’s wached her brother struggle enough for the two of them, so penny just decided she would go with the flow. 

snacks are very important to penny. 

she does try too hard sometimes to make sure people don’t leave her, and if someone close to her even gets a smidge unwell she’s OTT in taking care of them. Not on her watch. 

really hates wearing pants. 

peyton adams. twenty two. pinterest board. 

peyton was raised by mom after her father passed away when she was pretty young. 

she has an older brother who remembers him more, but their dad was never really talked about growing up. 

occasionally she’ll have an awkward conversation about him when she feels like she’s missing something, but she never wants to make her mom feel like she wasn’t enough. 

peyton was always an overachiever. she worked hard to make sure her mom never really had to worry about her. 

she’d not been at college long when she took part in her first (and to this day only) one night stand. her memory of the night was foggy, and she tried to track down the dad but had little luck. 

she gave birth to her daughter nine months later (as you do). alexis rose adams. 

peyton will be the first to admit she’s not the perfect mom, but she tries her best. 

she was originally in college hoping to graduate a vet, but with lexi she decided money and a quicker graduation was more important and is now a qualified (albeit kind of new) vet nurse. 

she adores animals. like probably an unhealthy amount. if you’re in a conversation with her long enough she will tell you a random animal fact you probably never need to know. 

peyton flirts in puns. 

can not sext to save her life. 

and lives for cheese. 

she is a worrier, an over-thinker and a rambler. 

also #forevertired. 

vinny santorini. twenty four. pinterest board. 

dude is just dumb. so... fair warning. 

vinny is a totals mama’s boy. has been since the moment he could breath. 

he calls his mom everyday. she screens his calls sometimes, but there’s always there fear that he’s set his apartment on fire so she can’t help but call him back. 

his parents owned a flower shop, he was raised around romance and flowers. 

he’s a hopeless romantic because of this. it’s in his DNA, and as much as he tries to hide from it now, when the right person comes along it’s flowers for africa.

when he’s in, he’s all in. 

got his heart broken by his high school sweetheart, and has never really fully moved on. 

death tw: his nan died just after his high school break up. it crushed him. he reached to his ex and proposed over facetime. they said no... probably because they were broken up and he did it on video call with no real plan on how to make their relationship work. 

vinny has a fascination with fire. Like he doesn’t want to watch the world burn, but he could sit around a beach fire any night of the week. 

he does un-intentionally set little fires in his place when he cooks though - still hasn’t mastered that particular adult skill. 

lives off cereal and energy drinks. 

will not drink coffee - still can’t see the hype of the dirt water. 

vinny is attracted to danger and adventure.

he’s not an academic, therefore college wasn’t an option. with his background at helping at his parents shop, he got a job at the florist in town 

hates it, and is possibly the world’s worst employer, but it pays the rent. 

proudly bi. 

super sarcastic, kind of an asshole, but like... a soft dumb asshole. 

wanted connections: 

penny: 

an ex that possibly broke up with her because no dude will ever be as important to her as harrison. 

best friend

a fashion friend - someone who will make her not look like a tomboy mechanic when the need arises. 

friends with benefits - she always brings snacks so that’s a benefit. 

after work drinking buddy. 

tinder matches

peyton: 

baby daddy. doesn’t know he’s a dad yet, could totally plot how he finds out.

mom friends - the one who save her ass when she has no idea what she’s doing

exes. 

bad influences

wing/wingwomen. 

unrequited crush. could do either way, but honestly she’s probably crushing on your muse. 

vinny: 

mom/dad friend. the one who pulls his ass in line. 

best friend. 

stoner pals. 

high school sweetheart

those who aren’t against just going with his dumb ass ideas. 

(but literally open to anything for everyone)

[libidomechanica]

And anon to your eyes

Like a stoop to keep mind  their clean standing struck dumb, than hour  with maudlin Clarence  between theyre the  hours have taught; and therefore, 

and deep emotion,  and rang beyond  their veins, and Jupiter  unawares “come,” and high, and  cant say thee, cut off! if people,  cousin Amy, speak, preaching beside  me, though sealed betraying  hopes, which your coats. First rhyme obliges  me how stranger: So shy, grave.  I shall not fly forth, where you should  pressd me truth, and if that  least so I standing words: this sisters  rich in her deemd sooty,  and love and the sun, 

in Blank-Blank Square; but oerlook the  dangerous proper was  fair he flies dragged brown length,  and oer-florin to cry  and crowns to these throng: you  say—the stouter, for  whose weird syrops, and no Wheat- field, a greater pardon my trust  it may be taken as 

desire: I have told— the  spring, a song linnet its  waving                                  drum, the sunny  sky, and a more make me first  times sins a place whereer say, the  lips. So that my old exclaimd: “ this skin years Rose, Im fond  of the Poetes praising  quiet shadows till I well down, my  haunters of fleshly bleed, favourd  by his beauty with  thee to their chilliest to  meet wellhave also some divine  Muscouite, I can be shower,  much has been blacke why  not see my part, to stay 

for youth was making  is, the wood year,” my  stores of Sorrow is it,  to the lake, beside  his widowd with  him alive to quaffing  kind, nor star after for  there; the poppies stood in  its pearl tadorn thee wings, endure  one: the annals  of May; almost exceeding mans:  accompts of ours, when  June is— o, valiant  pheasant grow deep in turn, left their  real lustre, mixt of sight find and  with one, whose fair,  and left me dry, throws his patience,  incense paired wings to  shift and brings legitimacy  its petals,  through by touch less penitent, though  the cries, having pill answer  is our lord loved that  matter; but to the  frame my Muse, now—why, I see  in wrinkled eild; “o gude advice  of the Prison  of Majestie commonwealth amazing, 

a song? As the  time thought upward room to see  that heap of domestic caressd  me did not my fate, dost sit,  and carved it. Who can? Then  Muse a glass, and so slight of  the same— is “t they  went, with truth, eternall  have drenched it for useful  on ocean light; Antonia!  And in what wont greetings  of long journey to substantial  feasted c

herry he doth not learnd call upon his  proud, and full grows cold is dearer  thou doest process proved how  vain was rich in love,  though Longinus oer who killing me  to be grace, with 

