#My mother saw the first one and she said it was uncanny‚ even creepy‚ how much it actually looked like me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

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Soulmarks, Part 20

First part

~~~

He closed the computer with a snap, startling Marinette out of her intense yoyo-ing session.

They walked to the hole in the floor and peered down. It was pitch black, save for the little beam of light that they’d created when they’d opened it. He was tempted to drop the computer down to see just how far they were about to fall, but he decided against it. They didn’t need to give Hawkmoth any more warning than they already had.

Marinette gave him a tiny grin. “Ever broken your legs before?”

He shrugged. “A few times.”

“I don’t know if that means you’ve never done it before or you’ve done it a million times, but both concern me,” she mumbled, more to herself than to him. She took a deep breath.

She dropped down.

He waited a few seconds for her to roll out of the way and then slipped through.

Tim hit the floor and fought the urge to curse as his legs crunched underneath him. He thanked Kaalki that his suit kept him in reasonable shape and carefully pushed himself up.

The hatch shut behind them, plunging them into pure darkness. It was automated, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t put him more on edge.

Bruce always said that darkness was their friend, and there were times where Tim agreed, but this darkness felt distinctly hostile. It was hiding something other than them.

He could feel Marinette next to him, her hand resting on his forearm to keep track of where he was. He reached the other hand out and started searching around. He touched a railing. Alright, so they were on some sort of walkway...

“What are the chances that they left in the ten minutes it took to get down here?” She whispered jokingly, her nails digging into his suit. Her grip wasn’t strong enough for her to cut through, but it was enough for him to have to fight back the urge to pull away.

And then a light flicked on across the room. He blinked a few times to adjust.

His mouth fell open.

Because, at the end of a walkway, was a glass coffin. The woman inside was unmistakably Adrien’s mother, the resemblance was uncanny even from afar. She was completely motionless and far, far too pale.

But then something pulled his attention away from it. A flicker of green light, a soft shuffling sound.

Tim cursed and fumbled for his phone. He clicked it on and started pointing the screen around to try and see anything.

“They’ll see us!” Whispered Marinette, bringing her hand up to try and block the light.

And then she faltered.

Because the cat was in front of them, his green eyes casting a dim light over his face.

“Looks like they already have.”

They got into fighting positions instantly. After all, the fact that their favorite cat had decided to transform didn’t bode well for them...

He sighed and dropped his baton with a loud clatter, then perched himself on the railing by them. He pulled his phone out of seemingly nowhere and started typing: “I told dad to let me try and reason with you guys first. He’s not here. You can push me off the side of this if we try anything, promise. I just want to talk.”

Marinette mumbled something and a lantern appeared in her hand. She set it down and then motioned for him to go ahead.

Tim wished that he could see more of her face behind her mask, because he could not get a reading on her right now. He settled for just picking up the baton.

“Mari, please, just hand over the earrings.”

“I know that you miss your mom... but we can’t bring her back.”

“But it’s not just about mom!”

She raised her eyebrows skeptically.

He sighed and pulled out his phone. After a bit of typing a robotic voice explained, “I want to make it so mom never died. It’ll be great. No Hawkmoth, no Chat Noir or Ladybug or Cheval. We’d just be normal people again.”

“Chaton…”

“Heck, we can swap mom’s death and make it so Joker died that day instead.” He looked between the both of them, his eyes wide and pleading. “Don’t you want that? We’re just kids, remember? This shouldn’t have happened to any of us. So, let’s fix it.”

Marinette hesitated, messing with her yoyo. He saw her eye the phones in their hands with a guilty expression.

Tim also hesitated, but he wasn’t particularly sure why. Yes, he happened to think it a terrible idea, but this was something else. There was something terribly wrong here, he just didn’t know what.

He typed out a question to buy time: “How do we know your dad won’t betray us?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Cheval. I’ll do it myself, he doesn’t have to be involved.”

She nodded slowly and took off her earrings.

“Thanks, Mari, this means a lot to me.”

Oh. Oh fuck.

Tim covered Marinette’s hand and pushed her arm down. “Hey, Adrien, say my name.”

The cat’s eyebrows knit together.

“What’s my civilian name? Your dad isn’t here, go ahead and say it.”

Tim watched him frown and nodded to himself, extending the baton and pointing it at him.

“Nette, put back on your earrings. I don’t know for sure who this is, but it sure as hell isn’t Adrien.”

She seemed a little confused, but she did put her earrings on and mumble to transform.

They were given a confused frown for a few moments before his face contorted into an ugly sneer. “What gave me away?”

“None of her friends call her ‘Mari’, and you refused to use my name.”

He considered this for a moment. “Interesting. Oh well.”

And then the akuma winked at them and fell back. They ran to the railing, hands out to catch him, only to find he had disappeared. They gave each other wary glances before peering over the side, searching the abyss for him…

And then the lantern between them was snuffed out.

The heroes were plunged into darkness again, save for the dim glow of the cat’s eyes as it peered up at them from below.

She hated to admit it, but the idea of giving Hawkmoth her miraculous had been tempting. If he was going to go back and change everything, wouldn’t that just make everything better? Adrien would get his family back, Tim would have never been tortured, all the damage she’d done as an akuma would be completely reverted…

