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harrypotterximagines · 3 years

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Hey! I wanted to ask if you do Oliver Wood! If you do, could you please do an angst fix when female! Reader gets bullied a lot by the quidditch team in her house (She's not Gryffindor) bc of Oliver, and she remains silent about it... And even though it's more than obvious that she's having a bad time, Oliver doesn't notice bc he's so focused on quidditch, that until one of her friends snaps at him! Fluffy ending pls!

A/N: I love this request so much!! Thanks for submitting! Please check out my Etsy shop for a personalized Harry Potter painting! CLICK HERE TO VIEW MY ETSY

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“You’re going to choke on that pumpkin juice,” You said, looking down at Oliver.

Oliver covered his mouth with the crook of his elbow, big brown wide eyes staring up at you. He took a second to gulp before swooshing his arm down to his side, smiling up at you.

“Come to wish me luck on our match in a couple days?” He teased.

You jokingly rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Just the opposite, actually. You already know us Ravenclaws are going to whoop Gryffindor’s butt on the field.”

A petite girl with strawberry blonde hair that stopped at her neck giggled. You looked over at cheery laugh, your smile widening.

“You know us Gryffindors are undefeated,” Samantha spoke up.

You pouted your bottom lip at the girl, wishing that you were playing on the same time as her. Samantha has been one of your best friends since you arrived at Hogwarts.

“That is true,” You pointed out. “But not a fact.”

Oliver scrunched his nose up at you, his contorting to confusion. “Wait, what does that mean?”

Samantha scoffed, instructing Oliver to return his focus back on his breakfast to fuel up for practice later today.

You waved goodbye at your friends, your mood dropping as you exited the Great Hall. The overwhelming feeling of joy and happiness that electrified your body was quickly evacuating. Your body forced its way to the Quidditch pitch, cold air bitterly nipping at your nose. You wanted nothing more than to curl up in your room and sleep the day away. Although you adore Quidditch and could possibly see yourself becoming pro.

The dull gray sky and the dried patches of grass made the Ravenclaw team sweaters look blander than usual. Your team was lightly joking around, small chatter over-talking the whistling of the wind until you arrived.

“You’re going to get the ball into the hoop this time?” Your team captain, Randolph spoke up.

You sucked in a breath and took the broom your teammate extended out for you, the group quickly flying off into the sky.

The one Hogwarts house stereotype that you believed to be accurate was that all Ravenclaws were competitive. You watched as your teammates aggressively chucked quaffles, dodged bludger bats, and squinted through the mist to see that sparkling golden ball.

You forced yourself to get into the rowdiness, desperate to prove to your teammates that you belonged on the team. You understand that they expected a lot out of you, but sometimes it felt like you needed to sacrifice a limb to get their approval. You would leave Quidditch practices with bloody lips or bruised arms, overexerting your body to get the smallest of smiles from your captain.

You’ve only been on the team for about two years now, but even though you’re considered the “newbie” your skills in the sport were anything but. However, even though you never missed a single shot and tactfully watched out for any obstacles that may come your way, your captain kept barking at you.

You were ready to give up mid-practice. Either you were going to jump off your broom, purposefully crash into the ground, or bark at your captain back. All options seemed desirable and you were debating which one you were going to take up. The fantasy of ditching your team and going back to your friends in the Great Hall dampened your mood even more. The realization that most of your friends, who were Gryffindors, were going to be rolling onto the pitch soon.

Just when you were going to bring your focus back onto the match, an obnoxiously loud clapping noise echoed into your ears. Staring right at you was Randolph, looking extremely pissed. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. His face was blazing, rosy red cheeks a physical symbol for his anger.

“Where the hell is your head at!?” He snapped, eyes wild.

“I swear, for these past previous practices all you’ve been doing is looking like a fool floating in mid-air! Do you just take all your energy and impress me for the first half of the match to only self-destruct and spiral!? Do you not understand that I need your focus to be on the team from the moment you step onto the pitch till you reach those locker rooms at the end?”

You stared at your captain, jaw unhinged. If you all weren’t so high up, flies would be nesting into your gaped mouth. You licked your dry lips, unsure of what to say. Your captain stared at you for a minute longer, expecting an explanation, and when not a peep left your lips he shook his head, flying away.

You silently cursed at yourself, biting back tears. There was no point in crying. Your team would make it harder on you anyways. For the rest of the match, you tried your best to keep up with everyone else. However, it seemed that the team sensed your frustration, tension thickening the skies.

When the familiar whistle was called to end practice, you were first to fly straight towards the ground. Once you dismounted your broom, a familiar shout called your name.

Oliver and Samantha waved at you, coming up and tackling you with a big hug. You stiffened, the unexpected love and appreciation wanting to make you breakdown on the spot.

Samantha quickly noticed your mood, examine your face whereas Oliver chirped on about how well you did up in the air. You clenched your jaw, softly thanking Oliver for his kind words.

“Are you okay?” Samantha whispered, taking a step back.

A few other Gryffindor team members came to your side, congratulating you on a successful practice from their point of view. Oliver began to preach his daily sermon about the importance of stability and control in the air, claiming that you were one of the few people who knew how to incorporate the gravitational pull versus the body’s balance when flying. He seemed so lost in his own mind space that when Randolph came over to yell at you once more, he didn’t notice.

“You need to do better. Or else we’re going to have no choice but kick you off the team,” Your captain spoke up.

Samantha stared shockingly at your team captain, surprised by the words he was spilling out. Her fists balled, ready to fight in your name when you held her back.

“Seriously. Get your head in the damn game,” Randolph scoffed, leaving you speechless as he walked off.

“Are you serious?” Samantha spoke up once he was out of earshot. “Is he always like this or just to you?”

You blinked a couple times, trying to dry your eyes. You shook your head, not wanting to get into it. You gave Samantha a very obvious fake smile, exclaiming that you were okay and needed to hit the showers.

“No, this isn’t okay!” Samantha bursted out, eyes wide and upset.

Oliver stopped chatting, looking over at Samantha confused.

“What do you mean? I thought we had our game plan down pact since last week-”

“Shut up, Oliver!” Samantha hissed, rage filling her body.

“I’m talking about the way how Randolph is treating our friend!”

A look of defeat washed your features and it seemed that Oliver noticed. He took a step closer to you, lifting your sunken chin with his finger, bringing your eyes to his own.

“What is he doing to you and I will speak to him,” He said in a low yet demanding voice. His cheery attitude was gone and pure concentration and tension stiffened his features.

“Oliver-”

“No, tell me.” He said, cutting you off. “Please.”

You licked your lips and began to explain the past couple of weeks. You could see in both Samantha and Oliver’s faces that they knew the way you were being treated wasn’t right. Once you were done speaking without any interruption, Oliver instructed Samantha to start practice without him and that he’ll be back soon. Samantha nodded and gathered the team, taking off. You looked up at Oliver like he was nuts, not understanding why he wasn’t up in the air with the rest of his crew.

“We’re going to bring this to Madam Hooch, okay?”

“Oliver, I can’t do that. I can’t let my team think I’m being a tattle-tale.”

Oliver scoffed, bringing your body close to his. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You deserve to have your voice heard. I’m not going to stand here and allow you to take the abuse. You’re a brilliant player and it’s time that you stop forcing yourself in the shadows.”

You released a shaky sigh at Oliver’s words of encouragement, hugging him tightly back. Once he unglued himself to you, he firmly held your arms, kissing your forehead.

“We’re in this together.”

#oliver wood #quidditch #ravenclaw #gryffindor #quidditch captain #harry potter #harry potter imagine #oliver wood imagine #oliver wood fluff #harry potter fluff

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sambinnie · 3 years

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1. Happy Mabon! Every autumn, I forget that the darkness comes clanging down in a great rush in the mornings. One day, I am greeted by a pinking sunrise. 48 hours later, it’s so dark on my run to the river that I have to stop a passing runner and check the time, in case my disturbed sleep sent me dressing and leaving the house at 2am. This summer may not have given us those mornings where it’s so hot I can barely get out of the water, where those early hours feel like full silent days carved out just for me to sit in the light and wait for everyone else to wake up, where the only extra thing I put on to run home is my trainers — I look at my waiting winter gear, neoprene socks and gloves, head torch, two more thickening jumpers, hat, thermal mittens — but every season, every day, is beautiful.

Today we go early for celebrations, and the water is silky, and Orion hangs over us with his phallic sword dangling and Betelgeuse winking on one shoulder. The near-full moon spotlights us and I feel almost ready for the shortening days.

2. Hilary Mantel continues to be a literary god. How does she write with that clarity? How can I ever speak with her calm good sense and wit?

3. We have two main problems at the moment, as far as I can see. a) What we’re doing (“curating” our lives; twitter spats; purity spirals; division and isolation; wanting ‘debates’ that can only be won or lost; encouraging people to buy more things; trying to buy our happiness; letting marketers tell us how we feel about the world rather than encouraging major moral lessons from throughout the ages to challenge us on our weaknesses; refusing to accept that life is suffering; asking self-care to be a plaster for everything we don’t have) and b) what we’re not doing (joining together to stand against those with more money and power; protecting the people who have even less power and voice than we do as a matter of course; learning from history; protecting nature above all else; prioritising going for walks; learning to repair things and campaigning to make things repairable; having a basic belief in human dignity for all, not just those with whom we agree; accepting that truly, we are all different and no amount of shaming or disgust will change that; working to shape our societies, culture, economies, production, food supplies and communications around improving — not just sustaining — the air, water and land, and fighting to ensure all of those new shapes protect women and children).

Individualism has morphed into something so completely self-destructive that we’ve forgotten we need nature more than anything — literally, more than anything — and we need to unionise and unite and put aside differences and work together even with people we don’t like.

Because when there are wicked people in power, when it’s genuinely exhausting to think about all the corrupt, venal, toxic, divisive, false, and cruel things they have done since coming to power, those people love to watch everyone below pointing their fingers at one another, saying, You, You’re The Enemy, You’re The Problem, while corrupt populist leaders rub their bellies and chuckle at another promise broken, another mass death on their hands, another building site on a protected forest. Do you understand the stakes here? Do you understand that it’s actual survival? It’s not about being right any more, it’s not about besting someone in the argument. It’s about having decision makers who can not only ensure there is still food to eat and air to breathe, but that relations both within a country and between countries are built on care, and support, and compassion, and believing in human dignity. And while it sounds wishy-washy and hands-clappy it’s the schmaltzy, sentimental truth. It’s the only one, really.

If we instead continue to believe every single day that my feelings are the most important, that my beliefs are the right ones, that I’ve got to prove those baddies there are evil and awful and wrong, then honestly, what the fuck? If we’re happy to live in a country where hostile architecture is the starting point for all public builds, where we send refugee boats away from our shores, where affiliate links are a career goal, where we haven’t stormed the Daily Mail offices with accounts of all our lovely immigrant friends and family and had a huge feast together and compared our long and tangled family trees, then come on. It’s only a race to the bottom if we all keep running.

Because, pressingly, whatever the spark of a major global conflict — assassination, fuel shortages, hyperinflation, invasion — the kindling is almost always a populace fed pure hatred for months, for years, until they can’t even taste it anymore but are ready to spew it out again, and are ready to use another populace as the receptacle. And hatred is brewed up in silence and isolation, and in the ashes of bridges burned between disparate groups.

And on that note, I’m not a conspiracy theorist, mainly because I don’t believe governments are generally competent enough to manage Grand Plans, but it’s annoying that technology and social trends and culture have developed in such a way that no one knocks on anyone’s door for a chat as a matter of course now, that it’s a given that a ringing phone triggers anxiety, that it’s not the norm for cups of tea with your neighbours, that we don’t know each other’s neighbourhoods, that we don’t even talk on the phone, with live words and intonation and synchronised laughter, but in text, in WhatsApp chats, in tapped out words and symbols that we know can be screen-grabbed and misinterpreted, that we know are kept, filtered and sold by the tech companies. It’s not a conspiracy. It’s just a reality that every single one of us can choose to do differently.

Sometimes exactly the right thing comes along at the right time. All of us here watched About a Boy at the weekend, a film which is so wonkily weighted and oddly rhythmed, but a perfect depiction of everything I’m banging on about here. Hugh Grant’s character likes being alone. He’s happy that way. It suits him. It’s his choice. Then, between one thing and another, he finds himself drawn into a world of a suicidal single mother, a duck-murdering young boy, more single mothers, more tricky teens, plus exes and mothers-in-law and awkward support groups. And it turns out that actually, being with people is better. Being uncomfortable often develops you as a person. Constantly prioritising only yourself produces a waxen, pointless baby. Making shared sacrifices might just be the point of being alive. Remember that to be human is to be flawed. That no one is ever completely right, and no one is ever completely wrong. That the boring stuff makes us feel good, and the glossy stuff, if all we strive for is gloss, doesn’t.

If you want anything practical, here are the things that have really helped me over the last few years:

Writing a letter or email regularly to my MP, to CEOs of organisations, to anyone I want to communicate my strong feelings and how I’d like things to be done better. Tweeting eats your soul. It’s a horrible myth the media pretends is important. It really, really isn’t.

Inviting people to go in front of me in queues, in traffic, getting on to buses and trains. It lowers my stress levels right down.

Learning the names of my neighbours and people I meet regularly on walks and letting them learn mine. (I definitely haven’t just decided I loathe a neighbour because they cut a bird-hatching tree down in their garden on the last day of the year it was legal to do so. It’s fine.)

Joining a few political parties, and the closest thing I have to a union

Making something, anything — everything can be done with love, and learning to not get sucked into the capitalist conceit of having to make it perfect, sellable, exhibitable is a genuine gift to yourself; making a cake or a film or a coaster and not putting it on social media, letting it be ugly or serviceless and loving it anyway. I felt extremely overwhelmed the other evening, but instead of doom-scrolling I knitted a… I don’t know, something flat and woollen, and it helped to have my hands and eyes working on directionless introspective creation.

Trying to stop hating. Every time I want to tell a negative story in my head about someone, I attempt to turn it into something positive: how unhappy that person must be, what they must be missing out on. It’s so nauseatingly Pollyanna-ish, and of course it isn’t always successful, and of course every single day brings a hundred thousand examples of cruelty and injustice and wickedness, but the alternative only makes my life feel worse, so why would I indulge that?

Teaching myself the names of birds, trees, flowers, clouds and constellations. I’m still at the most basic levels on all of these, but the difference one feels in the world when you can name things — let alone use them and know their stories — is a very real sort of magic. (For that reason I hope to read this book very soon.) This episode of The Cut is also good on the wonder and power of learning the names of the weeds that grow in your nearest pavement crack.

4. Creating anything is always a gamble, isn’t it, but writing a book you actually like for once and seeing it slowly and beautifully sink to the bottom of a river never to be seen again is ever so slightly crushing. However, it turns out even Thom Yorke feels that way, so I am comforted.

5. I’m sure I’ve mentioned plenty of these before, but if you want some suggestions of where to find joy, here are my favourites from the last year or so:

I was given Lucy Easthope’s book, When the Dust Settles, for work recently, and I was surprised and delighted to discover the most uplifting, hopeful, human and rightfully angry book I’ve read in a long time. Do yourself a favour and preorder it. I bought this other book for my own birthday, gave it to a housemate to give to me, forgot about it, and was delighted to later unwrap He Used Thought As A Wife. Laughed a lot, cried twice. Marvellous.

Now even the youngest housemate here can recite John Finnemore sketches and sing the songs. Has also taught them various composers, gods, logical fallacies and gothic story tropes. Also v funny. Oh, Kate Beaton! Her two books (Hark! A Vagrant and Step Aside Pops) are a bit like a comic-book version of Finnemore, but swearier and sexier and utterly unsuitable for all the housemates who have read it and been educated about the Brontes, Katherine Sui Fun Cheung, Tom Longboat, Nancy Drew, Ida B. Wells, Sacagawea, and the Borgias.

Had to give Inside a restraining order against me for the sake of us all, but Bo Burnham’s Eighth Grade is a masterpiece of writing, acting, sound design and optimism. Spy is dumb action comedy polished to perfection, and Yasujirō Ozu’s Good Morning seems like the inspiration for almost all US arthouse films since 1990, and is also beautiful, funny, thoughtful, and good.

