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middleearthpixie · 1 year

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Brilliant Disguise ~ Chapter Two

Summary: Speech therapist Josephine Asharm has been brought into Erebor to work with Bifur, but trying to find her place among people who eye her suspiciously would be difficult enough under normal circumstances, but when Sophie finds herself caught between the king, his most trusted lieutenant, and the dwarf she’s there to help? She’s certain no good can come of it. Being of Man, not only does she stand out in the dwarf kingdom, she’s not entirely certain she’s actually welcome there at all.

Thorin only agreed to allow Sophie to live amongst them out of a sense of duty to Bifur, who is recovering from an odd head injury (is there any other way to describe having an axe blade lodged in one’s head, only to have it later dislodged during the Battle of the Five Armies?) Before the battle, he spoke only khuzdul. But since it? He’s regained the ability to speak Westron—if only he could but remember any of it. As for Thorin? He’s trying his damndest to ignore the speech therapist, not to mention his own growing feelings for her, even as he is also recovering from his near fatal wounding in the same battle.

Both Sophie and Thorin are haunted by their pasts and are uncertain of their futures, but sometimes, chances must be taken…

A/N: This is loosely tied into my Christmas fic, Yule. Post-BOTFA Where Everybody Lives

Summary: Sophie has her first session with Bifur, Heather settles in, determined to win that slice of cake…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Josephine (Sophie) Asharm

Characters:Thorin Oakenshield, Sophie, Balin, Dwalin, Narnerra, Heather, Gimli, Bifur

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,732

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

“So, I understand you made a new friend yesterday?”

Thorin grinned at his sister as Dís sank into a chair alongside him. “Ah, you mean Miss Heather?”

“I do. The ladies who saw you with her are still buzzing about how adorable you are holding a child. And I’m fairly certain maternal urges have been ignited.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “They may buzz as much as they wish, I have no desire to hold one of my own just yet.”

Dís sighed softly, shaking her head. “You have to settle down sooner rather than later, you know.”

“And I also need no nagging from my baby sister on the matter.” He glanced down at the bread still on his plate. “I’m not going to finish this, would you like it?”

“Your leftovers? Thank you, but no, and don’t try to change the subject.”

“I’m not. But at the same time, you are Fíli and Kíli’s mother, not mine.” He wiped his mouth with his linen napkin and folded it to set across his plate. “I need no nagging, nor do I need prompting or reminding. I have my heir, thanks to the magic of elves and Narnerra’s gifts, and there will be no queen of Erebor any time soon. As for the hopefuls, they are wasting their time. I have far too much to do now before I will even consider marrying.”

“Thorin,” Dís began softly, “may I be honest with you?”

“As opposed to lying to me?”

“Thorin?”

He sighed, bracing himself for what he was sure would be a laundry list of reasons as to why he should just suck it up and choose his bride and get on siring an heir who wasn’t one of her sons. It was one of her favorite topics since Narnerra deemed him well enough to leave her infirmary, and one he’d long since grown tired of.

Still, he knew she wouldn’t be dissuaded and so nodded, “Go on.”

“I rather thought that what happened,” a shadow fell over her Durin blue eyes, “that what you’d gone through, would have made you more open to the notion of taking a wife and starting a family of your own. And I don’t mean to nag you, as you so succinctly phrase it, but I hate the thought of you being alone. You’ve been alone since Smaug—”

“I know how long it’s been,” he told her, rising from his chair and gathered up his dishes, “and to be honest with you, Dís, it really is none of your concern. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go find Balin, as we have an appointment with Bard in Dale and I just wish to get it over with and come back.”

“Thorin—”

“Enough.” He couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice as he shook his head. “My love life, or lack thereof, is none of your concern and I’ll kindly ask you to mind your own matters and leave me to mine.”

He didn't wait for her response, nor did he feel the least bit guilty about the look of hurt that crept across her face. She meant well, but she overstepped on a regular basis and while most times he didn't mind, this was one subject he most definitely minded discussing.

Yes, he knew many of the dwarrowdams of Erebor harbored hopes of becoming queen, but he had no desire to make those hopes come to fruition. Not now, anyway. Erebor had come a long way since he’d first set foot in it not quite a year earlier, but there was still a long way to go and a lot of work that needed to be done.

He found Balin down in the gems room, where he was weighing out a pile of sparkling clear blue stones. “Are you just about ready to go?”

“A good morning to you as well, Thorin,” Balin replied without looking up. “What happened, that you are in such a hurry to head out to Dale?”

“I need to put distance between myself and marriage-minded hopefuls.”

Balin chuckled. “They all know about you and Miss Asharm. And now visions of weddings and babies are filling heads throughout Erebor. Many of them would give their eyeteeth to give you bairns. But, that isn’t exactly a terrible thing now, is it?”

“Oh, not you, too.” Thorin sighed softly as he leaned against a wooden worktable along the wall. “Dís thinks I should simply choose one and get started on those babies.”

Balin looked up and whisked his jeweler’s loupe from his head. “And you don’t want this?”

“I’ve yet to meet one I wish to take as mine.”

“You seemed quite taken with Mrs. Asharm.”

Thorin smiled. “Ah, but she is married and even if she wasn’t, I was not taken with her. She’s… interesting, is all.”

“You spoke with her for about five minutes, Thorin,” Balin replied slowly, setting the loupe on the table alongside his scale. “And you know only that she has a daughter and she will hopefully be able to restore Bifur’s fluency in Westron. The smattering of it he has now is only enough to frustrate anyone who doesn’t speak khuzdul.”

“Perhaps we should all go back to speaking only that.”

“Ah, but then how do we trade with Man, and with the Elves? Man only knows Westron and the Elves speak Sindarin and Westron.”

“So, we keep him from interacting with anyone else.”

“Thorin.”

He sighed and nodded toward the scale. “What are you doing?”

“This?” Balin dumped the small stones into an equally small, black bag. “They are to be made into a necklace. For Vandimora. Our anniversary is coming up fast.”

Thorin smiled. “You should have mentioned this last eve. I’d have asked one of the others to accompany me.”

“Ah, but they do not know or understand contract law.” Balin tucked the little pouch inside his tunic and eased down from his stool. He only came up to Thorin’s shoulder, even when his puffy white hair was at its fullest. He was also one of Thorin’s most trusted lieutenants, along with Balin’s brother, Dwalin. “So, Vandi’s necklace will wait a bit longer. I have time, just not much.”

“Well, I appreciate it just the same. Hopefully this will not take all day, and it will still be light by the time we return.”

The infirmary was one floor above the Sophie’s apartments, just beyond the Great Hall and it’s proximity to the surface, instead of being buried deep within the mountain, offered up a warmth that was a welcome respite from the dank chill Sophie still hadn’t acclimated herself to just yet.

She pushed open the door to find Narnerra’s son, Gimli, sitting in one of the chairs normally reserved for those waiting to be seen. His feet dangled a good foot from the floor, and he swung them as if without a care in the world.

“Good morning, Mrs. Asharm,” he said, running a hand over the beginnings of what would one day be a rust-colored beard that matched the rust-colored braids that fell just below his shoulders. He was one of, if not the youngest dwarves in Erebor and as his mother explained to Sophie, he often spent his time alone, which was was a shame because he was a sweet boy. At the moment, his blue eyes danced with hope. “Is Heather with you?”

“No, I’m sorry, love, but she is with Miss Oakmane, which, I have to admit, I thought is where you would be, too.”

He nodded. “I will be in a minute. I’m waiting for Mama to kiss me goodbye.”

With that, Narnerra came out of one of the back rooms. “I am so sorry, mesmel,” she told him, bending over to press a kiss into the top of his head. “Mr. Bifur was a bit agitated this morning. I think he’s nervous about working with you, Mrs. Asharm.”

“Please,” Sophie replied with a smile, “Sophie is fine and he’s not the only one who’s nervous, I’m afraid.”

“You’ll be fine,” Gimli piped in as he hopped down from his chair. “Mama, I’m going to find Heather. Can she sit with us at supper tonight?”

“That would be up to her mother, Gimli,” Narnerra reminded him softly. “So, perhaps you should ask Mrs. Asharm.”

Sophie turned to her smile to Gimli as he said, “Can—er—may she come and sit with us at supper tonight?”

“I don’t see why not, Master Gimli. Perhaps you might get her to eat something healthy because I certainly haven’t had much luck with it.”

“I can try.” He hurried to the door as fast as his short legs would carry him. “I’ll see you at luncheon, Mama!”

“Behave!”

“I will!”

The door closed behind him and Sophie turned to Narnerra. “He is such a sweet little boy.”

“He’s far younger than most of the other children here and they tend to push him aside. But he absolutely adores your daughter. He’s very protective of her.”

“I can see that.” Sophie nodded, then gestured to the door from which Narnerra had come. “Is Mr. Bifur in there?”

“He is.” Narnerra pressed a heavy folder into her hand. Bifur’s file, no doubt. “But, I’ll warn you, on days like today, he tends to feign not being able to speak Westron at all. Don’t let him fool you. He has a ways to go, but he understands more than he lets on.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sophie told her. “If you’ll excuse me then.”

“Of course.”

They parted then and Sophie took a deep breath and tugged open the door. She stepped into the small room whose window overlooked an equally small, tree-ringed courtyard. “Mr. Bifur?”

The man at the window was short and broad, with a heavy fall of thick, silver-streaked black hair, and an equally heavy beard that was more silver than black, while his mustache remained black as night. A large, jagged red scar marred the upper left portion of his forehead and she looked down at the parchment in the folder to see why. He’d apparently had an axe blade embedded in his skull until the Battle of the Five Armies, where it had finally been dislodged.

He stared at her, his dark eyes cold and distant. She smiled and held out a hand. “I’m Sophie and I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

He didn't blink as he muttered something in khuzdul and turned back to the window.

“What have you heard about me?” she asked, setting the file on the small table before moving to join him at the window. The sun splashed courtyard looked very inviting on this chilled autumn afternoon, as the infirmary was far too warm for her liking.

He shrugged, then replied in khuzdul again.

“Well, I’m not nearly that much of a taskmaster. There is no point. It’s not up to me to do the work, as I speak both your language and mine fluently. You, however, have to relearn Westron and I know it won’t be easy. But, I’m patient and I know you’ll get it.”

“And if I do not?”

She smiled. “You will. Would you like to go outside and have our session out there?”

“Yes.”

“Then we can do that. Come along. I find a more informal setting tends to make things easier, so if you like, we can work outside as long as the weather permits. And on days when it doesn’t, we’ll find somewhere else to work. How does that sound?”

He looked over at her, his eyes still distant, but he nodded and slowly managed to say, “I would like that.”

“So would I.”

So, she led him out into the cool breeze, which riffled through his heavy beard and sent his hair fluttering up about his head. It was a beautiful day, the breeze cool and crisp as it rustled through the trees, and they made themselves comfortable at a table in the far corner, near the low stone wall that ringed it.

“Tell me, when did your accident happen?”

Bifur’s dark eyes met hers and clouded slightly. He opened his mouth, but then closed it just as quickly and frustration made him grimace. “Might I tell you in my language?” he asked in khuzdul.

“I’d rather you try in Westron. And it doesn’t matter if it takes you a while. Try it, and if it really is too difficult, you can revert. But, I’d like you to use Common Speech as often as you can. The more you do, the faster it will all come back to you.”

He scowled. “I think it will never come back.”

“Bifur.”

His scowl deepened. “What if… it doesn’t?”

“We will worry about that when and if it happens. But,” she smiled at him, reaching over to cover his hand with hers, “I think it will. It usually does.”

He glanced down at her hand, then back up at her. “It happened… almost six ye-years ago. A bat—battle with orcs.”

“Orcs. They are the root of all evil,” she said softly. “Did one hit you?”

He shook his head. “No. It… it was one… of the… dwarves … I—I—Iron Hill.”

“One of Dáin Ironfoot’s men?”

He nodded. “Accident. Swung at an—an orc. Missed. Got—got me instead.”

“You’re lucky he didn't kill you.”

“Not nearly… as…fie—fie—fie—” He let out a heavy sigh, pounding a fist on the table as he tried again. “As fie—fie—fierce as us.”

Her fingers tightened about his hand. “Easy, Bifur… I don’t want to see you get yourself worked into a fury. That makes both our jobs that much harder.”

He sighed softly, his shoulders slumping. “Im—impossible.”

“No. It’s not. If it was, I wouldn’t be here. But, it’s not going to be easy, either. However, I think if we work together maybe four days a week to start, you’re going to pick it all up very fast.”

That seemed to mollify him for a while and the rest of their session went fairly smoothly. When they finished, he smiled and in khuzdul said, “I appreciate what you’re doing here. I hope it isn’t much trouble.”

She shook her head. “It’s no trouble at all, really. But, it’s really up to you. If you find it’s overwhelming, we can cut back. Or we can add more if need be.”

“Mama!”

Sophie turned as Heather shot across the courtyard and flung herself at Sophie, who caught her with a slight, “Ooof!”

Bifur chuckled and waved at Heather. “Good afternoon,” he said in slow, but nearly perfect Westron.

Heather offered up a shy smile as she snuggled up against Sophie. “Good afternoon.” She pointed to her forehead. “What happened to you?”

A hint of color came to his cheeks and he leaned forward to shake his head and have his thick dark hair fall over the healing scar. “I wish not to speak of it,” he said in khuzdul.

Heather turned to her. “What did he say, Mama?”

“He has no wish to talk about it, which is fine.” She gave Heather a squeeze, adding, “And it’s none of your concern, either, love.”

Heather’s eyes were troubled. “I didn't mean to make him mad, Mama.”

Bifur shook his head and in Westron, replied, “Not mad. Tired.”

“Oh. You should take a nap. That’s what Mama makes me do when I’m tired during the day.”

Bifur offered up a smile and nodded. “Perhaps.”

As he stood and then made his way back toward the fortress, Sophie held Heather away. “Where is Gimli?”

“He had to go. Miss Narnerra was looking for him.” Heather turned to watch Bifur disappear back inside. “Was he hurt in the war, Mama?”

“No. Actually the war helped him. But again, it isn’t any of your concern. Are you hungry?”

Heather nodded. “I am, and after supper, can I go exploring with Gimli? I have to win that piece of cake from Mister Thorin.”

Sophie hesitated. Erebor was a vast underground city, and not only was it so easy to lose one’s way, the level where the forges were was so very dangerous, she didn't want Heather anywhere near there.

Still, she didn't want to disappoint her daughter about the cake, either. “Oh, I don’t know, love. It’s so dangerous.”

“We won’t go near the forges. I promise. Please?”

“For a little while only.”

Heather brightened. “Thank you, Mama!”

Sophie sighed as she carried Heather into the Great Hall. Don’t let me regret this.

“Ah… nice to see you again, Mrs. Asharm.”

She looked up at Dwalin’s greeting and smiled. He made her a little nervous, though she tried to keep it to herself. And it wasn’t fair to judge him on his appearance, but he just looked so… fierce… and so ready for a fight that it kept her on her guard.

Heather, however, had no such reservations as she held out her arms to him. “Can I fly again?”

“Heather!”

But Dwalin chuckled and reached for her. “Of course, but only fer a moment or two. I dinna want ye getting sick.”

With that, he lifted her over his head and swooped her about the room, which caused everyone else there to stop what they were doing and watch. Judging by the looks of surprise, she had the feeling many were not used to seeing this side of the Royal Guard’s captain.

Heather loved every moment of it, shrieking with laughter as she soared above everyone. Dwalin stood at least a head taller than everyone else in the room, so Heather must have really felt as if she flew.

But then he brought her back, setting her on her feet at Sophie’s side. “Back safe and sound.”

“Thank you, Mister Dwalin,” Heather said, then climbed up onto the closest bench.

Sophie smiled at him. “You don’t have to do that every time she asks, you know.”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind it. I have no children of my own, and with the exception of Gimli, there are no other wee ones. If I can make her laugh for a few minutes, I don’t mind doing so.”

“Even so, don’t ever feel you cannot say no to her. In fact, you should every now and again.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His blue eyes softened. “Would you and the wee one like to sit with us?”

As he spoke, he gestured to a table at the back of the hall, where Lady Dís and her two sons already sat. One was blond, one was dark, and she knew their names were Fíli and Kíli, but she didn't know which son was which. A chair to Lady Dís’ left was empty, and she wondered if that was were the king would sit when he arrived.

“Thank you, but—”

“Ah, there you are.” Thorin stepped up to them. “Dwalin, if you have a minute? I need to speak with you.”

“Of course. I was just asking Mrs. Asharm if she and her daughter would like to join us, and I may be wrong, but I think she was about ta say no.”

Thorin turned to her. “If you were, I hope you’ll reconsider. I’m curious to hear how your first session with Bifur went. And,” he smiled over at Heather, “how your exploring is going?”

Heather smiled, her eyes sparkling as she said, “I will know all the places by Friday, Mister Thorin. I promise.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Sophie sighed as Heather turned to her. “Can we sit with Mister Thorin, Mama? Please?”

“I suppose it would be all right,” she said, looking back to Thorin to find him still gazing at her. He truly did have beautiful eyes—pale blue, with enviably thick black lashes around them. It was easy to see why so many of Erebor’s women giggled and gossiped over him. She’d heard three or four different woman doing so during different times of the day and all eventually turned to the same subject:

“I hear he is looking to marry soon. Now, of course, he’d never so much as look at me, but I wonder…”

It was amusing, really, to hear such blatant attempts at fishing for compliments, as the speaker was inevitable reassured that of course Thorin would look at them for they were stunning, or striking, or gorgeous or whatever adjective would make the speaker smile and play coy. And then the giggling and plotting would start up, some scenarios so outlandish, she rolled her eyes with enough force to worry they might become stuck that way.

But, truth be told, he was very handsome, with long, black, silver-streaked wavy hair and those striking blue eyes. Like almost every other dwarf, he also bore a full beard, although his was not nearly as long as any of the others. Unlike them, there were no beads or runes in his beard, it simply wasn’t long enough. But, his hair was another matter. Two narrow braids, one at each temple, hung before his ears, each had a small silver rune woven into them and a little further back, a larger silver ornament could be seen through the shifting strands. He was broad shouldered and almost as tall as his lieutenant. She also noticed the thin scar that sliced diagonally from above his right temple into where his right eyebrow began, but it hardly detracted from his brooding good looks. In fact, she’d suggest it actually added to them.

And when he smiled! Oh, she’d heard the phrase having one’s breath stolen from their lungs, but she’d never experienced it for herself until the previous night, when he’d caught Heather. Those brooding good looks became downright, dangerously handsome.

However, he was also a king. A dwarf king. She was neither royalty of any sort, nobility of any sort, nor was she a dwarf. So, it mattered not how handsome he was or anything since she was an employee of Erebor. He would always be out of reach for her, even if she was looking.

Which she most definitely was not.

He smiled then and held out a hand to Heather, who cheerfully caught it. “If you will come with me, then. I’ll introduce you to the others.”

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Richard Armitage

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randomshyperson · 3 years

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Left Behind - Chapter 10 - Atlantis

Gif was made by @abimess aka wifey

Summary: The one where you lived in the apartment under the Maximoff family in Sokovia, or, your journey as a Sokovian civilian to Avenger.

Series Warnings: (+16) Violence, fighting, cursing, civil war environments, abuse of power, assault, torture, underage kissing, psychological torture, substance use, mention of assault/fighting of children, smut, kissing, teasing, insinuation of sexual and moral harassment, verbal offenses.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader || platonic bucky barnes x reader, mentor!natastha romanoff and mentor!steve rogers, bruce banner x reader (friendship), pietro maximoff x reader (friendship).

Words: 3.445K

A/N> I should warn you for the angst in this one i think. Please don't hate the ending of this or the fic. Good reading you all. Also, listen to "Atlantis" by Seafret, i chose the name based on that song.

All Works Masterlist || Read on AO3 || Series Masterlist

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Chapter 10 - Atlantis

You ignore the insinuating look Pietro gives you when he sees you leaving Wanda's room in the morning.

"Not a word." You warn threateningly as he raises his arms in surrender, holding back his laughter.

You turn and go back to your room, trying not to smile like an idiot as you prepare for the mission, and failing miserably.

You try not to think about last night, or the morning after, but the feel of Wanda's lips on your skin is all that comes to mind for the next few hours.

Even during breakfast, where after she stole a kiss on your cheek in the hallway before you guys joined the Avengers, and sat beside you at the table while Steve went over some details to everyone, all you could think about was the last night. In Wanda's taste, her hands inside…

"Stop it." She warns softly at your side. Lower enough so only you can hear, and not to get in the way of the captain's speech. You blink in confusion, and then you understand. Feeling your face heat up, you look at her with a mixture of surprise and indignation.

"You can...?"

"Yes, now eat in silence please." She interrupts in the same tone, equally embarrassed as she keeps her gaze on the plate in front of her.

"Wanda?" You try next. And she mutters under her breath, and then she realizes. She rolls her eyes, and goes back to eating. You smile. "I can't believe you didn't tell me you could hear thoughts."

"It was kind of obvious don't you think?" She retorts mentally. "My whole thing is mind control."

"Your whole thing is to be the love of my life." You tease and she chokes lightly on her coffee, making you hold back a laugh as you gently touch her back. She says she's fine softly, and Steve, who had given her a worried look, goes back to talking about planning for the defenses in Sokovia.

"When this is over, I want to try a few things." You mentally tell her and Wanda looks at you quickly before turning her attention back to Steve. You imitate the movement.

"We'll leave as soon as you finish eating." Steve says already getting up. You suddenly feel anxious.

Wanda notices the way your body has tensed, and looks at you immediately.

"Hey, everything okay?" she asks tenderly. You give her a weak smile, placing your hand on her thigh. Wanda puts her hand on top of yours.

"I'm nervous."

"Me too." She confesses. "But we'll be fine. I got you."

"And I got you."

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As soon as you join the jet with the rest of the Avengers, you could already feel the control serum starting to wear off.

Sighing a little, you don't even have to ask to have Wanda's hand in yours. Her eyes and fingers glow red for a moment as she helps you, before returning to normal. You mumble a thanks, resting your back against the jet's wall.

"Remember what we trained, Avengers." Announces Steve upon entering. "Removing the civilians is the support team's priority, while Clint searches for Natasha. The strike team must deal with Ultron's guards."

"Yes, captain." The team says in understanding, and then the jet is leaving.

It takes ten minutes for Pietro to start teasing you.

"I hear we had a girls night yesterday." Commented the boy out loud, attracting the attention of Bruce and Bucky, who were standing next to you. Wanda glared at her brother.

"Pietro..."

"What is it, sestra? I’m just saying.”He joked. You wondered if you could throw him off the jet from that high. "I heard that this type of activity is a great stress reliever."

You felt your face heat up, and you sank into your seat. In the next second, the rest of the team understood. Clint whistled loudly, and Tony laughed. Bruce blushed and pretended to pay attention to his boots while Bucky giggled at Steve's embarrassed expression.

"Forgive me, I'm not following the reason for the humor in this conversation." Vision commented then.

"Don’t you dare." Wanda warned when he saw Pietro raise his hand to tell Vis what was being said, and the boy laughed before ducking.

Vision watched the interaction with confusion, but it was Tony who threw his arm around him.

"They had sex, champion." Tony announced, making you grunt in embarrassment. "I can't wait for Nat to know, she owes me fifteen bucks”.

“What?” Wanda asks, confused.

"Ah, it's just that before you arrived, the golden eyes there were always talking about you." Tony counts with irony. "How much she loved and missed a certain little witch and her inconvenient brother. So we made a bet that you two would work it out. I said it would happen before you went back to Sokovia, but Natasha thought Y/N was slower and would just work it out after we’re done with Ultron."

"Thanks for the faith, Tony." You mumble awkwardly, adjusting your posture. "Now if you don't mind, can you stop talking about my life?"

The team laughs but the comments about you and Wanda stops. Until you reach Sokovia, you spend your time playing with Wanda fingers as you both lay against each other's shoulders while listening to whenever small talk the Avengers build up.

Things get tense once you reach the country.

Steve signals that you arrive and starts moving around to get read for the jet to land.

You only let go of Wanda’s hand to put your suit on and once you’re done, she’s right in front of you, smiling tenderly as she puts a jacket on.

“Are you good?” She asks.

“Yes. You?”

“Yeah.” She aswerns as she moves forward to kiss you firmly on the mouth. It relaxes your body completely, and you keep your hands on top of hers that are on your face until you break the kiss.

You wish you could care about the teasing looks the team cast to you too, but all you see is Wanda.

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You sat down quickly on the ground, your body against a wall, while trying to get your breathing back to normal.

Wanda was using her powers to get civilians out of their homes, and well, it took some of her magical attention away from you.

It didn't take long for you to be able to detect all the biological life around you again, meters and meters away, quickly feeling overwhelmed.

"How are we?" Steve asked over the communicator, probably already advancing with the rest of the team towards the former Hydra base. You looked up at the sky to get a quick glimpse of Tony flying in his suit before he vanished away.

"All right around here, Captain." Clint responded first followed by the rest of the team.

Your hesitation made Steve specifically call you, but before you could say anything, Wanda was kneeling beside you, one hand on your shoulder and the other on her communicator.

"We are good." She responded before turning her attention to you completely. You felt her magic envelop you quickly, your body relaxing. "How do you feel, dear?"