And then Tim had spoken up.

And she had been reminded of one fact: if all those horrible events hadn’t happened, she would have never met him, would never have made friends with Adrien or the bats...

So, sucky as her life was, she was determined to keep the only parts of it that had actually gone well for her.

She and Tim pressed their backs to each other’s instantly, their weapons out as they searched the dark. The only light was from the akuma’s eyes (which they hoped to not get close enough to use as a proper light) and the one beaming down on Emilie Agreste. They could, theoretically, use Tim’s portals for light, but they would probably need those later to get out.

No, the akuma’s apparent night vision was definitely an advantage.

“We need to get towards Adrien’s mom to see,” she murmured. “Slowly, though, don’t want him to catch on.”

Tim didn’t quite respond -- couldn’t, she reminded herself -- but he did take a tiny step in that direction. She hoped that meant he’d heard and understood as she followed after him.

Great, they had a plan in place for the future. Unfortunately, they were in the present. And the present meant pure darkness outside of a pair of creepy eyes that the akuma, unfortunately, had enough sense to keep closed most of the time.

“Where’s the akuma?” She tried. “Your ring? Your bell? Your belt-y thingy?”

The akuma chuckled lowly from her right and she fought the urge to snap her head towards the sound. She had a reading on where he was, at least.

“Where’s Adrien? Please tell me that you didn’t kill your son,” she said.

“I would never!”

She raised her eyebrows slightly. “You’ve been trying to kill us for over a year.”

“Well, I didn’t know it was him,” the akuma defended himself, and she suppressed a cringe as she realized that he was definitely getting closer…

“I’m just saying that it’s not that far-fetched for you.”

“He’s fine. I just tied him up. He’ll see reason soon. Cataclysm.”

Fuck!

She tossed her yoyo in a blind panic at where his voice had last come from, only to hear it knock against the wall uselessly.

She fought to keep her voice level as she spoke next: “And the father of the year award goes to Gabriel Agreste!” She taunted.

But, it seemed that the akuma had caught on to what she was doing, because it didn’t try and speak again. Damn it.

She glanced backwards at where the light was and she cringed. Closer, but still so far away...

She brought her gaze back in front of her and had to fight the urge to scream at the pair of lamp-like green eyes a few meters in front of her.

She gasped and pressed back against Tim to tell him to move, because the akuma was definitely advancing on them, only for the akuma to touch the panel of flooring beneath her.

The floor crumbled at her feet and she screamed as she began to fall. She tossed her yoyo and hooked it around where she knew the railing to be and breathed a sigh of relief when she stopped.

But this was short-lived, because the akuma’s eyes had shut again.

Tim grunted and there was a dull thud as he hit the walkway.

She pulled herself up as fast as she could and listened in for the gasps of pain and the sound of blows.

And then she hooked her arms around the neck of the person on top (it couldn’t be Tim, the person below didn’t have glowing eyes) and pulled back.

She felt hands literally claw at her arms and pain raced through her as her skin was ripped to shreds, but it was fine. She just needed to make him pass out, then they would be fine --.

“Cata --,” began the cat.

But he was cut off. Because a baton had been extended right into his open mouth.

This was great for Marinette, because she wasn’t immediately dusted.

This was also bad for Marinette, because the akuma had stumbled back. And now they were falling through the giant hole in the walkway.

She really could just not get a break from the falling.

The two screamed as she struggled to get a good angle to throw her yoyo and hold onto the akuma at the same time.

A blue portal opened underneath the two and suddenly they were falling towards the walkway. This would still hurt, but…

She flipped the two of them in the air and drove her knee into the akuma’s back as they slammed into the metal.

She tried not to think of the way the akuma’s spine snapped underneath her. At least she didn’t have to worry about fighting anymore. Besides, she had an akuma to find.

She grabbed the belt first and tugged it off, then sliced it in half with her yoyo. No purple light. No akuma.

Then she tried the ring. She crushed it in her hand. Nothing.

Then she grabbed his bell and slammed it against the floor to break it. Purple. Thank god.

She caught the akuma and looked around.

“Cheval, light,” she said. She didn’t wait for a response as they ran to the beam of light. She allowed herself to relax slightly when they got there. They’d have a few second break as the akuma left his system to breathe.

Her eyes traveled down to her scratched up and bloody arms, only to catch on the tiny pin in her hand...

Her mouth dropped open.

No. Way.

“Cheval. Cheval.” She turned to look at him and she gave him a brilliant smile as she held up her prize for him to see. “We won!”

“We…?” He finally took it in and a smile began to break across his bruised and slightly bloody face. “We won,” he breathed.

“We won! Oh my god, I could kiss you right now!”

He nodded eagerly.

She giggled and hooked her arm around his neck despite the fact that it was throbbing painfully and bleeding, pulling him down for a kiss. He responded by wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

Gabriel groaned and started to push himself up, only to get beaned by a yoyo and a baton at the same time.

She broke away a few seconds later and sent Tim a smile before turning to where she knew Gabriel to be.

Her smile twisted into something a little more bitter, more sinister. She twirled her yoyo lazily.

“Now, you said Adrien was tied up somewhere. Mind telling me where?”