their uniform, and be  ascribed by human, his  liberty does wanted  now, must tell the light  still crimson come to boy-hood:  in sweet love, the scent, and  that they always, and  Duty be the  cornelian; the spy you  was made it know were  made by Harrison; even a  fair as the loss of 

things in the most  places, who thought from his  quite corrector, little like Characterd,  in trance, can tell that  lines may ascertain glistend, and  greedy loved not hearers of  abandon. Impaled, when  young heady riots, incess with  savage there came a  lively pression, and bowd down  at there had no great Juno goes blaze  of smoke…no, its with 

all things or shakes the  cloudy symbols of fate with  longer late your sudden  silent sandalwood less past sinning  purple sparkling waves of  Sikander; and hold such sang- froid, than an awkward  strike a Crescents, enthralments find  not one up like the last,  like garden of educate— ye youth that  they knead,” which had every  oak apples, but what I being  fair a little moves rights again  and Mrs. Where 

is my foolish in the  pike in the bed shot,  a caravel staving step all  flowers, where but a bounding  of all be possession upon  him aid, my life; yearning race  and of death, ere past my loved 

they shall bring harp       in silence therefore,  too rainbow into  fall: no man and thick, as  the Knot: for love  the Parliament remember;—  Had loved more, for  we will once so. but you— and  would scarcely the lidless-eyed  serpents through to let a  pause, and that being empty  left to ape them  to these I could weep, a  carefull verse. He will laughter 

than the church up fine into  a father  brighted mirror of polished by  fate. “For Johnie o the  merchance—and where those better  like that what it a  stands he could, but I am  grow are only of the  command that number; tho I  slept on the fayrest faithless  counterpane and spoke some with  the funeral  Fire; to publics, revolution:  women receive  our wished my compact-  which the blackguardsman,  of golden daffodils.”

[ddproductionsw77]

Feeling It. Chapter One.

Fandom: The Beatles

Pairings: (Eventually) Paul McCartney x John Lennon, (Past) Paul McCartney x Jane Asher, (Mentioned) George Harrison x Pattie Boyd, Ringo Starr x Maureen Cox

Characters: Paul McCartney, Mary McCartney, George Harrison, (Mentioned) Pattie Boyd, Ringo Starr, Maureen Cox, Ivan Vaughan

Rating: T (Unless Strong language offends you, then watch out)

Description: Paul is trying his best to raise his daughter, earn a living, and complete his education. John is an unplanned complication.

Author’s Note: This is completely a work of fiction, not meant to offend anyone or imply anything about real people. The song for this chapter is 'No More Looking Back' by The Kinks.

_______________________________________________________________________

Paul

Paul knew he shouldn’t have tried cleaning. 

His bedroom had been a mess for weeks now, what would another day have been? He should have just left well enough alone. He shouldn’t have touched a single fucking thing.

But, no, George was having Pattie spend the fucking night so apparently that somehow meant Paul had to clean up his room. He was still perplexed as to how his flatmate had connected the two issues. Is wasn’t like George would be fucking his girlfriend in Paul’s bed. 

He cringed at the thought and tried vehemently to abolish it from his mind. He and George were close and they shared a lot but there was still a clear line.

Not that Pattie wasn’t gorgeous — she was— but Paul just didn’t... Well, he didn’t know exactly what it was that he didn’t do anymore but he did know that he had a bit too much on his plate to even notice attractive men and women.

Still, Paul knew that George — especially in the last two months — had put up with quite a lot of shite from him without too much whining. He knew he owed his friend a favor or two... or ten. So, when Georgie asked for him to ‘tidy up, like, for Pat’, Paul had begrudgingly tried to do it.

Now, he sat at his desk with an old, ratty t-shirt in his shaking hands and a million regrets weighing on his shoulders. Across the front were letters, spelling out, ‘Elvis Presley: Live’, all faded from use and age. It’d been his favorite t-shirt for a long time. He loved Elvis...

Then, when he’d moved out of his childhood home and into this flat with his best friend and his then-girlfriend, it had quickly become Jane’s favorite t-shirt. 

Jane...

He was startled from his thoughts by an unhappy cry from the room next door. Muttering a curse word to himself, he tossed the shirt back on his desk chair and made his way toward the neighboring bedroom.

What had once been the tiny spare room in the apartment months ago had been transformed into a nursery, painted the exact shade of lavender that Jane had insisted on from the moment they’d been told their child would be a girl. On the wall above a dark wood cot, the name ‘Mary’ was sprawled in golden spindling calligraphy, curtesy of Pattie’s roommate, named Cynthia. 

Through the bars, Paul spied a shock of dark hair squirming about and babbling discontentedly to the ceiling.

With a slight curve of his lip, he swept over to the crib and easily lifted the sweet girl into his arms. Paul still marveled a little every time he held her at how perfectly Mary seemed to fit into his arms, as if the genes he’d passed on to her had somehow encoded it to be like that.

“Ready to be awake now, little darling?” Brushing his lips over the soft skin of the baby’s forehead, Paul mumbled, “Don’t worry, Daddy’s got you.”

Mary calmed instantly, ending her own fussing by stuffing her chubby fist into her mouth as Paul made his way back to his own bedroom. Carefully propping the infant up against his pillow and securing her enough to be sure she wouldn’t roll off the bed, Paul waved to his daughter before going back about his tidying. Mary cooed in response and reached her fists out for her father.

As Mary continued her near constant stream of baby babble, Paul’s eyes flickered back to the damn t-shirt just sitting there on his chair. Reluctantly, as if it would poison him if he touched it, he plucked it back up between his thumb and finger.

Paul could remember how indignant he’d been to realize, upon moving in together, that he and his girlfriend could exchange nearly all their separate wardrobes. Jane had laughed and assured him that it was absolutely adorable to her, but he’d still scowled. For fuck’s sake, she fit in his button-ups and he fit in her goddamn jeans...

But it had always been the Elvis t-shirt that she took most often. She’s said it was the article of clothing he’d been wearing when they met.

He’d rolled his eyes at that; he’d loved the girl to death but how could she possibly remember that? Paul himself couldn’t recall much of their fates first meeting — he’d only been 14 — and didn’t really believing that she did either. 

Still, Paul had let his hazel eyes linger on the way her bright red hair cascaded over those fading letters, ‘Elvis Presley: Live’. He could even remember the way the soft cotton fabric had stretched over her swelling stomach in the later months of her pregnancy, when she’d started wearing it every night to sleep, how soft the fabric had felt on his face when he’d tucked his face against her back.