"Better now." You respond with a smile. "Thanks."

As she helped you to your feet, you noticed her worried expression, and placed a hand on her cheek.

"I'm fine Wanda, I promise."

"Just don't push too far, okay?" She asks. "You can go back to the jet whenever you want."

"I'll be okay, Wanda." You mumble. "Let's get this over with so we can go back to bed." You teases with a mischievous smile, stealing a kiss before walking away, giving her a wink before heading towards the rest of the civilians.

Ultron had better plans than this.

“We need to get everyone out of here immediately.” Tony told through the communicator. “A vibranium bomb. We don’t have time.”

“Working on it, iron boss.” You mock as you helped another family move out of their home. Just like, Pietro had already headed to police stations and hospitals to remove people from there. There was a large crowd of inhabitants heading out of town, but there were still many more.

Peace ended quickly.

Ultron activated the robot army, and they literally began to sprout from the ground.

"Bucky, we're going to need support here pal." Steve warned through the communicator while you were drawing your pistol to prevent one of the robots from advancing on you.

"On my way, cap." The soldier warned. "Just don't tell my therapist."

You and the team laughed lightly as you fought. The whole thing getting bigger and bigger every minute.

Wanda covered for you while you guided people out, but it was becoming untenable.

So, as soon as she tore apart the small group of Ultron’s army that was surrounding you two, you called her.

"You can't keep babysitting me , this is getting too bad." You warned, your voice almost muffled by the length of the fight. The robots flying above you, and Thor and Vision facing them in the sky.

"I won't leave you." She insisted seriously and you swallowed hard.

"Wanda..."

“End of discussion.”

“You are cute and all, it's just that we have a situation here. Mind getting back into the fight?" Natasha's voice interrupted the moment over the radio, sounding amused and teasing. You sighed with relief when you realized she was okay, and you exchanged one last look with Wanda before going back to fighting. “By the way, Tony said I lost the bet.”

“Please don’t bring this back.” You ask Natasha, that just laughs before hanging off, not without teasing you about being proud of you for making a move.

The ground shook beneath your feet, making it difficult for you to keep your balance.

"Guys, what's going on?" You asked through the communicator.

Sokovia is going for a ride.

Friday tells the whole team. You gasp in surprise, looking around.

The ground is breaking apart, and the city is rising into the air. You don't need your powers to know that not all buildings are empty. The debris will end up hurting someone.

And even with all that, the advances of Ultron's army get even worse.

You barely have time to duck before Wanda rips apart a robot that attacked you.

Clint catches up with you two the next second.

"We need to regroup, Tony needs us back there." He warns you. You frown.

"Not a chance, there are civilians all over the place." You say, moving quickly to fire at the machines that have appeared behind you.

"Well, we need the offensive back at the church." He counters. "That's where the bomb is."

"You two go then." You say when you finish shooting. Wanda, who has just destroyed three machines at once, turns to you in indignation.

"No."

But you don't look at her, you look at the blue flash figure approaching.

“Hey Peete, do you mind?” You shouted to him as he stopped next to you two. He nods at you before picking Wanda up, who has no time to complain. He teases Clint "Keep up, old man." before disappearing at high speed, making you laugh.

Clint looks at you.

“Are you sure?”

"It's my job to protect them.”

“The Maximoff or the civilians?” He mocks, making you roll your eyes.

“Go, Barton.”

It doesn't take long for your biological detection to come back.

You think you're going to pass out. But you take a deep breath, and stumble among cars and wrecking machines.

Calm down. You remember Wanda's soft voice in the glass room. The feel of her fingers on your skin. Calm down, I'm here. You can do this.

"I can do this." You mutter to yourself, trying to keep your balance.

You find a horde around the corner, almost close enough to a group of civilians coming out of the municipal hospital.

Ignoring the feeling of being overwhelmed at being able to feel the fear and despair of those people, you advance with the pistol in your hand.

The machines were destroyed, but not by you.

"You took your time, Barnes." You tease with a wry smile, rushing to help the civilians, feeling their superficial wounds before helping them. Bucky smiles and shrugs, a rifle in his hand as he gives you cover to help the population.

"Two minutes out here and I'm already missing my retirement." He comments as he fires, making you laugh, a bit breathless due your powers. Bucky notices right the way. "Are you all right?"

"I'm just considering retiring too after here." You retort by standing up again, helping the little girl who had bruises on her forehead to join the rest of the family. She smiles in thanks, but you're already walking away again, your head pounding from how many people you can feel at once.

You stumble around the rubble to the front of the municipal hospital. Ignoring the memories you have of the whole neighborhood, you try to focus on some group.

"Y/N, I think there are kids coming out of that corner!" Bucky unnecessarily warns you because you've already felt them.

You recognize Church clothes that the adults leading the group wear. They are coming from the Orphanage where you grew up.

You run to catch up to them, and it's the first time you've really noticed Ultron's cruelty. It's a horde that arises, and they notice you right away. The machine in front follows your gaze to the small group, and it has a chance to shoot only you, but it turns its mechanical hand, and aims directly at the kids.

You widen your eyes, feeling your heart race.

"NO!"

Something explodes in your chest. Everything turns golden before returning to normal color. You can’t see the golden wave that reaches the group because there’s a pain in the back of your head that makes you close your eyes tightly.

The robot fired, but if it weren't for the gunshot marks on the robes, no one would know as none of the civilians had any injury. The kids were wide-eyed, and you fell to your knees.

Bucky shot the machines before looking at you in amazement.

"How did you do that? They were practically a street away." He asked in shock, watching the nuns guide the kids to cover quickly, just as in shock as he was. Your lack of response alarmed him and he turned to face you quickly, touching your shoulder. "Y/N, you're bleeding..."

"I know." You grunt weakly, taking a deep breath as you lean on Bucky to get up. "Let 's keep going."

You wiped the blood running from your nose with your hand, but ignored the wet sensation in your ears. Bucky hesitated.

"No, you're not okay." He insisted. "Let's go back..."

"Let go of me, Bucky." You exclaimed angrily, pulling his hands away. "I heal, don't I? I'll be fine. Let's keep going."

"Y/N..."

But you are already walking. You can feel all the injured, and you need to keep going.

You help at least two more groups to shelter, until you're resting your hands on your knees and trying to stay on your foot.

You see your blood dripping to the ground, and you hear Bucky's footsteps approaching, so you wipe your face quickly while disguising the way your head is spinning.

"This isn't working Y/N." He says as he looks around at the wreckage. "These things seem to grow out of the ground, and there's no end to them. The city is too high right now and these people have nowhere to go."

You were going to agree with him, but something in the sky caught your eye.

"I think that's their ride." You say while pointing straight ahead.

It's a gigantic ship, flowing alongside the city. You and Bucky exchange a look, before he uses the communicator to confirm that this was a good thing.

With Shield providing shelter for civilians, you started running to help evacuate people from the floating capital of Sokovia.

Your head was spinning, and your feet were about to give up, but you forced yourself to continue.

Your body is shaking when you turn to help a boy who cut his leg.

"Ty angel, devochka? (are you an angel, lady?)" He asks, scared when you heal him and you give a weak laugh.

"Net, ya Avenger. (no, I’m an Avenger.)"

The wound isn't that big, but it's enough to rob the air of your lungs. Bucky guides the boy with the rest of the group back to the ship, and you can barely stand, your stomach turning.

You force yourself to get up. Just a bit longer.

Lifting your hand to your ear, you call out to Wanda while leaning on the car beside you so you don't fall to the ground.

"Wands?" You say wait for her to respond. She sounds worried when she says your name, but you just sigh. "Babe, when this is over, I'm taking you out on a date. Like the cliches we've never done before, okay?"

"Why are you talking like this?" She asked, scared. You can hear the background noises, the way she was probably keeping the bomb safe but facing Ultron's army. "Where are you?"

"I think we should try Disneyland too. Americans seem to love that." You continue as you begin to walk again. One hand on the tech inside your ear and the other in the wound in your belly, formed while you faced the last horde of robots, not healing anymore. "You would like a candlelight date with wine and music, wouldn’t you?"

"Please tell me where you are, I'll come to you." She begs through the radio and you smile before hanging up.

You saw Clint run further to the town.

You take a deep breath, rushing to catch up. You also see the jet Ultron stole rounding the city towards them, the rifles outside ready to aim.

That's why Clint ran there, to save one of the civilians left behind, you notice as you see the little boy on your friend's arm.

You try to do what you did before. Project your healing magic to them to keep them protected, but as you lift your hands to do that, all you feel is a sharp twinge in the middle of your chest and you almost fall to the ground.

Fine, I'll heal them myself. You think impatiently as you ignore your own limit and run.

You are almost there. But so is Ultron. If you stay up front, you think you can protect Clint and the civilian, you'd heal later, no problem.

“I’m gonna win.”

You widen your eyes in surprise when Pietro whispers in your ear, disappearing in his speed the next moment.

No. Don't do this.

You feel the shots before you hear them. You feel it through Pietro's body, who stepped forward to protect Clint.

You throw yourself forward, desperate.

You reach Pietro the second his heart stops beating.

"Piete?" You call to him as he falls into your lap. You can feel the air disappearing from his lungs, life fading away "Hey buddy, don't do that. Pietro! Please..."

You bury your face in his chest, trying to hear something. Anything. You press your hands against his chest next, then his face.

"Don't die on me, Pietro." You beg with a sob. You force your magic in despair. No matter how much it hurts, Pietro cannot die. He just can't.

You can only remember the skinny little boy running with you in your childhood. Laughing with you on the roof. Teaching you to fight.

Your tears mix up with your blood.

"Captain, we have a problem." Clint announces at your side.

No.

I'm not giving up.

You grunt in pain as you press your hands hard on Pietro's chest, your veins popping with a golden light. You're not dying on me.

Something starts to pulse in your head. Loud enough to completely disorient you. Your eyes are heavy, and you choke on your own blood coming out of your mouth.

You smile because you can feel the air returning to your friend's lungs at the same rate as it leaves yours.

When Pietro breathes again, your eyes close.

/-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-///-//-//-//-////-//-//-//-////-//-

Tag List> @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia || @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5 // @myperfectlovepoem // @helloalycia // @ENSORCELLME // @AIMEZVOUSBRAHMS // @drpepperobsessed // @sighsam // @olsensnpm // @sxfwap // @table57 // @madamevirgo // @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo // @emptysince18x // @xastrydx || @yuhloversxx || @ymzki-haruki || @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday || @lostandsearching || @lezzzbehonesthere || @musicinourlips || @chaekhan || @diaryoflife || @cristin-rjd

#Left Behind #Wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoffxreader #wanda maximoff x yn #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagines #avengers imagines

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mrpenguinpants · 3 years

Text

Genshin: University AU [V1]

I love modern au. Or any “everything is fine, no one died, it’s just a fever dream” au. Half of me is thinking, damn maybe I should answer this serious- LOL HAHA no. That’s not happening. Time to crack my knuckles and let my brainworms take over again.

Once again, this is 90% crack 10% content. I want to switch up my characters from the last brainworm post but I included Kaeya and Diluc.

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Today’s appreciation post goes to twistedwishes. Hey! I’ve been seeing you pop up a lot lately and thanks for the support 💕💕 I hope things are going better for you and you’re doing alright^^ I feel kinda bad for making appreciation posts on crack fics but hopefully this is somewhat funny haha.

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Genshin: Holding Hands [V1]

Genshin: When you’re cold [V1]

Genshin: Roommate [V1]

Genshin: Royalty AU [V1]

[Masterlist]

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[taglist] <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@mikeysbike @hanniejji@unionwitch @musekala @twistedsunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover @dilucsz @dai-tsukki-desu @thicmitten @youaskedfurret @diaxfeliz @wintergreen-aix @dandelily @thegayrubberducky @lovelykittycatmeow @yuunoagivesmelife @dokidokisama @simpygrimoire @minakohasmanyhusbandos @strwbrry-lia @tigerpriestess @yuu-yuukurotsuki

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Diluc

Absolute pretty boy who has braincells, but only if Kaeya is not there. In his mind, Kaeya’s presence makes his room loose 40% of their common sense. He can’t prove it just yet but he’s working on it. He majors in accounting but also has a minor in marketing, logistics’ management, fia- he majors everything business related. He’s going to become the next Elon Musk through smarts or by getting the competition drunk. There can be no contest if he’s the only candidate. He’s actually a hard working guy that overworks and stresses way too much. You have daily “Diluc recharge” evenings where he just hangs onto you while you go through your day.

“Don’t fucking talk to me until I’ve had my coffee,” except there is no coffee - he drinks grape juice out of juice boxes and his only energy boost is when he meets up with you - and that’s his constant mood. So he usually only hangs around you and Jean, since she has childhood friend status and is actually an angel. By default, Lisa is added and Diluc doesn’t mind her but if he see’s Kaeya, it’s full on war paint mode. If he's not busy with work or studies, he's usually with you either in your dorm or his apartment.

He has a fanclub and he seriously hates it and tries to do everything in his power to get Ningguang to take it down. Shouldn’t this be against his rights? But she refuses for whatever reason and makes a whole speech about free will. No matter what he does, someone manages to take a picture and it get’s printed in the university’s newspaper. The only bonding time he has with Kaeya is every Monday, where they collect and burn all the universities newspapers before anyone can get their hands on it. You always bring marshmallows to make smores during their arson activities.

“When I graduate I’m going to burn this school down to the ground. That’s not a threat it’s a promise.”

Ningguang

Is secretly the leader of the Diluc fanclub - not that she likes Diluc, she’s in a questionable platonic poly marriage with you and Beidou - but it was the easiest way to gain funds for the student council. Which she is the president of, so rip Diluc the fanclub stays. Ruthless business woman I tell you. But she can run in heels so her danger factor rises by at least 20%.

Majors in social sciences and law but more specifically the political science & government. She saw the Imperial State Crown that the Queen of England wears and says yes, that’s mine now. If she’s not with Beidou and you planning on “how to infiltrate the state government just for lols”, then she’s with Keqing, Ganyu, and Zhongli discussing student council things. Should they or should they not tell the student body that they can see everyone’s search results? Sit back and relax as the school goes into chaos.

She’s probably the scariest person on campus No, she is the scariest person on campus. She’s the scariest person on campus. But secretly she’s popping 20 aspirins just to make it through a night. She has the digestive system of steel. She still holds the title of "seriously do not try and beat her in a drinking game it's never going to happen" and that's her proudest achievement in life but sadly she can’t put it on her resume. Kaeya is still trying to beat her out of spite but so far it hasn't been working. You’re seriously concerned for her when she get’s challenged but Beidou gives you a way-to-hard slap on the back and cheers her on. If Ninngguang somehow get’s alcohol poisonings she’ll somehow find away to make a profit out of it.

"I'll let him die, I'll get the insurance money."

Kaeya

One day he chugged too much mouth wash, passed out, and somehow woke up in university majoring in law. His idea is that if he is apart of the law, he can therefore stand above it. To be fair, his only goal in life is to say “I am the manager” and he can go live the rest of his life in bliss or as a hermit. He’s secret best friends with you but wouldn't be caught dead beside you. He will stab a bitch if you ever get hurt but will still trip you on the way home. Seriously, you have no idea why people find him attractive. Your guess is it’s the eye patch or the clap of his ass cheeks that keeps alerting everyone.

He’s apart of the newspaper club and if anyone asks: No, he has no idea who keeps taking all the newspapers and burns them in the back of the campus. Originally, he joined because he was nosy and needed to join some type of club for his resume. He sometimes feels bad for his junior assistant Amber because he keeps tricking her and says that Diluc is secretly a demon that is trying to steal all the jobs and is apart of the lizard government hell bent on eradicating the human race. He even brought out a whiteboard for this joke, he’s dedicated to his job ok?

The type of guy to try and be humble and say his work is “okay” but will choke a bitch if anyone agrees. He tends to leave everything last minute and says that it’s his drug since actual drugs could land you one year in prison and a maximum penalty of $2,000. You have to awkwardly hold in your concerned mother head shake when you see him speed running his assignment literally right when the professor is walking around to check if students finished.

“I was taught how to lead not to read.”

Mona

Broke wallet #2. Zhongli is broke wallet #1 but Childe simps for him so is he really a broke wallet at this point? In this essay, I Mona Megistus, will explain why I have the rights to the title “Broke Wallet #1″...

Believes that astrology should be an actual career path but refuses to take astronomy as her major. I can read the stars not a textbook that tells me how to calculate the mass of the sun divided by the fucks I give. Instead she went into Philosophy and cries to Albedo, who is an actual prodigy genius- sir lend some braincells to everyone else please?, that her professor keep turning her paper down because “star reading” is not an academic source.

Fischl wants her to join the occult club because, surprisingly, Mona is very good at telling people’s fates through her crayon sketch ouija board. She thinks first year Fischl is cute but is put off by the cosplay roleplay that she has going on. She would join except that stupid hat wearing gremlin in her lit class would make fun of her if he found out.

You gave her half your lunch one day and bought her a doughnut "because she seemed upset" and "out of the goodness of your heart" whatever the hell that means. She thinks you pensioned it but once that thought comes she takes a bite. Poison from a doughnut is not the worst way to go out, classes are hard enough. She’s waiting for the lord to strike her down anyways.

“Its not about passing, its about doing better than everyone else.”

Venti

Slept through most of highschool and people question how he got into university. He’s a music major (wow how fucking original is that), and if anyone asks him to serenade someone or just do anything, he’ll do it for the right price. Or if you buy him alcohol because he still keeps getting ID checked. He’s banking on Kaeya actually becoming a lawyer or being on good terms with Diluc so he can finally stop being arrested for looking like a toddler.

Takes one step into classes and quickly nopes out and goes back to bed. Professors have no idea how he hasn't dropped out or failed. He just has some god given talent. He does whine at you to pretty pretty please with a cherry on top tutor him because you're such an angel and would never leave your poor but awesome best friend hanging right? He needs to get this essay down but how he is suppose to explain how the number 10 is symbolic and connects to the universe or the meaning of life. Do you think he can just say it’s apart of his culture and make up some random myth to pretend it looks like he knows what he’s doing?

He’s honestly going with the flow and put his brain on the back burner all of highschool and only now realizes wait, I actually have to use my brain?

He’s been banned from most club chats since Venti has the no chill card. Someone says “lol I look ugly today.” and he’ll respond "yup, you look like a cow." and he get’s banned. Zhongli keeps a speed run timer on his phone just to document these occasions.

"Sad spelled backwards is das and das how it be sometimes."

Childe

An actual dumbass that somehow does well. He eats sandwiches with the crust off, this heathen. Surprisingly he’s studying to become a physical therapist but most of his experience has come from breaking his own bones. You’re scared how he's going to be if he actually becomes a therapist. If he'll make bets with his patients or try to one up whatever crazy injury they get into. Everything is a challenge to him that sometimes the best way to deal with Childe is to knock him out.

This man really knows the way to a Zhongli’s woman's heart. Through micro transactions. Mona saw him accidently drop $20 and just shrugged and walked off. She has never been both spiritually and physically offended in her life. She did take the $20 though. As much as you hate leeching on Chile when he’s basically a walking wallet that probably uses bills as tissue paper, you can’t help but give him puppy eyes while planning on how to get into his will. If he even plans on having one, he might honestly write “whoever wins in a gladiator style duel in my funeral’s tournament, they will get my fortune.”.

Any sport the university offers Childe is probably in it. Which is how he met Zhongli, challenged him to a fight, proceeded to have his ass handed to him, got a backhanded compliment, and screamed to you he was in love and how he found his soulmate. He's secretly very sappy and has cried and watched every Disney and Pixar movie at least 28 times.

"IM NOT TOO SPICY! I’M A TINY BIT ABOVE MILD IF ANYTHING!”

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God if it isn’t Scaramouche, it’s Childe that ruins the aesthetic. This is why I hate you. Why do you people enable me like this, it isn’t even good. This is pretty much a @ yourself moment and I vibe hard with Venti. This entire post was just to make a joke about the clap of Kaeya’s ass cheeks alerting the guards.

This week might slow down since I have classes and assignments. My reply’s are gonna be late too, sorry;; (oh and thank you to everyone that was so supportive and nice when I mentioned it. All of you. Beautiful 💕💕 )

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honey-hippie-harper · 3 years

Text

In-Laws Being In-Laws (Re-upload)

Hiii!

So, this is basically an old fic, which I deleted from my other account ( @dawniebb ) and was requested to be uploaded again.

This feels like a lifetime ago afgshjka, but I remember it was written for a Renegades content swap event, and it was for @healing-winston-pratt (hello, wifey!). The prompt was, basically, Nova and one of the Renegays being in-laws, and it was super fun to write! <3

If anyone’s reading this: Hi, you’re a beautiful human being, and I love you <3

In-Laws Being In-Laws

Dear Dread Warden,

I am not quite sure you will get this message because it is been a while since I last used my communicator but, in case you do: I hope you are having a nice morning.

The reason I am writing you this is that, as you must already be aware, right now Sketch and his teammates are taking part in the Annual Renegade Convention as special guests to be awarded for their heroic participation in the Second Battle for Gatlon. Hence, they are out of town. Due to my temporary resignation from the team, I declined the offer to attend the event and, for instance, to receive an award. This means that, unlike theirs, my routine remains the same as usual.

Unfortunately, I must see my therapist for my weekly appointment in two hours, and after that I will have to go to the supermarket to pick up some groceries and essential items. Under normal circumstances, given the nature of my relationship with Sketch, he would have driven me to the supermarket and then back to my apartment, as it happens to be located sort of far from the store and it could be pretty difficult for me to walk while carrying all those bags. However, as mentioned before, these are not normal circumstances and Sketch is not currently available.

I reach out to you with no intention to cause trouble; for instance, if I happen to be asking too much or disrupting your schedule (As I am conscious you are a busy person) and you consider you will not be able to help me, I assure you I completely understand. But: Could you pick me up from my therapist's office and take me to the supermarket afterwards?

I apologize for the inconvenience and I promise I will make sure this does not happen again. In addition, I also apologize for the alliteration in the greeting at the beginning of this message. I did not know whether you wanted to be acknowledged by your real name or your alias.

Sincerely,

Insomnia.

-.-

Hi, Insomnia!!!

So nice to see you!... Or should I say read you! Ha! It's been so long, it almost feels like an eternity! I hope therapy is going great! (We're all really proud of you!)

It doesn't bother me at all, sweetheart; of course I'll help you with that. Could you share the location of your therapist's office, please?

Oh, and also: What time do you want me to be there? (Not that I have anything to do today, I just want to be on time).

I'm excited to see you! Can I take you to eat something afterwards? How does that sound?

Take care!

(Agh. I forgot these things don't actually allow you to write your real name).

-S i m o n.

(Better).

-.-

He spotted Nova way before parking. She was sitting on a bench outside the building, staring anxiously at her phone. The body language of a nervous person.

Simon stopped the car right in front of where she was, and when she realized he was already here, Nova jumped out of her seat as if it had burned her skin, before jogging in an awkward manner towards the car.

Once she was inside, Simon couldn't help but feel a twinge in his stomach. He wasn't lying when he told her he was excited to see her. In fact, he was more than excited, and he had to hold himself back pretty hard to avoid hugging her, because it was evident she didn't want to be hugged right now, for she just directed a tiny smile at him and said:

"Hi."

She was the same Nova he had met some time ago, but at the same time she was different; she was wearing sneakers, skinny jeans and a basic white v-neck shirt; her hair was a little longer, too, to the point she could tie it in a cute little ponytail; Simon could tell she wasn’t wearing any makeup, but still her face looked healthier than before; less tired, with smaller under-eye dark circles and lips covered in chapstick. Finally.

She looked alive. More than before.

“Hi.” He finally responded.

Watching people get better was always satisfactory, but watching Nova get better was different. He had grown to appreciate her, since the very first moment he saw her with Adrian; since the very first moment he spoke to her and saw nothing but utter heartbreak in her eyes. Nova was hurting, and any sensitive person would’ve noticed that. So, watching her get better was a touching experience for him.

“You look so…”

Nova interrupted him almost immediately.

“I know. I...I barely had time to fix my hair. Gosh. It’s so uncomfortable and I want to cut it but I haven’t had time. I…”

“Oh, no, no, no! Your hair looks gorgeous! “ He chuckled, although he was confused by her reaction. “I was gonna say you look really good. Really, really good. The ponytail looks great on you.”

Nova gulped as she adjusted said ponytail.

“Oh.” She muttered in a hoarse voice. “...Well...Thank you. I thought…”

“No, no.” Simon waved his hand. “You look great. How.... how are you?��

She seemed to be processing the question, even though it was not that difficult.

“I’m…” Nova cleared her throat. “I’m doing great. How are you? How’s ...life going?”

“Absolutely great!” Simon smiled, clapping his hands together. “Things at home are great. You know, Hugh’s not currently here due to the Annual Renegade Convention. Adrian’s not here either (for sure, you already know about that) and Max…”

“Max went too, yeah.” Nova smiled. Her eyes seemed to brighten to the mention of Max’s name. Adrian had mentioned this fact about her a couple of times: Nova was fond of children. And even if she wasn’t, she had a tendency to protect and care about them. Since she had this type of strong personality, Hugh refused to recognize that as a truth, but Simon had no trouble believing it.

It was adorable.