Taylor Swift’s Evermore, like all brilliant albums, isn’t completely perfect. But most of the songs are. And Hole’s classic Live Through This is still just ideal for turning up very, very loud after a tricky day, for the enjoyment of any neighbours who may have hacked down a bird-friendly tree on the last day of February.

Watched both series of Liam Williams’ Ladhood when I had a week off this summer, and really relished the location, the intention, and the writing. More please.

Miles Jupp and Justin Edwards continue to be my comforting bedtime listening in In and Out of the Kitchen. Has it ruined Nigel Slater for me? Well, a bit, but no more than any of us deserved.

I thought this would be a book I’d mumble through the first chapter of, then let get buried in my To Read pile, never to re-open. Instead, I found Whatever Happened to Margo? laugh-out-loud funny, drily written, and full of humanity. Excellent Women has made me want to read everything written by Barbara Pym, a goal I am slowly but surely working towards.

6. I’ve spent the last few years trying to find hazelnut trees, and finally found a copse between a car park and a play area, full of nuts the squirrels hadn’t noticed. Now I’ve found them, the spell has been cast and I see hazel trees everywhere, on walks and on pavements and running along motorway slip roads. A tray of green and brown frilled hazelnuts now dries with the laundry. They are so beautiful.

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curiosity-killed · 4 years

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a bow for the bad decisions

canon-divergent AU from ep. 24 (on ao3)

“Shut up,” he hisses, wet. “Shut up.” Wei Wuxian falls silent and somehow that’s worse. His brother is silent, tears slipping down his cheeks, and it is worse than anything he could say aloud. “A-Cheng? Xianxian?” Swallowing, he unclenches his fingers from around Wei Wuxian’s collar and sinks back onto his heels. Released, Wei Wuxian sways and stutters back down, his eyes downcast. “What’s wrong?” a-jie asks, worry thrumming through her voice. Wei Wuxian bows his head still, leaving this confession for Jiang Cheng. Anger echoes through Jiang Cheng’s chest at the way he presents himself as if waiting for punishment. It’s what he deserves; it hurts that he thinks it’s coming.

He hesitates for a moment. As much as he scolded Wei Wuxian for the same thing, he doesn’t want to worry jiejie more than necessary. If she knows Wei Wuxian’s core is gone, she’ll not only have all that backed up worry from the war but also fresh worry every time he wanders off without one of them. She fusses over the both of them enough as is; she shouldn’t strain herself so much for them.

On the other hand, there’s no one able to persuade Wei Wuxian like a-jie. And — and he’s not sure he can keep it a secret from her. He didn’t know Wei Wuxian could; Jiang Cheng is used to being in on his pranks and lies, not kept out by them. He swallows. “Wei Wuxian’s core is gone,” he says. Distantly, he’s a little proud how steadily he says it. His voice comes out a little inflectionless, but it doesn’t shake or, gods forbid, break in a sob. Wei Wuxian’s head dips lower. His hands still hang at his sides, shoulders curved forward. He hears the hitch in jiejie’s breath, the quiet gasp, before he forces himself to look up. One hand covers her lips, the other pressed to her stomach, and she stares wide-eyed at Wei Wuxian. “A-Xian,” she breathes out. He swallows, draws his hands over his knees so that they’re both tight around the stupid flute. Jiang Cheng’s teeth grit, jaw clenching in useless anger. What right does he have to look so browbeaten, so defeated? He’s kept up this lie for years — so successfully that the whole cultivation world has no idea. Of course he would. Even mediocre, even without the golden core that impressed everyone up to Lan Qiren himself, he can bend the world to his wishes. What is impossible for Wei Wuxian? “Wei Wuxian, don’t you have anything to say?” he snaps. His throat bobs as he swallows before he shifts, straightening up on his knees so that he’s facing both of them equally. Folding his hands before him, he stretches them out and bows his forehead flat to the floor. “I am sorry, shijie, Jiang Cheng,” he says quietly. Horror shoots through Jiang Cheng’s chest at the sight. This isn’t— he didn’t— This isn’t what he wanted. “A-Xian,” a-jie says over the rustle of her skirts as she crosses the room and tugs up on his elbows. “A-Xian, stop that. You don’t need to — to apologize like that.” He rises only reluctantly and keeps his gaze down. “I can’t fulfill my duties as Head Disciple of Yunmeng Jiang,” he says, evenly like he’s reciting facts. “I am no longer fit for the title or — or position. I can leave.” “Shut up,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “Shut up. You’re not going anywhere. What the hell are you thinking? You’re our brother. Did I stop being your brother when Wen Zhulio got me?” His eyes flick to Jiang Cheng, something almost fearful in the way they dart sideways to him. He hates that as much as he hates this awful, complacent self-sacrifice. “A-Cheng’s right, Wuxian,” jiejie says. She reaches out for his wrist, giving it a squeeze. “You’re our brother no matter what. You shouldn’t have kept this from us but now that we know, we can figure it out together. We can help you.” For all that she’s never been very strong at cultivation, Jiang Cheng privately thinks a-jie knows a whole different form of magic with her words and voice. She could calm a typhoon with only the right words. Now, Wei Wuxian doesn’t look wholly convinced, but he gives a trembling nod. It’s something, at least. It’s not like Jiang Cheng knows how they’re going to fix this, either, what help they can give. A-jie’s right: they’ll figure it out together. “It’s late,” a-jie says. “Why don’t we all go to bed and we’ll figure things out in the morning?” It feels like they’re little kids again, caught throwing tantrums because they missed a nap. Still, they both rise and let a-jie guide them out of the hall, one on either side of her like overgrown guard dogs. They escort her to her rooms first, like good brothers, and she pauses at the door to reach up and cradle Wei Wuxian’s damp cheek. “A-Xian,” she says softly, “we’ll get through this. No matter what, we three will solve it together. Alright?” He gives an obedient nod, and she smiles, smoothing back his hair absently. She looks over to include Jiang Cheng in her smile and reaches out to squeeze his wrist once. He summons up an answering smile and gives her a nod. He feels heartened somehow, impossibly, by her steady calm. After saying their goodnights, he and Wei Wuxian turn back to walk to their own rooms. “In the morning, Healer Xiong should look you over,” he says a few steps in. “See if your demonic cultivation has affected your meridians or if there’s anything she can do.” He remembers, still, the burning hollow after. How it felt like emptiness was a physical thing chewing away at the stem of his heart, the fine thread of his veins. He thinks of Wen Qing, her brusque manners and stubborn care. He brushes the thought away. It’s not like she could fix his core in the end anyway. “Ai, no, there’s no need for that,” Wei Wuxian says. “I’m fine, really. There’s no sense troubling Healer Xiong, and anyway, who knows my body better than me? I can tell you my meridians are fine.” The deflection is too similar to what he said back when they first found him over Wen Chao’s wailing form. It’s said more lightly this time, but it still echoes that same words he used against Lan Wangji, and Jiang Cheng shoots him a sharp look. “Don’t be stupid,” he says. “If you actually want any chance of figuring this out, we need the best help we can get. It’s not like Healer Xiong will tell anyone anyway. She’s been with us since a-jie was born.” Wei Wuxian grimaces slightly, looking away. He worries at his bottom lip for a second, as if chewing on his words, and Jiang Cheng frowns, waiting. At last he sighs. “It’s just — I uh I used resentful energy to heal some injuries,” he admits. “Nothing bad! Just — you know Healer Xiong will see that and then give me that sad look she has like I just ran over all her herbs—” “She didn’t even yell at you when you ruined her herbs, you baby.” “—and you know how awful that look is,” Wei Wuxian continues. “It’s like she’s sad she’s somehow failed you and then you just feel terrible. It’s the worst.” Glaring at him, Jiang Cheng crosses his arms. It’s true that Xiong Chunfeng has perfected the art of looking disappointed to the point that he thinks she might have been able to stop the war if they only got her in front of Wen Ruohan at the start. Her whole face goes soft and sad, dark eyes searching like she’s trying to understand how she could have done better in order to prevent their mistakes. Just thinking about it makes his skin itch with old shame. “Fine,” he relents, dropping his arms. “But as soon as it’s cleared up, you go see her.” “Of course. Right away,” Wei Wuxian agrees readily. They continue a few steps in silence, Jiang Cheng casting searching looks out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t remember Wei Wuxian getting hurt recently. In the war, they weren’t often fighting too close to each other, but Wei Wuxian always had his corpses and ghouls and spirits spiraling out from him like the branches of a hurricane. He frowns. “How bad?” he asks. “Eh? Oh.” Wei Wuxian’s smile falters a moment, just a flicker, before he grins and waves it off. “It’s nothing. Stop worrying, Jiang Cheng, your face is going to stick like that and then who’ll ever marry you?” Jiang Cheng jerks away as Wei Wuxian loops his arm around his shoulders, cheeks heating red. He’s a sect leader, fought in a war — he shouldn’t still be flustered by something so stupid, but he can’t help the flush that burns his ears. “Shut up. I wouldn’t have to worry if you weren’t such an idiot,” he mutters. When he elbows Wei Wuxian this time, it’s gentle, barely a nudge. Wei Wuxian is silent a moment before his arm slips off Jiang Cheng’s back. He misses the familiar warmth immediately. “Jiang Cheng, don’t do that,” he says quietly.

“Do what?” Jiang Cheng snaps back. He can already feel the shame creeping up as quickly as his brief embarrassment. All their lives they’ve roughhoused and shoved each other recklessly, using their strength because they knew each other could match it. They hadn’t during the war, but Wei Wuxian had been cold and closed off, and the distance had felt wrong. It had felt like he didn’t remember how to hug the one time Jiang Cheng had embraced him, before he was scared off by Wei Wuxian’s sharp new edges. Now — now he isn’t sure how to close that distance without hurting his brother. When they were younger, he could shove Wei Wuxian because he knew he was strong enough to shove back harder. Without his core, though, he’s missing that power. It’s what started all this in the first place. “Acting like I’m going to fall apart at any second,” Wei Wuxian says. “I meant what I said. I’m not fragile or — or broken. You don’t have to act any differently. We could just — forget all this. Go back to normal.” He doesn’t sound particularly hopeful, and Jiang Cheng swallows. They can’t go back, no matter what either of them say. They can’t go back to any of it — to before Lotus Pier burned, before his parents died, before the war and Wei Wuxian’s ghostly path. Even if he never found out about Wei Wuxian’s core, they can never go back to the way it was.

#mdzs #the untamed #untamed fic #cql #yunmeng siblings #my writing #the thesis of this story: Siblings are Complicated and sometimes wanting to help does not make you actually good at or capable of helping

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ceealaina · 4 years

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Title: All I Know Is You’re Someone I’ve Always Known Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card Number: 3088 Link: AO3 Square Filled: K1 - Wake Up! Ship: Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Rating: Teen Major Tags: Post-Endgame, Endgame Fix-It, Tony & Nat Brotp Summary: Tony wakes up to Nat waiting for him in the soul stone. … and that’s when things start to get weird. Word Count: 6196 (Also fulfills square G3 of the Natasha Romanov Bingo)

***

“Tony… Tony, open your eyes. Tony, wake up!”

Tony opened his eyes, squinting. Everything was blindingly white, and then blindingly red, and he groaned in pain.

“Easy,” said the same voice, low and soothing and familiar. “Just take it easy.”

All at once his eyes focused and he blinked at Nat, sitting at the foot of his fluffy white bed like she belonged there.

“Nat?” he demanded, breath catching in relief as he sat up to stare at her. “What did you… How did you…” He didn’t bother trying to finish, just shoved the blankets out of the way and launched himself across the bed to pull her into a tight hug. For a moment she was stiff in his arms, and then she seemed to go boneless, breath leaving her body in a rush. Her arms wrapped around him in turn, and he could feel her hand shaking as it moved over her back, could hear the sound of a sob in her throat. “God,” he muttered, pulling back to look at her again. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“And yet. Here I am,” Nat told him, and she tried to smile, but her face was crumpling, eyes welling with tears. Tony fought the urge to close his eyes as he realized that something was very wrong.

“Nat. Where is everyone? How are you here?”

She didn’t answer him, didn’t have to, and Tony nearly choked as the memories came rushing back in, so overwhelming he thought he might pass out. The stones, Thanos, the gauntlet on his hand, stones shimmering as he snapped his fingers. He felt something settle heavy in his stomach.

“Oh.” He nodded his head slowly, matching Natasha’s sad, broken smile. “That’s how you’re here.”

Nat huffed out a laugh, her throat sounding thick. “Yeah, good to see you too, Stark.”

“Shut up,” Tony muttered. He stared down at the sheets as a fresh wave of pain washed over him, less than the power of the infinity stones, but also, somehow, more. It wasn’t like he’d really thought he’d make it out of there alive, but apparently he’d let himself hope anyway, and for just a moment the weight of everything he’d lost was overwhelming. He would never again see Pepper smile, watch her roll her eyes while she fought not to laugh at him. He would never see Rhodey give him that look that conveyed “I love you” and “I hate you” all at the same time, feel the warm weight of his arms when he wrapped him in a hug.

He would never get to see Morgan grow up, or all the amazing things she’d do. He would never get to hold his little girl again.

He clenched his eyes shut at the thought.

Natasha curled a small hand around his ankle. “Did we win, at least?” she asked softly, and when Tony opened his eyes again, the pain felt a little easier. “Did Iron Man save the day in a blaze of glory?”

Tony rolled his eyes at that, but his lip quirked up into a faint smile. “Yeah,” he told her softly, covering her hand with his. “Yeah, Nat. We did it. We won.”

***

They ended up laying side by side on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, fingers entwined for comfort, reassurance that no matter what, at least they were here together. Tony told her how it had all gone wrong, how they’d ended up fighting Thanos again, how the stones had worked, how they’d brought everybody back. And she told him how she’d never believed in an afterlife, how when she’d jumped in Vormir she’d expected that was it. But then she woke up here, in an empty tower in an empty New York, where time passed strangely, seconds and hours and weeks seeming to take the same span of time. How she’d started wandering at first, exploring, only to end up back at Avengers Tower over and over again without knowing how. Her fingers shook when she told him how she’d looked for someone, anyone, and how eventually when there was no trace of any life, she just started staying in the tower. At least it was familiar.

Tony didn’t comment at first, just squeezed her hand a little tighter. “Hey,” he said, nudging his shoulder against hers. “But I’m here now, right? Just like old times.”

“Greaaaaaat,” Natasha drawled, but there was genuine relief in her voice. She turned her head to face him, a small smile on her lips. “You and me, huh?”

Tony leaned over, kissing her forehead. “You and me,” he promised her. “Whatever this place is… I’m not going anywhere without you, Romanoff.”

They fell into silence after that, comfortable and easy, but Tony could see what Natasha meant about time passing strangely. He was vaguely aware of his mind drifting in a way that it never had when he… Well, when he was alive.

“For what it’s worth,” Natasha said suddenly, startling him out of his daze. “You’re the last person I wanted to see here.”

Tony knew what she meant, of course he did, but something in his heart clenched thinking about what was left behind. “Oh, I see how it is,” he told her, trying to shove the pain away. “Always knew you liked Rogers more than me.”

That got an actual laugh out of her, and the tightness in Tony’s chest eased a little at the sound. “Shut up,” she told him.

Tony grinned, eyes crinkling. “Wish I knew where here was,” he added in an undertone. He felt Natasha’s arm move against his as she shrugged.

“Purgatory, I guess? It has that empty, soulless feel to it.”

“Mmmm.” It had been a rhetorical question, but her answer set off a spiral of connections in his brain. “That doesn’t quite make sense though… If it’s purgatory, why are we here together.”

“I don't know, Tony. Up until very recently, I didn’t think purgatory even existed.”

“No, but…” Tony sat up, rubbing at his forehead, neurons firing faster than he could articulate. “Alone, sure, maybe. But just the two of us? Together?” He pointed at her, shaking his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“If you say so.” But Natasha was sitting up now too, watching him carefully, knowing him well enough to wait and see where he was going with this.