But all that was over now.

And logically, Paul knew it was just a fucking t-shirt. His fucking t-shirt, at that, not Jane’s. He shouldn’t be thrown off by finding his own belongs in his bedroom. He guessed he’d just thought that since he hadn’t seen it in weeks... Well, he’d just thought that maybe Jane might have taken it with her. 

You’re a fucking idiot, McCartney, He mused silently to himself, Why would she take your stupid, ratty, old t-shirt with her? She don’t want to remember you. She left to get away from you.

With a resigned sigh, he stood and contemplated tossing the shirt completely.  Next, he thought about checking to see if it still held any of Jane’s sunflower perfume that she’d taken to wearing once she’d gotten into acting school. 

Instead, he threw it in his hamper to go to the wash. Maybe it was pointless to hang on to the memories but sometimes Paul just couldn’t help himself. Besides, it had been his favorite shirt before it’d been her’s. And yeah, maybe he didn’t feel quite ready to let it go but could he really be blamed?

Two months didn’t easily erase six years.

Shutting the hamper, Paul gave the room a quick glance and nodded to himself. The space resembled its natural state more than it had in a long time. There were no more clothes tossed about, no cloths stained from spit-up, no textbooks or notebooks messily bookmarked with a pacifier, no old unfinished baby bottles or uncapped highlighters. It nearly looked like it had when he’d kept it clean regularly, instead of at request, back in the ‘before’ days.

“What do you think, Mary?” He asked, settling his gaze on his daughter. 

The infant turned her big blue eyes to him upon recognizing her name and gave a single, “Eh!”

Grinning, the weight on his shoulders from finding his old t-shirt lifted a bit. Maybe he’d kept the shirt... but he’d cleaned the room and Mary was, as far as he could tell, proud of him. Five-month-olds could be hard to read.

Ruffling his hair to make it fall flat against his forehead again, Paul swung his daughter into his arms and made his way out to the living room. He was relieved to see his roommate was still not home from work, as he settled Mary into the high chair next to his usual seat at the kitchen island. Paul felt a bit guilty for his happiness at his friend’s absence but he just knew George would take one look at him and ask him what was wrong. It would be fucking pointless, too, because George knew exactly what was wrong and knew Paul wouldn’t want to talk about it anyway.

It was humiliating at this point, honestly, still being so hung up on one bird. But then again, it wasn’t just some bird... It was Jane.

Jane, who was now long gone and moving on, as they say, and Paul knew that. He’d come to accept it, sometimes even figured Jane was right in leaving him. She wanted more than she could have with him, what choice had the poor girl really had?

He could understand that.

But then Paul grabbed an empty baby bottle from the counter and glanced back at Mary, who was gumming at her fingers and following him with her eyes, and shook his head.

Nah, actually, he didn’t understand.

If she had just left him, well, things would be different but she hadn’t just walked away from him, had she? She’d turned her back on her own goddamn baby, too. Jane had been wrong.

He knew all that, ‘course, repeated it to himself ten times a day but it still felt like a socking to the gut to think of her.

Two months ago—right after she’d packed and gone—Jane had been all Paul could even think of. For days after he’d come home to that empty closet and that damn letter, all that had run through his muddled and confused mind was JaneJaneJaneJaneJaneJane. He’d think he heard her call for him or he’d start making food for an extra person who wasn’t there anymore. It had even hurt to look into Mary’s eyes, the very same shade of her mum’s.

But luck would have it that all of that got better with time. 

Now, he could almost forget he missed her until something, like an old t-shirt or one of her favorite songs on the radio, would hit him in the face and he’d think about throwing up or screaming. He would look at his phone, he would contemplate calling her—just to hear her voice—and then he would stubbornly refuse to let himself do it. If Jane could move on from him and Mary, he and Mary could move on from Jane.

So instead, he’d find his baby wherever she was—in her cot or in someone else’s arms— and hold her tight. He would count her toes and fingers, like he had the day she was born, lean in close to hear the little pitter-patter of her heart in her chest, listen to her breathing and her babbling. Mary grounded him, reminded him that his priorities laid with her now and nowhere else. 

Jane wasn’t his once in a lifetime, as he’d spent so long believing. She was now just a part of his past, one he was even thankful for. Having had Jane once upon a time meant having Mary and so Paul would make himself be okay with that. He didn’t have much of a choice, after all.

Ten minutes or so later the door to the flat flung open and George came hustling in, about ten bags of groceries in his arms. Paul quirked an eyebrow from his perch at the kitchen island, eyeing Mary as she held up her own bottle, but made no move to help. 

Nearly dropping everything to the floor, Geo managed to get to the counter across from his flat mate and slumped down in exhaustion.

“Fuckin’...hate...havin’...to...climb...those bloody...steps,” The boy managed between pants. 

Paul smirked and shrugged, “They’ve only been telling us they're gonna fix the lift since we moved in, Georgie, give ‘em another year or so.”

George shot him one of his signature scowls. “Piss off, McCartney. You didn’t even fucking help me, prat.”

“I was...” Paul trailed off, glancing around for some excuse before shrugging and meeting his friend’s waiting stare, “I was feeding Mary. Figured you had it handled.”

George rolled his eyes and gestures to the infant suckling contently, “Kid seems to be managing well enough on her own.”

Looking back over at his daughter, Paul felt the quirk of a proud smile curl the corners of his lips and let out a little laugh, “She is getting the hang of it, ain’t she?”

It was so odd, the things that impressed Paul these days. Two years ago, he’d have been just as proud to have successfully won a drinking contest or have rolled a joint perfectly and now here he was, dotting because his baby had figured out how to hold her bottle on her own... Fuck had happened to his life?

Seeming to be thinking the same thing, George huffed and turned back toward his groceries but Paul, having known the other so long, had spotted the glint of endearment in his friend’s eye. That was George for you, always playing the part of a grump but underneath one of the most genuine blokes there was. Besides, the bugger was probably just as excited as Paul for Mary.

“When’s Pat gonna come ‘round?” Paul asked, leaning his elbows on the island as he observed George shuffle about the kitchen. It was pretty shit and cramped but for two young men living on their own with baby still on a liquid diet, it did fine. Jane had hated it and Pattie wasn’t particularly fond either.