“He called me when he got the invitation. He was eager to go.” She continued. “Which doesn’t surprise me. I...It’s his first time travelling, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Responded Simon. “We’re planning to go on vacation this year. Because, you know, the convention’s being held not too far away from Gatlon and sadly he’s probably gonna get bored.”

“Bored?” Nova shifted herself in the seat, awkwardly. “Why?”

“Well...those conventions are...well, conventions.” Simon shrugged, smiling at her. “There are a lot of speeches, one after the other and, sure, the guests that represent Gatlon can skip some of them, but others are mandatory and they’re like 2 hours long and it’s so boring and…”

Nova hissed, grimacing, to which Simon nodded in agreement.

“I’m glad I didn’t have to go.” He admitted. “Though I do wanted to be there when Adrian and Max received their award. Too sad.”

Nova tried to speak a couple of times, until she finally had found the correct words to said her thoughts out loud.

“Why...why didn’t you go, then?”

“About that.” Simon chuckled. “Tamaya is going to be there too, as a speaker. And she’s also receiving an award. So...somebody had to take care of the Headquarters and Kasumi and I were left with that responsibility. However, it’s been pretty peaceful, as you may have noticed.”

“I have.” Nova nodded. “Not that I...go out very much, but yeah. Things have been calm.”

“People are behaving for once. And it’s awesome.” he sighed.

Then they stayed in silence. For a while.

Nova stared out the window, avoiding eye contact, while Simon whistled as he tapped his fingers on the wheel.

Not a word. No small talk.

Nothing.

“Sooooo…” Said Simon. “Shall we go?”

“Perhaps we should.” Nova said, immediately, as a flash of relief crossed her face.

So Simon smiled at her once again as he turned on the engine, while Nova put on her seatbelt next to him.

-.-

It took her so little time to come back Simon confirmed she was one of those people who would strategically write their shopping list so they wouldn’t be going back and forth through the aisles. It also surprised him that, being a person so young, she was so...focused on everything.

She really had only bought groceries and essential items. No junk food. No silly things she swore she would need and then she didn’t. Not even candy from the checkout area.

Simon hurried himself out of the car to help her put the bags in the trunk, but once she saw him and guessed his intentions, she quickly said:

“It’s okay. I can do it.”

“I know you can.” He clarified. Because, well, she indeed was a strong person. “But maybe you could use some help. That’s...a couple of bags.”

“Yeah. I know.” Nova nodded, already carrying the first two of the bags. “But I can do it. Please. I’m already causing you too much trouble.”

Simon was yet again confused by her reaction, and he tried to talk to her about it. But just like Nova looked like she didn’t want to be hugged right now, she also looked like she didn’t want to talk about it right now.

So he just opened the trunk for her and held it in case it would go down by its own. It had never happened, but just to be sure. Sometimes Simon’s anxiety made him overanalyze some situations.

Less than 10 minutes had passed by the time Nova finished putting all her stuff in the car, Simon figured she was still training, since she was as agile and fast as she was the day she notified them she would be taking some time off from the team and the Renegades in general.

They got in the car again, and before the silence could get as uncomfortable as the previous one, Simon took the initiative to speak.

“I think...you forgot to answer a part of my message.” He said, carefully. “You know...the part where I told you that maybe we could...go to a restaurant or something?”

Nova’s face, ears and neck turned so red she became a human-shaped cherry, and although in other circumstances he would’ve considered it adorable, this time he couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her. He had been there and done that many times; the messages Nova had sent were peak odd. The type of messages one would overthink over and over again because they had to be perfect. And if something, anything sounded off after you sent it, your world would be in shambles.

So he just smiled to assure it was okay. That he didn’t mind. That those messages didn’t have to be so formal in the first place.

And that, obviously, didn’t work.

For his experience, it never did.

“I...I...Yeah.” Nova scratched her brow. “Pretty much I...I...can recall not knowing how to word that so I just left it blank and I...must’ve forgotten to…”

“Nova.” Simon said, softly. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Did I...offend you or something?”

“Absolutely no!” He said. “Why would you think that? It’s just a slip. I know it wasn’t your intention and to be honest I still want to take you to eat something so...yeah, there’s no reason to get weird about this. There’s no need to worry.”

Nova took a deep, hasty breath. She was flustered, son Simon tried to keep her calm; to make her feel like she was in a safe environment.

Why wouldn’t she be, in the first place?

She was his son’s girlfriend.

Why would he want to hurt her or make her feel bad?

“Nova, darling.” He said again. “Do you have something on your mind?”

“I do.” Nova cleared her throat, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t really...can eat out right now. I barely manage to afford my groceries, you know? It’s been…”

“But you’re not gonna pay your own bill. I mean, why would you do that?” Simon raised an eyebrow at her, genuinely confused, but still laughing nervously. Sweet rot, who had hurt this child so much? “ I’m the one who’s taking you to eat. You wouldn’t have to…”

“You don’t have to either!” She snapped. Not mad, but rather distressed, while breathing heavily.

Simon went still, afraid he would make it worse. Still, he couldn’t leave it like that, so he gulped and, once he reunited enough courage, he dared to speak again.

“What’s really on your mind, Nova?” He asked, this time in a more soothing voice. Nova’s whole being went red again, but the shadow of confusion in her expression was noticeable and hard to ignore. For this reason, Simon decided to provide some kind of scaffolding.

“For example: Why would you write a message that is directed to me in such a formal way?” He asked, patiently. “Why would you ask me to pick you up as if you were asking me to help you commit a crime? Why would you act so uncomfortable around me when it’s not the first time that we’ve met? Why would you…?”

“Because it’s you.” Nova answered, avoiding eye contact.

And he expected that answer, yes. But, at the same time, he expected to understand the statement once it slipped out of her mouth.

However, he didn’t.

“Can you elaborate?” He requested.

Nova clicked her tongue as she rubbed her neck, staring at the dash right in front of her.

“...I can disappear if you want me to. Would that make you feel more comfortable?”

“No. No, no.” Nova nodded, waving her hands, finally looking at him. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Then...would you tell me what’s wrong?”

Nova thought about it. She squirmed in her seat. Gulped. Coughed. Squirmed again.

Then, playing with her own hands, she spoke.

“...I’m ashamed.”

“Ashamed of what…?” Simon tilted his head to the side. “Ashamed of who…? What exactly are you ashamed of? ...Dating Adrian?”

Nova flinched.

“I would never.”

A spark of pride illuminated his thoughts and his insides in general, but Simon tried to pay little attention to it.

“I’m just...ashamed. Of everything.” Nova said, sighing. “I…”

And she cut herself in the middle of the phrase, realizing that once again she wouldn’t be able to finish it.

Simon didn’t realize he was frowning until he felt the muscles of his face slowly giving in. He understood.

And he knew that anything that had happened during the Second Battle for Gatlon had been her fault. She might have contributed in some way but, at the end of the day, she was just a child.

A very confused and manipulated child who just needed someone to listen without twisting her words as they pleased.

“...I just think that...if I were you I wouldn’t like me either.” She wasn’t crying, nor did she sound like she was about to any time soon. There was so much resignation in her voice that her words weighted as much as a giant rock. “Hugh gave me his blessing to...you know, date Adrian…”

“I can recall giving you my blessing too.”

Nova tripped on her own words.

“I mean, you did. You both did.” She said. “But still… It’s because… because you want him to be happy. And I get it. I really do. And I understand because, like I said, I wouldn’t like me either...I know I am loved. I know I matter for some people...but I also know I did...bad things, and I carry this sort of cursed last name…”

She stopped and breathed for a second before continuing.

“And I…” She finally looked at him. “I get it. You don’t have to pretend you like me, after all that happened. After I stole stuff from your house; infiltrated into your system; caused a terrorist attack...You really don’t have to pretend.”

Simon blinked, and if it wasn’t for her specific and controlled body language, he would’ve thought she was making excuses or even joking.

But Nova was telling the truth.

And it was heartbreaking.

“Perhaps you should think outside the box and picture a scenario in which you realize we’re not pretending.” That’s the only thing he said.

“Perhaps you should realize that we love you and you matter to us.” He reached for her hand and softly touched her knuckles. Her hands were shaking. “And that, yes, we want Adrian to be happy, but we also want you to be happy.”

Nova’s eyes seemed to be covered in crystals, but she remained in silence.

“You’re part of this family now, Nova.” He smiled. “And I’m sorry, but you’ll have to deal with that.”

Nova sniffed, swallowing, while lacing her hand into Simon’s.

“Artino and everything?” She muttered.

“Artino it’s not what defines you.” Simon chuckled. “You’re Nova. Just Nova... And we’re really proud of you. Not ashamed.”

She smiled back at him, wordless, and Simon gave her a quick handshake before putting his hands around the wheel.

Because even now, that her walls were crumbling right before her eyes, she didn’t look like someone who wanted to be hugged at the moment, and he accepted and respected that.

“I was planning to take you to my favorite restaurant, but maybe we can prepare a homemade meal instead?” He suggested. “You know? In-laws being in-laws? … Not to brag, but I make the best lemon pie in the world.”

Nova chuckled. Relaxed.

Happy.

“Sounds great.” She said, nodding.

“Excellent.” Simon turned on the engine.

“Let’s go home.”

#renegades trilogy #marissa meyer #dawnie writes #Simon Westwood #The Dread Warden #Nova Artino #Insomnia #Dawnie re-uploads saga #i love being a clown #no nomás tengo la cara de pendeja también soy JAJAJAJAJAJAJAAJAJAJA #this was before hcttr ruined my life #good times

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transsergio · 3 years

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Emotions That I Simply Do Not Have (Read on AO3)

Chapter 1/3 - More Like A Relapse

Penemily + Hotchreid / Mature / 1893 words

Hotch and Emily have a drunken night together that Emily wants to forget, but Hotch can't let go. She and her girlfriend Penelope make a plan to get him out of their lives.

There's a brief paragraph describing Emily's dissociation in this chapter.

This started out as a parody of H*tchniss but then I got really into it. Hotch is pretty out of character and I'm picking on him this entire fic. There is no actual Hotchn*ss involved, which is why I didn't tag the ship, and because I don't need to fight with straight people today.

Emily’s head loathes her. She’s been hungover before, obviously, but this is something different altogether – she’s half-naked and her memory has completed ghosted her. There was tequila, she guesses, maybe vodka, shots, Hotch was going to give her a ride home because there’s something dangerous about a wasted agent wandering the city at night; snippets that don’t explain much beyond the ache hammering at the center of her skull.

At least Emily knows where she is. This is her apartment, her bedroom, her matted skin and grimy oils. The sheets reek of alcohol, so maybe she spilled some, or maybe it’s been sweat from her very pores. She’s missing a bra and she forgot to close the blinds last night. Only, she never forgets. It’s muscle memory. Did she…open them at some point?

The sink is running in the kitchen. And her toaster oven is beeping. Oh my god. She brought someone home last night. Hotch never would have left her in a cab with a stranger. How could Emily have picked someone up between the curb and her front door? She was a flirty drunk, but in no way smooth.

Emily moves on a slow incline, craning her body into an upright position. She winces. Sunlight beams directly into her eyes. It’s been a minute since she remembered exactly why she kept the windows covered. She pushes the duvet aside and swings her long, bare legs to the floor. They’re not bruised (yet), so she must’ve remembered to skip the stairs and go for the elevator this time. She’s tumbled down them before. Penelope made her promise she’d wear shin guards the next time she went out, Emily remembers, laughing under her breath.

Penelope, who definitely did not go home with Emily last night. She couldn’t have. She implemented a strict curfew after spending three consecutive nights in the batcave – bed by eleven, sharp. Unless Emily made a distress call sometime in the night. Emily scrunches the sheets between her fingers. A distress call, something like, “Come help me puke into my toilet for an hour and a half,” would bring Penelope running. Well, not running, but speed-walking, half awake. And it would be too late for Penelope to get home, with no one to text that she made it safely (except everyone else in the BAU, but that wasn’t the point). The point was, it could be her in there, popping Toaster Strudel in for the both of them.

Emily wobbles to her feet and kicks her crumpled slacks from her path. Oh, there’s her bra, launched to the other side of the room. She runs her fingers through her hair and hopes she made a difference, though it’s unlikely. Feet shuffle over her wooden floors, and someone opens and shuts the fridge door. Penelope uses fridges, coincidentally. That very well might be her.

There’s a cough, a low clearing of the throat. Emily stands upright like she’s been called to duty, and palms her forehead. Her headache makes it clear it did not like that. The cough does not sound like Penelope. Fear drains the strength from Emily’s limbs. Please, dear god, tell her that’s not a man.

Emily wants to crawl back into bed and have nothing to do with whoever’s in the other room. She wants to huddle under her covers and listen until the front door opens and shuts and it’s safe to emerge. She wants to have been sober last night. Instead, her phone vibrates on her dresser. Emily hadn’t realized that when it reverberates against the wood, her cell sounds exactly like a jackhammer, but she does now. She hears the same sound echoing in her kitchen.

Emily lunges for the text, from Garcia alerting them to a case, and slams all one hundred of those tiny Blackberry buttons to make it shut up, shut up, shut up. The bedroom door swings open.

“Two murders in Kentucky, looks like,” Hotch says. What? No.

Emily rubs her eyes with the backs of her hands. They come away streaked with dried mascara flakes and last night’s eyeshadow, but Hotch is still there. He’s standing in his boxers, a white undershirt, and five o’clock stubble. He doesn’t flinch at the fact that Emily is bare-chested in a pair of black boyshorts. This is bad. This is so bad.

Hotch says softly, “Can I…” Can he what? Can he call later tonight? Can he leave a toothbrush here? Can he have a drawer for his pajamas? “Can I get my shirt, please?”

“Oh.” Emily steps aside. His blue button-down is in a wrinkled pile beside Emily’s nightstand. Should she cover herself in the meantime? Would that make it weirder? He’s already seen what he’s seen, after all. The thought makes Emily gag.

“I’m going to get ready in your bathroom,” Hotch tells her. He makes too much eye contact. “There’s toast in the kitchen for you, if you want any.”

“Great, thanks.” Emily is tightlipped and dedicated to looking anywhere but his face. That leads to his boxers, and his dick inside his boxers, and the knowledge that they clearly had sex, and Emily might need the bathroom first if she didn’t vomit everything out last night.

Hotch disappears, and so does Emily’s presence in her physical body. She autopilots herself into her clean clothes, grips her dresser and stares into the mirror above it. C’mon, Emily, come back down to Earth. She tries what her therapist taught her in high school, focusing on a texture, on the feel of the woodgrain under her hands. How could she have come so far, a continent away, and still need the same techniques for the same problems? Hotch was an exercise in self-loathing and misery. Only this time, that exercise would be staring her down for extended periods of time while they mutually hunted killers.

Hotch reenters in the same suit he wore last night. Did he seriously have to wear a suit to the team’s night out? He couldn’t loosen up enough for a polo shirt and golf pants?

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to see me again in this capacity,” he starts. “But I had… a great time, honestly, and I’d be open to another meeting.”

Emily’s eyes are dead. “No, thanks.”

“You’ve decided already?”

“Yep. I’m good. See you on the jet.” Emily yanks the bedroom door open. His cue to leave. He takes it, if not wearing the look of a kicked puppy.

He makes it into a cab, and the cab leaves, and clears her block, and turns the corner. Emily stays for another five minutes just to be sure the car doesn’t loop back around, looking for a second chance. She washes her face clean and falls to her mattress. This will only take a second – she stabs her face into her pillow and screams. And one more time. And maybe a long one, just to be sure. Emily comes to work that day hoarse, unbathed, and willing herself into another life.

A month later, they’re gathered at Haley’s funeral. Hotch gives a beautiful speech, and Emily’s all but forgotten the number of texts she’s received since their hookup. The sheer volume of “Thinking about you.. do you like Thai food?” and simple, two-word messages like “Good work..”, alongside “Hey. Horny?” are a thing of the past, at least for today. Maybe not tomorrow. Emily doesn’t really know how grieving works. She does, however, know what it feels like to want.

She ushers Penelope into a storage closet while the rest of the team (plus Kevin) is at the funeral reception’s buffet. They’ll make up some story about going to the bathroom and try to defuse JJ later, assuring her that she wasn't left out intentionally. Right now, life is for living.

Emily’s lips move across Penelope’s jaw, her neck, her chest. She presses them to Penelope’s like she’s made of china, set on keeping Penelope’s lipstick intact. Penelope grips Emily while her own wrist is between her teeth to stifle her sound. Emily is gasping for breath when her fingers reach for the button of Penelope’s sweater. She is desperate to have her undone.

“Wait, wait,” Penelope huffs, putting an arm’s length of space between them. Her chest is heaving. “I can’t do this here, not today.”

“Today is why I want to do this,” Emily counters.

“We have time.” Penelope’s voice breaks. She fusses with her little hat and rights it atop her hair. “We have time that Haley didn’t –”

“How do we know?” Emily interrupts. “It could be me next. You’ve already been shot once before, and I just can’t… I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with you on the fringe of my life.”

Emily wipes a tear streaking down Penelope’s cheek. Before Penelope can reach for her compact, Emily passes her hers. She says, “I don’t mean we have to do anything right now in… what is ironically a closet,” Penelope laughs and dabs at her makeup, “but I want you. And seeing you with Kevin today, having to be next to you while he holds your hand? It’s maddening.”

A quiet passes. Penelope sniffles and the crowd outside makes somber conversation. Penelope whispers, “I’m scared.”

Emily closes the distance between them and cradles Penelope in her embrace. “I know; so am I. Can we be scared together?”

Penelope nods into the crook of Emily’s shoulder. They sway in the warmth of one another, in the cramped haven that is shelves of industrial cleaner and mop buckets.

“So what do we do?” Penelope asks. “Should I break up with Kevin, or tell him the truth? Neither option feels, uh, super-duper.”

Emily snorts some of the hat’s feathers from her nose. “If you want to be outed, I think telling Kevin he’s your beard is a great idea.”

“Stop. Kevin wouldn’t do that.”

“Penelope. He’s a man. He’s going to feel used, emasculated, and plenty bitter. I don’t see a reality in which he doesn’t out you.”

“I know, I know, but I don’t think Kevin’s like that. He’s sweet on me.” Penelope further buries herself in Emily. “On the off-chance that he would, though, I guess I’ll dump him.”

Emily hums in agreement. They keep themselves safe in their darkness a little longer, resistant to go out and face the mourning. Emily’s heart is busy fluttering, anyway. She and Penelope might remain a secret, but this is officially more than a hook-up. It’s all Emily could dream of when she stormed Penelope’s batcave the morning after Hotch. When she spun Penelope around in her desk chair and strung their mouths centimeters apart – a question and a dare all in one. Penelope leaned through the divide and they were kissing, slow and tender but driven by a force that urged them on. Emily had wanted Penelope for so long, but that morning, she needed her.

When they return to the team’s table, Kevin is at Penelope’s side. Emily puts her focus on Morgan, on caring about Hotch’s well-being, anything but Kevin’s soft, drooping face. It’s like his skin could slide right off at any second. No, Emily will ask what they can do, will let the team explain that their power extends to waiting Hotch out, will squeeze Penelope’s hand as they leave for their next case in Nashville.

#penemily #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #aaron hotchner #cm fic #criminal minds fanfic #cm fanfiction #mine

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aprito · 3 years

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hello <3 since i got these asks at the same time i decided to combine my thoughts on them in this post. yet another annoying sjw essay from yours truly on this blog

before i get into these i think i need to preface why im like. i guess overly hyperfocused on a certain unproblematic base (same age au / platonic canon) for them and avoid the ped0philic content like the plague lol

tw for pedophilia ment, rape ment if that makes you squicky. ALSO THIS IS LONG AND RAMBLY

as i’ve mentioned a couple times already, ive been into the ship since i was 12, back when it was very very common to not only post untagged (nsfw) canonverse content of the two in writing and in drawing but also non con and the like, so you can imagine how bad my first impression online was. thinking back on it ...as a child i found it disturbing but didnt really register how problematic it really was?? (i know, but i also lived in the middle of nowhere and had no one explain this to me)

skip to 2014 aka me coming back to naruto at 17ish and i had kinda become hyper aware of the fact that there was an increasing amount of people online who had come forward with explaining how fictional problematic content, mostly pedophilia, had been used to groom them into starting relationships with adullts. it was also a time where a lot of people didnt believe these victims, not registering how common it was for minors to be online friends with adults who had no boundaries and no qualms exposing them such content. not gonna get into my personal life here but i was lucky to not having gone through this myself. like... it kinda was my first time truly realising how fiction can EASILY be used to manipulate others irl (and yes i will not argue this, if you dont think fictional media can form and manipulate people’s opinions on attitudes, countries, cultures and virtues, pick up a book about the effects of propaganda media at least once please)

i, being young, still liking the dynamic but not really the romance, would point this out here and there in the fandom and get into fights with grown adults in their mid 20s who assumed i automatically hated the ship(s) and tried to restrict their freedom of speech or whatever, heard everything from the “age of consent doesnt exist in naruto” to the “sasori looks like a child what does it matter” despite people clearly playing on him being older and experienced. it made me so upset that people were just consuming all this content uncritically and exposing children to it tbh?? not really just sos but a lot of minor/adult ships in naruto in general. and thats where i sat down and thought, i do not want to be a grown adult talking down to children that point out how unsafe the fandom is. theyre absolutely right in drawing these boundaries and calling out adults who defend the uncritical consumption and creation of this content. i do not want to consume or create content that predators could use to groom minors, and i absolutely do want to let younger people in fandom know that i am respecting their comfort zones and want them to have a safe and fun experience. after all, naruto is not an adult show and i think a lot of people forget that!!!! i am not perfect in that regard but its something that i, at the age of 23, am very passionate about and strive towards to.

and i guess thats where same age au was born for me and i have been sticking to it ever since.

so finally we can move to the first question

aside from the fact that we both dont like canon sos, i dont think it would work out even if i wasnt prejudiced to it anyways. in all honesty, 35 year old canon sasori is not a redeemable character to me, given the fact that he’s easily amongst the cruelest villains in naruto (torturing and killing and taxiderming people for his own fun personal gain, never for a goal that served anyone but himself. how do you redeem having over 300 corpses in your backpack that you felt absolutely no remorse for killing). sasori was legit one of the only cruel villains that didnt had someone else pull the strings, which sends a clear message on kishi’s part, who absolutely loves to redeem villains LOL.

being that old, he obviously had already been very manifested in what he believed in, even if it was shakey, to the point where the first crack in that world view (sakura and chiyo protecting each other) immediately had him give up on his life all together. that, in my opinion, is not a man who’s going to know what healthy relationships would look like, regardless of it being romantic or not. 35 year old sasori to me has the same appeal as an expired can of tuna and he’s probably very happy 6 feet under. he’s supposed to be a failed gaara in that sense that he had no one to look out for him and therefore was never going to experience anything but a bad ending in life. its fine that hes dead honestly, it wraps up his short character development the best IMO.

adding to that, seriously, sakura was obviously interested in knowing why he was that way, and called him out for being seriously fucked in the head, but it’s weird to me that people assume she had any interest in actively rehabilitating him, let alone starting a serious romantic relationship with him. sakura who’s not only very, uhm, immature and straight forward when it comes to her romantic viewpoints also, as a big bootlicker, wouldnt soil her standing in the village by starting anything with a disgraced and far too gone criminal like sasori. shipping that version of sasori with sakura intimately is still going to set her up for a huge power imbalance that would be difficult to handle imo, even if she was the one in the fight ultimately exerting her power over him. i would still look at it and think damn she deserves better than having to play therapist for man like that lol.

additionally, even if you ignored all of this, you cant really ignore that sasori had already known her as a child, and that had been his first and most impactful impression of her. i dont think that sasori would look at 35 year old sakura and see her as a grown woman and not the little green girl she was in the fight. plus, you easily fall into predatory comparison territory between the “childish” and “womanly” and i have seen way too often in fic just being boiled down to her now being fuckable. a lot of of ships do this and i would just like to remind yall thats it not normal for adults to want to start relationships with children they have seen grown up or known as a child when they themselves were fully grown adults. therefore, maybe if sakura hadnt met sasori before it would be less of a problem? but that also obviously defeats the point of the dynamic and the reason he died in the first place. so yeah, it sounds kind of doomed especially if you were to make it romantic.