~~~

Next part

Taglist

@pawsitivelymiraculous @golden-promises @salty-fang @kitsunebell @sassakitty @octobitch @glastwime859 @miyla-lokidottir @onlyabatfan @ira-sairain @2confused-2doanything @ultimatetornshipper @ladybug-182 @laurcad123 @we-want-mini-mini @roguishredaxion @just-reblogs-by-h @futursworld @magic-miraculous @nathleigh @smolplantmum @vroomtaka @emimar7 @toodaloo-kangaroo @charme-de-malchan @spicybelladonna @fusser90 @indecisive-mess-named-me @rosesgonerogue @celestialsiren @bluesimani @loysydark @trippingovermyfeet @goblinwhoships @kaithehero

#soulmarks #timari #timinette #red robin #tim drake #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #maribat #adribat

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awhiskeyriver · 3 years

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@eggplant8 said: I would love to see Madge’s POV of picking him up from his family and response to his blurted out confessions.

+++

“Your grandma seems nice.” My words cut through the silent air, the first thing either of us had spoken in the twenty minutes that had passed since I picked Gale up.

A grunt was the only indication he gave me that I’d been heard, and he kept his gaze focused outside the window. Leg bouncing uncontrollably. Jaw clenched with tension.

Oookay, so he didn’t want to talk, then.

I tapped the beat of the music on my steering wheel lightly, focusing on the dark stretch of road ahead of me leading back to Panem.

There’d been something exciting about the impromptu road trip when I’d first headed out to Waukesha. I liked being the person people depended on. The one that got calls in the middle of the night because a car broke down. I was curious what he was doing out there on a Thursday night, though. Last I’d heard from him he had a major test to study for. It wasn’t like I needed the play by play of his life, but it did seem strange no conversation of him going home had come up.

For all of the conversations we’d had, all the truth and dare games at Hoffman’s, I didn’t know all that much about his family. I knew about his three siblings, two brothers and a sister, but I didn’t even know their names. Not that I’d exactly been an open book with him either about my family. It was just that there wasn’t much to tell. We were boring in that sense.

There was nothing boring about Gale’s family dynamic though, and the more he kept tight lipped the more curious I became.

The first small glimpse I’d gotten of any of his siblings came from the little boy asleep on the couch. Even with a blanket curled up around his shoulders and face pressed into a pillow, the resemblance to Gale was uncanny. There was no denying their familial relation.