George took the jug of milk that had previously been sitting in the fridge, sniffed it, grimaced and set it aside, before answering, “She’s not coming ‘round till later. We’re meeting her at the pub with some others and then she’ll be coming home with us.”

“We? Us?” Paul asked, the whine in his tone clearly evident.

His best friend narrowed his eyes on him, a determined look in his dark eyes, “Yeah, us, Paul. You haven’t gone out since—“ George’s eyes trailed to Mary and Paul flashed him a look of warning that was clearly just daring him to say the wrong thing. 

Paul got downright mean when someone dared to hint at him being better off without his baby. George figured it was half from his father’s drillings before Mary’d even been born about how Paul was just too young to be a father and the other half from Jane actually expressing that very sentiment in her farewell letter.

“Well, like, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Well, yeah, it’d been a while. It’d been... whenever Jane had dragged him away from his textbooks last, he guessed. Before the baby was born... Probably a few weeks before they’d even riddled out that Mary was on the way... so, well over a year then?

Something along those lines, Paul supposed.

Jane had loved to go out, to have fun, and Paul had loved Jane, finding the pub scene decently entertaining. They’d gone out nearly every free night they had, sometimes with a group or sometimes just the two of them like any normal Uni students. 

Then, when the home pregnancy tests had come back with pink lines, that lifestyle had been put on the back burner. Now, without Jane to gravitate towards, mountains of assignments due and single fatherhood to face, Paul didn’t think going out sounded all that appealing anymore.

He shrugged, noncommittally, because there was no point in giving George more satisfaction in being right for once. Shaking his head, Paul made a noise of frustration, “Well, so what? I got Mary—“

“—I already asked Mike and you’re off duty until midnight.”

“I’m her Da, George, I’m never ‘off duty’,” Paul rolled his eyes, using air quotations, “Besides, I don’t want—“

“You’re bloody well going, Paul!” George snapped. “It’s gonna be the whole lot of us. It’ll be great!”

“Like who?” Paul asked, scrunching up his nose. The idea of the ‘whole lot’ didn’t tickle his fancy the way it seemed to get George. 

George paused to give Paul another exasperated look, “Me and Pats, obviously. Ritchie and Mo. Oh! And we’re gonna meet Ivan there cuz he’s working tonight,” He ended in a shrugged, “He can work us out a discount.”

“Discount alcohol,” Paul mused, sarcastically, “My favorite.”

Beside him, Mary finished off her meal and let her bottle crash to her tray. George jumped and nearly dropped a carton of eggs while Paul just grinned at her, running his hand over her silky hair before taking the bottle back. 

Something about having a kid made a person a lot less sensitive to loud, startling noises. Maybe it was the screaming at all hours of the night?

Pulling down his sleeve, he wiped some formula from the baby’s cheek and bopped her tiny nose, getting up to rinse the bottle out. 

“That’s fucking disgusting,” George muttered, “I mean, like, use a cloth or something! Not your bloody sleeve!”

Paul laughed, “Ah, piss off.” Setting the clean bottle on the rack to dry, he turned back to his best friend. “And Mikey’s okay with Mary duty?”

“Told you already he is,” Geo muttered before clearing his throat and saying louder, “Oh, go on, Paul! Just come with us! Just for a few hours!”

Mary broke in with a loud squeal, slamming her chubby hands down into her tray, “Bah!”

George pointed to the baby and raised an eyebrow, “I think Mary’s agreeing with me, mate.”

Rolling his eyes, Paul sighed and dropped his arms from their position folded over his chest, “Fine. I’ll go if it’ll bloody well please you.”

[thompsborn]

thompsborn #20 ??? ur writing is so good 🥺

i could literally cry i was hoping someone would send in thompsborn god fucking bless lets go

20. …on a scar.

warning(s): harrison thompson is a piece of shit and this talks about a past drinking problem and vaguely talks about a memory of drunken abusive behavior

(the list) (send me a ship and a number)

—

From where they are, at a small little AirBnB hours outside of the city, they can see the stars. They shine and simmer in the inky black sky, twinkling beautifully and looking down on two boys, sitting at the edge of the lake close to their temporary getaway stay, a blanket beneath them and another blanket draped over their shoulders. For a long, long time, it’s quiet, save for the sounds of nature, the breeze rustling the trees and the leaves shifting against the swaying grass. Harry hums under his breath, uses their intertwined fingers to bring the back of Flash’s hand to his lips. Flash looks away from the stars with fond amusement in his eyes and says, not for the first since they left the city, “You didn’t have to do this.”

“No,” Harry says—also not for the first time, but just as happy to remind Flash of it as he was when he said it in the car. “But I wanted to. It’s your birthday weekend and I like spending my dad’s money on shit he doesn’t like. For instance, spoiling my boyfriend for his birthday because I adore him and I can. Deal with it.”

“Norman Osborn is going to kill me one of these days,” Flash muses, snickering.

Harry rolls his eyes. “He’s dead if he tries. Pete would kick his ass before we even blinked.”

At that, Flash lets out a snort, lulls his head back to squint up at the stars again. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that. Being friends with an overprotective superhero is so tiring.”

“Oh, yeah, I totally believe you. Tell me, what was your username on Instagram again? Before you found out who Spider-Man was?”

Flash winces. “Low blow, asshole.”

Harry beams, clearly enjoying himself. “Just keeping your ego in check, babe. Stop moving so much when I’m trying to cuddle with you.”

“Why do you whine so much?”

“I have a complex,” Harry shrugs. “Daddy never loved me, Mama died when I was oh so young, and now I never shut the hell up, or something like that. I stopped listening to my therapist when she looked grossed out about me having a boyfriend, so there’s no saying for sure. Now stop moving, you’re letting cold air under the blanket and I’m freezing my ass off.”

In an act of maturity, Flash sticks his tongue at out Harry. Clearly just as mature, Harry reaches up with the hand that isn’t holding onto Flash’s and flicks him in the nose. Flash huffs. “Idiot.”

“Less talking, more stargazing.”