WHICH BRINGS ME TO THE SECOND QUESTION

let me preface this that im not fundamentally against age gaps, even if im not super interested in it. after all, colorblind had a 5 yr age gap (with sakura being 21), even if, say, i wrote similar fics today i probably would make it smaller lol. i think it can be handled well if both parties have enough life experience to deal with it, and the author is cautious of where the age gap starts, i think a 10+ year age gap would be fine in a scenario where the younger party (i guess sakura) was at least 25-27ish, meaning she has completed most of her most formative life stages and probably had been in relationships before, meaning she would be able to handle it without having to fear a huge power imbalance. the older the younger party is the less the age gap is going to matter tbh .TsukiHoshino and AngelOfDeath10 both handle age gaps in their fics really well imo, so i do not mind reading about them.

unfortunately, a lot of people in this fandom think making sakura barely "”””legal””””” (18, not even 20 which is hilarious to me because the source material is obviously japanese) because they both cannot stand her being past her “prime years” of being young fertile and fuckable to much older men as well as thinking a 20 year old is automatically old enough to handle that type of relationship. ive seen a lot of unironic takes that believe it will absolve them of callout posts if they throw around age of consent and “shes 18 now suckers!!!” enough lmfao. absolutely hilarious. aging a minor up without aging the adult down seriously reeks of predatory “cant wait until youre 18″ narratives and thats why i find it similarly disturbing as straight up pedo shipping.

ultimately, sasosaku is and will always be a inherently problematic ship in canon, which is why i think it should always be handled a little more responsibly in fandom spaces, ignoring or outright excusing the main problem factor, which is sasori, isnt going to convince anyone that the dynamic in itself is well written and interesting enough to explore in aus, like giving sasori the redemption most of us wanted him to have by aging him down to a point in time where he was still realistically going to allow being positively influenced, similar to gaara.

so really, what i think is well handled age gap and how most people handle age gap in the naruto fandom are two different worlds at times lol

tl;dr

canon shippers have never been anything but gross when i was younger and i didnt wanna be like that, even if youre “smart”enough to differenate, actual creeps dont really care and might use your content to blur the lines, sasori isnt rly redeemable so romantic canonverse realistically wouldnt make much sense and is still iffy, age gaps are fine if they are handled well, but given that the dynamic doesnt really need the age gap to still work im not that invested on making that an essential part of my shipping experience.

thank you for reading and hope this makes sense!

#nonitxt #meta #another hot take from me #but seriously if you're offended over these #unfollow me lol idc #defending predatory content is not a hill im gonna die on in this life

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myownsuperintendent · 4 years

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New Fic: “Our Friends” (Part of the “A Different Place” Series)

When Diana returns, it throws a wrench into Samantha's life, as she tries to make sense of what is going on with Mulder and Scully and of Diana's interest in her own capabilities. This fic is part of my “A Different Place” AU, in which Mulder brings home one of the Samantha clones in “Herrenvolk,” and is set during the Season 6 era. It’s rated G and is also here on Ao3. The full series is here. Tagging @o6666666 because she’s been really supportive of this series <3

.....

Fox picks her up from school today. “There’s someone I want you to meet, Sam,” he tells her as they drive. “Is that okay?”

“Sure,” Samantha says. She likes meeting people, if they’re nice. And Fox mostly knows nice people.

They go to a restaurant near where he works, a little diner; she’s been there before with him, a couple of times. There’s a woman sitting at a table in the back when they go in, who waves at Fox. He waves back, and they go over. When she looks at Samantha, the woman’s eyes get wide, and she looks for a long, long time. Samantha has to look away. She doesn’t like people looking at her like there’s something strange about her, even though it happens sometimes, when she acts different from other people. She didn’t think she was acting different now, though. She’s just standing there.

“You told me,” the woman says, softly. “Fox, you told me. But I didn’t realize…”

“I know,” he says. “It’s…it’s something.” He pulls out a chair for Samantha and ruffles her hair as she sits down; maybe that’s to make her feel better, because he knows she doesn’t like that kind of looking. “Let me introduce the two of you, though,” he says, and that’s better too, because maybe once they know each other the woman won’t look at her that way. “Diana, this is Samantha. Samantha, this is Diana. She’s…she’s an old friend of mine, and we used to work together.”

“Like you work with Dana?” Samantha asks.

“Yeah,” he says after a minute. “Like that.” That’s interesting, because she didn’t know he ever worked with anybody besides Dana. Maybe if she had come here at a different time she would never have met Dana. That would be sad, though, so she’s glad it didn’t happen.

“Hi, Diana,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi, Samantha,” Diana says. “It’s…wow. It’s wonderful to meet you too. Finally. In the flesh.” She doesn’t know what Diana means, finally. If Diana wanted to meet her she’s been right here for two years. “When Fox and I worked together, he used to tell me about you all the time.”

That explains it—Diana doesn’t understand who she is. “I’m not that Samantha,” she says. “I’m a different one.” She doesn’t really like talking about the other Samantha, but she doesn’t want Diana to be confused.

“Of course. I know that,” Diana says. “But still—he was always looking for you then.”

“Not me,” Samantha says. She would know if Fox had been looking for her, because he’s told her about what he was doing. He was looking for the other Samantha and he didn’t know about her. But he’s happy he found her, even if he wasn’t looking. Happier than anything in the world. Sometimes you find just what will make you happiest even if it’s not what you’re looking for. She knows that from Fox, and from books.

Diana still looks confused, but she says, “Well, anyway, you must both be so happy to be together now,” and she’s right about that, anyway.

“Yes,” Samantha says. Because Fox is her brother, so of course he makes her happy.

“We are,” Fox says, and he puts a hand on Samantha’s shoulder.

He lets her get a milkshake, and she drinks it while Fox and Diana keep talking. Sometimes Diana asks her questions too. She asks her about the place where she lived, before she came to live with Fox and Mom, and Samantha tells her. About all the other girls who were like her, and all the boys who were like each other, and doing all the work around the farm together. Diana looks at her more and says, “Wow,” again. She sort of likes talking about it, because she doesn’t get to do that with a lot of people, but she still doesn’t like the staring.

Maybe she should ask Diana a question, she thinks. She read that it’s polite for a conversation to be like a tennis match. “Where do you work?” she asks. “Now that you don’t work with Fox.”

“Well, actually,” Diana says, “I’m back working here now. At the FBI. So I hope we can see more of each other, Samantha. I’d love to hear more about you.”

Maybe she is nice, even if she stares a lot. “Well,” Samantha says, “I really like reading and cooking. Those are probably my favorite things. Do you like reading?”

“I do,” Diana says. “Did you used to do those things on the farm?”

“I did cooking there,” Samantha says. “But I couldn’t read at all. Fox read to me at first, until I learned how. And he still reads to me now, even though I can do it. And sometimes I read to him.”

Diana smiles. “That’s sweet.”

“My favorite book is A Wrinkle in Time,” Samantha says. “Do you like that one?”

“I haven’t read it,” Diana says. “Was it hard for you? Learning to read?”

“No,” Samantha says. “It wasn’t too hard. It was easier than learning to talk.”

“You learned to talk here too?” Diana asks. “How did you do that?”

“With my speech therapist,” Samantha says. “And by practicing.” She wishes they could talk about A Wrinkle in Time. She looks up at the clock; it’s almost four, now. “Are we going to go home soon?” she asks Fox.

“Soon, Samantha,” he says. “I have to go by the office to finish some things up first. Can you work on your homework for a little bit while I do that? Or sit and read?”

“Sure,” she says. She’s done that at his office before, a couple of times.

“I’ll head back with you,” Diana says, getting up when they do, and they all walk over to the building together. She thinks that maybe Diana is going to go somewhere else, but she comes over to Fox’s desk with them too.

There isn’t anybody at Dana’s desk. “Where’s Dana?” Samantha asks.

“I’m not sure, Sam,” Fox says. “She might have stepped out for a minute.”

Samantha sees a piece of paper on the desk, propped against the computer. “She left a note, I think,” she says, going over to look at it. Mulder, it says, I’m not sure where you went, and you’re not answering your phone, but I have to go pick up Emily. I’ll be back soon—Scully. “She’s picking up Emily.”

“Emily?” Diana asks.

“She’s Dana’s daughter,” Samantha says. “She’s three. But we’re friends.”

Diana nods; she looks like she’s thinking about something. Since Dana’s not here right now, Samantha sits in her chair to work on her math homework. Every time she looks up, it feels like Diana is looking at her again.

“Could Dana and Emily come over for dinner tonight?” she asks Fox. “I promised Emily we’d play hopscotch down the whole driveway together. And today’s the first day it hasn’t been raining.”

Fox smiles at her. “Sure, that sounds good. We’ll ask Dana when she gets back.”

“Okay,” Samantha says. She goes back to her homework.

She can hear footsteps before she sees Dana and Emily. “Hi!” she says, as they come over.

“Hi, Samantha!” Dana says. “I didn’t know you were going to be here today. What’re you working on?”

“Multiplication tables,” Samantha says. “And I have to do a book report. I’m going to do it about The Secret of Platform Thirteen.”

“Oh, right, you were telling me about that one,” Dana says. “How did it turn out?”

“Really good,” Samantha says. “They found out Ben was the prince, and he went back to the Island with them. And he and Odge were friends.”

Dana smiles. “That’s great.” She looks up then, to where Fox is sitting at the desk, to where Diana is standing against one of the file cabinets. Now she’s not smiling so much. “Hi, Mulder,” she says. “Agent Fowley.”

“Hi, Scully,” Fox says. “Hi, Em.” Diana nods.

“Hi, Emily,” Samantha says, bending down. Emily’s a little quiet sometimes, especially if there are people there she doesn’t know. And Samantha guesses she doesn’t know Diana, since Diana asked who she was.

“Hi,” Emily says softly. “I drew flowers.” She shows Samantha a picture she’s holding.

“It’s nice,” Samantha says, even though it doesn’t really look much like flowers. But Emily is only three. “Maybe we could draw more later. After we play hopscotch. Dana, can you and Emily come over for dinner?”

“Tonight?” Dana says. “I don’t think we can tonight.”

“Are you sure?” Samantha asks. “Fox says it’s a good idea too. And we could make something nice. Like spaghetti.”

Dana shakes her head. “We can’t tonight,” she says. “I’m sorry, Samantha. But soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Samantha says. She’s a little disappointed, but she knows that’s how it is sometimes. “Someday when it’s nice out. So Emily and I can play hopscotch.”

“Do you want to play for a little now?” Dana asks. “If there’s nothing I need to finish up here, I could take you both outside. I think we’ve got chalk in the car.”

“Can we?” Emily asks. “Can we? Can we?”

Fox laughs. “Go ahead. That’s really nice of you, Scully.”

Samantha isn’t sure if Dana laughs too, but she makes some kind of sound. “Yeah, that’s me,” she says, which Samantha doesn’t really understand. But she puts her math homework back into her backpack, and they go up in the elevator together.

There’s a little park area, near the building, and Samantha and Emily play hopscotch there, while Dana watches them. They can’t make as big a hopscotch court as they could on the driveway, but it’s still fun. When Samantha is waiting for her turn to hop, she looks over at Dana, and Dana looks like she’s thinking really hard about something, or maybe like she’s sad. Samantha’s not sure, so she just tries smiling at Dana, and after a minute Dana smiles back at her. “Do you want to hop too?” Samantha asks. “You can go before me.”

“Sure,” Dana says. “Thank you, sweetheart.” And they all hop, and Samantha decides that Dana probably isn’t sad, because she’s smiling now and looks like she’s having a good time.

Fox comes out and finds them, after a little while. He’s still with Diana. “You ready to go, Sam?” he asks.

“Okay,” Samantha says. She finishing hopping back to one and goes over to him. “Bye, Emily. Bye, Dana. You’ll come for dinner soon?”

“Sure,” Dana says. “Soon, Samantha.” She turns to Fox. “I’ll see you at work on Monday, Mulder,” she says, and then she and Emily go back to their car. They carry the chalk away.

When Samantha and Fox go to their own car, Diana comes with them. “We thought Diana could come for dinner,” Fox says. “How does that sound, Sam?”

“Fine,” Samantha says. She doesn’t think it’s as nice as having Emily and Dana come, since Diana probably won’t want to play hopscotch. Although she guesses she doesn’t know that. “Do you like to play hopscotch, Diana?”

Diana laughs. “I haven’t done that in years,” she says. Which isn’t really an answer to the question, but if Samantha had to guess, she would guess that it means no. She would never stop doing anything she liked to do for years.

When they get back to the house, Mom’s reading in the living room. She looks surprised when they come in. “Diana,” she says. “I had no idea you were…”

“It’s been a long time,” Diana says. “But it’s lovely to see you again, Teena.” Mom must know Diana too, but that makes sense, if she used to work with Fox. They’re all friends with Dana, after all.

Diana and Fox seem to have a lot to say to each other; they talk in the living room while Samantha and Mom are making dinner. During dinner, Diana compliments Samantha on her cooking, and she stares at her more, in between bites.

She leaves after they’re done eating, and the three of them clean up together. “You didn’t tell me Diana was back in town,” Mom says.

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t,” Fox says. He finishes washing a dish and hands it to Samantha to dry.

“Are the two of you working together again?” Mom asks.

“Not exactly together,” Fox says. “She’s back at the Bureau, but we’re not on the same cases, for the most part.”

“Hmm,” Mom says. She puts the glasses back in the cabinet. “Are you glad?”

“Glad about what? Seeing her again?” Fox asks. “Yeah, it’s…I think it’s a good thing. And I’m glad I got to introduce her to Sam. After all those years of hearing me talk about looking for her.”

“Not me,” Samantha says. He’s talking like Diana was earlier, like she and the other Samantha are the same person. Which he almost never does, not since the first days.

He looks down at her. “I’m sorry, Samantha,” he says. “Of course I don’t mean that. I just meant…it’s nice for her to put a face to the name.” Samantha doesn’t understand that either. She has the same face as the other Samantha, and she knows that because she’s seen pictures. So if Diana wanted to know what their face looked like Fox could have just shown her a picture ages ago.

She decides to change the subject. “I saw Dana and Emily today,” she tells Mom. “And Dana said they’d come for dinner soon. She couldn’t tonight, though.”

“That sounds good,” Mom says. “Have Dana and Diana met?” she asks Fox.

“Of course they’ve met,” Fox says. “We all worked a case together.” Mom looks like she’s going to say something else, but Fox turns to Samantha. “Do you want to play checkers?” he asks. He was teaching her at first, but now she’s much, much better than him.

“Sure,” she says, because even though it’s easy to beat him now she still likes to play together. And they go off into the other room.

.....

“Will you remind Dana?” she asks Fox, one morning later that week. “That she said she and Emily would come for dinner?” Usually they don’t even have to ask, because they have dinner together so often. But maybe Dana’s busy right now.

“Sure,” Fox says. “I’ll talk to her.”

She asks him again, when he gets home that night, and he says he talked to Dana, that she and Emily have a lot going on this week but she’ll try to make time. But they still don’t come. Samantha misses having them there at the table. She would even cook plain buttered noodles, which are Emily’s favorite, if they would come.

Diana comes again, one time the next week, but it’s not the same at all. She’s all right, but she’s not Samantha’s friend like Dana and Emily are. Samantha tries to be friends, and she tells Diana all about her book report on The Secret of Platform Thirteen, which she read for the class this week. They had to dress up as a character, and Samantha dressed up as Odge, the hag. She has a blue tooth, and even though it’s in the back where no one can see, Samantha put a blue piece of paper on one of her teeth anyway, because it’s an important part of the character. But she doesn’t think Diana really understood about that. She only wants to hear about when Samantha was at the farm or when she first came here. She doesn’t like to hear about books or even to talk about them; Samantha asked her what her favorite was, and she said she didn’t really know.

“When are Dana and Emily coming?” she asks Fox, after Diana goes home.

“I don’t know, Sam,” Fox says. “I promise I’ll let you know as soon as Scully tells me anything.”

“I wish they would come,” Samantha says, and he looks at her for a long time, but in a nice way, and then he hugs her close.

That night when she wakes up, she goes down to the living room, because she thinks she left her colored pencils down there. When she gets to the bottom of the stairs she can hear Fox talking. She doesn’t hear anyone else, so he must be on the phone.

“Look,” he’s saying. “I don’t want to…Samantha misses you guys.” She can see him on the couch from where she’s standing. “Well, what are you so busy with? We work together…I never said that. But you have to admit it’s been a change…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice is a little louder now. “Look, Sam’s gone through a lot of change already. She’d just like to see the two of you…Did I ever say that?” She knows he must be talking to Dana, but he sounds mad. She doesn’t like to think about that, him being mad at Dana. “Maybe you could just say what you’re thinking. Instead of beating around the bush…See, this is what I mean…All right. All right. I’ll see you at work tomorrow. But…but can you think about what I said?” He doesn’t sound so mad now, more sad. “I’m not asking for myself. It’s for Sam…Yeah. Good night, Scully.” He stays sitting on the couch, after he’s stopped talking.

She doesn’t go to look for her colored pencils. She walks up the steps softly, in her socks, so he can’t hear.

.....

Samantha thinks about what she heard, most of the next day. She’s worried, because she doesn’t want the two of them to be mad at each other. But then, late that afternoon, she sees Dana’s car coming up the driveway.

She jumps up from her seat. “Where are you going, Samantha?” Mom asks.

“To open the door,” she says. “It’s Dana and Emily.” She can see them both now, walking towards the steps. She can’t stop smiling, and Mom smiles too, back at her. She goes to the door and throws it open. “You came for dinner!” she says.

“We did,” Dana says.

“I missed you,” Samantha says. “I didn’t see you for two weeks.”

“I know,” Dana says, and she stoops down to give Samantha a hug. “I missed you too. I’m sorry we didn’t come.”

“That’s okay,” Samantha says. “You were busy, right?” Dana doesn’t say anything, but she has a funny look on her face, and Samantha remembers what she heard last night. Maybe they really are mad at each other. Maybe that’s why Dana and Emily didn’t come for dinner. She looks around; Emily is telling Mom and Fox about what she did in school today, and they aren’t paying attention to what Samantha’s saying. “Are you and Fox mad at each other?” she asks.

“What makes you ask that, Samantha?” Dana asks.

“I heard him talking to you on the phone,” Samantha says. “Are you?”

Dana looks sad now, and she stoops down again and smoothes Samantha’s hair. “I wouldn’t say we’re mad at each other,” she says. “There are just some changes at work…and we’re having a little bit of a hard time. And that might make us…get more stressed out about things than we would otherwise. But we’re still good friends. And you don’t have to worry about any of that.”

“Yes, I do,” Samantha says. “Because I don’t want you to be mad at each other. And I want you and Emily to come to dinner like you always do.”

“And we will,” Dana says. “I am sorry, Samantha. I shouldn’t have stayed away.” She hugs Samantha again. “I’ve known Mulder for a long time now, you know. And sometimes we don’t get along perfectly, but we always make up. And I’ll always love you and spending time with you, even if things are tough at work. Okay?”

“Okay,” Samantha says. But she’s still a little worried.

She doesn’t have time to ask anything more, though, because Emily comes up to her then. “Let’s play hopscotch,” she says.

“All right,” Samantha says. “I’ll get my chalk.” It’s good that they came now, she thinks, because it’s starting to get cold out. They probably won’t be able to play hopscotch a lot longer this year.

While they’re eating, later, Samantha watches Fox and Dana. Maybe they’re not really mad at each other, like Dana said. They don’t do any really mad things, like yell or give each other the silent treatment. But they don’t do any really friendly things either. Usually Fox will say silly things, and Dana will act like she’s not going to laugh but then she will. Usually they talk to each other a lot, and they smile a lot, like they don’t even have to think about it. But tonight they don’t do all that.

She wants to ask Fox about it, after dinner, once Dana and Emily go home. She already asked Dana, but she still doesn’t really understand; maybe Fox will be able to help. “Fox?” she says, while they’re putting away the dishes.

“Yeah, Sam?”

She wants to ask him, really, but when she opens her mouth nothing comes out. And it’s not because she’s having trouble talking, which sometimes happens still, if she’s upset. It’s because she doesn’t know what question to ask.

“Never mind,” she says. “I’m going to go read.”

.....

Diana comes by the house again, later that week. Samantha’s reading when she gets there, but she puts the book down, to be polite. “Oh, you don’t have to stop,” Diana says. “You could read me some of it.”

Samantha’s a little bit surprised by that. Sometimes she reads to Fox, but that seems different, somehow, since he reads to her too. And sometimes she reads to Emily, but that’s because Emily can’t read herself. “Are you sure?” she asks. “You won’t know what happened at the beginning.”

“That’s all right,” Diana says. “You can just start where you are.”

“But it’s a mystery,” Samantha says. “I’ll explain the beginning to you, so you know about the clues.” And she explains the beginning to Diana—it’s a Nancy Drew book, The Phantom of Pine Hill. “But I don’t think it’s going to be a real phantom,” she says. “The ghosts are never real, in Nancy Drew books. I think that’s a little silly.”

Diana laughs. “You sound like Fox,” she says.

“Well, maybe,” Samantha says. “He’s my brother.” And Diana laughs again, even though she doesn’t think she said anything very funny. “Should I read?”

“Yes,” Diana says, “go ahead.” So she does. Diana stares at her more, the whole time. She doesn’t know why she thinks it, but she doesn’t think Diana is that interested in the story. She thinks she’s interested in something else, but she doesn’t know what.

She stops reading when it’s time to make dinner. “You read very well,” Diana says. “I’m impressed.”

“Thank you,” Samantha says. “It’s my favorite thing, like I said.” And Diana nods.

Diana watches Samantha while she’s cooking dinner too, the same way. She has the same look on her face as she had when Samantha was reading. So whatever she’s interested in, it’s something about Samantha, not something about Nancy Drew. But Samantha can’t figure out why.

.....

Dana and Emily come to their house for dinner a lot, but sometimes they go to Dana’s apartment instead. They do that tonight; she and Mom drive into the city together and meet Fox, Dana, and Emily there.

“Will you read to me?” Emily asks Samantha. “Please,” she adds quickly, when Dana looks at her, and Dana smiles.

“Sure,” Samantha says. “What do you want me to read?” Emily brings over The Little Fur Family. It’s one of her favorites, which makes Samantha happy, since she and Fox picked it out for her, when she first came here to live with Dana.

They sit on the couch together, and Samantha reads. Dana’s listening too, while she’s putting dishes on the table, and when Samantha finishes reading she smiles at her too. Samantha smiles back and goes over to help her with the table. “Thank you for reading to Emily,” Dana says to her. “It’s very nice of you.”

“Oh, I like it,” Samantha says. “I like reading to people.”

“Who else do you read to?” Dana asks.

“Sometimes I read to Fox,” Samantha says. “Especially when I was learning, so I could practice. And on Monday I read to Diana.”

Dana looks surprised. “You did?”

Samantha nods. “I was reading when she came over for dinner, and she asked me to. Except I don’t think she really cared about the story.”

“What do you mean?” Dana asks.

“I’m not sure,” Samantha says. “But she said she didn’t need to know what happened at the beginning. And she kept staring at me when I was reading, but then she was staring at me the same way when I was cooking. So I don’t think it was about the story.”

She can tell that Dana is thinking about something and that it’s not something that makes her happy, but she can’t tell what. “Does she come to your house for dinner a lot?” she asks.

“A few times now,” Samantha says.

“And does she always…stare at you?”

“Yes,” Samantha says. “I don’t really like that. And she asks me questions a lot, about when I first came here. And how I learned to do different things.” Maybe she shouldn’t be saying that; she doesn’t understand why Diana acts like that, but then there are still a lot of things she doesn’t really understand about what it’s like here, even after two years. And usually there is a good reason for them. “But she is Fox’s friend,” she says, because maybe that makes it okay.

“Yeah,” Dana says. “Yeah, she is.” She’s quiet for a minute. “Does she…” She breaks off, shaking her head. “Never mind, Samantha. It’s none of my business.”

Samantha puts the forks and spoons on the table, neat and straight. She wonders what Dana was going to ask.

.....

She’s over at Fox’s office again today, because he had to grab some files before he takes her home. She’s standing by his desk, waiting for him, when Diana comes over. “Hi, Fox,” she says. “Hi, Samantha.”

“Hi,” Samantha says.

“What have you been doing today?” Diana asks.

“I had school,” Samantha says. “We had the half-mile run. I was the fastest.” She hopes she doesn’t sound like she’s bragging. Ms. Green told them it’s not a race, but she was the fastest.

“Wow,” Diana says. “Are you a really fast runner, Samantha?”

“I guess so,” Samantha says. “I don’t really get tired.”

“Don’t you ever get tired?” Diana asks, and she’s staring again.

Samantha fidgets. “I don’t know. I might get tired sometimes. But not running the half mile.” She tries to make it sound like it’s not interesting so that Diana will leave her alone. She always feels like she’s different when Diana talks to her. Like she’s something strange they would study in science class.

“How far do you think you can run without getting tired?” Diana asks.

“I don’t know,” Samantha says, and she doesn’t, she really doesn’t.

“Well, could you just—”

“Samantha!” It’s Dana, and she’s standing behind them; Samantha isn’t sure when she came in. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today. This is so nice. Here, come over to my desk. I have something you might like.” She doesn’t say sorry for interrupting, or hello or goodbye to Diana, or anything like that. So Samantha doesn’t either, even though she thinks maybe she should. They just go over to Dana’s desk together.

Dana opens a drawer. She’s got a lot of paper clips in it, all in different colors. “I saw these at the store the other day,” Dana says, “and I thought you might like some. I was thinking about your binder. How neat it is.” Samantha does always keep her homework very neat in her binder, and she has a different colored tab for every subject. And the paper clips are nice, for paper clips, although they’re not really that exciting. But she’s still glad Dana brought her over to see them. She’d rather look at paper clips all day, for a full twenty-four hours, than have Diana ask her more questions about how far she can run.

“Thank you,” she says. “They’re pretty.” And Dana gives her a handful, all the colors mixed together, and she puts them into the pocket of her backpack, carefully. And Dana asks her about school too, and she tells her about the new unit they’re doing in social studies, about explorers and how they sailed around the world. And Dana tells her about her dad, how he sailed around the world too. Samantha’s never known anyone who actually sailed around the world. Of course, she doesn’t know Dana’s dad herself, but she feels like she could sort of know him, since Dana did. At least more than she could know Christopher Columbus or Marco Polo.