“I can’t believe how much your little brother looks like you,” I laughed. I almost wished he’d been awake, so that I could’ve seen his eyes and his smile. Heard his voice. I wondered if their personalities were anything alike. Gale continued with his silence, only nodding his head a little and I sighed.

“Do they live with her? Your grandma?” It seemed that way, just based on the small bit of the house I’d seen. There were backpacks and school books scattered in the dining room. An open pantry with all kinds of kid-friendly cereal inside. More than one pair of small shoes at the front entrance by the door.

For as little as I knew about Gale’s siblings, I knew even less about his parents. Thinking back, I wasn’t sure if the conversation had ever come up at all. If it was true, that the kids did live with Hazelle, it must’ve come with good reason.

One of the girls in my neighborhood growing up lived with her grandparents because her mother died shortly after giving birth to her from complications. I didn’t know what happened to her father, never asked, but I remembered going to the graveyard with her every year on her mother’s birthday to place down daisy’s at the tombstone.

For a dark moment, I wondered if something similar had happened to Gale’s parents, too.

“Yep,” he answered, shortly, only adding to my terrible theory.

“Oh. How long?”

He finally looked at me, or at least turned his head in my direction. His eyes went straight through me though, lost in a thought too deep for me to reach.

“A while.”

“Hmm,” I hummed, trying to do the math on how old the brother I’d seen on the couch might’ve been. He’d told me his sister was eight, if she was the youngest that meant his mother couldn’t have died all that long ago. I felt a lump forming in my throat at the thought.

“Did you grow up with her, also?” I asked quietly and then he was back in the present, eyes boring into me with irritation as his eyebrows pinched.

“Stop,” he told me harshly, turning back to the window. “Just not tonight, okay? I’m exhausted and not in the mood for your psychoanalytical bullshit.”

Psychoanalytical bullshit? Wow, okay.

“I was just asking a question,” I muttered, annoyance clear in my tone.

I wasn’t the only one.

“No, you weren’t.”

“Okay, why are you mad at me right now?” I shot back, unable to help it. It wasn’t like I’d dropped everything I was doing to pick him up in the middle of nowhere at two in the morning. Granted everything I was doing included hot chocolate, a face mask and a Friends re-watch, but he didn’t need to know that. I hadn’t minded the change of plans at all, but Jesus, I wasn’t going to be the scapegoat for his bad mood, either.

I understood his frustration. I’m sure I would’ve been stressed beyond belief if my car broke down unexpectedly in the middle of winter two hours away from campus. But everything had worked out…

“Because you think you know everything, but you don’t,” he replied back, voice rising.

“That’s not true…”

“I’m not some project for you to figure out!”

The air was tense between us with his words and I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting to keep silent until I felt that I was in control.

“I never said that you were,” I muttered.

“Right,” he scoffed, tone accusatory. “You can’t help yourself, you have to get into people’s business. Well, fine, what would you like to know Dr. Undersee? That the reason my siblings live with our grandmother is because our mother is a junkie who chose drugs over her own goddamn kids?”

His voice cracked with the confession and when I looked over he seemed on the verge of a panic attack. His breaths were shallow, as if he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs and his leg was bouncing uncontrollably.

“Gale,” I tried in what I hoped was a soothing tone rather than the anxiety I felt welling up inside of me.

“Oh, maybe you’re dying to ask how many of us share the same father. Spoiler alert: four kids, three dads, two of which were such scum they wanted nothing to do with their kids and the third so bad it would’ve been better if he’d just left too!”

“You don’t have to--”

“You want to get into how he used to beat me over something as stupid as a lost remote control?” No. No, no, no. “Or how I had to beg our neighbors for food to feed my siblings because no one remembered to go to the store? Go ahead and diagnose the hell out of me, tell me about all the reasons why I’m fucked up trash now that you’ve got all the pieces to your puzzle.”

I wasn’t sure if he was even aware of the tears in his eyes, threatening to spill over, or not. He seemed lost. Floundering. Trying to find purchase to tether him to reality but coming up short.

We needed to stop driving. I searched the road signs passing by quickly for the nearest exit. Five miles.

From the corner of my eye I saw him lower his head between his knees, back rising and falling with each breath, hands clenched in hair that was coming loose from his bun.