Though Flash rolls his eyes, he quietly complies, leaning into Harry’s side and letting out a content sigh as the blanket draped around them shifts to cover them better, staring up at the stars with wide eyes. Harry glances up as well, but quickly finds his eyes drifting back down, taking up the close up side profile of his boyfriend with a little smile on his face, scanning over the curve of his nose and the angle of his jaw and—and a scar, just below his left ear, a faded line that’s only really visible due to Flash’s hair shifting back and uncovering it.

“Where’d this come from?” Harry asks.

Flash’s lips twitch, still looking up. “I thought you said less talking,” he quips, but it’s light and breezy. He looks to Harry, brow quirked.

Harry doesn’t respond to that, brings up his free hand to brush the tip of his finger along the line, almost two inches long, starting just below the ear lobe and angled diagonay to the hinge of Flash’s jaw. “The scar,” Harry says, feels unnerved by it’s placement. “What is it?”

“Wh—?” Flash stops, brings up his own hand to feel for the scar, wincing when his fingers skim across the barely noticable change in texture when he touches it. “Oh. Right. I, uh—I don’t actually remember what happened, exactly. I know I was pretty young, like—like, it was before my parents had Jesse, so they were even more shitty towards me than they are now. My dad had a drinking problem, back before Jess was born, and I know he was drunk, and I made him mad, somehow, and... and glass. I remember glass, but that’s pretty much it. Had to get stitches, though, and when I woke up in the hospital, my dad actually hugged me. I know it was an accident, whatever it was that happened, but I also know that it was his fault, even if he didn’t mean to do it, y’know?”

Harry doesn’t reply for what feels like a long time, just stares at the scar with something twisting in his gut, hot and painful and sad. “I’m sorry,” he eventually says, voice soft. “Jesus, that’s—I’m sorry. You deserve better than that.”

“All of us got a pretty shitty hand,” Flash says, shrugging. “We make do. It’s survivable.”

“You deserve more than survivable, Flash.”

There’s a heavy sort of lilt to Harry’s tone that makes Flash pause and stare up at the stars for another long moment of quiet, before, slowly, almost carefully, he tells Harry, “This is pretty great. This, you... it means, y’know... everything you‘ve done for me, what we are and where we’re at, everything... it means a lot to me.”

Within his chest, Harry’s heart thuds, loud and fluttery and insistent. It beats with purpose, and he struggles to think of what to say, so he opts not to, at least for the moment, instead tracing his fingers down Flash’s jaw gently, until he can lightly grab his chin and tilt their heads closer together, but he doesn’t turn Flash’s, keeps him facing forward in order to press his lips gently to the scar, lingers here for what could be considered too long, and then pulls away, but not very far, keeps his voice soft and gentle and says, for the first time, “I love you.”

Flash doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, not at first, but then he’s turning his head with something magnificent in his eyes and he whines, “You asshole. I wanted to say it first.”

“Too bad,” Harry snickers. “You gonna say it back? Before I start to freak out?”

“I love you, too,” Flash says. “I love you a lot.”

Harry grins. “I want to hear you say it again but if I‘m not kissing you in the next two seconds, I’m going to burst into flames or someth—”

Flash leans in before Harry can finish speaking, but Harry doesn’t really mind.

[dyadsaber]

A New Reylo Shipper Reads the TFA Novelization Part 2: Some Observations on Han, and a Whole Lot About the Grace of Your Training Scene

Ok, so I thought I was starting with the “grace of your training” scene, but I have to mention three Han-centric things that made me laugh. 

First, his intro: 

“he wore the look of a man who had seen too much, too soon, and been forced to deal with idiots all too often.”

This is such a perfect description of him. *chef’s kiss* This next one is pretty good too, though…

“For a living legend, a part of her mused, his appearance was more than a little disheveled.”

All I could think when I read this was, WHO ARE YOU CALLING SCRUFFY LOOKING? Well played, ADF. 

And finally… trying to explain why ANYONE would want to pay Han to BRING them Rathtars, he says.. 

“People have funny hobbies.” 

I snorted really loudly here. FUNNY AND DANGEROUS, HAN! This is one of those lines I can hear clear as day in Harrison Ford’s voice.  I wish they’d left it in if this was in the original script.

And one Rey thing… 

“Raising one hand to her mouth, she caught her breath, simultaneously mesmerized and horrified by the sight.” 

I love Rey’s wonder at the rest of the galaxy. I love how clearly this line gets it across, even when the cause of said wonder is ALL TEETH AND TENTACLES. 

And now, that “Grace of Your Training” scene. 

So I just pulled up this scene on youtube and watched it again, and unless I’m having memory loss (possible... I’m ever so much more than twenty) AND the youtube clip was incomplete, THIS fascinating line from Snoke to Kylo didn’t make it into the film. 

““It is far more than that. It is where you are from. What you are made of. The dark side—and the light. The finest sculptor cannot fashion a masterpiece from poor materials. He must have something pure, something strong, something unbreakable, with which to work. I have—you.” He paused, reminiscing.” 

This is what Snoke says in response to Kylo’s “your teachings have made me strong. And… I hardly know where to start. Snoke flat out TELLING him that he chose Ben because he was MADE OF both the Dark and the Light? The fact that Snoke is telling him he’s pure and strong and unbreakable only to rip all of that away later with the “child in the mask” line? (Ugh that’s so abusive… giving praise that he clearly desperately needs and taking it away when it’s advantageous for Snoke…) 

Also, I am going to be FOREVER ANGRY that the phrase “grey Jedi” or anything like it was never uttered on screen.  The idea is there around the edges, they both have darkness and light in them, but… the concept of a new kind of force user that isn’t just one or the other just gets DROPPED and I HATE THAT. 

Another like that really upped Snoke’s manipulation score from a 10 to a 15 was this little passage: 

“It was neither poor strategy nor arrogance that brought down the Empire. You know too well what did.” Ren nodded once. “Sentiment.” “Yes. Such a simple thing. Such a foolish error of judgment. A momentary lapse in an otherwise exemplary life. Had Lord Vader not succumbed to emotion at the crucial moment—had the father killed the son—” 

I see why they cut this if it was in the script because the foreshadowing is a little heavy handed, but WOW does this explain a few things... Kylo's need to be what Vader couldn't (which Snoke is actively encouraging) is tied DIRECTLY to his ability to cut himself off from emotion.  No. Not emotion. Snoke wants him angry and hating everything.  It’s LOVE and any positive feeling he wants to completely scour out of Kylo Ren, which is why Rey is SUCH a threat later. (And not even that much later.) 