Tony hopped off the bed, pacing around the room. “There’s nobody else here. It’s just you and me. We’re stuck in the tower, our home… Holy shit.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth and met Nat’s eyes. “You said it, Nat. ‘That soulless feel.’”

Nat shook her head. “What, you think we’re not really dead?”

“Not not dead,” he admitted. “But I… I died using the stones, and you happened to die in a beautiful blaze of life-altering self sacrifice for the soul stone. What if that’s where we are?”

Natasha’s entire body was tense, but there was a look on her face that wanted to be hope. “Everyone else came back,” she told him. “Right?”

Tony nodded. “And let’s face it, we’re the two smartest members of the team. If anyone can find a way out of here, it’s us.” He grinned at her then. “You and me, honey.”

***

They started out exploring again, together this time, which helped to make the sight of the empty city a tiny bit less unsettling. They went through the city bit by bit, looking for anything that was different, registering and recording even the slightest change from what they knew.

Neither of the brought up the fact that while nothing seemed out of place, it was the city they knew from before the snap. The New York City of five years earlier.

They didn’t rush it, since time didn’t seem to matter anyway. They would just take their time wandering through the streets, resting when they needed to, sneaking into somehow fully-stocked shops for drinks and snacks and ice creams. They chatted while they moved, Tony telling all his favourite stories about Morgan, Natasha offering up stories about their dumbass teammates in turn. They teased each other with nicknames and insults, all seeped in the kind of affection that came from having each other’s backs for ten plus years. They kept it light and easy and familiar. They didn’t mention the way the light seemed permanently muted, like the colour had been leached out of everything except for them, didn’t talk about what would happen if they didn’t find a way out of here, what they would do with themselves for the next year, or decade, or… forever. When it got too overwhelming, they’d reach out, catch each other’s hands and squeeze, not having to speak out loud to remind themselves that at least they weren’t alone in this. And just like Natasha had said, no matter how far they managed to get, no matter how much ground they covered in a day, they’d somehow wake up back in the tower with no clear memory of how.

They’d tried, exactly once, to leave the island. They’d made it halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge before something had happened. Neither of them could say exactly what, after the fact, but it had been awful. A memory, or an image, something that had left Tony curled on the ground, just wanting it to end, barely aware of where or who or when he was. They’d woken up back at the tower, and it had spent the next few ‘days’ just curled up together, not speaking. It was awhile before they’d gone back out at all.

And, eventually, they had exhausted the extent of Manhattan, had catalogued the entire city. Tony wasn’t sure how they were still sane, honestly, if he stopped and thought about the sheer amount of time that was involved in that. Wasn’t sure how they could continue to stay sane, if they didn’t have a next step to work toward. But hell, maybe they weren’t, maybe they’d gone insane ages ago; he supposed they probably wouldn’t actually know.

In the meantime, until they could find a next step, they’d stuck around the tower for a bit, wallowing in the safe and familiar of it. Nat had dug out the board games that they’d had for team bonding nights, and they’d been playing round after round of Risk, and Monopoly, and Trivial Pursuit and the Avengers board game that made no sense but they’d kept for the novelty of it. Natasha was a total cheat, but that was fine because Tony was too. Trying to outcheat each other just became part of the fun. Time continued passing strangely, but they weren’t trying to track it anymore, weren’t trying to look for patterns or explanations. They just settled in and accepted it.

Tony tried going into the lab once, thinking maybe there’d be some clue, or something. But the electricity didn’t seem to work quite right here (except, inexplicably, the elevators thank god); it was always bright enough to see, but there was no television, no computer, nothing to distract from the endless days. And without power, the lab felt wrong. It was quiet and empty, no holograms, no whirring of fans to keep everything cool. No robots coming to greet him in the most irritating way possible. That bothered him more than he’d expected. He kept having to tell himself that Dum-E and U were upstate. They weren’t gone, like everyone else, they were just upstate.

Natasha found him there, one of those indeterminate amounts of times later, staring at the empty Iron Man capsules. “Tony,” she said softly, voice understanding. She caught his arm, gently tugging him away. “There’s nothing here. Let’s go.”

He didn’t go back.

***

In the end, the way out found them. They’d been sitting around the common room, reading quietly — Tony had almost forgotten about the entire library he’d had added to the tower — when there was a noise. He’d looked up, and felt the blood drain from his face at the figure standing in the doorway, staring at Tony intently.

“What the fuck?” he yelped, book going flying and causing Natasha to look up too. She followed his gaze, and her eyes went wide.

“Is that…?”

“Dad?” Tony choked out.

Howard stepped further into the room, smiling gently. “Tony. Son.”

Tony stared at him wildly, gaze darting back and forth between him and Natasha. “I don’t… How…” Distantly he wondered if he was having a heart attack, if he even could be having a heart attack considering his possibly-already-dead status.

Howard’s smile was soft and sad, a look Tony had never seen before in his life. “I’ve waited such a long time to see you again.”

Tony swallowed hard, feeling his throat thicken. He didn’t know how, but somehow he knew inherently that this really was his father. “You have?” he asked, nearly choking on the words.

Howard nodded. “I am so, so proud of you, Tony. Everything you’ve done, everything you’ve accomplished? I’m so proud.”

Tony had waited his whole life to hear those words, and he let his eyes fall closed, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. “Thanks,” he whispered.

And then the moment was broken.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Natasha burst out, glaring at Howard with enough anger that Tony shivered a little. Howard was probably lucky he was already dead.

“Nat?” Tony asked, feeling a little like he was in shock.

“No,” she told him shortly. “You might be able to forgive, but I’m definitely not.” She turned back to Howard, stepping closer as she pointed at him, furious. “Do you have any idea what you did to Tony? To your son?? Years of neglect, of making him feel like he wasn’t good enough, like he would never be good enough. And I guess ignoring him was still preferable to when you actively hurt him — don’t think we don’t all know exactly why he doesn’t like being handed things. Do you know how many years it took us to make Tony believe that we loved him, that he didn’t have to do anything just to make himself worthy of existing?? That he didn’t have to buy affection with money?” Her eyes narrowed further. “You’re lucky Rhodes isn’t here, by the way. He’d punch your dead ass into the ground. And all of that, all those years where all Tony wanted was a father, and you can’t even say you’re sorry?”

“Nat!” Vaguely, Tony thought he should be at least a little upset at her just laying out all his neuroses like that — and to his father, at that — but all he felt was a sort of warm and fuzzy feeling that she was so furious on his behalf. “It’s alright.”

And it was, really. Maybe it was this place, but the hurt here seemed to hurt a little less.

But to his surprise, it was Howard who shook his head. “No, Tony. Your friend, she’s right.” He drew in a slow breath. “It’s a funny thing, when you die. You gain… Perspective. See yourself for how you really were. I didn’t do right by you, Tony. I was so scared to have a kid, and more than anything I just… I didn’t want you to be like me. But I fucked it up, kid. I was always proud of you, Tony. Always. But no one ever told me no. I thought I could do anything. And you were so much smarter than me, right from the start. So much better than me. You were so sweet, so genuinely good, but all I could see was all the ways you could turn into me. I thought I was keeping that from happening, but what I did to you? Tony, the way I treated you? It’s unforgivable.”

And Tony wasn’t ready to forgive him, yet. As much as he still sought his approval, he knew Howard hadn’t been a good father. He was self-aware enough to know that Howard had fucked him up pretty damn good. But even if he wasn’t ready to forgive him, he tired of letting it define him and was ready to let it go. “It’s… It’s okay, Dad,” he told him, and he meant it.

Howard smiled at him, and it wasn’t the hug that Tony would have killed for as a child, but that was okay too.

Natasha was still looking mutinous, glaring daggers at Howard, and Tony reached over, patting her thigh reassuringly. Her gaze softened a little, and she gave him a reluctant smile. Something Howard had said was niggling at Tony though, and he frowned as he glanced back over at him. “Wait. You said that something happens when you die, that you gain perspective. That didn’t happen.” He glanced at Natasha for confirmation and she slowly shook her head in agreement. Feeling his heart thud in his chest, he looked back up at Howard. “Does that mean… Are we not really dead?”

Howard looked pained. “No,” he admitted, after a too-long moment of quiet. “Not in the sense that anyone else is, anyway. You used the soul stone, and that… That changes things.”

Tony felt his heart speed up, felt Nat’s muscles tense under his hand. “But that means... That means we can go back. If we’re not really dead, if we’re stuck in some sort of in-between, there must be a way back.”

Howard shook his head. “No, Tony. I know what you’re thinking, and no. I’m sorry. Even if…” His face twisted like he physically couldn’t speak for a moment, and he stared at Tony, willing him to understand. “Even if there was a way out, I couldn’t tell you it. I’m sorry.”

Tony nodded, staring back at Howard. “It’s okay, Dad,” he told him again. And he did understand. Howard hadn’t said there wasn’t a way out. Whether he could help them or not, a way out meant that Tony could find it.

And then, abruptly, Howard smiled again. “Do you remember, when you were a kid — couldn’t have been more than two — you were obsessed with backhoe loaders? Told anyone who would listen that you wanted to become a tunnel engineer so you could dig out the tunnels.”

Tony frowned a little at the abrupt segue. “Shouldn’t have talked me out of it. I could have built the Chunnel.”

Howard was giving him a look again. “You would have had a heart attack at forty-one.”

“I did,” Tony pointed out flatly. “At thirty-eight, actually.”

Howard just gave him another sad smile.

***

He had faded out after that, almost as suddenly as he had appeared, and with the new information, Tony had thrown himself back into finding a way out, going over and over everything that he and Nat had collected, trying to find something they’d missed.

But weeks later, and he had still gotten nowhere. It didn’t help that it was hard for him to focus, his mind stuck on something Howard had said. He couldn’t seem to get past it, and he couldn’t parse out why.

Frustrated, he leaned back in his chair with a huff, tossing his pen across the room just because he could. God, he missed computers so much.

“Why did Howard tell me I would have died at forty-one?”

Natasha looked up from the map she’d been frowning over. “Because you were a workaholic, even at two?”

He rolled his eyes at her. “But why forty-one specifically? Why from being a tunnel… engineer… Oh, holy shit.”

“Tony?”

But Tony was already gone, dashing off for the library again, since Wikipedia wasn’t a thing anymore. It took him forever to find the book he was looking for, long enough that Nat had followed him down, watching his chaotic search with an arched eyebrow.

“What are you looking for?”

“Just give me a — hah!” Tony hauled a massive tome of the shelf, dropping it on a table with a thud and thumbing through the pages. Natasha moved closer, lifting the cover of the book to take a peek.

“A Brief History of New York City?” she asked, looking dubious. “It doesn’t look that brief.”

Tony didn’t answer, too busy looking for whatever he was looking for, until he stopped suddenly, eyes scanning the page rapidly. “There, look!” He spun the book to face her, finger on a particular line.

“Holland died of a heart attack at the age of 41, following a nervous breakdown due to the long hours and stress of working in the compressed air of the tunnel,” Natasha read out loud. “Who…” Her eyes flicked to the top of the page. “Who’s ‘Clifford Milburn Holland?’”

“The chief engineer of the Holland Tunnel,” Tony told her, face splitting into a wide grin. “It was a clue. Nat, the way out is through the Holland Tunnel.” Then he frowned. “The way out is through the Holland Tunnel?” He made a face. “Of course the way out is through Jersey. Fucking Jersey.”

Natasha’s lips were pursed, eyes focused on the page of the book. “You sure about this?”

“No,” he admitted helplessly. “But I’m out of other ideas. And…” He looked around the room. “Do we really have anything to lose?”

“Alright. Holland Tunnel it is.”

***

The thing was, Tony hadn’t really thought about how dark the tunnel would be without lights. “Whelp,” he said, as the two of them stood in the middle of the empty street, peering down into the darkness. “This should be fun.” His hand moved automatically to his chest, fingers thrumming against the spot where the arc reactor had once sat, trying to keep control of his breathing.

“Hey.” Natasha’s voice was soft, her hand reassuring on his arm. “It’ll be okay. Tony, I’m going to be right there with you, right beside you the whole way. It’s a straight route, all the way through, no side tunnels. We’ll keep our hands on the wall, and just keep walking. And it’s what, half an hour? And then we’ll be home.” She turned, pulling him into a hug, and Tony tucked his head into her neck, let himself be soothed by the steady, even rhythm of her breathing.

“Okay,” he said, taking her hand as they turned to face the tunnel again. “Okay, let’s go.”

They were stepping toward the tunnel, holding tight to each other, when there was a “Tony, wait!” from behind them. They turned back to find Howard standing there once more, hands clenched and face twisted in pain. “I’m not supposed to be here, but…” He grimaced. “Tony, it’s not what you think, you can’t just walk out.”

Tony shared a look with Nat before turning back to his father. “What are you talking about?”

“There are rules. You can’t just leave, it’s a trial.” His eyes flicked over to Nat, to their joined hands. “She’ll be behind you, but you won’t be able to see her, or hear her, or feel her.”

Tony felt panic flare through him at the thought, hand squeezing around Nat’s. “What?” he asked weakly.

“What if I don’t?” Natasha asked. “What if I walk in front of him instead?”

Howard looked more upset than Tony had ever seen him. “You can’t. You physically won’t be able to.”

“That sounds kind of sexist,” Tony pointed out. “Can’t we switch?”

Howard just shook his head, shrugging helplessly. “It’s the rules,” he said again. “She’ll be there, but you won’t be able to tell. Don’t do this, Tony, it’ll drive you crazy. You’ll be alone in the dark, wondering, doubting. And if you look back to check?” His eyes moved back over to Natasha. “She’ll be trapped here.”

Just barely he heard Nat’s breath catch, a slight gasp. This time it was her hand squeezing around his and Tony squeezed back, using his free hand to rub at his temple, willing away the headache he could feel coming on.

“Why does this all sound so familiar?”

Natasha looked thoroughly disgusted. “Because it’s a fucking Greek myth. Orpheus and Eurydice? Hades lures Eurydice into the underworld, Orpheus goes to get her back. He sings so beautifully that Hades lets them go, but he can’t see or hear Eurydice and if he looks back for her, he’ll lose her forever. Which, it’s a Greek myth, so that’s exactly what happens.”

Tony stared at her incredulously. “What the fuck even is this place?” he burst out. “What, did the soul stone just take its first classics course? What the actual fuck?”

Howard looked faintly amused at that, but still so sad. “Just stay here. You’re safe here.”

Tony shook his head, feeling new resolve go through him. “I can’t,” he told him. He glanced at Natasha for confirmation, because this was her choice too, but she nodded at him, eyes determined. “We can’t stay here.” He glanced back at the tunnel. “You think I’ll go crazy in there? I’m going crazy here. We left so much behind. Dad, I’ve got a little girl. If there’s even a chance I can get back to her…” He trailed off, and for the first time since he’d woken up here, he could see Morgan as clearly as if she was in front of him, could hear her laugh when he swung her up on his shoulders, see the wide-eyed, proud look on her face when she figured out her first circuit board. Tony felt his eyes well with tears, his throat thick. “I have to take it.”

Howard looked like he wanted to argue, but he seemed to recognize Tony’s particular brand of stubbornness and nodded instead. “Of course,” he said. “Of course you do.” He forced a smile to his face, though he had to clear his throat suspiciously to speak. “Be safe, Tony. I love you.”

He was gone before Tony could say it back, and Tony blew out a heavy breath. “Well,” he said, turning to Nat with bright eyes. “That’s a hell of a send off.”

“No shit,” she replied, not babying him at all. Tony appreciated it. “Hey, if you’re not ready to do this, we can wait. It’s kind of a lot, and since I sort of have a vested interest in you being able to handle it, I’m willing to wait. What’s one more day here, right?”

For a moment Tony was tempted, he really was, but he shook his head. “If we don’t do it now, I’m afraid I’m going to chicken out entirely,” he admitted with a wry smile. “Besides, what was it you said? Half an hour and we’re home?”