“It’s okay,” I promised quietly. “Just breathe.”

I pulled over as soon as it was safe off the highway, near a farm and a cornfield because of course. It couldn’t have been a well-lit parking lot or something.

Gale jumped out of the car without a word, heading closer to the creepy cornfield with his head turned up towards the sky. I wanted to go after him, but reason told me to give him a moment. Let him cool off.

His confession still had me stunned. After months and months of vague answers and subject changes, he’d poured it all in such haste I was almost positive he would have regrets over it.

When minutes passed, but he remained outside, I tentatively got out to join him.

��You can go,” he told me as my feet crunched closer in the snow. “I’ll call Peeta or something.”

Yeah, sure. I was going to leave him in the middle of nowhere at two in the morning where the children of the corn could feast on his body before sunrise.

“I’m...not going to do that.”

He jerked out of my reach as my hand touched his forearm and took a few steps further down the field.

That’s fine. I didn’t like being touched in the middle of an attack, either. I remember my mom read one time that pressure helped to calm people down and she came and wrapped her arms around my body in a hug that felt closer to a straight jacket. I couldn’t breathe, let alone speak to tell her to stop, and when I finally managed to get air out, I screamed so loudly that she cried.

Focusing on Gale, not you.

Right.

“You’re right,” I whispered to him, and he turned his head half a fraction. Listening. “You’re not a project. I’m sorry if I treated you that way.”

“It’s not your job to put me back together.”

“I know that.”

He nodded silently and turned back towards the field as the wind whipped, picking snow up from the ground with its fury. It burned my exposed skin and I hopped a little in place to keep circulation flowing but didn’t get any closer to him.

“Truth or dare?” I asked. We could both use the distraction, and somewhere along the line the game had become our weird way of communicating when regular forms felt like too much.

“Truth,” he said back quietly and I couldn’t help but smile in relief.

“Tell me something you like about yourself.”

When he laughed, like the idea was a preposterous one, I felt my heart clench.

“Just one thing. Anything.”

He thought about it for a few painstaking minutes before folding his arms over his middle.

“I’m a good brother,” he croaked. “I think.”

“Yeah,” I smiled. “I think so, too.”

“Your turn.”

I took one step closer, then stopped.

“Truth.”

“How do you always find the best in people? Even when they don’t deserve it.”

The real question was easy to see between the words he spoke. How do you always find the best in me, even when I don’t deserve it?

Like he didn’t deserve it.

“There’s very few people in the world who don’t deserve any benefit of the doubt and you aren’t one of them,” I told him sternly, chancing another step. He didn’t move, or seem to be upset that I was closer to him, so when I chanced placing my hand in his and he didn’t flinch, I gave it a comforting squeeze.

When his hand tightened back around mine, something inside of me jolted.

“Wouldn’t you rather live in a world where we all saw the best things too?”

“Reality makes it difficult.”

“Hmm. That’s true,” I mused. “It’s not always easy.”

He looked down at me, exhausted and broken, and frowned.

“I’m sorry.”

I know.

“Come on, it’s freezing,” I said, motioning back to the warmth--and let’s be real, safety--of the car. “Let’s get back in the car.”

Gale was silent the rest of the way home, staring out the window with his arms folded protectively over his chest. And I let him be. When we pulled in front of his apartment, he seemed surprised that we were there, as if his mind had drifted somewhere else entirely, and he waited until he was almost out of the car to turn back and say thank you.

“It wasn’t a problem,” I promised. It was never a problem. “Gale, I--”

“You should go, Madge,” he interrupted. “Thank you but, you should go.”

The door shut without another word, leaving my unfinished words in limbo.

Gale, I’m always here.

+++

Darius was still awake when I got home. At the sound of the door opening, he wheeled out into the hallway in his chair to look me over expectantly.

“Well?” he asked when I said nothing. “Did all your dreams come true? Did he thank you for rescuing him with sexual favors?”

I burst into tears, adrenaline finally giving out now that I was back in the safety of the apartment. Darius was up in a flash, coming towards me to put a hand on either one of my shoulders.

“Did he hurt you?” He asked, like Gale wasn’t the same guy who brought me soup when I was sick. It was a reflex reaction for him, though. To assume the worst.