“Well, I guess I should be going,” Diana says, her voice a little bit loud.

“Probably,” Dana says. “I’m sure we’re all busy.” Samantha wouldn’t say Dana’s voice is mean, exactly, but it’s the kind of voice people use when they don’t really care about something.

“I’m sure we are,” Diana says. “Goodbye, Fox.”

“Bye,” Fox says. “Talk to you soon.”

“That would be good,” Diana says, and then she walks away. Samantha’s glad.

But when she’s gone, Fox turns to Dana. “What’s going on with you?” he asks.

“Nothing’s going on with me,” she says. “I’m just talking with Samantha.”

“Exactly,” he says. “She was talking to Diana, and you just pulled her away. What’s going on with that?”

Dana sighs. “Well,” she says, “it didn’t look like Samantha was having a very good time talking to her.”

Samantha nods. “I wasn’t.” But they don’t seem to listen to her.

“That’s not your call,” Fox says. “I think you’re letting your personal feelings—”

“My personal feelings?” Dana says, and her voice is loud now, definitely. She looks around the room, lowers it. “I don’t think I’m the one who’s doing that, Mulder. Maybe you should try paying a little more attention. Because I wouldn’t say that was an innocent conversation.” Samantha doesn’t know what that means.

Apparently Fox doesn’t either. “Aren’t you blowing this a little out of proportion?” he asks. “Samantha, if you weren’t enjoying the conversation, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Samantha says, because it’s not his fault. But she still doesn’t think they’re really listening.

“But to say that it’s not innocent…I don’t even know what you mean, Scully.”

“I just think…from what I’ve heard…and what Samantha’s told me…” Dana breaks off again and looks at Samantha. “Maybe we shouldn’t get into it.”

“No, let’s get into it,” Fox says. “Because if you’re trying to say that you understand what Samantha needs more than I do…she’s my sister, Scully.”

“I know. And that’s not what I’m saying,” Dana says. “You may not believe it, but I’d love to be wrong here.” Samantha wonders what she means. Mostly people hate being wrong. “But if I’m not…I’d rather not talk about it in front of Samantha, right now.”

They both look at her then, for what feels like the first time in the whole conversation. “Maybe you’re…” Fox says. He breaks off and reaches into his pocket, coming up with a couple of dollar bills, which he hands to Samantha. “Do you want to get a snack, Sam?” he asks.

“No,” she says. She doesn’t really know what they’re talking about, but she knows this is a trick. He’s going to send her to get a snack so that they can talk about something without her being there, and that’s not fair, because whatever it is has something to do with her. She can tell that much.

“Samantha, Scully and I need to talk,” he says. “Can you go get a snack for a few minutes? Please?”

She doesn’t want to, but she doesn’t think, from the way he’s looking at her, that she really has a choice. “Okay,” she says.

“Thanks, Sam,” he says, softly, and he looks sorry about it, but that doesn’t make her feel better. There’s something wrong, and it has something to do with her, and it’s making Fox and Dana fight, and she doesn’t know which part is scarier. She doesn’t know what to say to him. She takes the money and goes.

There’s a vending machine at the end of the hall, and she gets a bag of pretzels; then she comes back, as quickly and as quietly as she can. She wishes Fox and Dana were still in their old office, in the basement, because then she could listen at the keyhole. It’s not something she’s ever done, because she’s never needed to before and she’s knows it’s not something you’re supposed to do, but she can tell from books that it’s the best way to find out things. But where they’re working now, it’s just a bunch of cubicles, with no keyholes. She tries standing behind one, not so close to their desks that they’ll see her, but not too far away either. She only hears a few things, though—“like she’s a lab rat,” Dana says, and Fox says, “She’d never do that”—when two men come up and see her.

“Are you a child agent?” one of them asks her.

“No,” she says. She didn’t even know there were any child agents. But then they both start laughing, so she guesses it was a joke. She doesn’t think it was that funny.

“Well, what are you doing here, anyway?” the other man asks. “I don’t think you should be wandering around here, do you?”

“I guess I shouldn’t,” Samantha says. “But I’m not really wandering. I’m just waiting for my brother.”

“Your brother?” the man asks. “Does he work here?”

“Yes,” Samantha says. “Over there.” She goes back to Fox’s desk. He and Dana are still talking, but they stop as soon as they see her. They’re mad, though, she can tell that. When Dana came to dinner she said they weren’t mad at each other, but that was then. They’re mad now.

“Well, I think we should go, Sam,” Fox says. “I don’t think we need to stay here any longer today.”

“Goodbye, Samantha,” Dana says. “I just…well, I hope I’ll get to see you soon.”

“I hope so too,” Samantha says, but she can’t help wondering if they will. When she sees Dana, Fox is almost always there, except for a couple of times when she’s gone to spend the afternoon with Dana and Emily when Mom and Fox are both busy. But that doesn’t happen very often, and it might not happen anymore, either, if Fox and Dana are mad at each other.

“Come on, Sam,” Fox says, and they go to the elevator, and they go away.

He talks to her in the car while they’re driving home. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Sam,” he says. “Scully was just…well, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Are you lying to me?” Samantha asks quietly. She doesn’t think Fox would lie to her, because he knows she hates it, but she just can’t believe that she doesn’t have anything to worry about.

“No,” Fox says. “No, of course not, Samantha. I wouldn’t do that.”

So he’s not lying, but maybe he’s wrong. She is worried, even if Fox doesn’t think she should be. Maybe she won’t get to see Dana, and that’s not fair, because Dana is her friend. But she’s Fox’s friend, even more than she’s Samantha’s, and if they’re not friends anymore maybe she can’t be Samantha’s friend either. She doesn’t know how she’d get to see Dana. She can’t drive over to Dana’s apartment by herself. And what makes it even worse is that she still doesn’t understand why they’re mad or how long they’re going to be mad for.

“Are you and Dana still friends?” she asks. She almost doesn’t want to ask, though, because the answer might be no.

He’s quiet for a minute, and then he says, “We are, Samantha.” And she reminds herself that he said he wasn’t lying, but she doesn’t know what to believe anymore.

“Why are you fighting, then?” she asks.

He’s quiet again. “Friends do fight sometimes,” he finally says, but that’s not really an answer. She still doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, right now, with the two of them.

But she doesn’t think Fox will tell her anything more. When they get home, she just goes up to her room and closes the door. She wants to try to understand it, at least, but she just sits there, staring at the wall.

Eventually someone knocks at the door. “Come in,” she says.

The door opens; it’s Mom. “There you are, honey,” she says. “Do you want to come downstairs and make dinner together?”

“Okay,” Samantha says, even though she doesn’t really feel like doing anything. When she’s getting up from her seat on the bed, Mom looks at her face.

“Is there something wrong, Samantha?” she asks. “You look upset.”

“I am upset,” Samantha says. She sits back down, and Mom comes and sits next to her. “It’s Fox and Dana,” she says. “They’re fighting and I don’t really know why. And what if they’re not friends anymore? Will we still see Dana?”

“I don’t think they’re going to stop being friends, Samantha,” Mom says. “They…they care about each other too much for that.”

“I know they care about each other,” Samantha says. “But today at Fox’s office, they were really fighting. If you heard them…”

“What happened?” Mom asks. She puts a hand on Samantha’s shoulder, gently.

“I went there with Fox because he had to pick up some papers,” Samantha says, “and Diana came over and she was talking to me, and then Dana came over and started talking to me instead. And then when Diana left, they started fighting. And I didn’t really understand, but I think it was about me. And about Diana.”

“Oh,” Mom says. “Well, if it was about Diana…” She stops talking for a minute; she looks like she’s thinking.

“What?” Samantha asks. “Please tell me.”

Mom sighs. “Honey, what do you know about Diana?”

“She used to work with Fox,” Samantha says, “so they’re old friends.”

“They weren’t exactly friends,” Mom says. “They used to be…she was his girlfriend. Pretty seriously.”

Samantha tries to imagine that. Somehow she can’t. “Why didn’t he tell me?” she asks.

“Probably because you’re a little young,” Mom says.

“I’m not,” Samantha says, because she’d rather know all about everything, no matter how old she is. It makes things so much easier to understand. “And anyway, if I’m too young, why are you telling me?”

“Because it’ll help me explain to you,” Mom says. “I think…Fox and Dana are used to working really closely together. But he had a different kind of relationship with Diana, and that means—”

“Fox and Dana don’t just work together, though,” Samantha says. “They’re really good friends. When Dana and Emily come here for dinner, they’re not working.”

“That’s what I mean,” Mom says. “I think they’re trying to figure out where they stand now. Which can be hard when there’s someone else in the picture.”

“Why would Diana being Fox’s girlfriend mean that he can’t be friends with Dana?” Samantha asks. “She’s not even his girlfriend anymore. Is she?”

“No,” Mom says. “Not now. But…well, Fox and Dana probably have different feelings about her. Right? Is that what they were arguing about?”

“Yes,” Samantha says. “Fox got mad about what Dana said about Diana. And he said she was using her personal feelings too much, or something.”

Mom nods. “It’s hard sometimes,” she says, “when you’re used to things being one way and then another person comes in. But I really do think they’ll still be friends.”

“Do you promise?” Samantha asks.

“I can’t promise,” Mom says, and Samantha guesses she knew that; she just wishes Mom could. “But I think so.” She squeezes Samantha’s shoulders.

“Will everything…will it be okay?” Samantha asks. There’s so much going on, but that’s what she really wants to know.

“I think it will, Samantha,” Mom says. “Soon.”

She goes downstairs with Mom, then, to make dinner, but she keeps thinking about everything, even while she’s chopping the vegetables and getting everything ready. She thinks about the farm. She’s glad she’s here now, where there are stories and people she loves. But on the farm it was never complicated like this.

Dana and Emily don’t come to their house for dinner, that week, but neither does Diana. Once she hears Fox talking on the phone and tries to figure out who it’s with, if he’s talking to one of them. But when he sees her there, he goes into another room.

She worries about it. She knows that Mom told her that things would probably be okay, but she has to anyway. She just misses Dana and Emily, and she thinks Fox must miss having them come over too. They usually come over all the time. Even if he and Dana are arguing, she doesn’t think they could just stop liking each other, just like that.

They still work together, at least, but that’s no help to Samantha. At least until one day when Fox brings her by his office when he picks her up from school. He never used to do that so much either, but now that he works in a different part of the FBI, he doesn’t have the same kind of cases he used to. She thinks that makes him sad too, from the way he talks about it. But she hopes she’ll get to see Dana, if they’re going to be in the office.

She doesn’t, though. Dana’s not there when they get in. “Can I sit in Dana’s chair?” Samantha asks Fox. That won’t be anything like seeing her, but it’ll be spending time in the same place as her.

“Sure, Sam,” he says. His voice sounds a little sad. She wonders if she should ask him why he can’t just be friends with Dana again and have everything be like it used to be. She would like that so, so much. But every time she tries to ask anyone, they just tell her not to worry about it.

So she sits in Dana’s chair and works on her homework, and Fox sits across from her and works on some papers. They’re there for about ten minutes when his phone rings. He picks it up. “Mulder,” he says. “No, I’m not busy…They found what?...Agent Scully’s there now?” He’s quiet for a minute, listening to something on the other end of the line. “No, I’ll come over there too…Sit tight…Yeah, I’ll be there soon. As quick as I can. See you.” He hangs up the phone and looks at Samantha.

“Do you have to go work on a case?” she asks him.

“Yeah,” he says. “I should drop you off at home first, though.”

But he said he had to be there quick, and she knows that’s really important when you’re solving cases. Nancy Drew is always running somewhere. “I could wait here,” she says.

“No, Sam,” he says. “I can’t leave you alone here.”

“I don’t mind,” she says. “I can do my homework.”

He looks unsure for a minute, and then he says, “How about you wait outside? It’s nice weather. And then Mom can come and pick you up. I’ll call her now.”

“Okay,” she says.

They walk downstairs together, and she gets settled at one of the benches outside the building. “Are you sure you’ll be okay here?” he asks her. “I don’t feel right leaving you.”

“It’s fine,” Samantha says. “I wait for you at the library by myself all the time. And now I’m right outside the FBI, so if there’s a crime, I’ll just go and find someone.”

He laughs at that. “Good thinking,” he says. “I’ll leave you money for a payphone, just in case. And Mom’ll be here soon.”

“I’ll be fine,” she says again, and he kisses her cheek and walks away.

She’s started on her homework again when she hears a voice. “Samantha?”

She looks up: it’s Diana. She hasn’t seen Diana since Mom told her that she used to be Fox’s girlfriend. She already felt kind of funny about Diana, and that makes her feel more funny, even though she can’t exactly say why. “Hi, Diana,” she says.

“What are you doing here?” Diana asks, sitting down next to her on the bench.

“I was with Fox,” Samantha says, “but he had to go on a case. So now I’m waiting for Mom to pick me up.”

“What are you working on?” Diana asks her.

“Math homework,” Samantha says. “I have to make a chart—”

And then Diana interrupts her, again. “That doesn’t sound like a lot of fun. Would you like to do some puzzles, Samantha?”

“Puzzles?” she asks. She’s not sure what Diana means.

“Like brainteasers,” Diana says. “Puzzles that you have to think about. I have some here.” She’s carrying a briefcase.

Sometimes Samantha’s still not sure if something’s strange just to her or if it’s actually very strange. She’s not sure right now. But she thinks this is strange. “I should probably work on my homework,” she says. “It’s for tomorrow.”

“Just try one,” Diana says, and she puts a sheet of paper on top of Samantha’s homework, before Samantha can say anything else.

She’s done brainteasers before, in school. These ones are different. There are shapes on the page and what looks like writing. But it’s not writing like Samantha’s ever seen before, like she learned to read here. It’s in some kind of symbols she doesn’t know.

But that’s not quite right, to say she doesn’t know them. She doesn’t understand what the writing means, but it feels like she could. Like she’s learned one kind of way of reading and writing and talking and listening—the kind they do here, that everyone else does—but that maybe she could have learned the kind on the paper, if things had turned out differently. Or that she could even learn it now, all in one moment, if she concentrated enough and let it pull at her brain.

And that scares her. The way it could take her over. She usually loves learning things, but she doesn’t want to learn this. “I don’t want to,” she says. “No. No, thank you.”

“Just give it a try,” Diana says. “Try to concentrate.”

“No,” Samantha says. She tries to push the paper away, but Diana’s holding it.

“Do you mean you don’t understand it?” she asks. She sounds like she needs to know.

“I just mean that I don’t want to,” Samantha says. “Here. Take it back.” She shoves at the paper again, and this time Diana takes it away, but she’s taken Samantha’s math homework with it, the chart she was making. She’s looking at that now. “I need my homework back,” Samantha says, but Diana’s staring at the paper. Samantha doesn’t know what to do, what to say. She wishes Mom would get here and she could go home.

Then she hears another voice. “Samantha? Are you okay, sweetheart?”

It’s Dana. She looks like she’s just coming back to the building; she’s wearing a coat and carrying her bag. Samantha’s never been so glad to see anybody in her life. “Is Fox with you?” she asks.

“No,” Dana says. “I don’t know where he is. Are you supposed to meet him here?”

“No,” Samantha says. “Someone called him and he said he was going to go meet you. To work on a case.”

Dana looks confused. “We haven’t been out working on a case, Samantha. I’ve been over at the labs. Are you here all by yourself?” She doesn’t say anything to Diana, but she’s looking at her, out of the corner of her eye.

“Mom’s going to pick me up,” Samantha says. “I was just doing my homework. But…” She doesn’t know how to explain to Dana why that paper scared her. She’s worried it’ll make her sound strange.

Dana’s voice is kind like it always is, though, when she says, “What is it? What’s the matter?” Diana’s trying to pull the papers away now, put them back in her briefcase. She still has Samantha’s math homework.

“She has my math homework,” Samantha says. It sounds silly, but she does her best to explain. “And she gave me a puzzle to do…it had writing but I didn’t understand it…but I thought maybe I could have…it made me afraid.” She says the last part very quietly, because she doesn’t want Diana to hear, only Dana.

Dana turns to Diana. “What are you trying to do to her?” she asks. Samantha thought she sounded mad the other day, when she was talking to Fox, but she sounds much, much madder now. “If you’re thinking about doing anything that could hurt this little girl—”

“It wouldn’t hurt her,” Diana says. She’s still trying to put the papers away.

“—or upset her, or exploit her,” Dana says. “She’s a child. She’s not a pawn in whatever game you’re playing.” She grabs for the papers then, and Diana tries to pull them back, and some of them go flying. Samantha tries to find her math homework, but she doesn’t see it. Dana and Diana are still trying to grab the papers when Mom pulls up in her car. From the look on her face, Samantha can tell they all look pretty strange.

Mom stops the car and gets out. “What’s going on?” she asks. “Samantha, are you all right?”

“I don’t know,” Samantha says. She’s not so scared anymore, because Mom and Dana are here, but she doesn’t understand what’s happening, and she wants to know where Fox is, if he wasn’t going to meet Dana after all.

Dana turns to look at Mom; her face is red. “Teena,” she says, “I think we should get out of here. I don’t want to scare you, or Samantha, but I think we need to get out of here. I don’t think the company we’re in is doing Samantha any good.”

Mom looks at Dana for a minute, and then she nods. “All right,” she says, and the three of them get in the car.

“Something with Diana?” Mom asks when they’re in the car.

“She was trying to find out something about Samantha, I think,” Dana says. “Some kind of test. I took this from her.” She must have gotten the puzzle, then.

“Did you get my math homework?” Samantha asks.

Dana shuffles through the papers on her lap. “Is this it?” she asks. “M & M Colors?”

“Yes,” Samantha says. “We were doing percentages.”

Dana hands her the paper. “I don’t understand what this means,” she says, looking back at the paper she still has. “Some kind of symbols. Did you say you could, Samantha?”

“No,” Samantha says. “Just that…I thought maybe I could. Or I could have. If I concentrated. Or if someone taught me. But I don’t want them to,” she adds, quickly. “It made me scared.”

“You don’t have anything to be scared of, honey,” Mom says. “We’ll make sure you’re safe. Don’t give it another thought.”

But she can’t do that. “What was it?” Samantha asks. “That paper. Do you know?”

“I’m not sure,” Dana says. “Can you tell us exactly what happened, Samantha? What were you saying about Mulder?”

So she starts with that, with Fox getting the phone call and leaving, and then she tells about what happened with Diana, while they’re driving back to the house. They listen, and then Mom says she thinks they should call Fox, so she does. Samantha wonders if this means he and Dana will stop fighting.

He gets back to the house really quickly, almost as soon as they do; maybe he was nearby, or maybe he drove too fast. “What happened?” he asks. “Samantha, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she says. “I’m okay.” And she tells the whole story again. She feels like she keeps telling it and telling it. Fox looks at the paper Dana took. His face is very white.

When she’s done, Fox gives her a hug. “I’m so sorry, Samantha,” he says. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. I was an idiot to fall for that. I shouldn’t have—I never meant to put you at any kind of risk.”

“It’s okay,” Samantha says. “I’m not upset.”

“It’s all right if you are,” Fox says.

“I’m not,” she says. Not with him. She still doesn’t understand what happened, but she trusts Fox, and she knows it’s not his fault. That he’d rather anything than have something bad happen to her. “What do you think she was trying to do?” she asks, quietly.

Fox looks at Dana. “I think it was some kind of test,” he says. “To see if you could read it. Just…to see what you were able to do.”

“Why?” she asks, but she thinks she knows.

“Because of where you came from,” he says. His voice is very gentle when he says it, because he knows she doesn’t like it when people talk about her like she’s different. Mom’s sitting next to her on the couch; she puts her arms around her shoulders and squeezes tight.

“Is that why she kept asking me all those questions?” Samantha asks. “Just to find out?”

“I think so,” he says.

“What was on the paper?” Samantha asks.

“I’m not sure, exactly,” he tells her. “But Scully and I have seen some things like that before. In work we’ve done. Symbols we can’t read.”

“I didn’t want to read them,” Samantha says. “Was that right?”

“If you didn’t want to,” he says, “then it was.” Samantha thinks about what he means.

Dana’s standing a little back from the three of him, her and Fox and Mom; she clears her throat. “I should go,” she says. “I’m glad you’re okay, Samantha.”

“Thank you for helping me,” Samantha says.

“Of course,” Dana says. “Any time you need me.” Samantha wants to ask if she and Emily will come for dinner again soon, like they always used to, but she’s not sure quite how to, right now.

“I’ll walk you out,” Fox says, getting up from the couch.

“You don’t have to—” Then she stops. “Oh. Teena, I came in your car.”

“I can give you a ride, then,” Fox says. “Really, I can. I owe it to you.”

She looks at him for a minute. “All right,” she says. “I really do need to leave now, or I’ll be late picking up Emily. But don’t talk about it like that.”

They leave then. Samantha still doesn’t think they’re very happy with each other.

“Will they be friends again?” she asks Mom. “In a little bit, maybe?”

“I’m sure they will,” Mom says. “Remember what I told you? They care about each other a lot.” She squeezes Samantha’s shoulders again. “And we all care about you, too. I’m so glad you’re all right. I couldn’t live with myself if…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but Samantha knows she’s thinking about the other Samantha. And from the way they’re all talking, she thinks what happened today might be something bigger than she understands. Usually she wants to understand everything, but right now she doesn’t ask any more questions. She remembers how that paper scared her, and she decides there are some things that she doesn’t want to know.

Mom keeps watching her, all through the evening, and Fox too, when he gets home. There are some things she does want to ask him. “Are you and Diana still—” Then she stops, because she was going to say still friends, but she remembers what Mom told her. “Do you still like her?” she asks instead.

He sighs. “I’m very upset now,” he tells her, “because I don’t like what she did to you.”

He didn’t exactly answer her. Maybe he doesn’t know. “Are we going to see her again?” she asks.

“No,” he says. “You won’t have to see her again, Sam.” She’s glad about that, but she doesn’t say it in words, because she knows that he did like Diana, before at least, even if he’s not sure now. He stoops and hugs her. “You’re what’s most important to me,” he says. “Don’t you forget that.”

She hugs him too. “And Dana,” she says. “Will she come here again soon?”

“I hope so, Sam,” he says. “I think we’re still a little…there are some things we have to talk through.”

“But you want her to come here,” Samantha says. “Don’t you?”

“I do, Sam,” he says, and she knows he really means it.

But Dana doesn’t come that week, and Samantha misses her. She knows Fox does too, but after a little bit she decides that maybe it’s not up to just him. Dana’s her friend too, and she said that she would help Samantha, any time you need me. So maybe she needs to talk to Dana herself.

She has Dana’s phone number in her address book, and she calls her up one Saturday. “Hello?” Dana says.

“Hi,” Samantha says. “It’s me. Samantha.”

“Hi, Samantha,” Dana says. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay,” Samantha says. “I just miss you and Emily. So I wanted to invite you to come over to dinner.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dana says. “Do your mom and Mulder know you’re calling?”

“I don’t think so,” Samantha says. “But you’re my friends and I want to see you.”

“We’d like to see you too,” Dana says. Her voice is soft.

“Are you still mad at Fox?” Samantha asks. “Can’t we still see each other even if you are?”

“I’m not mad at him, Samantha,” Dana says. “That’s not exactly…It’s hard to explain. And it wouldn’t be right for us to put you in the middle of things, anyway.”

Samantha guesses that makes sense. “Does that mean you can come over?” she asks.

“I’ll tell you what, Samantha,” Dana says. “Let me talk to your mom or Mulder, okay? Whoever’s there. I don’t want to barge into the house without talking to one of them. But if they say it’s okay, Emily and I will come to dinner.”

“Okay,” Samantha says. “I’ll find someone.” She looks up; Fox is walking past the kitchen. “Dana wants to talk to you,” she says.

He comes in quickly and takes the phone. “Scully?” he says. “Yeah, hi. It’s good to hear from you…Oh, she did, did she?” He looks down at Samantha and raises his eyebrows. “Well, it sounds like a great idea to me. How does six sound?...Great.”

“Ask her what I should cook,” Samantha says.

“Samantha wants to know what to cook,” he says into the phone. “Oh, she’ll like that…Well, see you tonight, Scully. Bye.” He hangs up the phone and looks at Samantha. “You’re very interfering, you know that?” he says.

“I’m not,” Samantha says. “I wasn’t trying to make you be friends again, if you didn’t want to be.” Anyway, that’s silly, because she can tell he does. “I just wanted to invite them because they’re my friends.”

“I didn’t mean it like a bad thing,” he says. He’s smiling, and he hugs her. “I’m glad they’re coming too. Scully said to surprise her with dinner.”

So Samantha makes roast chicken with herbs, because it’s simple enough for Emily but tastes good for everyone. When Dana and Emily get there, she runs to hug them, and then she and Emily draw together while the dinner is finishing cooking. She looks over at Fox and Dana a lot; they’re sitting on the couch, talking. It’s not quite like it usually is, when they talk a lot and laugh together and it seems like they’ll never stop. But she can tell Fox is trying really hard to be nice, to say things that will make Dana smile, and she can tell Dana’s trying to be friendly too. That’s better than these last weeks. And after dinner, Dana says she’ll help clean up, and she and Fox start laughing together when they’re putting the dishes away. That’s much, much better.