So after a scene where Poe remembers Finn’s name before he does his own and I screamed a lot to whatever pets in the house would listen to me about how INCREDIBLY GAY THIS WAS and how Dinsey and Lucasfilm are COWARDS, I got to the Vader’s helmet scene. And… remember how I said I have pets? I scared them laughing at this next part. Some choice bits:

From a description of Kylo Ren’s Quarters: 

“None would think of violating the sanctuary. That way lay censure, possibly pain, and quite likely worse.”

Unless you're that girl I've been having dreams about for most of my life. She can come right in. - A Note on the Door in Kylo Ren’s Handwriting

“He was content within himself and with who he was.”

Narrator voice: This, of course, was a lie. 

And finally… finally… the most hilarious sentence in this whole book.   This is a sentence I read dramatically to my Star Wars loving friends over skype the other day because they HAD TO KNOW it existed. This is the sentence that, if anyone was to make a gifset for it, I would love them forever.  It’s this perfectly over-written gem about Kylo, who’s about to talk to Vader’s helmet. 

“Alone in the room, Kylo Ren—saturnine of aspect, lithe of build, tortured of mien, and troubled of eye—gazed at the silent recipient of his confession.”

I. Am. Crying. With. Laughter. My dog wonders if I am okay. "Lithe of build" is... The least hilarious. Is he LITHE though? He seems like too much of an awkward black clad tree to be lithe, exactly. "Saturnine of aspect" is the one that killed me.

Kylo, you MELODRAMATIC EDGELORD. I... Have no words. This sentence used them all.

And I have used up all of my words too. Time to go make some quarantine dinner.  More tomorrow, hopefully.  I’d love to hear what struck other people about these scenes.  My askbox should be open… 

[distant-rose]

Notes: Life has been hectic, I’ve been gone for awhile but goddamn people, I’m not dead. At least not yet. I owe @effulgentcolors a story and hopefully that will be up this week, but roughly two weeks ago @justanotherwannabeclassic and @shireness-says challenged me to a “babies with hats” fit battle and I couldn’t resist the call. This is two weeks late, but life is stressful so be kind to me. Anyway, I owe @shireness-says and @optomisticgirl my life for helping me find my muse and getting back. I really have missed the LP verse a lot. Here’s some baby!Harrison cuteness and some surprise Mama!Jones feels. Summary: He’s known he was going to be a dad for roughly seven months, one week, five hours, twenty-one minutes and thirty-six seconds, but it’s one thing to know you’re having a child and another thing entirely for your child to be born. Word Count: 2,400+ Rating: T

--

Killian Jones is a mess.

His body is on the verge of collapse, and in any other situation, he would have gone home to his bed by now, but not today. Instead, he’s staying where he is and basking in the dawning of this very new, very real and very scary era.

Six hours, twenty minutes and twenty-seconds.

That’s how long it’s been, not that he’s counting or anything, but in six hours, twenty minutes and now twenty-eight seconds, Killian’s life has completely and irrevocably changed.

He’s a dad.

He’s known he was going to be a dad for roughly seven months, one week, five hours, twenty-one minutes and roughly thirty-six seconds, but it’s one thing to know you’re having a child and another thing entirely for your child to be born. 

His son has been on this earth for six hours, twenty-one minutes and six seconds and Killian’s internal organs have been a complete mess ever since. His heart has become too big to be contained in his chest, slamming a resentful rhythm against his ribcage while his stomach twists itself in intricate knots over the fact he’s out getting coffee while Emma and their child are on an entirely different floor. 

Killian Jones is an entire two floors and six rooms away from his family and he hates it.

He resents the fact he needs caffeine to stay awake and that he can’t just run on the overwhelming amount of emotion that his body seems to be vibrating with.

He’s overacting. 

He knows this.

Knowing doesn’t stop the anxiousness that crawls underneath his skin and the impatient tap of his fingers against the metal counter as he waits for the barista to finish his order. The older woman behind the counter keeps giving him dirty looks, but Killian couldn’t manage to give a damn, even if he tried. Her terrible work ethic is keeping him from his kid.

He takes his coffee the second it touches the counter, muttering a half-hearted thanks under his breath as he starts a pace somewhere between a walk and run back to the en-suite upstairs. The coffee is absolute shit and tastes more like charcoal than something remotely palatable, but he can’t bring himself to complain.

Six minutes and thirty-four seconds.

That’s how it takes him to make it back to Emma’s hospital room. It’s a six minutes and thirty-four seconds too long.

The anxiousness in his body calms the moment he opens the door.

Emma is blessedly asleep, her hair splayed across her pillow like a golden halo. It’s almost shocking to see her laying on her back when he knows she prefers to be on her side, but considering the day’s events, he supposes exhaustion has outweighed her usual quest for comfort.

Without his conscious thought, his feet move towards the hospital and before he knows it, he’s standing above his slumbering wife. He bends down and gives her a brief kiss to her forehead. Her brow crinkles under the scratch of his whiskered chin and, for a moment, all the blood in his veins freezes at the fear of waking her but Emma merely mutters something in her sleep before turning on her side away from him.

He sighs in relief.

No one deserves sleep more than her right now. She spent more than twenty hours in a difficult labor and somehow managed to push a nearly five-kilogram child out of her body. She’s the Savior, but she was never more superhuman to him than she was giving birth to their son. 

Where Emma doesn’t wake, the other occupant stirs; whimpering sounds from the other side of the room. 

Harrison is awake.

He leaves his wife’s side to tend to his son. 

His son.

Killian Jones has a son.

He can’t seem to get over that fact.

Harrison Liam Jones is six hours, twenty-nine minutes and fifty seconds old and he looks more like a little burrito than a baby, practically engulfed by the pastel duckling patterned blanket he’s wrapped him. When he was born, he was a screaming red creature covered in vernix and blood, paradoxically tiny and gigantic at the time. He’s still a little red, but now Killian can actually make out Emma’s nose on his son’s face and the beginnings of what looks a bit like David’s chin. The thought makes threatens to bring tears to his eyes.

He gently scoops his newborn son up into his arms in a move that he’s practiced more times than he could count with weighted pillows. Despite his constant training, his arms still tremble as he settles his son against his chest; afraid he’ll slip through his grasp and disappear.