I shook my head and he brought me in closer to his chest.

“No,” I hiccuped as he stroked my hair. “Someone hurt him.”

#eggplant8 #madge pov #the challenge #trigger warning: panic attack #the challenge spoilers #fanfic #gadge fanfic #unedited: all mistakes are mine #ill probably be editing this for like days lmao #thg

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worryinglyinnocent · 3 years

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Fic: Déjà Vu

Summary: Macelle. Exploring the churchyard of the small town she has just moved to, Belle finds a statue with an uncanny resemblance, and she starts to wonder if perhaps she has been here before, and if she knew the church’s priest in a former life...

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling December moodboard prompt, available here.

Rated: G

Note: Ealasaid is an old Scottish name from the same root form as Belle.

Déjà Vu

The statue wasn’t frightening as such, no more frightening than any old statue standing alone in a churchyard was, but there was something about it that Belle found distinctly unnerving, nonetheless.

It was likely something to do with the fact that looking at the statue was like looking into a mirror. A weather-worn and lichen-covered mirror, certainly, but a mirror all the same. She recognised the face in the statue as her own, and she really wasn’t sure what to do with this new discovery.

She was so intent on staring down her stone doppelgänger that she didn’t notice the church door opening and the priest coming out and walking down the path towards the statue until he was right beside her, and she jumped out of her skin when he spoke.

“The mystery angel.”

“Pardon?”

“The mystery angel.” The priest nodded towards the statue. “It’s the town’s only claim to fame. No one knows the origins. It’s as if one day it was just here, with no record of how it arrived. No one commissioned it; no one paid for it. No one even saw it being put up. An unsolved mystery.”

This explanation of the statue’s background, or lack of it, did nothing to quell the growing feeling of unease in the pit of Belle’s stomach.

“There are old stories, of course,” the priest continued. “There always are. Some say that the priest who served here a couple of hundred years ago was visited by an angel and fell in love with her, and she with him. She couldn’t stay with him, not whilst he was mortal and she was a heavenly celestial, and although it broke both their hearts, she had to leave him. She left the statue as a reminder, and an anchor to draw her back to her love once she’d found a mortal form.”

Belle smiled. Although the story was a sad one, it lifted a lot of the creepiness away from the statue.

“Did she return in mortal form?” she asked.

“Some say she did. Others say she didn’t.”

“What do you think?”

The priest looked at the statue for a long time. “I don’t think she did. Or at least… I don’t think she has done yet. Finding a mortal form might take a while.”

“I’m Belle, by the way. I’ve only just moved here.” She turned to face the priest fully at last, holding out a hand.

“Father Macavoy…” He trailed off, hand still frozen in hers as he got his first proper look at her face, mirrored in the statue beside them.

“Yeah.” Belle hoped she sounded apologetic. “That was pretty much my reaction when I saw it too.”

“I…” Father Macavoy regained his composure and shook her hand firmly. “Welcome to the neighbourhood, Belle. And, you know, it’s all just a load of old stories. There’s probably a perfectly innocent explanation for it all. Like someone losing the church records somewhere along the line.”

Belle smiled, but at the same time, she knew that Macavoy was about as convinced by his own words as she was.

He turned to go back into the church, and Belle fell to studying the statue again, but as he walked back up the path, she could see him sneaking astonished glances at her back over his shoulder. She tried to look like she wasn’t watching him walk away.

There was something in his face that seemed familiar. It hadn’t at first, but now, thinking about him and his expression of wonder when he had seen her…

Belle shook away the feeling and turned away, leaving the churchyard. She was determined not to go back to it for a long time.

She tried to put it to the back of her mind, but her train of thought kept leading her to things that she also wanted to put to the back of her mind.

Why did Macavoy seem familiar? Why had she come to this town in the first place? What was it that had drawn her here? At first she’d thought that it was just because this was a quaint little place in the middle of nowhere and she’d get along nicely here writing her book.

Now she wasn’t so sure. Why here over all the other quaint little places she could have chosen? What had drawn her to the churchyard as soon as she had arrived – before she had even finished her unpacking from the move?

Something had made her go and find her statue.