And after that they start coming over again, Dana and Emily, at least once a week, like they used to. They work on dinner together, and she draws pictures or reads or plays with Emily. She doesn’t hear anything more about Diana. She doesn’t ask. She doesn’t want to.

Dana and Emily are there for dinner one Friday night; it starts snowing soon after they get there, and by the time they’re supposed to leave it’s a real storm. “Are you sure you’re all right to drive home in that, Dana?” Mom asks her. “The roads might be bad out here. You and Emily are welcome to stay.”

“It does look bad,” Dana says, looking out the window. “But I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” Fox says. “We can put you up, no problem.”

“Emily can stay in my room,” Samantha says. “Like a slumber party.”

Emily’s eyes light up. “Oh, can I?” she asks. “Please, Mommy.”

Dana smiles and ruffles Emily’s hair. “Well, if you’re sure it’s not a problem,” she says, “that would be really nice. Thank you.”

They don’t have any pajamas or anything, but Samantha gives Emily one of her t-shirts; it’s big even on her, so Emily can wear it like a nightgown. Mom and Fox and Dana say goodnight to them, and then they settle into her bed together. Emily’s feet are cold.

“We can tell secrets,” Samantha whispers. “Do you know any?”

There’s a little bit of light from the window; she can see Emily screwing up her face. “At school the other day,” she says, “Ben hid playdough behind the books.”

“That’s a good one,” Samantha says. She tries to think of a secret she can tell, but when she looks at Emily again, she’s already asleep.

Samantha falls asleep too, pretty quickly, but she wakes up again after a while; the clock says it’s almost midnight. She gets up carefully, so she doesn’t wake Emily, and goes over to the window. It’s still snowing hard.

She’ll go downstairs, she thinks, and read in the living room. That way she won’t have to turn the light on when Emily’s asleep. She takes her book—it’s called The Egypt Game, and it’s a really good one—and starts down the stairs.

When she’s at the corner of the stairs, she sees a light: the lamp’s on in the living room. She can hear them talking.

“…glad to have you back,” Fox is saying.

“I didn’t think I went anywhere,” Dana says.

“You know what I mean,” Fox says. Both of their voices are soft, gentle. Samantha knows it’s bad to eavesdrop, but she doesn’t want to interrupt them either. “I missed the way things were with us.”

“Me too,” Dana says. They’re quiet for a minute, and Samantha starts to go down the steps again, but then they start talking about her. “Samantha’s doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Fox says. “I think so. She sometimes…she’s got a way of turning things over in her mind. But I think she’s all right. Probably enjoying her slumber party with Emily.”

Dana laughs. “I hope Emily’s actually sleeping.”

“Aw, it’s not a school night,” Fox says. “Anyway, it’s nice having the two of you here. Any time. That’s what I meant.”

“It’s nice being here,” Dana says. “I didn’t…it wasn’t that I wanted to not be here, you know. I just wasn’t sure…I didn’t know what you wanted. And maybe I got a little…” She doesn’t finish her sentence. “Well, I shouldn’t have stayed away.”

“I did want you here,” Fox says. “Believe that, Scully. You deserve…you deserve more from me than what I was giving you.” Samantha thinks Dana says something, but it’s too soft for her to hear. “I’ll always want you here,” Fox says, and then they’re quiet again.

Samantha decides she’ll go downstairs, finally. She guesses they didn’t hear her coming, because when she gets to the bottom of the stairs she sees them kissing. She remembers how strange she felt when Mom told her about Fox and Diana. She’s surprised now, but she doesn’t feel strange.

They stop, and they smile at each other, and then they see her. “Hey, Sam,” Fox says. “You awake?”

She nods. “I didn’t mean to bother you,” she says. “I just came down to read, because Emily’s asleep.”

“You’re not bothering us,” Dana says. “I might look in on Emily, before I go to sleep too.” She holds out her hand to Fox. “Come up with me?”

“Sure,” he says, and he takes her hand. “Good night, Sam.”

“Good night,” she says. “Good night, Dana.”

“Good night,” Dana says, and the two of them start up the stairs together. Samantha watches them go, before she opens her book.

#the x files #my fic #samantha mulder #msr #alternate universe

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fromtheashesofvalyria · 4 years

Text

They were both too young to know how to love.

Of course leave it to Harry Potter to be what drags me back into writing fan fiction. Apologies to people who follow me already since this is pretty different from posts I’ve done in the past, so feel free to ignore.

I just wanted to try and get some thoughts out about a fanfiction I’m currently writing, specifically the relationship between Harry and Daphne. Or the lack of one right now anyway. ;)

The basic background is that this is a soulmate AU with soulmate marks and empathy/semi-telepathy (I’m not sure what to call it honestly). The three main ships are Dramione, Ransy, and Pottgrass, and it’s a slowburn enemies to lovers starting from Goblet of Fire on. Emphasis on slowburn and enemies considering two of the involved are Draco and Pansy.

Before I started writing again, the only ones of those three I shippped/read fanfiction of were Draco/Hermione and Pansy/Ron. I originally picked Daphne because I’d read fics that had her as a character and liked her in them; after that I read two fanfics that made me really ship them, because the amount of ships I have due to fanart/fanfic is huge. (Previously I was, and actually still am, a Nottgrass shipper because I am a multi-shipper a lot of the time.)

I’m going to put the rest of my rambling under the cut.

So there are a couple different things going on here. The most superficial was that, when I had started writing, I’d been re-watching the Lizzie Bennet Diaries so I was a bit influenced by Pride and Prejudice when writing Daphne at first. Specifically the inspiration was Matthew Macfaden’s Darcy from the 2005 movie and Daniel Vincent Gordh’s William Darcy from LBD. (And as an aside Astoria was slightly based on Georgianna from the 2005 movie and Gigi Darcy from LBD.)

The inspiration became less strong the more I wrote, but her being standoffish/cold/rude to non-Slytherins (except Astoria) and the scene where Daphne tries to make a deal with Harry was inspired by Darcy's first, horrible proposal to Elizabeth. But that’s the shallower reason, let’s get into the meat of it, which is background vs appearance.

Harry Potter was orphaned at the age of one years old, was raised in an abusive family who didn’t even give him a room for ten years, had no friends until he got to Hogwarts, and was lied to by the Dursleys’ about what his parents were actually like. There were no pictures of his parents, he wasn’t told they were a witch and wizard, and he didn’t even know they were murdered. When he is told about his parents, he is given the romanticized view of James and Lily and their relationship. He thinks they were the perfect picture of soulmates, as he hasn’t been told that James was once a jerk that Lily really disliked. His first real experience of familial love was with the Weasleys and thinks of them as the best family in the world. Daphne knows nothing of this aside from the fact that he was raised by muggles; I don’t think she thought much about Harry at all outside of times parts of his adventures were found out by the school. Like the flying car incident. As she said in the fanfic, Harry just sort of existed to Daphne.

Harry is only fourteen years old at the start of the fic, and has only had a crush on Cho at this point, but he does know that he wants to have the real love and respect his parents had. He wants to have a family of his own that would actually be loving. He doesn’t want his potential future children to grow up without love. And, most importantly, he doesn’t think Daphne is capable of that.

What Harry knows about Daphne’s background is that she’s part of an old, wealthy pureblood family a la the Malfoys or the Parkinsons. (He wouldn’t know the term Sacred Twenty-Eight.) That’s pretty much it and would be about the amount of knowledge all the students from the other houses would know (except for Astoria, the Ravenclaw little sister, who is just as uncomfortable as Daphne when asked to talk about their parents). Harry is also generally dismissive of Slytherin house as a whole thanks to Draco and his gang; he thought they looked like a “pale and unpleasant lot'' at the Welcome Feast in first year.

Here’s how Daphne comes across to the kids outside of Slytherin: standoffish; doesn’t seem to talk much outside of class participation, and is often sarcastic when she does; doesn’t seem to have friends outside of Slytherin and the only non-Slytherin she is consistently genuinely affection towards is her little sister, and not everyone sees that; while not a member of Pansy’s gang is still known to be a good friend of Pansy’s, and is also close to Blaise who is seen as equally snobby.

(Speaking of Blaise, Daphne still wants to know why she’s the only one to get an insulting nickname like Ice Queen when Blaise and Theo are often just as anti-social towards the other houses as she is. In Theo’s case, more so. XD)

Of course, it’s easy to sympathize with Daphne when you know what her background is really like. Her parents, despite being soulmates, have an absolutely toxic relationship that their daughters had to witness: “Daphne Greengrass hadn’t been a fan of the soulmate concept for years now. She could even pinpoint the exact moment her disillusionment started: the night before her sixth birthday when her father finally told her mother that, soulmates or not, he had never loved her and had only married her out of both obligation to the bond and to the alliance with her family. This had then turned into a screaming match in her father’s study accompanied by the sound of glass being thrown at a wall.” This is just one incident.

Daphne was so used to her parents arguing (and to be really clear, I’m not talking about normal arguments couples have; I’m talking about full-blown trying to verbally/emotionally hurt the other as possible or just arguing to try and win against the other person) that she was already making it her job to comfort Astoria, who “was still a baby, and upset by it”. Daphne has grown up with a very dim view of romance and romantic love.

Now, Daphne does know that people can be genuinely in love. For all their many, many faults, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy are devoted to each other. Pansy’s parents aren’t on the same level, but are loving/affectionate enough with each other. However, she doesn’t think love and happiness are guaranteed so it’s better to have something more solid like respect or trust. However, that is hard to get across to Harry because she’s grown up to think being emotional is bad/a weakness and it’s hard for her to open up to people she doesn’t know well. (Pansy was her first friend at five years old and is still her best friend up until this point; it’s also the reason her other friends are the Slytherins she’s known for years at this point. People she’s used to.)

She could have approached Harry differently, flirted, or suggested dating, or tried to be romantic but she would have thought of that as dishonest/manipulative. Because Daphne knows love isn’t guaranteed for soulmates. Because Daphne knows she’s not the most likeable person. Because Daphne isn’t sure she could love Harry and doesn’t want to lie about it. Yes, Slytherins are all about cunning and clever ways to get what they want, but this is one of the areas Daphne would not even consider something like that. For all her issues, Daphne does have some standards.

Self-control and (just control in general) is something Daphne clings to because her parents were often unpredictable and she had to create a sense of being in control of her life. Her father is not a warm or empathetic person and he looks down on people being too emotional. (Yes, this is supposed to be hypocritical considering he’d get into screaming matches with his wife.) He would be out of the house a lot for both work and to get away from his wife. Her mother was emotionally and mentally in a bad place for a long time and withdrew from her children a bit. She improved by the time Daphne was at school, but her favorite is clearly Astoria for reasons that will be expanded on later. Daphne tells herself she gets it because Astoria is her favorite family member too. (Also I just want to make this clear, Daphne and Astoria are close siblings who genuinely love and care about each other. Daphne is also Astoria’s favorite family member. Their relationship, as I like to see/write it could be another post though so moving on.)

This need for self-control also was because of the stutter she had growing up. She was already self-conscious about it and she was very aware that her parents (her father in particular) saw it as a problem, which stressed her out more and made her stutter worse. The more emotional she’d get, the more likely she’d stutter. Whereas the more comfortable she was, the less often it happened. Pansy already mentioned in one of her POV’s that she barely heard Daphne stutter around her after a while; not a huge spoiler or surprise, but it was the same with Astoria. One of Daphne’s pre-Hogwarts tutors was essentially a wizard speech therapist, so she had it under control by first year but it was still recent enough at the time that she was pretty afraid of slipping up at school. Also consider the fact that some students (not just Slytherins either, but from all houses) made fun of Quirrell's stutter, and he was a teacher. (Yes he was evil, and only pretending to have one, but they didn’t know that then.) How much worse would the teasing be for a first year student? So as her father told her, sometimes it’s better not to talk at all.

Harry doesn’t know any of this.

Before things really started in the fanfic, Harry’s one interaction with Daphne that really stood out to him was that time she was sarcastic to him in first year after his first Quidditch game: “You know my family made the snitches used at Hogwarts. Please try not to choke on another of them next time.” When fourth year started, she ignored him completely in the Great Hall, and didn’t help her friend in a way he didn’t recognize/understand.

The next day, Daphne sends him a note ordering him to meet her during lunch, after not acknowledging him in public. (As Harry says, she didn’t even write please. It also didn’t ask him for a date and time to talk, just told him to meet her in a specific location.) When he asked if she was proposing to date him, she “made a truly exasperated sounding noise” which definitely hurt his pride a little. She also tried to approach a relationship (not necessarily even a romantic relationship, just in general) with him, someone she has barely spoken to, like a business deal, which he thinks is a cold way to look at it and he loses his temper. However, it should be noted that she asked him why when he rejected her out of hand and well, don’t ask a question you wouldn’t want an answer to.

Later on he sees her picking on a second year for seemingly no reason. In reality, this is a girl who did something to her sister and Daphne doesn’t let things like that slide when it comes to people she cares about.

Now afterwards things get murkier because Daphne is wanting to freeze him out/ignore him, but he is the one to poke at her. The soulmate bond is like an outside force that pushes down on two people to try and force them together, which can be downright unbearable if you really don’t like the other person. Harry finds the pressure it puts on them very hard and is stunned when she acts like she’s not affected at all. (He’d feel better if he knew she was feeling it just as much as him. Sort of like how Hermione and Ron both take comfort in the fact that Draco and Pansy are having as bad a time with the bond as they are.) He’s already under stress from the situation with his scar hurting and Sirius leaving his hideout to come back to England because of it, now add on to that the stress of an outside magical force trying to bond him to a girl he doesn't like and who doesn’t like him. No, he’s not handling it in a great way, but he’s young.

And Daphne could always try and talk to him about things good (sending him a song through the bond to help him sleep when worry for Sirius was keeping him up) and bad (the incident with the second year), but she doesn’t try. Partly it’s out of pride, but largely it’s because she’s developed unhealthy coping skills that she doesn’t realize are unhealthy.

#self indulgent #fanfiction #pottgrass #dramione #ransy #lions among the snakes #i think getting my thoughts down like this helped my muse #might ramble about my fanfiction again sometime #can you tell I’m an over thinker

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keelywolfe · 4 years

Text

FIC: Some Sense of Normalcy ch.2 (baon)

Summary: It’s Edge’s first day back to work at the Embassy, but his job isn’t the only thing on his mind.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Past Injury

Chapter 1 |

~~*~~

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read Chapter 2 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Stretch kept watch out the front window, waiting for Edge to drive off with Red at the wheel of his car and wasn’t that a question he didn’t have time to find out the answer. Then he went back upstairs to get dressed; he had places to be and of course today would be the morning that Edge decided to let his ridged adherence to his schedule slip.

It was pretty damned hard to nudge Edge out the door without making him suspicious, since all previous evidence pointed to Stretch trying to keep him in bed as long as possible and now that he was finally gone, Stretch needed to double-time it.

He hadn't lied about the video conference with his therapist, but that wasn't until this afternoon and there was something to look forward to. He had a love/hate thing going with Doc Lee, loved that she could help him collect all his thoughts back into the right baskets and get 'em back in order, hated that he had to actually talk about why they were scattered to begin with to get there.

In the meantime, he yanked on the first pair of pants and sweatshirt he found in his side of the closet. He was headed back downstairs, socks in hand, when the doorbell rang.

Stretch opened the door, leaning awkwardly on the jamb as he reached down to pull on his socks. "hey, andy."

“Morning,” Jeff said with a smile. He was dressed for work and Jeff’s style was a little less posh than Edge went for. No suit coat and his button-up shirt was a deep blue with a scattered floral pattern and a sort of long, gauzy white vest hanging open over the works. He looked good and Stretch didn’t mind telling him so.

“good thing i’m a math genius, your clothes are looking pretty acute there.”

Faint pink rose in Jeff’s cheeks. The kid didn’t take a compliment well, it was a work in progress. But he sure as heck proved his pun skills were up to par. “Thanks for going at the right angle so I don’t have to be obtuse about it. Are you ready to head out?”

“give me two minutes to feed the chickens and we can hit it.”

Stretch headed into the backyard, Jeff at his heels. Jeff stayed out of the coop in deference to his nice shoes and only watched as Stretch let the chickens out, scooping feed into their trough. Nugget came out of the coop last, not the normal order of things, gobbling her food with record speed. Probably wanted to book it back inside to her weird nest and that was another mystery on Stretch’s list. It’d keep for a day or two, and Stretch would take a dozen peculiar eggs, carton and all, to have her back home. He gave her a light pat, didn’t even mind when his affection was ignored in favor of the eats.

Meanwhile, Jeff wandered over to the freshly planted garden beds, peering down at the tiny points of green poking out. "So, do I get to hear why you didn't hitch a ride in with Edge?"

See, that was the problem with Jeff being pals with Edge; it made him concerned for Edge’s welfare and feelings and stuff. That was some double-sided sticky tape, ‘cause Stretch wanted Jeff to like Edge but not enough that he’d tattle. "that would be because he'd interrogate me about what i was doing."

"And you think I won't?"

"nah, you will, but you're more lucky to fall for the eyes." Stretch turned to him, feed bucket still in hand, and gave him the very best doe-eyed, pathetic look in his collection.

"okay, that is pretty effective,” Jeff admitted, “But, somehow, I don't think you're planning a surprise party. So, I have to ask, is what you're doing going to make Edge mad and that's why you're going behind his back?"

"nope." Probably not, anyway.

Jeff gave Stretch a scrutinizing look that would give Sans a run for his money. Well, maybe a leisurely stroll. “All right,” he said at last, “If I don’t take you to the Embassy, you’ll just take the bus, anyway. But if something is actually wrong or you need real help that isn’t solved by a quick lift, you tell me. Deal?”

“deal,” Stretch hesitated and added, “i promise.” Fuck it, Andy was his best friend, if he couldn’t confess to him at least a little, then he might as well start rethinking the title.

Stretch never really gave Jeff a rundown about how he felt about promises, but stood to reason that someone did. His expression softened into a lopsided smile and he jerked his head towards the house. “Then let’s get going before I’m late. Catty is a good boss but the last person in has to get coffee for everyone for the rest of the day.”

The ladies were still chowing down and Stretch left them to it, though he did double and then triple check that the gate was shut tight. Not that he’d ever accidentally left it open, but he was pretty resigned to being stupid about his chicks for a little while yet.

Jeff’s car was a sporty little compact with a surprising amount of legroom in the front seats and there was zero doubt in Stretch’s mind that Edge was the one who chose it with that feature in mind, along with every safety feature package that they could cram in without popping a seam. He didn’t wait for the seat belt speech, already buckling up, and they were off.

Crawling through the streets of New New Home to the security checkpoint and once they were through the gate, Jeff turned things up a notch. His cautious driving was only about a step down from Edge’s, but unlike Edge, Jeff didn’t say a peep when Stretch rolled down the window and let his arm dangle out, relishing the cool wind on his bony fingers.

Nice to be able to relax and enjoy the breeze. Edge would’ve bitched at him and he knew from experience that Blue would stop the car and refuse to move until he rolled the window back up, citing statistics about Humans losing limbs and heads all the while.

Yeah, okay, today wasn’t a good day to think about anyone losing their head. Stretch pulled his arm back in and let it sit more sedately on the window ledge. He could feel Jeff giving him a look, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t ask or probe or scold and that was why he was an awesome friend. Even if a couple times he’d asked about things Stretch didn’t like to think about, things from the past, from Underswap—

The sound of the wind through the opened window suddenly sounded a little too much like a brewing storm in Snowdin, the way they often swirled up across the narrow path that led to Waterfall. Dredged up memories that Stretch usually kept packed away, neat and tidy in a box of ‘past is past’. His head really wasn’t on straight today and—

Stop it, STOP IT—

“how’s things at the embassy?” Stretch asked abruptly. He yanked his arm inside and rolled the window up entirely, sealing out the blowing wind. Jeff didn’t seem perturbed about the sudden break in the silence.

“Great. Busy.” Jeff kept his eyes on the road, but his smile was honest and wide, “I know you’re going to put me off for saying this, but I seriously could never thank you guys enough for getting me this job.”

Stretch shrugged. “i didn’t have anything to do with it. i have less pull at the embassy than hussain, and i’ve heard what he did with the cafeteria.”

“The food is great,” Jeff agreed, “especially the falafel.” His quick side eye said a lot about how much he believed the rest of it.

It wasn’t that Stretch minded the gratitude, but it really wasn’t necessary. Yeah, sure, being his pal probably got Jeff’s foot through the door. That wouldn’t make Edge give Jeff a job that he couldn’t do or that he wouldn’t be suited for. Strategy was what Edge did, and if he thought Jeff would be great for Public Relations, Stretch was a hundred-and-nine percent sure he was right.

“anything i had to do with it was strictly by association,” Stretch told him, “you’re probably more lucky being my pal didn’t put them off, but eh, if they haven’t ditched edge, i doubt you’ll be in line.”

“I think if they fired Edge, half the Embassy would grab their staplers and follow him out the door,” Jeff snorted, “Speaking of lines, you want to stop for a coffee on our way?”

Seriously, best pals forever, “lead on, macduff, i’ll follow you anywhere.”

Jeff laughed even as he turned into the lot for the Beanery and headed for the drive-thru.

Jeff dropped Stretch off at the Embassy entrance before he went to park his car. Which was fine, he knew where he was going, and he didn’t need Jeff to hold his hand along the way.

The security guard only gave him a disinterested look as he swiped his rarely-used keycard and headed for the elevator. Not the normal elevators, the ones that led to the offices upstairs that Humans and Monsters used all day long, where you could press any button and be off.

No, the elevator to the labs was around the corner from those and needed a keycard just to open the doors, another swipe of the card with a password to activate it. Not all Monsters had access to all the labs, and their cards would only take them as far down as their security clearance allowed.

Stretch’s card would take him to any of the labs. All he had to do was swipe it.

He stood in front of the elevator, the card gripped too-tight in the clench of his fingers, staring at the closed doors.

When he’d texted Alphys yesterday, she’d been perfectly happy to meet with him, but said she couldn’t get away from the labs right now, so he’d have to come here. He’d assured her that it was fine and yesterday, it was. It’d been a relief, even.

Somehow while he’d been lying in bed the day before, lost in the tangle of his thoughts, the idea of his HP dropping again got hooked into his head. He couldn't stop thinking about it, none of his distraction techniques were working, his focus was fucking shot. All the clues that he might be having HP trouble were banging on the door, demanding to be let into his mind.

Like the fact that the lower his HP got, the wearier he was and just lately, he'd been feeling awfully damned tired. He'd gotten used to his HP being at five and the extra slice of energy that came with that. Falling asleep at random times in even more random places was becoming the exception rather than the norm and he fucking well liked it that way.

Last time Alphys checked him over, his HP was back on the rise, but it’d been a while. Lately, he'd been smoking way too much, using up a lot of magic healing, and he’d been so, so tired. He wasn’t the puzzle-fiend that his bro and Edge were, but even he could do one that only had a couple pieces.

Yesterday, Alphys’s assurances that he could stop in had been a relief, enough to make that worry back off a little and let him go back to his sour ball of grief over Nugget. Now that mourning was off the table, the reports of her death greatly exaggerated, here came his ghostly HP worries, trundling back in to for another go at haunting the inside of his skull.

After dinner, he’d gone upstairs to take a shower and stood there, looking at himself in the mirror. All it would’ve take was a quick Check, only a few seconds, and his stats would have spilled out right in front of his eye lights, letting him know exactly the state of his HP. Just a quick check and if everything looked good, he could tell Alphys never mind, he could stay home and take a day, not curled up on the bed but on the sofa, maybe, day-binging Netflix. Or outside, watching the chickens roam the yard, maybe see if Nugget would let him get a picture of that mystery egg she was so protective of.

Would’ve only taken a quick Check and Stretch just…couldn't. The magic was sitting there ready to be used and he couldn’t make himself pull the trigger on doing it. He couldn't do it and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to ask Edge. Like Edge needed any other problems on his radar? Not a chance.

So that cemented the plan right there. He was gonna go downtown and see what the deal was, and if it was bad, he would tell Edge. No secrets, not this time, no trying to hide this shit. Edge was going to have to deal with whatever fallout came down the line from his HP dropping, so may as well give him as much prep time as he could.

All he had to do was open the elevator door.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Stretch startled so badly the world blurred around him in an aborted shortcut. The mostly empty coffee cup in his hands slipped though his fingers, spilling out a few creamy droplets when it hit the floor.

Jeff only went to the nearby cleaning station to grab a paper towel, crouching down to wipe up the mess while Stretch tried to remember how to breathe normally.

Finally, he blurted out, “you scared the shit out of me, andy!”

“I noticed and it’s extra impressive considering you don’t shit,” Jeff said. He tossed the cup and dirty paper towel into the trash can. “And you didn’t answer me. Do you want me to come with you?”

Stretch laughed unsteadily, “you don’t even know where i’m going.”

“I don’t,” Jeff agree. “What I do know is that leads to the labs downstairs. And I know you have trouble with labs sometimes, even your own. So. Do you need me to come with you?”