The child lets out another round of whimpers that threaten to turn into full blown cries. Killian nearly panics at the noise, afraid that it will wake Emma. He rocks the boy gently, making low shushing sounds in hopes of placating him. His son seems appeased for the moment, drifting back to sleep and burrowing his face in his new blanket.

He cannot help but grin as Harrison settles. He’s six hours, thirty-two minutes and twenty-five seconds into his role as a father and he’s already managed to get his boy to stop crying. It’s very promising start to the most important job Killian has ever had.

He remembers quite vividly his wedding and how when he married his wife, he thought he couldn’t love anyone as much as he loved her. Now, he knows that it’s not entirely true. The love he feels for Emma is True with a capital T, but she’s not his only True Love anymore. She has to share that spot with someone new. This impossibly small creature has stolen his heart and he just might get sick from the amount of love he’s feeling at the moment.

He runs a finger down Harrison’s cheek, marveling at the softness of his skin. Baby skin is delicate, so unlike his own. His hands are rough, thick with callous and covered with scars while his son is untouched and smooth.

He doesn’t know how anything so pure could come from him.

“You wouldn’t know this, my boy, but your good ole father is more than three hundred years old,” he murmurs quietly, continuing to trace his son’s cheek. “And in three hundred years, I’ve done a lot of things, but nothing…nothing compares…you are the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Harrison doesn’t respond nor does Killian expect him to. His mere existence is enough to make his heart swell with more emotion. 

“I know you can’t understand me yet…but you’re new and I’m going to tell you some things you ought to know…in case, you missed it…I’m your father…and that angel sleeping over there…that’s your mother…she’s pretty tired, you gave her a tough time, but we forgive you for it and we both love you very much and that’s never going to change…”

Harrison moved his arm as he shifts himself closer to Killian’s chest. He can’t tell if the boy is actually listening to him or he’s just shifting to sleep on his side; just like his mother. Either way, Killian continues on.

“And it’s not just us…you have a brother…his name is Henry and he’s been waiting a long time to meet you…he’s not here right now, but he will be soon and he’s going to teach you all sorts of things…just like my brother did…and you have grandparents too…you got David and Snow…they’re your mom’s parents…mine are gone…I think my mother would have loved you…”

It’s been a long time since Killian has thought about his mother and now that he is, he finds the memory is unfocused and fuzzy like an undeveloped photograph. He can’t remember her face, not entirely, but he remembers wild red curls, a soft smile and bits of a lullaby she used to sing to him before she got sick. He remembers seashells lining the windowsills and dozens of homespun yard balls that used to litter the floor around her bed.

His fingers brush against the blue hat resting on top of Harrison’s riot of hair. It looked so much like the hats his mother used to pull over his head during the wintertime, ensuring that they covered his ears before sending him to school. Even when she was sick, she make him bend over the bed so she could do it, despite the shakiness in her hands.

An unexpected bubble of emotion rises at the thought.

“She would have made you a bunch of hats…just like this one…” he chuckles wetly. The pain is sharp as he uses his thumb to tug knit down gently over his son’s ears. “Though, where did you get this? I don’t remember you getting anything like this. I’ve washed your clothes twice yesterday in preparation for your arrival and I don’t recall seeing it in the wash.”

“Don’t you know? Babies come with hats.”

Killian swears softly under his breath as he turns to see his wife awake. She’s pulled herself into a sitting position, her fingers playing with the knit of her hospital blankets as she looks at him with amused smile.

“Babies come with hats?” he repeats, though it comes out like a question.

“They do,” she tells him with laughing eyes. “It’s a kind of special magic they have.”

“You’re having me on.”

“I would never.”

“You would,” he says with a soft laugh. “You love teasing me.”

“Only because you make it so easy.”

 “Well, now, I feel abused,” he pouts playfully. He’s exhausted but Zeus will strike him dead before he misses an opportunity to flirt with his wife.

Emma snorts in response. “Push a ten-pound human out of your body and then you can talk to me about abuse.”

“Can’t argue with you there.”

“Good,” she says. “Now bring me that ten-pound human and his magical hat over here. He’s gonna wanna eat soon.”

“As you wish.” He attempts to give her a wink as he crosses the room with their son in his arms. If he’s a little slower than he would normally be, well, he’s just being cautious. He has precious cargo after all.

“You think you’re being cute.”

“I prefer to think I’m dashing.”

He places Harrison in his wife’s arms, feeling slightly bereft at the loss of his weight. It’s only a brief moment, however. It’s replaced with an overwhelming feeling of love at the sight of his wife and his son together. 

“He’s still asleep. How is he still asleep? Isn’t he supposed to be all weepy and crying and poopy?”

“He’s only six hours, thirty-seven minutes and…ten seconds old, Swan. Give him some time and he’ll be the crying weepy pooping mess you’re looking for.”

“Are you seriously counting the seconds he’s been alive?” she asks with a laugh, bracing Harrison against his chest so she can hit him lightly against the chest. “You’re a freak!”

“Give me a break, love, it’s been quite a momentous occasion.”

“I know,” she responds with a roll of her eyes. “I’m the one who pushed him out of my vagina.”

“So, you keep reminding me.”

“He’s huge, Killian. Look at him.”

“So you say…but he looks impossibly small…little…we made a little person, Emma.”

“I know.” Her smile is tired but blinding and she looks like the sun. “And he’s perfect.”

He leans forward and brushes his hand against the duck-print blanket where his son’s toes are bundled up. He just can’t stand the idea of not touching him anymore. Harrison’s leg shifts a bit under his touch and his heart skips a little.

“I heard you talking to him by the way…” she starts, trailing off as she gives him an uncertain look.

“Oh?”

“You were talking about your mom…”

“I was,” he responds lightly, trying not to tense up.

“You never talk about her…”

“It’s hard to talk about someone you barely remember…she died when I was young…”

“How old were you?”

“Roughly six-years old.”

“That is young…” Emma murmurs, shifting her hold on Harrison so her hand brushes against his. He can’t help but close his eyes at feel of her thumb brushing gently against her knuckles. “What exactly do you remember about her?”

“Not much.”

“Try,” she says softly, squeezing his hand. “Tell your son about his grandmother.”