Natasha nodded, drawing in a deep breath and straightening her posture. “Okay. Okay, let’s go.” Then, as Tony started to turn to back to the tunnel, she grabbed him, hugging him so tight that Tony felt his ribs groan in protest. “Don’t you fucking dare look back, Stark,” she told him, and her voice was harsh, but Tony could hear the fear creeping into it. “I’ll be right behind you. Don’t you fucking dare.”

Tony nodded, and they moved forward. Natasha was still holding his hand as they walked into the tunnel, but the second the crossed over the threshold, Tony could feel her hand slip out of his grasp. It reminded him, horribly, of Peter fading to ash in his arms, and the soft, pained noise he made was entirely involuntary.

“I know you’re there,” he told her, voice echoing against the walls, and it helped a little, even if she couldn’t answer. “I know you’re still behind me. I’ve got this, Nat. I’ve got you.”

Then he drew a deep breath, put his hand on the wall to his left, and started to walk.

***

Apparently, the weird flow of time extended to the tunnel as well. At first, it hadn’t been so bad. There had been enough of the grey light filtering in from the entrance to the tunnel that he could still see his feet, still see the path in front of him. Then they’d passed through the curve under Hudson Street, and he hadn’t been able to see anything at all. He’d started talking then, rambling to Natasha about everything and nothing, anything to keep his mind of the endless darkness laid out in front of him.

But gradually, as the tunnel went on, and on, and on, his voice had tapered off, the whispers in the dark drowning them out until he couldn’t speak anymore, all his focus on his hand on the wall and putting one foot in the other, over and over again. It hadn’t been half an hour, it couldn’t have been half an hour. He’d been down here for days, weeks maybe. For forever. It was never going to end.

Doubt crept into his mind, a little voice telling him that it was a trap, that he was alone here, and lost, that he’d be trapped here in the dark for all eternity. His feet stumbled then, and though he kept his hand on the wall, he couldn’t seem to make himself take another step. He choked on a sob, the sound bouncing down through the length of the tunnel and making him choke out another one.

“I can’t,” he gasped. “I can’t do it. I don’t want to be alone here.”

The only response was the echo of his own harsh breathing.

“Fuck, I can’t do this. I don’t know what to do, I don’t… I can’t…” All he wanted to do was to turn around, to check if Nat was behind him. He just needed a bit of reassurance that he wasn't alone. He knew he was about three seconds from a full-on panic attack, and stuck in the dark like this, that seemed like a very bad idea. He sucked in a noisy breath, trying to find something to focus his breathing, since it wasn’t like he could see, or hear, or smell anything. He thought of Natasha, before they left, the steady beat of her heart, the easy rise and fall of her breathing, and focused on that, forced himself to match his breathing to the memory of hers. And maybe it was just his eidetic memory, but as his breathing eased, he could hear Nat’s voice as clearly as if she was standing beside him.

“Don’t you fucking dare look back, Stark.”

He was pretty sure he’d already lost his mind, could barely remember what sunlight looked like now, or Pepper’s smile, or Rhodey’s laugh. All the memories that had kept him going all the time they’d been here were lost to him now. But he forced himself to focus on the memory of her voice, on a vague image of her red hair, repeated her words over and over in his mind until the memory grew stronger.

And somehow, it was enough. It was enough that he could almost convince himself that he was really hearing her, that he could tell himself that she was right behind him, hissing it in his ear. It was enough.

He kept going.

***

When he finally saw light at the end of the tunnel, his first thought was that it was another trick, that he was going to keep walking, and walking, and it was never going to get any closer or any brighter, that it would remain forever tantalizingly out of reach. He stumbled over his feet again, then snorted to himself.

“Thought you weren’t supposed to walk toward the light on the end of the tunnel,” he mumbled, letting out a hysterical giggle.

But he kept going, focusing on the memory of Nat’s voice, and the light grew brighter and closer with every step. Hope began to bloom in his chest, despite his best attempts to stay practical.

“Okay,” he said, fighting against the sudden urge to look back, to make sure Natasha was still behind him, still with him. “We’re almost there. Just a little bit further to go. We did it, Nat. We’re going home.”

Abruptly, it occurred to him that he had no idea how this would work once he passed through the other end of the tunnel. What if it only let him through, and because Nat was behind him, she was stuck? Or what if he was through, and she hadn’t quite gotten all the way across, and he made the mistake of looking back too early? How would he know when it was safe?

Fighting another urge to check back for her, to see how far behind she was, he quickened his pace. There was nothing he could do except keep going, and hope that somehow, when the time was right, he’d know.

But it got harder and harder to keep from looking back at he got closer to the exit, and when he finally stepped through the threshold and out the other side, he resorted to squeezing his eyes tightly shut, figuring if he couldn’t see, he couldn’t accidentally look.

Almost immediately he choked, fumes in the air making it hard to breathe. Then there was a loud, blaring horn, harsh on his ears after the silence of the tunnels, and someone behind him shoved him hard to the side. Tony grunted as his knees and palms scraped against concrete, but he didn’t open his eyes, couldn’t risk it. Exhausted, he just collapsed on the ground, squeezing his eyes so tightly shut that it hurt.

“Tony? Jesus, Tony, are you alright??”

Hands were turning him over onto his back, and that was Nat’s voice but he still couldn’t risk it because what if it was another trick, what if he opened his eyes just to get one last glimpse before she was whisked away forever. He shook his head frantically.

“Tony it’s me. It’s okay, we made it through. We’re home. It’s safe now, I promise. You can open your eyes.”

Nat sounded close to tears, and somewhere deep inside he knew it had to be true, but he still couldn’t make himself look, terrified that he’d lose the last thing he had, that then he’d be completely alone.

And then he felt heat on his face, the kind of heat that could only come from the sun, and he just knew. There had been no sun in the soul stone, just an endless grey, and it had been so long since he’d felt it, but he knew. He couldn’t trust his eyes or his ears, but this, somehow, he could trust.

Feeling tears spilling down his cheeks, he pried his eyes open to find Natasha kneeling over him, her face red and blotchy with her own tears. For a long moment they just stared at each other and then Tony was sitting up and wrapping his arms around her and Natasha was practically crawling in his lap as they just held each other and cried, all the fear and stress spilling over into relief, too much to be expressed in any other way.

The moment was broken by another loud car horn, and them someone hollering, “Coupla fuckin’ freaks!” in a thick Jersey accent as they drove by. They stared at each other a moment longer and then burst into slightly hysterical giggling.

“Home sweet home, huh?” Nat asked dryly.

Tony just shook his head. “I can’t believe the way out was through fucking Jersey,” Tony grumbled, even as he used his thumbs to brush Nat’s tears away from her cheeks. “Shit, we’re gonna have to try and find a ride upstate,” he told her. “I don’t even have any ID.”

“Well.” She looked over his head, arching an eyebrow. “Maybe these nice people can help us out.”

Tony tipped his head back to see a whole bunch of transit authority officers making their way toward them and groaned.

“What the fuck are you doing?” one of them hollered. “The tunnel is off limit to pedestrians! You can’t just walk through, you got any idea the kind of damage you could’ve caused? You could’ve killed someone! You could’ve…” He trailed off as he moved closer and got a better look at them. “Hey, wait. Aren’t you… Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.”

Tony shared a look with Nat before they moved apart and got slowly to their feet. “Afternoon, folks,” Tony said, putting on his best press smile. It felt strange on his face, after going so long without having to bother. “Don’t suppose you could help a couple wayward superheroes out?”

As the officers tried to figure out what the fuck was going on, Natasha pressed a little closer to his side, her fingers tangling with his. For all his futurism, Tony had no idea what was going to happen next. He didn’t even know how long they’d been gone, let alone how to begin to come back from the dead. Had no idea what they’d find when they made it back to the compound, if there would still be an Avengers team, if there would even still be a compound. But when he glanced over at Nat, he found her grinning right back at him and he knew they’d be okay. Whatever happened, they would be facing it together.

@tonystarkbingo @natasharomanovbingo

#tonystarkbingo2020 #tsb2020 #natasharomanovbingo #tony & nat #soul stone #endgame fixit #tony stark #natasha romanov #fic #my fic

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ask-the-arisato-twins · 4 years

Note

I'm curious about the yandere twins au.

We worked SO HARD on this one lol.

So anyway, it starts out with Minato and Minako dating Akihiko and Mitsuru respectively. Anyway, the Aki/Mitzi sacrifice themselves for Shinji thing happens, but they both die. So anyway, it completely and utterly BREAKS the twins. They become each other to a self-destructive degree. Minako barely leaves her room, barely eats. Minato becomes excited... but for the wrong reasons. He has a maniacal glint in his eye every time he talks, he draws up plan after plan on how to COMPLETELY D E S T R O Y Strega.

It gets to an incredibly concerning point where SEES tries their best to pull them out of this downward spiral, and fails miserably. Then they NG+.

Suddenly, they both have the lights of their lives back. And they’re not going to lose them again. They start out sweetly, and eventually both couples get back together. And then the Yandere shit starts.

“Don’t go there! It’s dangerous!”

“I-I’m just going out for some ramen...?”

“Don’t go! Promise me!”

“Agh, you’re hurting me! Let go!”

“Promise me!”

“Okay, okay! I promise! Let me go!”

And the behavior just escalated from there. Slowly, the twins began to go even more insane. It gets to the point where one morning, everyone goes to school and finds everyone who has ever expressed interest in Aki/Mitzi DEAD on the ground. Akihiko’s fanclub has quick, precise strikes, while Mitsuru’s has wild, bloody, gashes.

On the surface, they seemed concerned, but then... Akihiko and Mitsuru find a pair of bloody knives. They confront Mina/Ham in the lobby, and they learn of the NG+

“Y-You... died. You both died saving Shinjiro-senpai’s life...”

“And?!”

“Do you not understand?! You died! He wasn’t worth-”

“I do understand! I understand I died saving the man that has been like a brother to me for years! I would do it again, given the chance!”

At this point, Minako chucks a vase at Mitsuru. They try to kick them out of the dorm, but then they say some quite fatal words.

“I’ll kill myself if you break up with me!”

And at that moment, Akihiko and Mitsuru just freeze. They already think they have the blood on their hands from Ken’s mom, they couldn’t have anymore.

The rest of SEES looks on in complete shock. As they walk away, Shinjiro whispers to them...

“Hey, Aki, Mitzi, you two okay?”

And both twins wheel around and scream maniacally...

“I’m the only one allowed to call them that! Quiet!”

And then PQ happens. Yu realizes that something is very wrong.

“Elizabeth... what’s wrong with him?”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Don’t worry, this isn’t your Minato.”

“Wh-What’s different about this one?”

“I believe the term in your realm for him would be a “yandere”?”

“...Oh. What about her?”

“She’s insane too.”

“I feel bad for this version of SEES.”

So, Yu slowly tiptoes around Minato until he can get backup in the form of the Phantom Thieves and Ren. During PQ2, Ren asks Elizabeth the same questions and gets the same answers. And when they FINALLY join up with the IT, Yu and Ren team up to figure out how to help Akihiko and Mitsuru.

And when they see Aki and Mitzi? It’s... not good. The intense, imposing presences that they used to have? Gone. They seemed... weak. They’d flinch at sudden noises, panic whenever touched... it was so sad.

So, Yu and Ren made it their mission to keep the Twins away from Akihiko and Mitsuru. Elizabeth decided to bring in the canon twins. Once they were informed of the situation, they were happy to help. And Akihiko and Mitsuru realize... THIS is who they were supposed to fall in love with. Not whatever twisted so-called “love” their twins gave them. Each time they leave, they whisper a quiet “I love you...” and they truly meant it.

And there’s that one time that the Yandere and Canon Twins clash. The Yandere Twins catch the canon twins in the act of... y’know... being nice? And immediately attacks them. Then the canon twins completely and utterly schooled them and yelled lessons at their faces that couldn’t process it.

“You say you love them, but you hurt them! You don’t love them, you want to control them! You aren’t mentally ready to be in a relationship and you should just leave!”

But the twins didn’t process a single word. And they never left Akihiko and Mitsuru’s sides again. And so, Akihiko and Mitsuru figured out just what they had to do.

After they got back, they decided that they had had enough. It was either the twins or them. Yukari distracted them.

“So, Akihiko and Mitsuru are amazing fighters, aren’t they?”

“What did you just say?! They’re mine, stop talking about this!”

And then, Blunt force trauma and a beheading.

And now there’s the second part that I’m going to hand off to @ask-thebluehaired-fool !

#not the twins #yandere tw #blood tw #gore tw

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downspiral · 4 years

Text

* / BPD ( borderline personality damon )

lil talk about damon’s behaviour, emotional patterns and mental health! i’m categorising this as a headcanon for simplicity’s sake but this is all based on canon material, whether unintentional or not i do genuinely think he has it in canon and will sort of be elaborating on why that’s clear to me. as a disclaimer none of this is meant to excuse any of his behaviour and hopefully it won’t come off that way either, but bpd and its associated stigma is a personal topic to me, so please go in with sympathy and an open mind. under the cut bc this could get lengthy!

so to start off with i’ll just briefly explain borderline personality disorder (BPD) for people unfamiliar with it— it’s a mood disorder that has many associated symptoms with various mental illnesses like depression, anxiety and bipolar disorder, as well as substance issues, eating disorders and other personality disorders eg. antisocial or narcissistic personality disorder. it’s classed by four groups of symptoms:

emotional instability

disturbed patterns of thinking or perception

impulsive behaviour

intense but unstable relationships with others

( obviously this definition is too broad for any specific diagnosis, since everyone is different, and can’t be used alone to diagnose someone without ruling out other disorders and subjective opinion of a professional who knows enough about your behaviours to make an assessment, so from here on out i’m going to be drawing on my own experiences, and hopefully i’ll be able to articulate it in a way that makes sense, but please let me know if it doesn’t. )

***

the first and most glaringly obvious identifiers of this where damon is concerned in my opinion is a), his tendency to spiral very suddenly and abruptly after even minor triggers, such as failure, rejection or even just feeling insulted by someone he cares about, and b) his frequent impulsive behaviour, and what might be termed a lack of self-control in following those impulses - the first examples that come to mind would be his leaving for a road trip with katherine despite hating her, or killing jeremy because he was the first person he saw after feeling rejected by elena - and as he later admitted honestly, not knowing that it wouldn’t be permanent.

so starting with a), his irrational spiralling — i’ll preface this by saying that in my own experience, my initial diagnosis where my therapist suggested BPD as a possibility was immediately after i told her that i felt my emotions were just more severe than most people’s, which is why i always felt i was overreacting to things, both bad and good, alternating with feelings of extreme numbness and dissociation which would follow immediately after as a coping method. bouncing between extremes of emotion is also something we see damon do constantly; not regarding the humanity switch detail and focusing solely on his ‘humanity-on’ behaviour, we still see him go between extremely cold, numb and uncaring (albeit often this is hidden behind deflection and humor) to deeply hurt, loving, and willing to make huge sacrifices for causes or for people.

this is also a little muddled by the in-world lore of vampires having very heightened emotions. if you consider that damon already had BPD while a human, which is highly plausible given what we see of the decisions he made even then, then it follows that as a vampire those already-dysfunctional behaviours would be driven to extremes. this isn’t only obvious to the person watching; other characters comment on it constantly, e.g. almost any time katherine shows up, everyone immediately starts worrying if damon’s going to snap, having learned that the tiniest of things can send him into extreme behaviour, harmful to both himself - picking a fight with julian out in the open, described as having a death wish, and various suicide missions - and other people - e.g. attempting to kill jeremy and bonnie, despite it being abundantly clear that those two murders would make everything worse for him, and logically, make no sense, and serve no benefit to him. they were not thought-out decisions, not premeditated, and not something he would do in a sound state of mind, which is part of why they’re so painful to watch - they’re stupid, unjustified decisions, and seem irrational and disproportionate to whatever triggered him to make them. this also falls into the category of ‘lashing out’, something damon is frequently noted to do - often in the form of destroying or severing relationships, which may be done via simple purposeful negative interaction with someone, or doing more, genuine harm so that those relationships are ended regardless.