Jeff’s gaze was steady, calm, and beneath it was that warm gentleness, the compassion on his face as obvious as the soft green of his soul. It was hard to resist the urge to grab onto him and drag him downstairs, fuck all the security protocols, but that would be plowing over all kinds of boundaries and Stretch wouldn’t be the only one getting in trouble over it. He wasn’t about to damage anyone at the Embassy’s trust in Jeff over his own stupid issues.

“nah,” Stretch forced a smile, “you need to get upstairs before you’re the designated coffee runner for the day.” Then, when Jeff didn’t move, he said, more seriously, “but you can hit the button for me. if you want.”

Jeff stepped up but instead of pushing the button, he wrapped both arms around Stretch’s rib cage and hugged him tightly. All of Stretch’s good intentions snapped like the elastic in an old pair of undershorts; all he could do is lean down and hug Jeff back, his slim body giving in a way that bone simply couldn’t. Jeff was softer and squishy and so very Human, the best part of humanity.

If anyone came down towards the elevators, Stretch might’ve let go sooner. As it was, they stood there an embarrassingly long time for whatever security cameras were probably watching. Jeff didn’t let up an inch, held tight and let Stretch be the one to step back first.

Stretch shook his arms out, gave himself a full body shake. He could do this.

“okay, i’m heading down,” Stretch said firmly. He pushed his card into the key slot. “hit it.”

Jeff did and the elevator door slid open smoothly. Stretch stepped inside and the doors were closing almost before he could turn around.

“You can text me whenever you’re done!” Jeff called through the narrowing opening. The door closed completely before Stretch could reply but that was okay, Jeff would know his answer without him saying a thing.

He pushed his keycard into the control panel slot and tapped in his password; the calendar numbers of his wedding anniversary used in a linear equation. The elevator lurched hard enough to unsettle his non-existent stomach and started downward.

No big deal, Stretch told himself, struggling to pull his keycard back out with sweat-slick fingers. He rubbed them impatiently on his pants and tried again, and this time the card came free, just as the elevator doors opened into the gleaming stainless steel and glass of the labs, all clean sterile lines, nothing at all like his own cluttered workspace. But it was all fine, he wouldn’t even be in the lab long, Alphys always took him right to her office.

Right on in and she could do all her tests, let him know the state of his body and soul, that was it, yep.

No big deal at all.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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drawbauchery · 4 years

Text

An Enemy, An Enemy, A Frenemy of Mine?

(fic by cartoons-tothemoon)

“So, explain to me again why I’m still tied to a chair and your face isn’t planted clean into the floor?”

“Well, for one, I made scones.”

Skipper had to roll his eyes at that.

It seemed he’d been letting his guard slip as of late. After busting Savio’s NYC rings, he didn’t even hesitate to move them to New Jersey as soon as possible, and with Blowhole still out there and even Private’s old golfing buddy giving them trouble, it appeared that the more paranoid Skipper got, the less obvious clear threats came to him.

Hence, being completely oblivious to obvious things, like anthrax-filled letters, or poisoned scones, or Hans in the corner with a baseball bat, pretending to be a lamp, and somehow succeeding.

Well, at least one of those things got Skipper stuck at Hans’s mushy-gushy tea party of love and frenemyship, on the top of some skyscraper, in the middle of the night.

C’est la vie and all that.

Skipper still had no idea where he stood with the guy. Like, he hated him, clearly, but the kind of nemesis that could be foiled with a lunch date every now and again was not an enemy Skipper considered worth having. If every domestic terrorist could be foiled with hugs and kisses like that, Private would probably be leading the task force. However, Hans’s attacks were always rather personal, never directed at the public in any way. So, somehow, there was something more efficient and more enjoyable about taking care of him for the week he was in town than taking him up on any of his offers were.

Not that Skipper got to rescind that offer now.

“Face it, Skipper. If you didn’t really want to be here, you would have escaped by now.” Hans purred.

“You’re right. Thanks for reminding me.” Skipper said, leaning down to attempt to reach the one of the knives he kept in his boots.

“I just want to talk.”

“Yeah? Well, you got 4 minutes.”

“I think you have some things you want to talk about as well.”

“Buddy, that’s between me, myself, and I. You’re not my therapist, and I wouldn’t talk to you if you were.” Skipper’s speech was soon cut off, as he grabbed the knife from his boot with his teeth, sat up once more, turned his head, and dropped the knife into one of the hands that were tied behind his back. Hans looked rather unimpressed as he sipped his tea.

“You do know that I was going to let you go after this whole ordeal, right?”

“3 minutes.”

“I think you need someone to talk to outside of your task force.”

“I have Marlene. And Kitka.”

Skipper began to carve away at his ropes. Although it was a sharp blade, these were still the strong ropes that Hans would use back in the day. It would take him more time than he let on to carve completely through them, and Hans knew that.

“You need someone who lives the same life that you do, that does not live the same life you do.” Hans made the motion to pour Skipper a glass of tea, despite the fact that he couldn’t reach his cup. It was just something to do. Something to ease his nerves, and Skipper knew that.

“I’m not saying this has to be me.”

Skipper stopped his carving.

“I know you don’t confide in your task force, or in those outside of it. You have a lot of stress in your field of work, Skipper. It’s not good for you.”

“You’re not my doctor, it’s never been a problem before, and who are you to care about any aspect of my well-being at all?”

“You’re repressed, paranoid, sleep-deprived, in love with Private, and are clearly coping with some kind of guilt complex.” Hans stated, brushing some hair out of his eyes.

“You’re right. I don’t care about your well-being all that much. I wouldn’t even say at all. But, you’re my enemy, and that’s what I’m supposed to do. Not care.”

He let out this large sigh, which hid the fact that at the mere mention of emotions that Skipper began carving at his ropes once more.

“But I do. What is Denmark if not a sign of that? You may have bigger bads with bigger ray guns and larger influence, but I do still believe we have something far more special. And I want that to mean something.”

“All I’m saying is that you deserve someone in your corner for once. If I can read all these things from only a few visits in these past few years, imagine what someone far more malicious could do with these things.”

“God, you got all that from “reading” me? More like you went to couple’s counseling.” Skipper snarked, but Hans heard the Freudian slip that came from “couple’s” counseling, instead of any other. He chose to ignore it in that moment. “I don’t need anyone else in my corner. I’ve got enough people to dry my eyes when I scrape my knee, thank you very much. I’ll deal with it on my own when it becomes an issue. There’s no reason to now.”

“When it becomes an issue?” Hans practically screamed before he began chuckling to himself. “Skipper, honey. You haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in two weeks, you tried to attack the mailman but opened a letter filled with anthrax, and if Private so much as smiles at you you go into crisis. You’re dealing with everything now, but you’re not doing anything about it.”

“Yeah, uh, how did you know any of those things?”

“Don’t worry about it. There’s a point to all of this.”

“Which is?”

“I want you to talk to me. Talk to somebody. Anybody, about any of this. Sure, it may be your problem now when Private sends you into a state of cardiac arrest, but as soon as anybody else figures that out, it’ll be everybody’s problem.”

Skipper felt his cheeks growing hot. “You seem to be fixating on something.”

“Maybe so.” Hans shrugged, before taking another sip of his tea and rising from the table. He walked away from where the tea party was held to look out the window at the NYC skyline, as the sun began to rise. “I suppose we’ll always have Denmark.”

Skipper wanted to snark more, but this whole meeting put him on edge. This wasn’t the sickly sweet tea party where Hans would talk of friendish things in order to woo him back to how things used to be, nor was it the torture basement Skipper had almost been suspecting before he knew it was Hans. This was almost genuinely friendly, almost earnest. Not only was this strange to have to hear from someone who Skipper considered an enemy, but from anybody at all.

Kowalski may place a firm hand on his shoulder, or Private would say something reassuring and adorable, and Rico would always be the more unstable of the two of them, making him look well-adjusted by comparison, but nobody really tried confronting these issues that Skipper had. Maybe because they knew he’d turn it back on them, and having to cope with their rejection-related dysphorias or low self-esteem or other instabilities that dwelled within them was just too much.

But, Skipper was their leader. It wasn’t really talked about, but it was undeniable. He shouldn’t be having these interventions, much less asking for them. He held himself to a certain standard. Possibly an unreachable one, sure, but, that’s what everyone said about Everest.

“You have a lot of enemies, Skipper. And the enemy of my enemy is a friend of mine. A lot of them are willing to pay top billing for information on your weaknesses. Things I’ve found out so easily, things I know just by looking at you.”

Hans turned to face Skipper. “But, if you confide in me, I’d be willing to give out some false leads to send them chasing after their own tails.”

“Sure, so I’m just supposed to tell you every insecurity and expect you to not use it against me? Who in the world expects that?”

“Therapists do.” Hans shrugged. “Under the Hippocratic Oath, nothing you tell me could be shared with another living soul without me risking losing my license, and frankly, I think I’ve taken to therapy. I have an office and everything. I quite enjoy it, personally.”

“Alright, but what do you get out of it?” Skipper asked, ever so certain he’s gotten him up a tree.

“I’ll get to see you more often.” Hans smiled. “I can’t guarantee that I wouldn’t use what I’ve learned from these conversations in my own plots, but I’ve found that it’s an art of give and take. You’ll have a knife to my throat, I’ll have a knife to yours.”

“You’re really trying hard to make therapy appeal to me, huh.” Skipper processed. This whole meeting felt so circular to him.

“Of course. I did mention I worried about your well-being.” Hans said, as he walked behind Skipper’s chair to unite his ropes, mere minutes before Skipper’s incessant sawing would have finally snapped his ropes free.

“And I thought you said that enemies didn’t care about each other’s well-beings.”

“An enemy, an enemy, a frenemy of mine.” Hans smiled, in a sad sort of way. Not that it made Skipper feel anything, really. He did feel hungry. He wondered if Rico was putting bacon on the stove by now.

“At least think about it. It’s not very fun for me to play these games when I’m so aware of how easily I could break you.”

Skipper scowled at that, in a resentful sort of way.

“And I’m sure to wouldn’t be fun for you either if I fell apart on you either. There’s a delicate balance to these things, these games we all play, but they need maintenance.”

Skipper was finally freed from his bindings, and took a moment to soothe his wrists, which had been rubbed raw from all the sawing he had been doing to get out of this conversation.

“We should do this again some time.” Hans stuck his hand out for a handshake, eagerly. Skipper eyed it wearily.

“I’m sure we will.”

(I’m going to be real here, this was more supposed to be Hans confronting Skipper on his feelings for Private, because I love writing pining and I love writing this dynamic and whatever, but it clearly got away from me??? My bad. Hope you guys enjoyed anyhow!)

#cartoons-tothemoon #fics #pom #more mo re MOR E #more therapist hans PLEASE #how DARE you make him CUTE #but it's so unexpected like #i normally make him this jealous asshole #but he's always been a little unconventional #i didn't have a hard time picturing this at all because he WOULD #hans being skip's outlet is such a welcome curveball #lsdkfsd i'm so happy thank you

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youllallriseintheink · 4 years

Text

Secrets and Lies, chapter 3

This is a Death and Taxes fic. It takes the typical, predator-prey dynamic that one often sees in one-offs and tells a story with it. It’s going to be the edgiest thing I’ve written thusfar, so buckle up.

tw for internalized homophobia, regular homophobia, and discussion of rape and abuse

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Blood was on his bed sheets and Joey was asleep on them. Grant let him sleep- he didn’t feel like dealing with him yet. Looking in the mirror, he was met with purple bruises on his face and neck from the night before. Thankfully not much swelling. After Joey had woken up and gotten out of his house, Grant headed into town to buy some liquid foundation to cover up the marks Joey had left on him. Buying makeup was mildly embarrassing, but he was not wearing his shame to work on Monday.

Was this life now? Letting Joey do what he wanted with him and licking his wounds in secret? It seemed that way. Over the coming two weeks, over which Joey came to him three times- twice in Grant’s own office- Grant learned that trying to lessen the amount of anger Joey released onto him was pointless. Joey didn’t want an amateur therapist or a sub, nor was this a method of punishment or control- Joey just wanted a fuckable punching bag. And especially after Joey assaulted him in his office, work began to feel like a very unsafe place to be.

In those two weeks, Grant also counted up the price of leaving the studio and Joey behind. He’d been spending more lunch hours than usual with Norman- spending time with the man could always lift Grant’s spirits a little, and Norman was so intimidating that he felt (irrationally, of course) like Joey couldn’t lay a finger on him as long as they were close. Norman could tell that something was up, but he didn’t say anything, thankfully.

Grant didn’t want to look at Norman and see someone he’d have to leave behind if he chose to get out of the studio and have the pictures come out. He couldn’t bring himself to broach the subject of how Norman viewed homosexuality. There were a few other people Grant cared about at work- a few from his department that he knew casually, and Shawn and Lacie who he’d gone out drinking with a couple times. Aside from Norman, no one worth staying for, though.

Even before the affair with Joey had happened, most of the reason Grant was still a part of the studio was because he wasn’t sure he could land another job in this economy. But, the economy was recovering. It would be safest to try and land something else before fleeing the studio, so just in case Joey decided to do sabotage him professionally- assuming Joey cared enough to, which he probably didn’t. It was hard not to get paranoid. He could quit right away if things escalated, but for now he’d spend at least a few weeks looking for a job.

There was still the matter of his next of kin. He didn’t remember who he’d put down as his next of kin- it was either his ex-wife or his mother. Neither were attractive options, but his parents he could deal with more easily than he could deal with Joey.

A knock on his office door jolted Grant from his train of thought. Oh God… Joey? Cautiously, as though caution could save him, Grant went over to the door and opened it slowly. He let out a sigh of relief when it turned out to be Toby, their overly friendly treasurer.

“You alright, there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Grant forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. What can I help you with?”

“Just here to drop off some ordering forms.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Grant had always noticed that, although Toby was downright bubbly with everyone else, he seemed very uncomfortable with Mr. Dew. And, well, he did fulfill certain stereotypes- the way he walked (Grant hoped that wasn’t what he looked like- good God was it effeminate!), his love of aesthetics... Maybe…

“Joey makes us budget for some strange things, doesn’t he Toby?” Grant asked. He knew how ominous he must have sounded despite his best efforts. But he would have done anything for someone to talk to about this. “Has he ever made you budget for something like this?”

Grant pulled a bottle of liquid foundation from his desk- the same liquid foundation that was currently smeared over the bruises that Joey had given him a few days ago before. Toby eyed the bottle.

“I-I don’t understand what you’re saying. Are you talking about… unprofessional relations?”

“…Yes.”

“Oh. Ouch. Sorry to hear about this. Yeah, Joey and I were hooking up for a while, but he never… compelled me to buy that. Look, he’ll probably forget you in a month. Okay? Hang in there.”

Grant didn’t know if he could or should explain that he was more than one of Joey’s hookups. He supposed it didn’t matter. “Could you help me with something?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“I need to access my file without Joey knowing. I have a meeting with him tomorrow at three pm- could you do me a favour and tell him there’s an issue he has to see to elsewhere? I just need a couple minutes alone in his office. Please. I’ll do anything.”

Toby looked concerned, and a bit overwhelmed. “Sure. Seems easy.”

“Thank you.”

The plan went as expected. Toby came in at 3:10, telling Joey that there was an issue in the music department that he had to see. When Joey arrived with him in the music department and there was no disaster, he said that they must have taken care of it. Joey gave him a harsh look, but that was all before they headed back to their respective offices.

Meanwhile, digging through Joey’s filing cabinet, Grant found what he was looking for. His next of kin was his mother. Good. Everything was back in place by the time Joey returned- as though it had never been touched at all.

Well, now he knew what the hardest part of all this would be. It was a few days before Grant could bring himself to do it.

Grant took a deep breath. In front of him was a prepared speech written on note-cards- he knew that that was the only way he would be able to go through with it. And if getting away from Joey meant his next of kin receiving that photo, he’d never have the courage to leave Joey otherwise. He dialed the familiar number on his phone.

“Hello?”

“Mom? I have something to confess. I’m bisexual.” Not that he was- but there was a chance she would take this better than if he’d admitted to being gay. “I never acted on it in my life until a about a month ago. I fell into an abusive relationship with my employer. He’s threatened that if I don’t do what he wants, he will fire me and release a photo that he took of me while I was in a sexually compromising position. I’m telling you because he threatened to send it to my next of kin, and I thought that this would be a better way for you to find out. I’m going to try to get away from him, and after that I want to turn my back on the lifestyle. Permanently. I promise.”

There was a long silence.

“You’re… you’re what?” her shocked voice made Grant pity her.

“Bisexual- half straight, half gay.”

“I need to talk with your father about this. That- and you being in a position like that is just… a lot. I’ll call you back in a while, okay? I love you.” She hung up.

Grant spent the next twenty minutes too stunned to do much of anything other than worry about what this would mean for his relationship with his family. His mother had always been emotionally fragile, and he hated hurting her like this. His father’s potential reaction scared him more, though. His father had grown up religious and was still in close contact with family members who were, and whose opinions he cared greatly about. And while his mother would never think for a second to disown him… well, his father loved him, too, but…

If only he hadn’t liked being helpless so much! There had been times- several times before the night that Joey had first raped him- where he could have told him, “no, I won’t sleep with you, I’m straight,” but he’d told himself that Joey wouldn’t take no for an answer, that the situation was temporary, that he was passive in it instead of actively choosing it every time. He’d chosen this.

The phone rang. “Hello?

“Hey,” it was her mother’s voice. It sounded a bit teary, but calm- probably a good sign. “So, we talked about it. Most important part first- do you have a plan to get out of this abusive situation you’re in?”

“Yes. I’ll be out within a month. Ironically, once you get that picture in the mail is when you’ll know I’m out.”

“Good. Secondly- your father and I talked about it, and we don’t think you’re half-gay- it’s more like you have the potential to be gay, and you rejected it. I mean, you could live like you’re normal the rest of your life and no one would know any different. So, it’s okay. Right? You just got misguided for a while.”

“Right. Soon, this will be a memory.”

“Thank you. I needed to hear that,” she said. With that they said their goodbyes and hung up.

Grant cried- probably from relief. Thank God his parents had accepted this- only because he’d massaged the truth, but nonetheless. That was a lie he’d have to keep up for the rest of his life- and maybe that was for the better. Joey was awfully close to the stereotype, wasn’t he? A sexual predator who targets men- men who considered themselves normal not too long ago- and brings them to the point of buying makeup, crying regularly, and accepting a woman’s place in bed. Lust wasn’t worth that, or hurting his parents, or being like Toby, who, nice as likable as he was, might as well have had “wipe your feet on me! Everyone else does!" Written across his forehead. No, that wasn’t the man he wanted to be- he needed to leave this world of predators and prey behind.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #death and taxes #joey drew #grant cohen #my fanfiction

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noromojustkeith · 5 years

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Pippythewriter submitted to noromojustkeith:

Okay, so I’m Pippythewriter. I’m fanwriter who has been lurking in the shadows of various fanfic sites for several years. I’ve been reading fanfic since April of 2013. I’ve been a (relatively) silent part of the Voltron fandom for a little over a year now, and a lot has happened since then. I want you to know that after many years of not understanding my feelings towards other people, your blog personally helped me discover that I’m ace, and that that means a lot to me. Through your Tumblr I’ve found a handful of others in the same place as me. So in return I give you this story. It may not seem like much and it’s very choppy, full of typos and antiquated info, but I’ve never shared my writings and I thought this was a good start. I hope you enjoy. Introducing, October 23rd.

My apologies for taking a little to get to this submission; been away this weekend at a family event. But this was so neat to find when I opened my inbox today! I’m thrilled to hear that this blog has had such a positive impact on you, and flattered to death that it encouraged you to share your writing! (Which, by the way, you did a great job on! You have given me EMOTIONS!)

The fic in question is under the cut!

October 23, 2066

Kyle Kogane knows only 3 things right now. First, he is now 18. Second, he LOVES racing on his hoverbike. And third, because of the other 2 things he’s never felt freer in his life. That is, until he crashes. One second he’s speeding across the desert and he’s feeling the wind in his hair, and next thing he knows he’s got a cut on his eyebrow that’s sure to scar with his arm broken. His parents lecture him on how he should know better than to do things like this at his age. And he and his little brother Kent just nod their heads. Of course, mere moments after his parents leave the room his brother is at his bedside raving about how cool that was. Kyle promises he’ll teach him how some day.

October 23, 2067

A year later and that race seems miles away, standing at his parents grave hugging his sobbing brother close to him. He doesn’t cry, not until his brother’s safe in bed next to him after crying himself to sleep. Then he finally lets go, and makes a tearful promise to his parents that he’ll try his hardest to do better. To be the big brother Kent deserves, and maybe, to someday be even half the father his was.

October 23, 2071

A few more years have passed and now Kent’s on his own, and Kyle’s a firefighter. He’s working hard to save people from what he couldn’t save his parents from. He married a beautiful woman, they had a child that he loves more than all the stars in the sky. He loves her, Krolia, too. He misses her dearly, though he knows that she left to protect them. Which may sound like an excuse, but to be fair the survival of earth actually depended upon it. Now Keith’s a year old and the spitting image of his mother. Keith misses her dearly as well and is making it known by wailing his little heart out. He hasn’t said any real words yet, but Kyle isn’t worried, as Kent didn’t speak until he was 5 and he turned out fine… Well, mostly fine. Anyway, so he does the only thing he can think of and swaddles the kid and takes him out to see the stars. Surprisingly enough, it works, and Keith starts gurgling and laughing happily.

“I don’t know how, but I think you just figured out where your Mama is.”

October 23, 2075

Keith’s 5 now, and is about to start kindergarten. Kyle’s temper flares when they want to put him in the CDC class just because he still has trouble with verbal speech. He tries to explain to them that he taught Keith Morse code, and that if he has a nonverbal episode, he’ll use that. Eventually though, he has to compromise, and they agree that Keith can go to mainstream if he takes speech and if he sees a therapist. Kyle reluctantly agrees and after several hours with the behavioral therapist, they get a diagnosis. Autism. Keith, has autism. They want to put him on medication for it, but Kyle refuses. On the way home from Keith’s first day of school Keith has a thoughtful look on his face.

“Daddy?” He asks.

“Yes kiddo?” Kyle replies.

“What does retard mean?” When Keith asks that Kyle almost crashes the car.

“Who called you that?” Kyle bites out angrily.

“Why?” Keith asks.

“Keith, tell me who called you that.” Kyle repeated, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

“His name is James, but what does it mean?” Keith asks, nothing but innocent curiosity in his eyes and Kyle sighs. Kyle was hoping this wouldn’t happen at least for a few more years.

“It’s…” Kyle tries to gather his thoughts. How do you tell your autistic 5 year old that he just got called the allistic version of the N word? “It’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“Oh…” Keith replies, eyebrows furrowing. Before Keith can question further, Kyle interjects.

“How’d you like to get a soda to celebrate your first day of school?” Kyle asks, and Keith’s face lights up.

“Can I get strawberry fanta?” Keith asks and Kyle chuckles.

“Okay, just this once.” Kyle concedes, and the way Keith’s beaming is almost worth the headache he’ll get later from Keith bouncing off the walls (red dye number 5 is a truly terrifying foe)

October 23, 2080

Keith will never forget his feelings that day. The utter terror of facing an early death. The pain of the flames licking his cheeks and the smoke in his lungs. The crushing loneliness of realizing that he was all by himself. And the all consuming guilt that his father died saving him. Kyle Kogane died a hero at 31, just 3 days shy of 32. He survived by his 10 year old son and his brother who couldn’t take care of him because of a technicality. Keith remembers his dad’s last words to him.

“Keith, when I’m gone-” Kyle started, but a sobbing Keith interrupted him.

“No dad. You’re not gonna die. You- you can’t! You- you just can’t!” Keith stuttered, and Kyle stroked Keith’s long hair through his fingers like he always had to soothe him.

“Keith, you know I love you more than all the stars in the sky, but this is out of my hands. But no matter what happens I want you to remember that I love you.” Kyle said fighting off his own tears.

“N-no y-you-” Keith stuttered.

“I’m sorry kiddo.” Kyle said, as he closed his eyes for the last time. These are the things Keith will never forget. But there are things that he won’t remember. His first social worker’s name, the first family he was placed with, even the first year after his father died. He won’t remember not speaking aloud for that year, though he frantically tapped out Morse code to anyone he thought might listen. And years later he would forget what their home together looked like before it went down in ashes, no matter how hard he’d try.

October 23, 2085

“Shiro?” Keith asks tentatively, and he gets a warm smile in return.

“What is it Keith?” Shiro asks.

“Can you take me somewhere? Tomorrow?” Keith asks.

“That depends, where do you want to go?” Shiro asks.

“Nevermind, forget it.” Keith says, not making eye contact.

“Keith, I have to know where we’re going. Otherwise how are we supposed to get there?” Shiro tries to lighten the mood but Keith still won’t look him in the eye. Shiro sobers. “Keith, what’s going on, huh? What’s wrong?”

“I… The place I want to go to is a graveyard.” Keith states vaguely.

“Okay, which one?” Shiro asks, and Keith, of all things, blushes.

“I- I’m not sure what it’s called. It’s, the one in the city? For… For ‘fallen heroes’? I think…” Keith asks, unsure.

“I think I know which one you’re talking about, I can take you there.” Shiro replies, smiling reassuringly.

“Thanks.” Keith says.

“Okay well, if we’re going to make that trip tomorrow you better get some sleep.” Shiro states, firm but kind.