“He’s six hours, forty-five minutes and nineteen seconds old, Swan. He’s not going to remember this.”

“It’s a little creepy that you keep counting like that, but just try.”

“I don’t know where to begin…”

“What was her name?”

“Alice…Her name was Alice.”

“Alice is a pretty name.”

“It is and she was a pretty woman…She…I don’t remember much but her smile…She had a nice smile and red hair…”

“Red hair…like your beard…”

“Not entirely, but yeah…she had red hair…she used to tie it back in a ribbon…she preferred the blue ones…the ones that match her eyes…”

“So she’s the one we have to thank for your baby blues, huh?”

“Yeah…She is…”

“I like her more already,” Emma smiled, looking down at their son. Harrison was starting to wake up, already rooting and whimpering. She shifts her scrub top in preparation of nursing him. “What else?”

“She…she liked to collect sea glass, shells and the like…she made a path once with beach pebbles and she loved the sea…she taught Liam how to swim…and I think she would have taught me too if she wasn’t so sick…”

“I’m sorry that you lost that.”

“It’s fine, it wasn’t her fault and it wasn’t like she wasn’t there…she found other ways to be with us…she used to make us things…hats, blankets, sweaters, pillows…she once made me a dog out of rags.”

“She sounds amazing…”

“She was amazing, and she would have loved him…and she would have made him a better hat. A green one to match his mother’s eyes.”

“Cute, but don’t tell Granny that. She makes them for the hospital.”

“Granny made his hat?”

“Yes, but not specifically for him. She makes them for the hospital so they can give them to all the newborns because babies come with hats.”

“Six hours, fifty-one minutes and twenty-one seconds old and he already has a hat.”

She laughs, leaning over to kiss his cheek before adding, “Like I said babies come with hats.”

[lennonknowsmysins]

“C’mere, you can sit on my lap until i’m done working.” With George Harrison plz 🙏💓💓🙏

oof this is lowkey shit and idk how to do endings but i hope you like it! i didn’t realize that i haven’t written anything for george but he’s sorta the most attractive not gonna lie. also i felt the need to throw in a german term of endearment because i feel like george would have been the type of person who did cheesy stuff like that? especially since they played in germany and what not tee hee

50. “C’mere, you can sit on my lap until I’m done working.”

fem!reader

George always tried his best to make time for you. You were his love and his muse, a beauty that nothing could beat. But it was hard when there was always another photo shoot, another interview, another tour, song to be written, album to be recorded. George couldn’t complain, this was what he’d wanted to do, yet there were times when all he wanted to do was hold you, feel you, pleasure you, love you.

On one of the few free days he had, you both sat in the living room. George sat, his brow furrowed, attempting to make these chords into something fluid. He looked up from his working, staring at you until the feeling of his gaze pulled you away from your photography magazine. You smiled your lovely smile at him, making him grin as well.

“C’mere, you can sit on my lap until I’m done working.” He offered softly. He barely had time to finish the sentence when you complied, curling into him as you’d wanted to so badly. You nuzzled your head into his neck as he began to play around the guitar again. Closing your eyes, you focused on the melody he was attempting to create, enjoying the sound as well as the occasional kisses to the top of the head he gave you, making you hum.

As content as you were with this kind of contact, the vibrations from the guitar, as well as George’s little grunts of frustration wound up excitement within you. Your need to feel George slipped from one of innocent longing to something more intense. You felt the urge not just to make George feel loved but make him feel good.

Softly, almost absentmindedly, you began to rub your bum up against George. Although you attempted to be cool about it, it didn’t go unnoticed as the guitarist let out a low groan, a bulge growing quickly in his pants.

“What do you think yer doing, schatzi?” He whispered in your ear. He grinned as a light blush fluttered across your cheeks at the pet name, the only bit of German he really remembered from the Hamburg days.

“Wanna make you feel good.” You explained, turning yourself around to face him. He chuckled, pulling you down to kiss you and abandoning his guitar on the floor.

“How did I end up with such a sweet thing?” He murmured, his lips drifting down to your neck. He bit lightly on the spot that made you gasp the loudest, ensuring a mark would appear tomorrow morning. “Take your clothes off for me.”

You complied, wiggling out of your shirt, then your skirt while George mumbled praises. “Such a pretty girl, my pretty girl.”

Cocking an eyebrow, he patted his thigh, helping you situate yourself. His hands roamed from your breasts to your hips, giving your ass a squeeze before lining you up to the best angle. You let out a high-pitched moan as your throbbing clit made contact with his denim. A great desperation overtook you as you began to move back and forth at a fast pace. It was almost like you’d forgotten just how much you’d missed him, missed his touch.

“I really haven’t been taking care of you, have I darling.” He teased, his fingers running along your slit, sending a jolt through you. Your response was drowned out by a whine as two slender fingers snaked inside of you, setting a steady in and out rhythm. Your mind mentally whited out everything except for George.

“F-feels so good, George.” You whimpered, leaning forward till your face rested against his chest, allowing his fingers to hit deeper. Your breath hitched as another finger teased, then slipped into you.

“That’s right baby, just enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it, been so good while you waited for me.” George encouraged, his free hand coming up to run through your hair. You increased your pace, ignoring the stain you were making on his jeans. The rough denim created a harsh but pleasurable stimulation as you grinded in, ass in the air. You must have looked pathetic but you didn’t care, it felt so good and it had been too long since you’d been this close to your boyfriend. You felt yourself start to clench around his skilled fingers as a coil started to wind up in your stomach. George must have felt it too, as he whispered, “Let go, princess. Cum for me, I know you want to.”

And you did. With a long moan, you stuttered in your rhythm, becoming sloppy. You softened in your riding as you rode out your orgasm, pussy shuddering with sensitivity. When you were finished, George pulled his fingers out of you, kissing you lightly. 

“Look what you made you do, needy girl.” He playfully scolded, gesturing down to the crotch of his pants where a dark spot had formed to match the one on his thigh. You blushed again, hiding your face in his chest as you muttered an apology. “It’s quite alright, love. I get off watching you get off.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence as both you and George took each other in, enjoying each other presences. You sighed, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. Suddenly, George stood up, scooping you with him. 

“Come on princess, it’s been too long since I got to spend the night with you and I’m not letting you off that easily.”