this ties in both with the impulsive behaviour aspect, but also a comment elena once made which struck a huge chord with me as an identifier of BPD - she said he felt that everyone hated him, and in an attempt to face those perceptions or correct them as someone of sound mind would do, he instead tries to come to terms with the pain of that by making himself believe that they were right - ‘proving’ both to others and to himself that they were right to hate him, via doing bad things. while this particular incident was partially due to enzo’s influence and damon seeking approval from the only person he felt he could still get it from, he still had the agency to make that decision, and this wasn’t the only time where that behavioural pattern could be observed.

the depth to which those thought processes go can sort of be seen when you consider season 8, where enzo and damon were both under the mind control of a siren, leaving only their subconscious with free will to resist. enzo’s instinct was to try and weave messages into the things that the siren had him do, knowing that bonnie would recognise them and be able to save him from doing more harm. on the other hand, damon’s instinct was to sever those relationships so completely that none of them would ever attempt to save him again, thus keeping them, in his eyes, out of harm’s way.

i don’t wanna make this so long it’s unreadable so i’ll try and end it with this last point, which is that another symptom of BPD is latching on to one particular person - whoever might feel most significant to them at the time, whether a friend or romantic interest, though often those feelings can combine and become confused when that emotional connection is made (most obvious example being elena, who damon had a relatively good and stable friendship with, that seemingly functioned fine as it was, yet progressed into romance anyway and became destructive). when that said person is found, the intensity of your emotion leads to a usually unhealthy amount of attachment on your part - often leading to possessive, manipulative or even emotionally abusive elements of relationships that more often than not become toxic. this person becomes the sole way that you feel validation/love/approval/happiness, any good emotion at all - in a way, your brain compensates for previous and more significant traumas, e.g. parental abuse/neglect, by channelling all this emotion into the nearest outlet of love and acceptance you can find. as a result even the tiniest fraction of attention or approval from that person can completely brighten your mental state for weeks, while the tiniest perception of disapproval or neglect from them - note perception, this could be something as miniscule as a misunderstanding, a tone being read wrong in a text, a genuine mistake being interpreted as a deliberate attempt to separate - can be enough to drive you to suicidal ideation.

obviously, whether it’s known to them or not, all this puts an unrealistic amount of expectation on the other person - one individual cannot possibly be responsible for the entire mental state of another, and will often - quite rightly - lead to the decision to end the relationship out of self-preservation. this is observed very frequently with damon’s close relationships; at some point, most of the people he’s been closest to have, with some degree of regret, been forced to write him off, because he puts too much strain on their own mental state. without significant effort to change on the part of the disordered person, sadly, this situation doesn’t usually have a resolution, because one’s own mental health is never the sole responsibility of others. it’s worth saying that most of these behaviours are done unintentionally and instinctively, as what seems the first logical conclusion in a brain that has been wired - physically, neurons and pathways in the brain have been grown by trauma that leads to those paths becoming the ‘right’ ones, rather than the healthy alternatives, which is usually what therapy’s end goal is - minimising the disordered pathways while reinforcing the positive ones, via practice of healthy behaviours and identifying bad thought processes so they can be stopped with the hope that those ones will take priority eventually. that being said, decisions that are motivated by and followed by, self-hatred, doesn’t excuse them from the harm they may cause other people. and it’s not fair - none of it is, because immediately what that situation seems to become is, ‘i didn’t ask to be this way, i don’t want to be harmful, but because i have been traumatised this is how i turned out, and now if i want healthy and good relationships, i have to work twice as hard against all my natural instincts just to ensure i come off as a person worth caring about’.

this is getting a little off-topic, but to say - there is a stigma about BPD, often associated with emotional abuse and manipulation, and it’s too complex a topic to sum up in one paragraph, but the gist of it is that sadly in my experience there is truth to it. i feel as though my disorder increases the likelihood of me being harmful, which means i have to work twice as hard to stop it - things that seem like common sense, basic decency, human logic that comes naturally and as first instinct to many, have to be actively strived for by people with this particular disorder. so while failing to do so may happen more for those people, and thus lead to them coming off as a worse person, there is some explanation as to why - and of course that doesn’t mean excusing that behaviour, never! but, there is a grey area between ‘excusing and enabling unhealthy behaviour’ and ‘your disability grants you no leeway whatsoever’. there is a middle ground and it’s hard to find the right place to walk it, and probably differs for everyone, but for me that’s why damon is relatable, and why i think i have more tolerance for things that he’s done.

i’ll just end this by saying that this is all one person’s experience of bpd and what i’ve observed from a few others i’ve known. i don’t speak for everyone with bpd, it’s not my call to make, mental disorder is overwhelmingly complex and hotly debated even in medical circles. but all that being said, i have recognised a lot of my own emotional experiences in damon’s and how the characters around him react to it (without the murder, obviously) and to me it is slightly more complex than ‘this is a shitty person’. thank you for reading all this if you did, it’s kind of hard to talk about, but hopefully for some this adds a little more insight into my portrayal and attachment to the character.

#I WAS. WORKING ON REPLIES I HAVE A FEW HALF DONE BUT thinking abt therapy got me thinking abt this so. i'm dumping this out first #apologies. but *points at him* he's got bpd #you've ruined a perfectly good vampire is what you did look at him hes g #sorry. anyway #HEADCANON.#CHARADEV.#i'm saying headcanon but this is literally his canon portrayal and as a person with bpd i'm diagnosing him so there. periodt #right. adding this tag after i just finished writing this thing. sorry it got long and now i'm emo shun al so i'm gonna go do replies #watch no one read this. it's fine

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digimonadventuretimelines · 4 years

Text

[16 - Team Up!!]

Lupinmon returned back to the headquarters, dizzy and injured. His servants came to give him assistance and treat his injuries, but he felt unable to understand why that human kid and the adult man made him froze in battle. He was supposed to stop them, to eliminate them!

So, why was he freezing every time those humans appear in front of him?

“Master,” Magnamon arrived and took a look at his commander “... What happened to you?”

“A fight. I lost a fight. If you say anything about it…”

“Who did this to you?”

“The Chosen Children, but no worries they weren’t taking the fight seriously. However, the human man said… He was here looking for someone important to him.”

“Someone… Important?”

“Didn’t the Roar of Freedom capture one of those humans a long time ago? What happened to them? Did they die or what? But the kid… The kid strikes me something I don’t understand.”

“What is it?”

“... A feeling. But let’s forget it. Send two tough scouts this time. We need to close the gates and retrieve all of the digimon in the human world. And, getting rid of the human colonies in our world.”

“As you wish, master.”

“WHAT!?” Taichi shouted on the phone “Daisuke is WHAT!?”

“Is being controlled by the enemy, yes. He thinks he’s Lupinmon and I assume there’s some amnesia or mind control.”

“Ken, hold up. Did you find something on him? Evil Ring or Spiral?”

“... No. And you saying it quite of implies that I could’ve controlled everyone with those, something I never had thought of before. Neither want imagine what could’ve happened if I had tried to.”

“Oops, sorry I meant no harm! Someone could’ve gotten your old gimmicks and used it on humans.”

“I know. But no rings, spirals or even Black Gears. Could’ve been something deeper, under the skin. But I assume their original plan was getting me and Daisuke messed with it by saving me and letting them capture him instead.”

“Always doing self-sacrifices” Taichi sighed, “We need to find a way to bring him back. Anyway, any more news?”

“... Daisuke’s son has a digivice and a digimon partner. Not only them, but also Daisuke’s daughter, my children and an unknown children codenamed ‘Brave Tamer’ who is constantly involved into battles.”

“I knew about Hoshi and Eiji thanks to Hikari. Huh, so a new generation is showing up… And they’re our children this time.”

“Do you know if Taisuke got a digivice and a digimon, Taichi”

“No, I don’t think he has gotten one or a partner. Unless he hadn’t told Sora and me.”

Miyako was glancing at her children, arms crossed and foot tapping the floor.

“You two lied to me.”

“I’m sorry mom--”

“We had a reason” Daichi was all pouty, “But you lied to us too. When were you going to tell us the truth, mom? About… About that the legends were real? That you and dad were part of the legendary Twelve?”

Miyako felt a headache, she didn’t expect that talk to be so hard or even earlier. Daisuke would’ve helped her to make things less tense, but… No, she had to be strong for her family. And handle it alone.

“We were going to tell you when you were a bit older.”

“I’m 14! How much old do you mean!? You were 12 years old and dad 11 years old when you had fought evil digimon in the past!”

“Watch your language, Daichi. I’m not your enemy!”

“And my dad isn’t either!”

“H-hold on everyone…” Kiyoko interrupted them, “Natsu explained why you didn’t tell us before. It was to protect us, right? Then… Now it’s useless because we got digivices and digimon partners. You can’t not let us get involved with it.”

“I wish I could, but you will have to be prepared for what’s coming” Miyako sighed, that discussion had taken a good chunk of her energy, “One, your father is working for the enemy against his own will. Two, the digimon you fight will get stronger battle by battle.”

“We know” Daichi replied with a serious voice of tone “But if we fight together we can save dad, we can save everyone!”

“That I agree, but… I will be afraid of losing you two as well. I need time to accept--”

“Everyone,” Natsu invaded the room with the digimon “Miyako’s digivice received a message of a digimon attack! We need to… Do something!”

“This will be your first trial, let’s solve it as soon as possible. But first take these communicators, put them on and keep me informed.”

“Hey kid, there’s a digimon sinal nearby.”

He took the D-TimeRune and looked at the screen. BlackAgumon was inside and his icon appeared on a map. It was close to a Digital Gate.

“Really, now? Whatever, we’re going…”

“Release me so I can evolve kid.”

“Right.”

He pressed a button on the digivice, changing his clothes in a blink of the eye. BlackAgumon popped out of the screen and the kid scanned the back of his hand, next pointing the digivice to his partner.

They left the area quickly.

“What’s happening!?” Reika exclaimed, after seeing a blue Greymon pass in the horizon. Jin and Mike asked the same after.

“That blue Greymon again” Hoshi clenched her fist, then looked at the other kids “Please help me to evacuate the area. I need to call the others.”

“Call the others?” Jin repeated.

“Miss Hoshi there are two digimon nearby!!” the partner digimon inside Hoshi’s digivice said.

“... We’re going with you” Mike gave a serious gaze at Hoshi “If with these we can help… Then we will.”

“Thanks. Follow me guys!”

“Huh, I heard you!” Mirai responded to the voice messages sent by Mitsuki on the voice chat “I’ve detected two digimon close to the west digital gate. Hold on, I will tell Daichi asap!”

“Mirai, I’m scared… What if those digimon come after me?”

“Don’t worry Koh, you don’t like to fight but my friends and my skills are enough to keep you safe! Uh-oh, one digimon moved away and is on rampage. Mitsuki are you still here? Go to north, some digimon and people are in danger…!”

Panic and digimon screaming. Some babies from the hatchery building had been carried by humans and child level digimon. The rest started bouncing, running and flying away from the Dinobeemon, a digimon combination of XV-mon and Stingmon.

Hoshi’s Stingmon flew in the skies and stood in front of the enemy. while the children tried to save the babies.

“Hold it, creepy thing” the audacious girl stopped a few meters away from the fight “Sting, let’s show em why to not mess with those digi-babies and people!”

“Sting?” he looked back.

“K-Kiyoko’s partner has a name so I can’t lose to her! From now on you will be called by ‘Sting’ and will be my loyal guard.”

“Miss Hoshi…” he blushed, and Dinobeemon hit him with a kick, sending him against a building “OOF!”

“I think it was a bad hour to…talk about it” she facepalmed.

The non-partnered human trio had been taking the babies away from the danger, but a wild squad of Tsuchidarumon (a mud/earth subspecies of Yukidarumon) appeared to block the area.

“What should we do!?” Reika asked the boys.

“Fight” Mike responded with a serious glare, and he took the digivice “I dunno how it works but…”

“I will fight with you!” A Tanemon said to him, “Show me your brave heart, human!”

“We will fight too!” And a Pukamon and a Upamon shouted to Jin and Reika.

“Those little ones wants to… fight with us?” Jin blinked.

“I have no objections, as long they don’t get hurt.”

the instructions on the digivices appeared on the screen, and just like the other kids… Reika, Jin and Mike followed those instructions. On the screen of Reika’s digivice appeared a scale symbol. On Jin’s and Mike’s, the crests of Reliability and Sincerity -- respectively.

Upamon, Pukamon and Tanemon evolved to Armadimon, Kamemon and Floramon.

“SCRATCH BEAT!” “ALLERGY SHOWER!” “POINTER ARROW!”

Floramon’s pollen paralyzed the enemy, letting Armadimon’s claws and Kamemon’s pointer missile hit them. they opened the way for a few minutes, taking all the innocents away from the battle. Sting and Hoshi tried to keep the enemy distracted, preventing it from going after the other kids and the rescued people plus digimon.

Meanwhile… Daichi and Kiyoko were on battle with a humanoid version of Kuwagamon -- MetallifeKuwagamon! The mysterious Brave Tamer was also there.

“Ulforce!” “Captain!” “Right!” “Yes ma’am!”

With their digimon evolved, and Miyako behind the strategy they could prevent the gate devices from being destroyed. However, Brave Tamer was finding that mission too easy. Three Adult level digimon against a Perfect level. Then, an Ookuwamon came from the digital world’s gate.

“H-HUH!?” Kiyoko exclaimed

“Don’t worry, i’ve called for Ken’s assistance. Stay focused” Miyako told her children.

“Uh-oh, there it is…!” Someone was talking with Brave Tamer, and that voice seemed to be Mirai’s!? “I think this is the time you need a backup plan. Hold on, you’re with Daichi right? My radar caught two digivices and digimon linked to.”

“Yeah, that kid is here--”

“You know you don’t need to pretend on this channel. It’s secured, with a strong cryptography and lots of filters. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Sigh, fine… Gimme a plan. I will talk to Daichi later.”

On both fights, backups of the police dept. had came to help the (Neo) Chosen Children in the fight. A KnightChessmon and a GrappuLeomon appeared in the Kuwagamon species battle, one releasing darts against the enemies and another punching the Ookuwamon with high speed.

“Here’s the help!” Miyako chirped, “Ken is focused on another battle though…”

“Ok, there’s only four digimon here-- Huh, the blue Greymon is here!?”

“You noticed it only now, bro?” Kiyoko had some annoyance in her rhetorical question.

“Those support digimon are from the police unit” Mirai informed Brave Tamer “OK so the plan is: Two can handle Ookuwamon, I suggest leaving it to the PawnChessmon and GrappuLeomon. The rest is up to Daichi, Kiyoko and you.”

“Nice. I will meet with them right now” Brave Tamer responded, then approached from the Motomiya siblings. Kiyoko stared at him, while Daichi kept expressionless.

“We met again…” Daichi calmly greeted him.

“It’s not like I wanted to, but the digimon need to be saved. You will follow my lead, I got a plan.”

“Who’s that kid?” Miyako asked her children, “Is it that the one Hikari mentioned before?”

“I dunno mom” Kiyoko replied, “But we need all help we get. So start talking, kiddo!”

“Well, Your digimon fly and all of all three have long range attacks. If we combine out attacks, coming from three different directions we might beat it and protect the gate device.”

“... I see” Daichi smiled, a small smile though “Ulforce, Captain, did you hear it??”

“Yeah” “Aye, sir!”

“Sting don’t dare to lose!!” Hoshi shouted, she was thinking what to do but Dinobeemon was way stronger than her partner. Then she had the idea of taking her digivice and saw something blinking on it. Was it a hint? “Why… Uh, scan enemy? Okay then.”

She scanned the digimon opponent and got data of it, “P-perfect level…? Isn’t Sting on his adult level? So, this means he’s weaker-- ??”

A very shiny and gallant insect-humanoid digimon -- Jewelbeemon -- popped in, hitting Dinobeemon with his spear. She heard someone calling her name and then saw...

“D-Dad!?”

“Let me handle this for now” Ken told her, “Get your partner back and assist the people and digimon to evacuate this area.”

“B-But--”

“Please, that digimon is too strong for you yet!”

She nodded and then called Sting back, who took her and flew away.

The attacks combined hit MetallifeKuwagamon, KnightChessmon and GrappuLeomon had finally knocked out the other enemy and joined forces with the heroic trio. their strength increased the power and then they knock out the remaining opponent.