“That’s all you’re gonna say?” Keith asks, confused.

“What else would I say?” Shiro asks.

“You’re not gonna ask me any questions?” Keith asks, afraid of the answer.

“Why would I?” Shiro asks curiously.

“I don’t know, just… I don’t know.” Keith trails off. Shiro gives him that same reassuring smile.

“I figure you’ll tell me when you’re ready.” Shiro shrugs, and Keith finally looks at him.

“Thank you.” Keith replies empathetically.

“No problem kiddo.” Shiro says, not knowing what he’s gotten himself into. He finds out at 5 AM when he hears a knock on his and Matt’s door. Thankfully Matt is still (not after waking up, but STILL awake) awake, and answers.

“Why if it isn’t Kashi’s shadow? You want me to get him? SHIRO! Keith’s here for your late night escapades!” Matt yells, Shiro groans.

“It’s 5 in the morning Matt.” Shiro says and winces when he realizes his mistake.

“Well then someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Matt says and narrowly misses the pillow that Shiro throws at him. “Sorry Keith. But it looks like it’s too early for your hero to do the one thing-”

“I’m up, I’m up.” Shiro protests and proceeds to get up. “Just give me a second to get dressed.” Keith nods and Shiro gets dressed. “Okay, let’s go.” The ride to the graveyard is silent, with Keith looking out the window with a solemn look on his face. “Alright, we’re here.”

“Can… Can you wait in the car? I won’t be long.” Keith asks, the tentative tone returning.

“Sure, take all the time you need.” Shiro reassures. He thinks he hears Keith mumble 'thanks’, and Keith leaves the car. While Keith’s gone Shiro catches up on his emails and gets sucked into a bizzare pun war with Matt and his little sister Katie.

“Okay, we can go back now.” Keith says as he gets in the car, and Shiro can’t help but notice how his voice wavers.

“Buckle up.” Shiro states and Keith nods, once again refusing to make eye contact. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Keith shrugs, buckling his seatbelt.

“Alright. But I’m here if you need to talk.” Shiro says, and is met with a contemplative silence.

“My dad was a firefighter.” Keith whispers so softly that Shiro almost doesn’t catch it.

“That’s cool. Did he save a lot of people?” Shiro says, and quickly realizes it was the wrong thing to say because Keith flinches. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine.” Keith states weakly, but Shiro’s getting more because Keith’s shaking now. Shiro pulls over.

“Keith, Keith it’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready.” Shiro tries to reassure Keith, but he’s inconsolable at this point.

“No! No, I… I have to.” Keith states almost resignedly.

“Are you sure?” Shiro is met with silence. “Keith…”

“You deserve to know.” Keith says, and this time it’s said with the determination that Shiro remembers.

“Okay, take your time.” Shiro reassures softly.

“My dad, he… He was the only one who cared about me. For a long time it was just the 2 of us. When I was 10 there was… Our house caught on fire. He gave me his breathing mask… We both got out but… He died a couple of hours later in the hospital. It was a little over 5 years ago.” Keith was trying so hard not to cry at this point and Shiro could tell.

“Keith I’m…” Shiro starts, but trails off. Instead he decides to start stroking Keith’s hair, not knowing that Kyle would have done the same thing. Keith finally breaks down, and Shiro pulls him into a hug. “It’s okay Keith, I’m… I’m not your father but I’m here. And I’ll never give up on you.”

October 23, 2087

Keith hasn’t gotten off the couch in 3 days. It’s been 2 months since the Kerberos went offline. 66 days since the Kerberos crew was declared dead. 1589 hours since Shiro… 3674598 minutes since he became alone. 94608000 seconds since he found someone again. 5720400000 milliseconds since he became alone again. Keith so desperate for a distraction that he used the calculator to do the math. He had to get up, so he did. He took his old hoverbike to the graveyard and visited his dad’s grave.

“H-hey dad I…” Keith trails off and there’s no one to stop his impending breakdown now. He wants someone anyone, to come to him and stroke his hair like Shiro, or like the father he tries so hard not to forget but finds slipping away little by little. He remembers both and cries himself to sleep when no one comes.

October 23, 2088

The day after the incident with Lotor and the storm planet is the day Keith’s been dreading all week. He hides in his room and turns off the lights. He knows that he messed up, that he should apologize to the team, to Allura. But the person he really wants to apologize to isn’t here and it’s his fault. And as if the universe wants to punish him there’s a knock on the door.

“Hey Mullet. Come on, open up!” It’s Lance, obviously. Keith doesn’t have the energy to argue so he opens the door wordlessly and let’s Lance in. “Hunk made those amazing arepas for breakfast you have t-”

“Lance is there something important you want to talk about?” Keith says, feeling guilty but wanting Lance to let him suffer in silence.

“Well I just wanted to cheer you up, but since you insist on being the broody loner why don’t we talk about how you totally demeaned Allura’s idea that she was totally right about, by the way.” Lance states angrily.

“I messed up okay! You try leading!” Keith retorts defensively.

“Here we go again! Keith gets to be leader and he’s pouting about it!” Lance replies.

“Do you think this is easy?” Keith asks.

“I think we deserve better!” Lance answers.

“Do you think I don’t know that?! Do you think I WANT this?!” Keith yells, and Lance is taken aback.

“What?” Lance asks, startled.

“How do you think I feel?! Knowing I’m failing the team, that I’m failing the ONE PERSON THAT CARES ABOUT ME! Knowing that my dad would have been 40 today and that the universe would have been better off if he’d put the STUPID MASK on himself instead of ME!” By the end of his rant Keith is panting and tears are running down his face. Lance doesn’t know what to say.

“What did that last part mean?” Lance asks, afraid of the answer.

“What?” Keith asks.

“The last thing you said, the part about your dad.” Lance answers.

“What are you talking about?” Keith asks and Lance gets upset.

“You KNOW what I’m talking about, the part where you said you SHOULD HAVE DIED instead of your dad.” Lance states on the verge of tears.

“Just forget about it.” Keith blows it off.

“Now you see I can’t forget it, because ONE OF MY CLOSEST FRIENDS JUST SAID THAT THEY WISH WERE DEAD, and that is NOT I repeat NOT okay!” Lance is crying now.

“I’m sorry.” Keith chokes out.

“You don’t have to be sorry, you just need to ask for help.” Lance states firmly.

“I just… I don’t know how.” Keith stutters, still holding it in. Lance pulls him in for a hug, and strokes his hair. Keith finally let’s go.

“… Lance?” Keith mumbles.

“Yeah buddy?” Lance asks.

“I… I need help.”

#fic #vld keith #keith #keith (voltron)#autistic keith #keith's dad #shiro #lance #angst #great work!#pippythewriter

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asroarke · 6 years

Text

One Year

It has been one year since I started writing again after a decade of abstaining from it. I’m going to post a work later that serves as my celebration of this fact, but I also just kind of wanted to get this personal story out there too.

When I was twelve, I entered a poetry contest and ended up getting one of my poems published. It really wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but I was thirteen, depressed without the understanding of mental illness to explain it to me, and had no friends so this was literally everything to me at this point in time. It took my dad all of five minutes to ask if I really thought I could make a living off writing. I don’t blame my dad for this. He grew up poor and worked a job he hated for 25 years to give my family a better life than what he had. Any skill he valued had to have a monetary value. That’s just how he saw the world.

But this communicated to me that writing was a waste of my time. We don’t really do hobbies in my family. I played soccer to get a scholarship to get to college to get a job. And when I pushed too hard and had too many concussions to keep going, I did speech to get a scholarship to get to college to get a job. Writing was just something I did as a kid when I started to have panic attacks and needed to distract myself quickly.

For ten years, I didn’t write poetry or fiction... in large part because of how my dad talked about writing.

Ten years later, I found myself completely alone. I was done with speech after being burned out from pushing myself too hard. My best friend at the time, who was the only person around to notice if anything was wrong with me and typically picked up on it when I stopped taking my meds or started to exhibit suicidal behavior, sexually assaulted a girl I know, so obviously, I cut off all ties with him. There was literally no one left to notice that I stopped going to class or hadn’t left my apartment in weeks.

In February, there was a two week span of time where no one spoke to me. My parents were distracted with another family emergency, my roommate didn’t notice that I hardly left my room, my professors didn’t check in when I didn’t come to class, and my close friend who had moved away didn’t text me back because she was too busy.

I often think about the poem “Not Waving but Drowning” by Stevie Smith when I think about this period of my life. I was screaming for help in my own way, but no one was around to hear it. When I realized that I went two weeks without anyone noticing what happened to me, it scared she shit out of me. So, I packed up everything, dropped out of school, and ran home to my parents because I knew that if I was living under the same roof as them, they would notice if something was wrong.

And I made the right call. Slowly but surely, I was getting a bit better. Then, May 10th happened and I, like a lot of you, watched Jasper Jordan kill himself on The 100. I know I’ve talked about how this triggered me a little bit... so bare with me as I repeat myself. I’ve seen suicides on television before. That wasn’t what triggered me. It was the fact that I watched an entire season of Jasper Jordan struggling so obviously and no one was able to help him. I saw how easily people like me can just slip through the cracks. I wasn’t watching Jasper Jordan’s struggle. I was watching mine and seeing what could have happened to me just months beforehand.

I watched this episode at 2 in the morning because that’s the time that the CW uploads and I am known for having an abnormal sleep schedule. I didn’t sleep after that episode. I instead had panic attack after panic attack, unable to think about anything else. I was too freaked out to reach out to my mom for help, and I didn’t want her to worry about me. I knew that it would scare her to see me this unraveled and I didn’t want to do that to her. She had her own hell to deal with, and she didn’t need mine.

After a few hours of panic attacks and sobbing, I remembered that I needed to distract myself or else I was just going to keep going in this vicious cycle. Tried watching something on Netflix, didn’t work. Tried playing games, also didn’t work. Everything I tried was too passive. It was too easy to let my mind wander back.

So, what did I end up doing? I started writing for the first time in ten years.

I had been reading fanfiction and had secretly wanted to take a crack at it but figured no one would ever read anything I write because I probably wasn’t good at it. After all, I hadn’t written anything since that mediocre poem when I was twelve. I had a weird idea for a fic, and I was too exhausted and rattled to even bother arguing with it.

I planned out Matched quickly. I had been mentally planning it in my head for weeks, so that was easy enough. I opened a word document and just started writing. When I got the first chapter done, I threw it onto ao3 without thinking twice about it... knowing that if I let myself think too much that I would talk myself out of it. But I still wasn’t completely calm after that. So, I wrote another one and uploaded it just hours later. And I kept writing until I was able to calm down enough to sleep.

When I woke up, I was shaky and exhausted. I decided to go reread what I posted before falling asleep, already wincing in anticipating because I was pretty sure I was going to hate what I wrote.

But I didn’t. And it turns out, you guys didn’t either. I got so many lovely comments that first day, comments that I still go back to on my harder days. I couldn’t believe that anyone bothered to read something I wrote, nor could I believe that people told me that they were enjoying it.

Those of you who were reading that fic as I was writing it know that I was slamming out two or three updates a day. I couldn’t write fast enough. My personal life was absolutely in shambles and I was scared to talk to anyone in my life about what was going on with me, but there were people I didn’t even know who were reading what I wrote and saying that it made their day brighter so I just couldn’t stop.

I think I wrote the whole fic in two weeks. After the first two days of working on it, I finally worked up the courage to talk to my mom about what happened to me. After a week of working on it, I finally worked up the courage to go back to my therapist. After two weeks of working on it, the panic attacks stopped.

Since May 11th of 2017, I have written 32 different works and 1,167,758 words. I relearned how to use writing to handle my anxiety. I learned how to like myself again. I learned how to cope with isolation. I re-enrolled in school. I was able to say that I love myself for the first time in years last fall. And now, for the first time since I can remember, I can honestly say that I am happy.

Writing didn’t fix me or anything. I fixed me. I am still fixing me. But that first little update gave me something that I didn’t have: hope. Those first comments I got told me that what I was doing had value... which is so incredibly important when you feel worthless. So to me, May 11th, 2017 marks the first day that I started fighting my way back to myself.

Thank you to everyone who has read anything I’ve written. Thank you for every comment, every kudos, every bookmark, every reblog, and every like. Thank you to the Bellarke fandom for being a voice of validation when I couldn’t be that for myself. Thank you all for giving me a space where I could figure out who I was again. And a happy writing birthday to me!

#personal #tw: suicide #tw: panic attack #my journey back to writing #it's a long one folks #but i've never been known for being concise #and again thank you to all of you for just existing

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frostbite883-archive · 6 years

Text

Well, either of your ideas that you had written was already written before (albeit differently) by someone else a while back basically (out of the fact that I made questions similar to the ones I gave you which resulted in tumblr bloggers giving me different answers to them).

gingerly-writing: to this ask I filled out for them. I’m pretty fucking pissed off, and I’ve had my fury checked out by uninvolved parties to make sure it was righteous. It’s righteous.

Me: Not entirely so.

gingerly-writing: First off, feel free not to send people rude-ass messages after they’ve put time and effort into coming up with a response to you?

Me: The top comment there (the “Well, either of your ideas” comment) wasn’t really the rude comment I typed out. The other one was (which I’m sorry for) which you didn’t copy paste in your third post so other bloggers can see it as that public evidence is vital for context.

gingerly-writing: Also, I thought you were going to use my idea and have me to thank you or something for it when I came up with something like my asks I gave you and something to the equivalent of your “heroes and villains school” stuff before I replied to your ask box sometime ago. Basically, wanting me to give you undeserved credit for my very own idea. I certainly didn’t know you were going to make comments like this either.

So, I actually have a hero and villain school in my own original superhero works, and I did come up with a solution to this one. If you’re writing your own original stuff, please change this up, but if you’re writing fic I don’t mind if you nick it wholesale (as long as you tag me in it! I’d love to read it).

Y’know, for me, this was just background information, but now I kind of want to write a whole book focusing on it.

gingerly-writing: It took me a good 45 minutes to get tumblr to accept my answer to your damn ask, so you’ve just made that a waste of my time.

Me: Maybe. But, from below, you were not bettering the situation.

gingerly-writing: Also, feel free to simply not respond rudely to people’s posts, at all, ever, especially if you were the one who sent the ask in the first place. I didn’t need to know how shit my ideas are, thanks.

Me: Yeah...not really sure where you’re going with this. Are you saying your ideas were horrible because they were based on my idea and how I spread more around on tumblr? Or do you think I’m saying your ideas were horrible because you think I’m somehow saying, implying or thinking that?

Either why, that comment of yours was not helpful for anyone. Yourself included.

gingerly-writing: Also, as a more general PSA, feel free not to send identical asks to multiple bloggers.

Me: Not happening. As I can sent any ask at any time by my own free will. As is my right.

gingerly-writing: Seeing someone else answer the same ask really disincentivizes me to answer it, even if it’s in my queue: I worry about stepping on the other responder’s feet,

Me: Well, to be fair, I can understand the sentiment there. Still, what you say next will lower that sentiment.

and also, it’s motherfuckin rude, you absolute assclown.

Me: Childish name calling. So...how is it you’re any better with what you had said. What would you benefit from doing that other then venting out your anger. ...Which ironically enough I didn’t even do here and wouldn’t now just so I won’t sink to your level of rudeness.

gingerly-writing: And if you do send multiple asks and get similar responses, maybe it’s simply because it’s a good fucking idea. If you get different answers, maybe it’s because we’re all different fucking people with awesome different ideas that I’m not sure you deserve.

Me: You know what, I’ll be upfront, and say that I should have not jumped the gun and assumed the worse and could’ve worded my comments better (or just replied privately about the whole matter), you, on the other hand, didn’t do much of anything to resolve the situation as best as you should’ve. In the end, you basically became me. But a little worse.

gingerly-writing

: feel free to block me on the way out

Me: Already did. I’m hoping you don’t treat other bloggers the way you had treated me. Especially if they were nicely bringing up stuff to your attention among other things. And especially, even, in the ‘ginning once they asked you something.

gingerly-writing: #I try to be nice on this site #but I have my limits #and now I'm in rage mode #the asks and the answers #rude #ungrateful

Me: As if you were better with your own fair share of rudeness that might be on the level of hackedmotionsensors’.

hackedmotionsensors: THIS PERSON IS SO WEIRD!! All they ever do is send these bizarre questions about the DCEU being in MCU!

Me: Actually, that's not ALL I do. I asked other questions too. And my qs aren't as weird as any one else's either, hacked. Best to not go by assumptions and call people weird for what they say or do. Be it in front of their faces or behind their backs. Also, don't like me or my qs? Then either block me or just blacklist my name.

See ya...never, I guess.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here’s some context on what I was talking about on this post:

TumblrFrostbite: How would you want schools for villains' kids (for Marvel villains' kids, for DC villains' kids, etc) to be ran? And who would you want to run those schools?

gingerly-writing: This is one of those things that I’ve put way too much thought into after you sent this, because I love stuff like this. The question is, are the villains running this school for their kids, or is this something the heroes are putting on to try and rehabilitate the kids while their parents are in prison? I’ll assume the former, but the latter is also super interesting to me.

Disclaimer: this will have a strong DC bent because I have little to no interest in most Marvel villains, whereas I could yack on about DC villains for month. In fact, I might just stick to DC in its entirety because other than Loki (who would be the worst teacher ever, he would encourage so much shenanigans) most of the Marvel villains I know are Nazis or space monsters. Second disclaimer: I’ve watched a lot more animated DC movies and read a lot more fic than I ever have comics, soooooo these depictions might not be comic book accurate. Fanboys, please don’t come for me…but I also don’t really care that much tbh. I like the incarnations that I like. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Actual answer under the cut because this got hella long. Hope you like it!

Sponsor: Lex Luthor. Funds the school, shows up to speech day to give speeches and hand out prizes, gives the brightest and most stable kids scholarships to work at Lex Corp in the holidays. Absolutely 100% has his own ends, no one knows what they are. Chucks buckets of money at every problem. Likes to bring the school up at fancy soirees in front of Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen just to piss them off.

Headmaster: Deathstroke (or rather, Slade from Teen Titans). Has no idea how he wound up with this job, complains about the pay 24/7 even though it’s in the range of millions of dollars a term paid in untraceable cash from 50 different countries. Basically ends up like Gordon Ramsey: threatens to assassinate the teachers and parents all the time, has actually taken out some abusive parents, but is weirdly, gruffly nice to the younger kids. Teachers self-defence to all the non-powered kids and weapons to anyone who’s interested and has the discipline for it. Grudgingly tolerates old man jokes.

Deputy Headmistress: Talia al Ghul. Absolutely terrifies all the older kids, mothers the younger ones. In charge of who graduates and who doesn’t; will only let kids graduate if their villainy won’t critically endanger their own life. Sometimes shows up in the backs of random classes and lurks there for ‘assessments’; shows up in more than 50% of Deathstroke’s classes to harass him about his technique. Keeps a photo of Damien on her desk, refuses to acknowledge it’s there if someone asks about it.

Biology: Poison Ivy. Excellent teacher, surprises both herself and her students at how brilliant she is. Everyone wants to take biology with her even if they have no villainous interest in the subject. Litters her lectures with feminist rants, eco-warrior tirades and talks about LGBT+ rights, will gently but forcefully correct anyone who disagrees with her. Runs a vegetable outside the school and encourages the kids to get closer to nature. Just enough passing knowledge of memes to make her older students roll about with laughter: ‘Batman’s homophobic because he inconveniences me and I’m gay’. PDAs with her girlfriend in the corridors.

Women and gender studies: Harley Quinn Ivy’s girlfriend, part time teacher. Wanted to take up the psychology post, but after she seriously suggested sharing it with Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow) no one wanted to let her anywhere near it. Knows every meme. Gives great relationship advice, will kill anyone’s abusive boyfriend with no questions asked. Brings her hyenas to school in a ridiculously massive handbag. Has her own locker.

Thievery, sneaking around, Gotham safety: Catwoman. Definitely brings in her cats to act as therapy/comfort animals for the kids. Unofficial therapist; absolutely mothers anyone from Gotham, no exceptions. Brings the kids super expensive (stolen) jewellery to wear on prom night and for big dances, charges in secrets about their parents.

Business and Economics, with a side in mind control: Maxwell Lord (in the more business-orientated editions). Keeps to himself, is one of those teachers who doesn’t actually seem to like kids. Always wears a freshly pressed suit. Bit of an asshole. Selina tripped him down the stairs once.

Magic: supposedly taught by Felix Faust, but Klarion enrolled as a student just to show up in his lectures and argue. Every. Single. Point. Magic classes have turned into a magical war several times. They can only get along when someone else turns up claiming magic isn’t real. Faust has a lecture prepared for the non-believers, Klarion has a fireball. Circe often shows up in these classes, ‘borrows’ all the female students for private lessons and turns all the boys into pigs. Pig-Klarion does not appreciate this.

Physics and advanced thermodynamics: Killer Frost. Gets on really well with the Gotham City Sirens; they have cocktail parties in the staff lounge every second Thursday. Is paid by other villains kidnapping Firestorm so she can feed. Absolutely has favourite students and students she hates with a passion; has been known to freeze some students to their chairs in lieu of detention.

Other random villains that show up from time to time: - Flash’s Rogues Gallery. Created the infamous ‘Rogues week’ at the end of the year where every single one of them shows up and helps the students wreak absolute chaos across the school. Can never be stopped from showing up and starting this. Captain Cold comes grudgingly, sits in Slade’s office and has a drink with him; the rest of the Rogues join in with the chaos a bit too enthusiastically. Best week for the seniors. The younger rogues would totally be students and help to smuggle the older ones in for Rogues week.

- Black Manta: shows up sometimes, teaches a few lectures, leaves. Always on super random topics, often tangentially related to his latest evil scheme. The students have a betting pool that reawakens after each visit on how his talk will relate to his next scheme. Literally no one understands why he shows up. Doesn’t get paid, doesn’t seem to enjoy it. ?????? Has great on-land fashion sense though. A lot of the older students have lowkey crushes on him

- Cheetah takes advanced genetics and many other complex of aspects of science. Only shows up to teach special classes for the seniors. High fives Ivy in the corridors.

- Deadshot. Sometimes shows up and interrupts Deathstroke’s guns lessons (poor guy can never teach a lesson in peace), always gets chased out of the school. Gets teary eyed over the young female students kicking ass. Doesn’t seem to do anything useful but somehow gets paid a salary. Sleeps in the gym when he’s on the run from Amanda Wakker/Batman.

- Hugo Strange keeps showing up in disguises and trying to get the psychology job. Last time it was just a fake moustache. What is he even hoping to achieve.

- Merlyn shows up when he’s bored to host archery competitions on the front lawn. Mostly does this when Oliver Queen is in town. Keeps saying he’s going to pick a protégé out of the best archers and never does because the Arrow Clan kids annoy him so much he’s wound up thinking he hates kids. Actually loves kids, pretends to be snooty and above them though. 100% has to prove he’s still the best archer at every competition, even the one for 12 year olds.

TumblrFrostbite: If the super villain academy children, by the time they hit twenty, had to do some VERY impressive villainous in order to graduate, what type of villainous stuff would you have the rookies villains do to not only graduate, but also to be considered as full fledged villains?

gingerly-writing: So, I actually have a hero and villain school in my own original superhero works, and I did come up with a solution to this one. If you’re writing your own original stuff, please change this up, but if you’re writing fic I don’t mind if you nick it wholesale (as long as you tag me in it! I’d love to read it).

My thought was: all villains are going to be different, with different strengths and gifts. Sending them all to, I don’t know, infiltrate an island or fight Black Canary (which no one would win, let’s be honest) doesn’t seem fair on those it doesn’t suit. I was really struggling to come up with something that could work for everyone that didn’t force them to work in a team, because, well…villainous teams never work so well. Too many egos and whatnot.

My solution was: have the kids pick their own challenges. Make it their end of final year project. They submit a fully researched plan, all the way from the developmental stages to the final polished article. Plans like ‘killing Batman’ or ‘blowing up the planet’ are swiftly vetoed, but as long as they’re convincing enough the plan can get as elaborate and dangerous as they like. Half the marks come from the plan itself, and half for execution. Sometimes, my particularly vindictive kiddos make their plan to screw over their nemesis’ plan; I particularly enjoy when their plans are both to screw over each others’ plans. That gets entertaining.

They’re assigned a teacher whose knowledge base best fits with the plan the kid wants to execute, and they submit and resubmit and re-resubmit it to improve and refine their scheme until it’s as perfect as it’s going to get. Then, with no further outside help, they have to execute it.

This method lets you titivate the grand finale to best suit your plot needs. Your character has a serious nemesis? Pitch them against each other. Parental grudge? Make their aim to foil their parent’s plans. Hero that they hate? Plan to ruin their day. Plus, you can shove in bureaucratic nightmares and whatever other problems you can dream up (sabotage, indecision, dreams too grand to execute) into the planning stages.

I’m not sure you could do anything in a school situation to make the outside world consider them ‘real villains’: that would take time, money, and a body count, all things a school probably can’t afford to have on their books, villainous or not. But a huge, large-scale, dramatic graduating plan probably wouldn’t hurt any young villain’s rep!

Y’know, for me, this was just background information, but now I kind of want to write a whole book focusing on it. xx

#post #tumblr #matters

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