“It worked!!” Kiyoko grinned and showed a thumbs up to the mysterious kid.

Brave Tamer smirked. To Daichi it meant he was a bit arrogant, but didn’t worded said thoughts. The rest of the police unit came, and with Natsu’s help they all captured the criminals. But by Kiyoko’s reaction Daichi was able to find something odd in the picture.

“So I guess you have to show yourself,” Mirai talked with Brave Tamer “You can’t fool Daichi anymore, he probably got you.”

“... We should go home now” but Daichi seemed exhausted “Thanks for the help… Stranger.”

Oof, that sounded like sarcasm, but actually was him unable to think straight. He had Natsu denying information of the past, had intervened on a battle between his dad and officer Ichijouji and had confronted his mother. All of that in the SAME day. Daichi’s mood had done a 180° flip and he had no desire to get more stress.

“Heh, you have to know your place” Brave Tamer sounded like a treat, he was a show off kid. Daichi had no energy to get mad either, “This alliance was only for now. I work alone, and while Lupinmon is out… I will protect the innocents! All Baddies will not win against me.”

“Oh cut it out!” Kiyoko hissed, “Let’s go home Daichi. There’s some people who never learn!”

“Heheh, nice” Brave Tamer smirk didn’t disappear though, “We will see again, losers~” the blue Greymon grabbed the tiny and chaotic kid with his hands and left the area.

“Ugh! I hate this!” Kiyoko pouted.

“... I know what you meant. Hey mom? Is everything okay already?”

“Yup. Ken already handled the other digimon attack. Innocents are moved to a safer place. Let’s eat Paella today~”

“... What’s with Spanish cuisine all of a sudden?” Kiyoko gave a deep sigh.

“L-look, it had been ages since the last time I eat it! And… I need something to shove those thoughts away!”

#daichi arc phase 1 #datl text chapter

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serahne · 6 years

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~ Characters Parallel : Nagito Komaeda & Maki Harakuwa ~

Or : from a simple idea, this post devolved into something so big that I have to put it under cut. Sorry in advance for how indegistible it might seem.

Maki and Nagito are the two characters with the most tragic and traumatic background. I’m not going to play the Olympics of Pain to determine if it’s better to be an orphan or to lose your parents as a child, or anything like. Let’s just agree to say that their backstory is a big part of their character and deeply shape them as they are.

‘As their are’ cover many things, though. They are both defeatist/pessimist at core. Komaeda came up with the ‘luck cycle’ idea, thinking that he is doomed to never escape this until he dies, while Maki knows, at the moment where she is revealed to be an assassin, that things will end badly.

They both lost their family, and it’s something that weight heavily in them. We all know about Komaeda’s parents, of course, but a lot of Maki’s FTE are dedicated to tell the story of her childhood friend who she invented a family with and who eventually died. They both feel powerless to fight their personal tragedy, and probably guilty, too, even though they objectively couldn’t do anything. Their death was an accident.

Their isolation has two factors : first, they chose to stay away from the rest as a precaution. Maki expresses it best during his speech at the beginning of chapter 3, where she claims to just want everyone to ignore her. I would say this might be a little more sub-conscious on Komaeda’s part, but he stays away from any emotional connection on purpose, after the losses he knew as a child.

But beyond that, even if they wanted to fit in, it’s very hard for them, for they have a very different belief systems, when compared to everyone else’s, and that’s what separate them from living a ‘normal’ life. Nagito claims that people stay away from him because he has a ‘righteous’ mindset, but it’s not exactly the truth. The problem is that his mindset isn’t seen as ‘righteous’ by anyone except him. To elaborate on that, I thought it was interesting to have Korekiyo put a spotlight on this problem in ndrv3 : why is murder wrong ? The answer is : because we are socialized to think it’s not. Of course it makes sense. People will have no problem accepting that murder is wrong, even when they do commit murder. Everyone has... a system of values, belief, that dictate what is right and what is wrong, and define their action.

Nagito and Maki don’t think murder is wrong. Nagito thinks that anything can be ‘good’ if it’s to spread hope, Maki, after years of mental training, just lost this capacity to feel that killing is a big deal. It’s not that they don’t have morals, quite the contrary, but the core of their moral beliefs is differents from ours. This is something really unsettling, and that makes impossible to create relationships with others because you can only create bond with others by relating to them in some ways, at least. Not that this is different from an antisocial personality disorder ( sociopathy ). Maki and Nagito aren’t Junko, let’s make it clear.

Because of the way the plot is written in ndrv3, Maki’s character only starts to evolve in chapter 2′s trial, against chapter 1′s trial for Komaeda, but their progression is relatively similar. While Komaeda was a lot more involved in the first murder, they both chose to hide crucial informations, even if not displaying them could lead to the death of everyone. Once everyone knows about Nagito, they all decide to accuse him of being the killer, whereas Kokichi, who is the only one who knows about Maki, does his best to condemn her during a big part of the trial.

Something that is often missed in sdr2 but is much more visible in ndrv3 is the way Maki and Nagito’s beliefs are shaken a little during these trials. Maki, after Kaito’s blind display of faith, admits that he gave her some motivation. Nagito, who was supposed to be the first victim, claims that he now ‘has some motivation’ to live after Twogami’s sacrifice.

Nagito and Maki are both ostracized after the reveal. In a very distateful way for Komaeda, compared to Maki, but there is no saying what would have happened to her without Kaito, when you see the way Kokichi and the Student Council treated her.A great way to say that the big difference in their respective arc is Kaito, of course. There is... really no telling where Komaeda’s arc would have gone with someone half-dedicated as Kaito to help him.

I don’t really see the point in comparing Kaito/Maki to Koma/Hina, because Hinata and Kaito are... basically exact opposite and their dynamic is very, very different ( I’m not going to go in deep in Hinata’s feelings for Komaeda because that would take me ages to do that ). But when it comes to Nagito and Maki’s feelings for them, we can draw some comparisions. They both develop feelings for someone who doesn’t really exist. Nagito develops feelings for Hinata based on the idea that he is a ‘symbol of hope’ and an Ultimate, and Maki slowly falls for the ‘let’s believe that you can be whatever you want’ mindset. Both of them never experimented these kind of feelings before.

Bonus on this subject HERE. ( thanks @novatoast ! )

The illusion is broken in chapter 4, for both of them. Nagito learns about Hinata’s true nature, and chapter 4 in ndrv3 could be re-named ‘Let’s kick Kaito as hard as possible’, putting Nagito and Maki in deep distraught. For both of them, chapter 4 is pretty much the end of the world because their belief system is back in full force and they are panicking, and yes, in a self-destructing spiral, too. That doesn’t mean Nagito and Maki stops having feelings for Hinata and Kaito, that means that these feelings stop to be positive, for them.

Chapter 5 is probably the chapter where the similarities are the biggest ones. Both Nagito and Maki are obsessed with the idea to save Kaito/The FF’s traitor or to destroy the Remnant(s) of Despair ( no matter how misguided this goal might be at the end ), and takes drastic measure for it where they relied heavily on their talent, even if that means sacrificying themselves. Unfortunately, tragedy follows them and they end up causing the death of the exact person they wanted to save. If we dig even deeper, neither of them could be saved : Kaito was terminally ill, anyway, and Nanami didn’t even exist. Thus, what they did do look like a huge waste.

Something that I’m a little sad about and that I can’t add in this analysis, is that we never really see Komaeda’s reaction to waking up and realizing that everything was a life/simulation. Considering how terrible it is for Maki, I’m very curious about him too. Oh well, never cease to disappoint me, dr3 !

A few weeks ago, someone asked me if they thought Komaeda would be as popular as a girl than as a boy. I think as a general rule, the answer is no. This does disappoint me a little, but it doesn’t surprise me either, unfortunately.

Of course, these characters aren’t copy/pasted, they both have their own identity and plenty of reasons to not like them for that, which is great, but a lot of critics about Maki or Nagito are from people who will enjoy the same traits on the other ( trying to kill everyone in a fit of despair, developping feelings very quickly for someone who they look up to, general ‘coldness’ - which is often a way to refer to her different belief system... ) and I think it’s interesting to think about that sometimes.

#maki harukawa #nagito komaeda #danganronpa #sdr2 #ndrv3 #dr #analysis

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insidethecrack · 7 years

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Spiralling loneliness : the art of cursed blessing and blessed curse

Don’t blame me for all the years that you were asleep [...] Last time was it a lost time ? This time you’re... Last time was a lost time This time you’re 100% fucked

Angelspit - 100%

It’s been a few sessions of therapy that we’re circling back to loneliness. It makes since I’ve experienced this feeling since the day I can breathe. To me loneliness is a burning part of life, something you can’t avoid, and barely reduce. We’re circling back a lot to it because my therapist is actually helping seeing where it comes from and why it’s going to be fucking hard to escape it. (yes, I just say a therapist is actually helping, everything happens)

Elle se dit que la la solitude c’est quelque chose d’un peu déprimant, que ça devient une habitude mais qu’on ne s’y fait jamais vraiment

Les Cowboys Fringants (”she says loneliness is something quite depressing. It turns into some kind of habit but you never really get used to it”)

To properly explain, I need to take a step back to Chester Bennington’s death to suicide. You might not know him, he was (god this preterit is killing me...) Linkin Park singer. Linkin Park was a huge thing to the teenage me. And in a way, they still are. Even if I don’t listen much to them now, they open so many doors, their music heard me cry so much... And Chester was a huge part of all of this. (and you might have read this a lot... the world lost an amazing human being this summer...) He went through terrible shits. He had depression. His music, his voice, his lyrics, helped a lot of us surviving the worst times. He commited suicide this summer. I’m still grieving. But it took me two months to mention it to my therapist... Maybe because I didn’t want to admit how much I still care about a teenage band and how much it hurts when your hero dies and all the strange guilt around it. But still, that’s not the point today. I finally mentionned it because I was pissed at people looking for a rational reason.

Don’t yell at me please. I know it’s human to search for reason to things that hurt, to things we can’t understand. And remember that I said nothing to these people. Everyone grieve their own way and who am I to judge ? So I let people who needed a reason looking for one. But it pissed me off, you can’t imagine how much... Because it would mean that everything has a reason. but it’s a lie. It’s a fucking lie. Especially in that kind of thing... And it feels even more like a waste of time that we will never ever know why he did it. We can guess and assume, but we will never KNOW. Maybe he killed himself because of all that happened to him that he never healed, or because of the violent critics about the last LP album which was very personal to him, or because he was drunk, or because there was no more salted butter in the house. (sorry, private joke for the French people...) Or maybe a bit of all of these. Or even something else. We will never know And this is it, more than the suicide itself, this is this uncertainty which is hard for all of us human being. The difference between me and the world is that I know this. So I don’t waste my energy on looking for answer that don’t exist. It doesn’t mean that I worth better or anything. That’s not my point. It means that this knowledge prevents me from properly grieving. People are looking for an anwser to Chester’s death, not because they want to know the right answer, but because this answer can help them better understanding, and therefore, feeling better. The way my brain works and the knowledge I have make it impossible to me. Once again, I insist : I am not better because of this. For what it worths, I even think it makes me worth less. Because here, people have a solution to feel better, even if it means using a half truth. I refuse this way to myself because half truth is no truth, therefore, it’s no answer. And Im left in pain. Unable to grieve my hero’s death. (he deserves better...)

This is a fucking long introduction, but this little story is very symptomatic of my brain. This is how I work.

When I adressed this Chester’s suicide issue and my problems with this half-truth answer, I used mathematics analogy, which my therapist now uses to help me think (it’s the first time of my life a therapist is really making the effort of learning my language of metaphor and analogy to speak with me rather than forcing me into NT language...).

“I’m angry because they want an answer that can’t be made. They think people are fucking straight lines but it’s a lie. People are segments and segments have end. That’s fucking basic mathematics... _It’s true. It’s a very NT thing to think in terms of straight lines. They ask question, they have an answer. Straight line. Sometimes, the line even implies that they have the answer even before asking the question. _Sure, but we psychotic are more spiraling circles. So we can never walk together. I can’t walk with them. I’m trapped in a circle.”

And so by speaking about Chester’s suicide, we hit a nerve, we found something deeply hidden : loneliness.

I told you the whole Chester’s story because this is how my brain works : it starts somewhere, then goes somewhere, then somewhere else, and else again, and again, and finally it comes back to the beginning, connecting the dots. I can’t know where I’m going before I’m there. That’s the circle.

The other thing that makes me fucking lonely is that I’m probably too intelligent for my own good. Once again, I don’t say that it makes me better. I’m going to tell another story. Do you know the serie Scrubs ? It’s an hospital serie, a funny one you follow two best friends, a surgeon and a doctor. One day, a Super Doctor comes to the hospital. He’s a Super Doctor because he’s both a doctor and a surgeon. He’s like a fucking genius. At first everyone is happy to have him, but slowly, they hate him because he forces them to acknowledge their own limits and weakness. So they want to throw back their anger at him. But finally they understand : Super Doctor has OCD. He’s super skilled because of this : he had to work the hell out of him to surrender the OCDs, to be able to work. And he works so fucking hard that he went above all the others. Sacrifice being that he doesn’t really have a life outside work because he couldn’t do everything at the same time.

That’s pretty much what I’m living. My brain never ever stops. My brain wants to know. Not like the end of the straight line. But really know. Even if it means it has to accept that there can’t be real answer, or not full answer. My brain never stops. Do you know why I speak English so well ? Because when I was 13, I bought Meteora by Linkin Park (circle, I told you), and there was a DVD. With no subtitles. I couldn’t understand. It pissed me off so much that I worked my ass out to learn better English since school was not enough. I spent my summer, alone in my room, working my English just because I wanted to understand that fucking DVD. Basically, today, I’m bilingual, I can write, speak, translate and teach English without having landed a single foot on an English-speaking country. And I’m probably about to do the same with German because there are a lot of books I want to read...

I’m not more intelligent because I’m some kind of natural genius. I’m more intelligent because I fucking never stop learning. I can’t stop. When you do a PhD, people ask you what you want to do after. I have no answer. Because I’m doing a PhD to see where is my limite. How far can I go ?

How far can I go ? I’m ready to burn myself to have an answer to this...

So what the therapist made me realise is that : if you never stop learning, then you’ll be alone sooner or later. Because people stop, they take break, they preserve their health, they don’t constantly put their vision of the world in danger just because they want to know. So if you keep going when people regurlarly stop, you end up alone.

I’m alone because I can’t grieve Chester properly and I can’t tell other this because I know they would think I say their way of grieving is bad when all I say is it’s bad for me. So I’m alone. I’m alone because I can see myself being locked in the spiral and there is nothing I can do but wait for the end of the circle praying that I won’t lose too much this time. I’m alone because now I know too much and even if I explain people won’t follow me that much.

I’m alone in a circle of questions turning into a spiral because I know there is no way to fully answer them.

The therapist says it’s a blessing and a curse. Due this constant movement of circle, instead of straight line, and to this thirst of knowledge, my mind is deeper, thicker, more complex and has a wider view on the world. But it also means I’m lonely because not much people can follow (once again, not because they’re stupid or anything, just because I don’t stop until I can’t stand anymore...). And the more the circle turns, the more I know about this. It’s a blessing, because it’s a rare quality to know so much, to develop such empathy. But it’s a curse because the price is fucking high. Two faces of the same coin. “You didn’t chose, you did your best with it” I didn’t chose, because I don’t think no one would ever chose this. What’s killing is that I’m not sure it’s worth it... all the pain and loneliness... I didn’t chose. And I wouldn’t have chosen my life if I had had a choice. How am I supposed to live with this ? Maybe there is an answer to this on a straight line, but not on my spiraling circle.

I have to be the referee of the war in my own head. One part wants to destroy us, actively, with self-harm, punishment, not turning on the heater until my body turns blue and my breats hurt, etc, or passively because it doesn’t care what happen to us anyway. The other part wants to survive whatever it takes, it wants to know and will do anything for that, learning new languages or a whole new scholar field if required. I don’t know which part I want to see win. But I still have to be the referee of a war between me and me. And I dont have time to decide. Because the circle is moving again into a spiral and I have to move. If I keep moving, I may survive. That’s all I know. The voics repeat themselves a lot. One of their moto is “marche ou crève” (”walk or die”).

I’m alone. No one can walk with me. Because I walk in circles when people walk in straight lines. Our paths can cross, but we can’t walk together for long.

Speaking of Chester and circles, he wrote this amazing song. The lyrics are so perfect, I can’t chose a single line... Sorry, it’s not a great day / week...

youtube

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the-years-between-us · 7 years

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Lamplighter

Summary: Stella gets a call from Reed directly following the final episode of The Fall S3. (Stella Gibson/Reed Smith)

Chapter Index 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Continual thanks to @TheRobbinsGang, @JenSchwartz21, and @SpookyHadley for all of your help. This chapter is a bit more lighthearted but see Chapter 1 for warnings. Enjoy!

Chapter 2

Dawn breaks and Reed turns over on the rumpled sheets cushioned around her, arches her back, stretching and nuzzling her face into the softness of her pillow. Too early.

She feels a definite warmth beside her. It must be one of the girls, they crawl into her bed at night when they've had a bad dream and it's escalated since the move. She tries to will herself to move, check which one of them it is this time so she can pull them closer. But when she finally cracks her eyes, the previous night comes slamming into her psyche at the glint of blonde she sees illuminated by daybreak.

Stella.

Ever since that night in Belfast, she told herself that should would find a way to make this right. Everything that happened between them and everything that didn't happen between them. She would find a way to get her life in order and settle things at home. Sort out her feelings. Because as strange and confusing as it might be, Reed had feelings, intense feelings for Stella, feelings that apparently had no intention of leaving anytime soon. She was stuck with them.

Back in Ireland, it had managed to sneak up on her, this unusual attraction she’d felt toward Stella. Odd moments spent thinking of her, contemplating the multifaceted aspects of her being. Reed found her focus obscured by these thoughts of Stella on more than one occasion. Although she could reason it away at the time, Stella, it would seem, was far more direct than that. She wasn't afraid of what she wanted and she wasn't afraid to act. It was impressive, Reed remembers feeling flattered that night and more excited than she'd been in years.

Afterall, Reed had begun to think that she'd arrived at a stage in her life where she was incapable of feeling new things. Everyday the same thing at work, the same thing at home, deep in her soul she could feel parts of herself fading. And then Stella kissed her. It was a shock to her senses - she'd never felt such a strong attraction to a woman before. That confused her, but not enough to stop it from happening a second time. Because as Stella pulled away to gauge her reaction before capturing her lips once more, Reed finally remembered what it felt like to be entirely herself again.

So when Stella got up to leave and asked if she'd like to accompany her back to her hotel room, she'd said yes. It didn't feel like her life - the life she’d been living day to day, doing what she was supposed to for everyone around her while driving a little too fast every time she got on her bike, simply for herself. Either way, she wasn't accustomed to this sort of invitation, not by colleagues and not by women, and definitely not by women who were colleagues. She should say no. But she found that she didn’t want to, she wanted to hold on to this part of herself, the person that Stella saw when she looked at her just now. Afterall, if she wasn’t dead, why was she living like she was? And then they were standing there in that hallway and suddenly she couldn't ignore the single word banging around in her brain.

Married. She was married.

It wasn't a perfect marriage or even a good one. She wasn't particularly happy, hadn't been for some time, and she felt desperate for someone to lean on, someone who understood. And into her life came Stella, so beautiful and full of her own power. It was fascinating, overwhelming to witness, and she’d forgotten that people could be like that. But then Reed found herself following Stella back to a hotel room when she didn't really have the right. Sure, her relationship was shit and she was vulnerable, but that wasn't an excuse to go around sleeping with attractive women.

And then it hit her somewhere deeper. She'd never even been with a woman, she had no experience with anything that was about to happen, and the realization broke over like a crashing wave to shore. Stella was enigmatic and cultured and had no hesitation in any of this. She would know what to do and as the numbers ticked down, Reed knew that it was about to become painfully obvious that she grew up in a sheltered home, in a conservative town and got married before she was ready, but most of all, that she didn't have enough experience to back this up.

So she'd left. She left to figure herself out, assess her feelings and her marriage. Because if she was finding herself in front of elevators entertaining these thoughts, something was very wrong. And it wasn't fair. And she didn't want to hurt her husband.

But it seems she's hurt him anyway because she's left him and moved and that's pretty shitty of her regardless of whether or not she wanted to fuck Stella back then. So she didn't cave to her selfishness in the moment but did it really matter if only a few weeks later she managed to do it the ‘right’ way? End result is the same. She's split up her family and that's her doing, no one else's.

Then she stops herself and tries to correct her spiraling train of thought. Her feelings are valid and her desire to leave was valid, and she needs to stop shouldering the brunt of the blame for something that hadn't been working for a long time. Something that wasn't right for her daughters. Almost every day she reminds herself that they deserve two loving homes instead of one pissy, tumultuous one. And some days she almost believes she’s done the right thing.

Then some days she thinks that maybe Stella came along at the right time, forcing her to realize a lot of things about herself. And some days she thinks that maybe she's just very drawn to her.

She doesn't really know why.

Having thought on it to an annoying degree, she can't pinpoint exactly what it is about Stella that's captured her. All she knows is that once she was settled in London and feeling more like herself, there was only one person she wanted to see. And even though it might seem conspicuous, it's not why she moved here. Truly, Reed loves London, always has. Belfast had been Daniel’s doing, his job, his dream. And she'd been okay with it at the time, she'd been prepared to leave behind what she loved in sacrifice for something she loved more. But no one ever tells you that sometimes even the greatest things, like love, don't last forever. Even when you want it to, even when it's no one’s fault.

She’d needed to come to terms with that.

And now that she has, she's in Stella’s bed. How timely. She has no idea what she'd been thinking other than how badly she’d wanted to find out what would have happened if she hadn't walked away all those weeks ago... At least that part worked out.

She looks around for a clock, needs to know the time so she can calculate how much longer she can lay here. As she moves to glance over Stella's shoulder, the curl of blonde hair below shifts she and catches her peaking.

“Good morning,” she says groggily, sleep coloring her voice.

“Good morning,” Reed responds sheepishly. “Sorry to wake you, I was just looking for the time.”

“No need to apologize,” she says stretching and turning into Reed. “Do you have somewhere to be this morning?”

“I usually drop the girls at school around eight.”

“Mm,” Stella responds looking around for her phone but apparently she's left it downstairs and her alarm clock isn't plugged in. She must not have gotten around to putting everything right since returning home. But then she gets up, swinging on her robe and pads over to a dresser where she retrieves a watch. She squints at it a little and then-

“Shit, it's 7:35.”

“Fuck.

And then Reed’s throwing off the covers and bending down for her underwear and her clothes. They're a crumpled mess but they'll have to do. How the hell was it already so late? She's not one to oversleep or ignore her internal clock. Guess that's just what happens when you spend half the night fucking instead of sleeping. While she's buttoning her pants, Stella's handing her her shirt and asking if she should call her a cab. Having no real alternative plan, Reed takes her up on the offer and Stella goes downstairs to find her phone.

Reed uses the washroom connected to Stella's bedroom in the meantime and scrubs her face of the smudged mascara left over from the night before. She looks an absolute wreck. Her hair is everywhere and her lack of sleep is visibly evident. And even though she could technically get her sister to drop off the girls, she wouldn't feel right about asking her to do that. She already relies on her too much and more importantly, her children need some level of consistency right now. Not to mention the questions that would ensue. So she finds some mouthwash, gargles it and heads down to collect the rest of her belongings.

Stella's in the kitchen putting on coffee and cleaning up their forgotten glasses from the night before. “Your car should be here in a few minutes,” she says over her shoulder as Reed comes in. “Need anything else before you go?”

“No, that's perfect, thank you,” she says running a hand through her hair. “Sorry to rush off like this.”

“Don't worry about it,” Stella says stopping the faucet and turning to her, done with tidying. “I just wish I'd thought to set an alarm. I wasn't thinking.”

“I don't think either of us were,” she replies and it comes out sounding far more suggestive than she’d wanted it to.

“Well, thank god for that, then.”

Something in the way Stella says it blazes up Reed’s neck and she feels terribly self-conscious. She looks away uncomfortably but then scolds herself, tells herself not to act so childish. So she forces her gaze back to Stella only to find laughter in her eyes and god, she feels bad at this. It's been forever since she's dated and she's forgotten everything. She has no idea what's appropriate.

“Let's go get your things,” Stella says looking towards the foyer and saving her.

Always saving her.

They walk in together and she collects her purse and coat, pulling it on and finding her phone. Christ, there's a string of missed calls and texts from Lydia that she'll have to respond to in the car. Looking up from her cluttered screen she sees that the cab’s thankfully pulling up in front of Stella’s flat now. That was quick.

“Car’s here,” she says turning away from the window and walking back to Reed. She's quite the picture in her silk robe and morning hair, which doesn't look nearly as awful as it should. In fact, it looks pretty good, she doesn't look like she just woke up at all and that's not really fair. It's even less fair when Reed’s the one with places to be looking like the embodiment of ‘a walk of shame.’ Then Stella folds her arms over herself in a shielding sort of way and perhaps it's just a reflex, she reasons. After all, she can't be entirely upset because her eyes are still mocking her when she reminds her, “Best get going, can't have the girls running late.”

“Course not,” she agrees, making to move and then stopping because this suddenly feels too fast, it’s not what a proper goodbye looks like. And even though she's not sure how this works anymore or even more delicately, how this works with Stella, she knows that it feels wrong. So she plants her feet and takes time to really look at her, make sure she's listening, before she lets her know, “I had a very lovely time.”

“So did I.”

Good. That’s good. Now what?

She wants to see her again. Even with her nerves and the little bumps of awkwardness between them, everything went well. At least she thinks it did, she's pleased. And Stella isn't completely shut off from her as if it's all just been “one night” that “didn't mean anything.” This definitely doesn't feel like that so maybe she should just ask because she's still standing there in her foyer and Stella isn't saying anything. Fuck, why isn't she saying anything? She's just standing there looking perfect and silent with twinkling eyes like she knows exactly what's going on in Reed’s mind and finds some sort of humor in watching it unfold. Or maybe her silence is merely the code for ‘one night stand’ and Reed’s screwing it up because it's been so long since she’s had one.

No.

She decides no, that’s not what this is and that’s not what she wants because she hasn't stopped thinking about her for weeks, and she doesn't imagine that waking up tomorrow will be any different. Perhaps she’s in way over her head but isn't that the whole point of getting back to herself with this move and the separation? Living a more honest life? Honest with herself, honest with others - she can do that, she has to do that.

“Can I call you, see if you're free later this week?”

“I'd like that.”

“You would?”

“Yes,” she says smiling a little, looking suddenly younger than her years and that’s when Reed realizes that Stella doesn't smile, she smirks and even that's a stretch. There's something she does, something very subtle with the muscles of her face, and it projects the illusion of smiling on occasion, when necessary. A lift of her brows, a ghosting curve of her lip, but it's never really a smile in the traditional sense. But as Reed witnesses this variation now, she realizes that she’s seeing one. Small but still a sight to behold and she feels very lucky. Then Stella continues because she's still standing there gaping, “You're going to be even later than you already are.”

“Right, of course.”

At least she's done it. She's going to call her and they'll see each other again and it's going to be fine, absolutely fine. Nothing left to do. She needs to go. So she moves to leave for real this time and as she reaches for the door knob, there's a hand on her waist. It's not demanding but Reed stops all the same, turning to see what's the matter. And before she knows it Stella's lips are pressed softly against her’s in a goodbye that makes her wish she didn't have to leave. And Stella’s hand cradles her face, the pad of her thumb sweeping over Reed’s cheek briefly before she pulls away whispering, “I'm glad you stayed.” Then Stella steps back and opens the door for her, “I'll see you this week.

Reed bites her lip, gives her a small nod and scurries from Stella’s flat down to the cab. Hopping in quickly and rattling off her sister's address, she turns to see Stella watching her from her still open door, leaning against the frame. Reed smiles at her and then they pull away.

She doesn’t stop the smiling the rest of the way home.

Flying out of the car at exactly 7:56am, she practically throws her money into the driver’s hands before jogging to the front door of Lydia’s flat. She'd called her sister in the cab to let her know that she'd still be taking the girls to school, and asked her to go about her day as usual. Like any good sister, Lydia told her that she'd made the girls breakfast and then immediately pressed her for details about the previous evening in a rushed whisper. Reed not-so-skillfully dodged her questions with a, “Can't talk now, see you soon,” before hanging up the phone. It’s bought her a few extra minutes but probably not much beyond that.

Oh well.

Hand on the doorknob, she makes one last ditch effort to put her hair into place before catching her reflection in the glass. There's no hope for her. She's just got to go in there and deal with the aftermath of her decisions. Suddenly it feels frightening and her stomach ties itself into a thousand knots. But she concedes that she’ll have to get over it because navigating this part of her life comes with the territory of her choices. She’d just truly wanted to be more careful than this, she’d wanted to get this right, not traumatize her children or put her sister in the position of covering for her carelessness.

Yet here she is.

So she turns the handle and there are her girls, sitting patiently on the steps dressed in their winter coats, backpacks on and waiting for her. They're giggling over some toy of Charlotte’s - a doll she’d picked out a few weeks ago - and it’s morphed into some absurd position that they find terribly amusing. But as soon as the door closes behind her, there’s a small click and she manages to draw their undivided attention.

“Mum!”

“Where were you?” Jane says with intense accusation and a scowl to match, one that only a twelve year-old could make so comical. “We’ve been waiting for ages.”

“I doubt it’s been ages ,” Reed tells her, approaching the girls and letting her voice go all dramatic, which gets her absolutely nowhere with the disapproving child. “Where, uh, did Aunt Lydie say I was?”

“She said you went to the store…” Jane says doubtfully, brow still wrinkled. At least it’s a fairly tame explanation for why their mother should be gone when they wake for school, Reed thinks to herself, but she has the distinct impression that Jane’s getting too old for such appeasing explanations. “You don't have any bags, though,” she points out.

Shit, she really should have asked Lyd what she’d told the girls when they were on the phone instead of hanging up on her because this doesn’t look like it’s about to go very well. She’s really nailing this. “They didn't have what we needed, darling. Quite the interrogation for a Thursday morning, I must say. Did you sleep well?” she asks attempting to temper Jane’s suspicions. Trying her best to appear normal, she runs her fingers over the small braid resting on Jane’s shoulder and looks her in the eyes, hoping some maternal affection will do the trick. It does not.

“What did we need?”

“Orange juice.”

“We have orange juice.”

“We had some this morning!” Charlotte pipes up. At least she doesn't seem as skeptical as her older sister does. Charlotte sits there in her puffy purple jacket, content to passively observe in between distractions with her doll, which is still contorted with marvelous creativity.

“Well, I was afraid that we might run out,” she explains as Lyd walks in, eyebrows raised and grinning like mad, truly not helping at all. No wonder Jane doesn’t believe a word she’s saying. “But I suppose I shouldn't have been because now we're going to be late and I'm very sorry for making you wait.”

“Why are you wearing the same clothes from last night?” Jane asks relentlessly. Fuck, she was not prepared for her to come down so hard on her like this. Then again, she'd wanted to avoid this all together so she wasn’t really prepared for anything.

“You don't look very good, mum,” her smallest says sadly and Lydia’s laughing into her coffee at that one.

“Thank you, Charlotte.”

“I’m just being honest...”

“Well, it just so happens that I like this outfit very much so I decided to wear it again,” she tells her and it’s got Charlotte taking a second look to see if she agrees that the outfit truly warrants a second wear. “And sometimes mummies don't have time to look their best when they have to cart you two off to school every morning, which is exactly what we should be doing right now so grab your things. End of discussion, let's go.”

“I still don’t believe you,” Jane says haughtily.

“Why not?” Charlotte whispers.

“You don’t have to believe me but you do have to move,” Reed says putting her hands on her shoulders to nudge her along more quickly.

“Have a wonderful day at school,” Lydia says bending down to give each of them a kiss as they shuffle through the door. Then as Reed passes, she gives her a taunting look that tells her how horribly that conversation just went. It’s entirely unnecessary though because she’s already cringing over it for probably the next 50 years and then some.

“Jesus fucking Christ, did you put them up to that?”

“God, no,” Lydia says from her laptop in the living room. She must be catching up on email otherwise Reed expected her to be up in her office or out at the studio by now. “Your offspring are too clever these days, don't blame that on me.”

“Remind me to let them watch more television,” Reed says collapsing down on the couch. She kicks off her shoes and curls up in her spot while trying to rub the stress from her eyes, “Ruthless they are, didn’t stop the entire way there.”

“Still not as ruthless as I’m about to be,” Lydia says putting down her coffee and snapping her computer shut. “Let’s start with: where in the fuck were you?”

Reed can do nothing but blush into herself and cover her face. The two of them have always been close but Lydia remains her junior by quite a few years. By the time her little sister had grown up enough to have these kinds of conversations, she’d already been with Daniel and was well on her way to marrying him. There weren’t many scandalous details to be shared between them.

“I thought you were meeting your old coworker, that woman running the inquiry back in Belfast,” she continues when Reed still says nothing. She props herself forward, elbows on her knees, “What happened? Did you meet someone while you were out?”

“No.”

“Just got too knackered then did you?,” she assumes with a laugh. “You still could've come home - you know I don't mind. Could have been very entertaining and the girls sleep like the dead.”

“I didn't drink too much.”

“Then what happened?”

Reed doesn't really know how to formulate the words to answer her sister’s question. What was she supposed to say? I went home with her, I slept with her, we fucked? All acceptable options, all true, but none of them true enough. What happened last night was layered and complex and if she just comes out and says it, it won’t be the whole truth. How to make Lydia understand when she scarcely understood it herself... She had no idea how to make her see what was simultaneously unravelling and building within her. Goddamn mess.

This wasn't a fluke though so she's going to have to come clean sooner or later and if she’s honest with herself, she wants to tell someone. She wants someone to talk it through with her because it’s a lot to process on her own, but the words just aren’t coming. So she looks at her with bashful eyes, wide with implication and hopes she'll connect the dots on her own.

She does not.

Just stares back impatiently.

Dammit.

“Alright, um, back in Ireland…” she starts out, looking for the right phrasing. “Stella and I spent a lot of time together, working, discussing the case and whatnot. So we got rather close and last night, well,” she tries but ends up dropping off at the most important part. Thankfully it's enough that Lyd seems to catch on.

“Wait, you’re not saying - you didn't…”

Reed just stares at her and it's answer enough.

“So this is what all the business with Daniel is about then,” she concludes, jumping the gun.

“No-”

“Tanya-”

“Not entirely, no,” she says sternly and at least there's conviction in her voice because it's the truth, and she needs her to know that it's the truth. She won't have this morphing into something ugly. Maybe she’s not a saint and maybe she’s not a perfect mother, but she’s not whatever Lydia’s thinking she is either. Thankfully she waits for her to continue, ready to listen. “You know things haven’t been right at home for awhile. I've been telling you that, and that's true. Stella just came around near the end and got me thinking about what I really wanted.” There's silence between them as Lydia thinks on this, taking it in and remembering their discussions over the past few months, past few years. “Lyd, you know I wouldn’t just leave Dan for someone else, it’s not like that.”

Lydia looks at her for a moment before saying, “I know, I know you wouldn't,” shaking her head as if it could erase the thought. “Sorry I'm just surprised. I didn't even know you liked women.” And if she didn't look just a little bit hurt by the realization, Reed might have found it a funny statement because it wasn't a huge part of her life, mostly left behind at school, she hasn't thought on it regularly. But now it must seem like some locked up secret she's been hiding all this time.

“Most of the time not so much,” she assures her gently and Lydia looks up, seeing the honesty in her eyes and softening. “Here and there. Back when I was dating, I'd thought about it. Overall though, Stella's a bit of an exception.”

“Okay,” she says accepting but wary. “And nothing ever happened between you before last night?”

Reed hesitates, hugging her knees to her just a bit. Nothing had really happened between them before last night but she had indeed almost accompanied her to her hotel room with the full intention of sleeping with her. Warrants mentioning. Maybe edited down but still.

“She kissed me once. Back in Belfast.”

“Oh really?” That piques her interest. She wonders what kind of picture she's painting for her sister and if it in any way resembles the truth.

“We were at a bar and there was someone bothering me, some guy,” she explains, smiles a little remembering the moment. Stella's audacity, her trust in Reed to roll with it, the look in her eyes when she realized that Reed had kissed her back. “He wouldn't leave, couldn't take a hint, so she kissed me...

“He left.”

“That's one way to do it.”

“Yeah,” Reed chuckles. “Bit of a shock.”

Lydia eyes her, she can feel herself smiling like an idiot. “So you stayed with her last night?” Reed nods. “And you're happy about it?” More nodding.

“Well then that's all that matters.”

“Really?”

“Course, I’m your sister. That's how this works.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, tell me everything.”

“Are you serious?”

“Obviously.”

“No, fuck you.”

“Tanya!”

“Lydie!”

“You can’t go out all night and leave me with your adorable children without giving me details,” she argues exasperated. “Soooo tell me! What happened?”

“We had sex, is that what you want to hear?!”

“Yes, go on.”

“No!”

“It was that wild, huh?”

“Oh my god.”

“I can't believe you had wild lesbian sex and you won't even tell me about it.”

Reed shakes her head and covers her face asking herself over and over again “why me?”

Then Lydia’s getting up from her chair and sitting directly in front of Reed on the coffee table, which makes avoiding her prescence aggrevatingly difficult. “Well if you won't talk about it, at least tell me what she's like,” Lyd says waxing romantic and leaving Reed entirely confused. First she’s irritated and jumping to conclusions, then she wants embarrassing details from her fumbling sexual encounter and now she’s going the sappy route? Her sister’s ability to shuffle through emotions is incomparable and it’s got Reed almost entirely curled into a ball with fingers splayed over her eyes.

“What do you want to know?”

“Well… What's she look like?”

“Blonde.”

“Oh I see,” she says teasingly as if that explains everything.

“Shut up.”

“Okay, I'll shut up but you have to go on.”

“She's blonde,” Reed says again with a withering expression. “Um, she looks very feminine - in the way she dresses and everything - but she's not really.” She stops and Lyd gives her a look that says there’s no way in hell she’s accepting that so Reed tries to conjure up ways to explain Stella, as if it’s just that easy. “I think she comes off quite cold sometimes, business first and all that. But it’s only because she cares so much. She's actually incredibly kind if you’re paying attention, and very intelligent. She cares a lot about the important things and gives no fucks about the rest. I really admire that about her. I don’t know. That’s it, I guess.”

“I see how Dan lost out on this one,” and that's got Reed shooting her a warning look so she throws her hands up in surrender. “I'm only joking!” Reed smiles at her sister and even though she's a bit touchy about all this, she feels better having told her. “Really, she sounds great.”

“Yeah.”

“You going to see her again?”

“I think so. Think I'll phone her up, see if she’s free to grab coffee or something later. Harmless enough.”

“Hate to tell you but you’re screwed for a babysitter this weekend, I’ve got that trip to Brussels tomorrow, remember? Won’t be back until Tuesday.”

“Daniel’s actually coming down to take them to his mother’s for the weekend.”

“How convenient for you.”

“I told you his parents are helping him look for a place down here.”

“Thought he was rather attached to that job of his,” Lydia says getting up to take her empty cup to the kitchen, apparently satisfied with her shakedown. “Didn’t know he’d follow through so quickly.”

“Seems he is,” Reed quietly responds.

“Alright, just don’t fuck in my bed while I’m gone, okay?” she says popping her head around the doorway.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I do. Thank you for taking care of the girls this morning.”

“Anything for you.”

Stella is restless.

Working from home is difficult for her, which is why she rarely does it, especially for an entire day. Everything feels too loud and too quiet all at once and isn't that the story of her life whenever she's alone? She tried to distract herself at first, made a proper breakfast, wiped down everything, put on some tea. Then she'd decided there was nothing left to do but sit down and leaf through paperwork. It's been a few hours so files lay open here and there scattered over the coffee table while her laptop sits open at her side as she takes notes on cases that have been worked on in her absence.

She's missed a lot.

The evidence sits before her, measured in countless sheets of paper detailing the brutalities committed across her city, some worse than others but all unjust in nature and cruel at heart. And where had she been, where had she really been? She’d been miles away letting a sadistic serial murderer fuck with her head while everyone around her suffered the consequences. Because it wasn't just the victims of his crimes, it was Tom’s career, Jim’s sobriety, Sally Ann's sanity, Olivia's innocence, her family, her trust in the world. Gone. All because of her carelessness, her incompetence, and she could have done things differently. Whether or not it would have saved any of them, she'll never know. Yet here she sits in her flat wading through case reports like nothing has changed.

It's intolerable.

But nevertheless she tries to focus, to immerse herself in the most gruesome details of the cases left on her docket. Because even though she's screwed up, they still deserve her full fucking attention. Hours pass, maybe just minutes, she can't tell. And when she looks at the clock, it's clear that all of her efforts have resulted in little more than countless bouts of self loathing as she sits there with all of her failures in poignant silence. Painful company.

Maybe if she could just stop thinking about Olivia...

It's just that Stella had lost slowly as a child. One thing and then another, just as she was starting to heal, until there was little left. Nothing but anger. She'd been so angry in her youth, mostly angry with herself because when you're surrounded by nothingness there's nowhere else for blame to land but yourself. But now she can't stop thinking of Olivia who lost so much so fast. She wonders if there will be anyone there to help her come to terms with the burden of that blame. She wants to protect her from the things she knows will come for her.

So she thinks about calling her. About paying her a visit. About how she might react to seeing her. If there would be another hug or simply accusation behind watery eyes, hurt heavy in her heart. Thinking of the way her small frame felt in her arms that day at the hospital fills her with the physical memory, the warmth and the way she had trembled and pulled tight at the fabric of her shirt. Unaware that just days before, she would have been clutching at the stains of her father’s blood. To lose a father… Stella had tried so desperately to save him. For justice, for those he had hurt so badly, those he had taken from. For Olivia.

And just thinking of their meeting has her on the verge of tears sitting alone in her flat and surprise surprise, she needs to get the fuck out of here.

Within the next 10 minutes, she’s gathered her bag and locked the door behind her. And then within the next 15 minutes, she's gotten herself to the gym and she's wearing her swimsuit, walks out to the consistently clear water of the pool. The rough concrete floor scrapes against her feet as she stands at the edge. She really shouldn't let it but she stands there feeling the sting, digging her flesh into the textured stone a few moments longer than she should.

And when she dives in, she moves herself forward and breathes when she's supposed to.

She doesn't want to go home but she's exhausted herself in the pool. Not-quite-healed ribs don't do one any favors when swimming laps. They especially don't do one any favors when one continues on in spite of their protests. So she's exhausted and aching but she's still contemplating whether or not to run herself down a bit more with some other needless task. Shopping, coffee, dinner for that matter but no, she's not hungry, a drink - that’s not a bad idea. She could try working again. Maybe out of the house, take her things to the cafe round the corner and a few blocks down. Probably her best bet. If she decides she wants dinner, she can pick up food there and then she won't have to feel so guilty about the extra laps.

So she wanders back to her flat, dropping her bag upstairs and fussing with her hair before she makes to change her clothes. Her body complains before she can even fully undress and she’s irritated because she knows better than to push herself when she's already hurt. A few more minutes of stretching might be in her best interest so she climbs over onto her bed and lies in her back, bringing her left leg to her chest and the the right leg. Eventually she's just lying there, having stretched out her legs and trying to find the energy to continue. She needs to move, sit up.

Everything in her feels heavy.

And then there's a distant sound ringing through her flat.

What is that? It's not particularly loud but loud enough to be a nuisance.

Shit, it's her mobile.

She sits up and it's pitch black in her room save the few shadows cast around in the moonlight. After fighting back a moment of serious confusion, she realizes that she must've fallen asleep. And then she's immediately anxious that she's fucked up because surely there's something she was supposed to be doing. But then she remembers that she's not really working and apparently has nothing better to do than exhaust herself so fully that she passes out trying to stretch on her own damn bed. Pathetic.

There's still ringing.

So she jumps up to retrieve it before the call goes to voicemail and thankfully it's just lying a few feet from her on the dresser.

Reed.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it's Reed,” she says and she's whispering over the line. Stella likes it, it’s calming having just woke. “Sorry for the hour, just got the girls down.”

“It’s alright,” Stella responds and her voice hasn't quite recovered from her nap yet because it's gravelly, there's no mistaking it.

“Did I wake you?” Reed asks confused because it's absurd to think of Stella going to bed before 9pm.

“No,” she says immediately before realizing that it's a lie and she doesn't need to lie to Reed. “No, I mean, yes,” and she even has to laugh at how disoriented she sounds. “Seems I dozed off. I swam at the gym and must've gone longer than I should have. Worn out.”

“Ah, I see. I can call back later, I'm sure you need the rest.”

“No, don't be silly, I'm awake,” she says sitting back on her bed and making herself comfortable against the pillows. “Did you get home in time to take the girls to school?”

“Yes and in time for a full lecture from my twelve year old as well. It was insanity. She's far too clever for her own good.”

“Children are much more clever than we give them credit for.” She wonders if this sounds strange coming from her, a childless woman who spends very little time with children. And it’s not that she doesn’t like children but her job, not to mention her personal life, offers very little in the way of them. Even if it did, would things be any different? Stella doubts it. Children have a way of wandering into her psyche and not find their way out for some time. It’s exactly her problem right now as she tries to push Olivia’s sweet face from her dreamy visions. “...They notice everything.”

“So I'm learning,” she says defeatedly and Stella hates the sound of it on her. But before she can say anything to counteract it, Reed jumps back in. “Anyway, I'm calling to see if you're free for lunch tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s Friday?” she says checking her wrist for a watch that isn’t there. Why she even bothers is a mystery altogether since she’s not busy in the slightest. Taking time for herself feels more exhausting than not having any at all. “Yeah, I am.”

“I've got a 3 o’clock meeting at the university but I thought maybe we could meet up at 1.”

“Sure, that works,” she says and she hadn’t really expected Reed to call so soon but she’s undeniably grateful for the excuse to fill her seemingly boundless time with her company. “I know a place near there that might be good unless you’ve already got something in mind.”

“No, that’s perfect, just text me the address.”

“Alright, I will.”

“Great,” and it sounds relieved like something she’s been worrying on that’s finally settled, which makes Stella smile. Not for the first time today, she wonders why Reed spends so much time worrying on Stella’s interest when she’s the one who practically tried to drag her into bed during the middle of case. Then she’s kicking herself for doing that for the millionth time when Reed’s voice interrupts her thoughts, “So how was your day?”

“My day?”

“Yes your day.” She can hear Reed smiling through the phone at her idiocy.

“Oh, well, long,” she admits and closing her eyes and trying not to think about her continuously failed efforts to keep herself on task. “Not being able to go back to work is taking it’s toll on me, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t need to tell you that you need it,” Reed says patiently and it’s what she’s supposed to say so Stella’s not all that surprised. “Even if you think you don’t.”

“I know.”

“Monday’s just around the corner.” Her mantra from Reed’s lips is music to her ears. It’s not too far off, she’ll be fine. “And the girls are off with their father this weekend,” Reed ventures whimsically and the low warmth in her voice has Stella smirking to herself.

“Oh, they are?”

“Yes,” she says drawing out the word flirtatiously and Stella finds herself biting her lower lip trying to suppress the growing smile there. “So if you need a distraction, I’ll gladly volunteer.”

“Noted, very good to know.”

Stella sinks further into her pillows cradling the phone to her ear and listens to Reed, thinking that these next few days might not be so tortuous after all.

#stella x reed #stella and reed #the fall #stella gibson #reed smith #gillian anderson #archie panjabi #fanfic #mine #candicewrites

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