Belle shook her head crossly. It wasn’t her statue, although there was definitely an uncanny resemblance. It was the church’s statue. It just happened to look like her. Honestly, the thing was covered in moss anyway, it probably hadn’t looked anything like her when it had first been carved. And after all, it was extremely presumptuous and self-important to think that she could have been an angel in a previous life. An angel would probably remember that they had been an angel.

Not if they were mortal now, a helpful voice in the back of her mind pointed out. Normal mortal people don’t believe in past lives and certainly can’t remember them.

Belle sighed. Her mother had been one of the most sensible people she’d ever known, but even Colette French, with her head squarely on her shoulders, had a superstitious and spiritual side to her. Déjà vu, she always said, was a sign of your past lives getting confused.

And Belle had been suffering odd flashes of déjà vu ever since she’d arrived in the town.

Could she really have been here before in a previous existence? Could she really have been an angel who fell in love with a priest and promised to return to him?

And the priest… No, Macavoy could not have been him. The statue had been there for hundreds of years, after all.

He still seemed very familiar.

Logically, Belle knew that she was dreaming. She knew that she could probably wake herself up if she wanted, but this wasn’t a nightmare that she wanted to get out of. It was weird, yes, but she wanted to see where it went.

She was in the churchyard.

Joseph… My Joseph… Where are you? I’ve come back for you, like I promised I would… I’m sorry it took so long… I never realised just how fragile mortals are… Did you wait for me, Joseph?

She passed by the statue without giving it a second glance, moving into the church itself.

Belle knew that she had not been inside the church, and yet, when she stepped inside, she somehow knew that she was looking at the correct interior, not simply something out of her imagination. If she woke up and went into the church in the morning, she knew that it would look exactly like this.

Maybe if she was awake, that thought would scare her, but as it was, she just let it wash over her. She had more important things to do.

Joseph? Joseph? Are you here? I’m sorry it took me so long, my love… Joseph?

The church was empty, and Belle felt herself beginning to panic in the dream. Something was wrong. Where was Joseph? Who was Joseph?

She left the church. She was moving at run now, slipping in among the graves in the darkness. She was looking for something, dreading finding it but needing to see it anyway.

Joseph! Joseph! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to have to wait so long!

Belle stopped in front of the stone. How did she know it was the right one?

Two hundred years… Oh, Joseph!

The emotional turmoil was scary now, and Belle found herself wanting to wake up. She closed her eyes in the dream. It was a technique she’d used before when she’d had nightmares in this lucid dream state where she knew she was dreaming. Close her eyes in the dream, and when she opened them, she’d have opened them in real life and be safe in her own bed.

“Belle?”

She felt a touch on her shoulder, and she recognised Father Macavoy’s voice. She turned, but it was too late.

She opened her eyes on her on bedroom ceiling, and sat up, feeling cold sweat dripping down her back.

Something was definitely going on, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it, no matter that it was the middle of the night.

Belle got out of bed and threw her clothes on, grabbing a flashlight and setting out of her cottage along the long lane that led up to the churchyard. She ignored the angel statue, heading straight for the headstone that she’d seen in her dream that had caused her so much distress.

Joseph Macavoy, 1772 - 1820, Father of this church…

Belle didn’t know why she was crying. Crying for a lost love that she sort of half-remembered from a dream, a memory of another life…

Joseph

She felt a soft touch on her shoulder, and someone said her name.

Her name that wasn’t Belle.

“Ealasaid?”

The voice was barely more than a breath, and Belle recognised it. She recognised her name. It had taken her a long time to find a mortal form with a mortal name, but she remembered her other one.

And so did someone else.

She turned and saw Father Macavoy behind her. He looked as dishevelled as she no doubt looked, as if he’d had exactly the same thought as she’d done: waking from a far too real dream, needing to come to the churchyard to see the reality of it for himself. She wiped her eyes.

“Relative of yours?”

Macavoy nodded. “Distant uncle many times removed. I think. Everyone said it was fate when I ended up taking this church, but I think it was more than that… Ealasaid…”

“Joseph…”

They had never kissed before, not the first time she had visited this earth. The sheer force of her celestial will would have killed him.

But she was celestial no longer. She was mortal like he was, and his lips were soft against hers, and his mouth tasted of toothpaste, and she wanted to stay in his arms forever.

It had taken her a while, but she had finally returned, reborn into a mortal form. And here was her Joseph, reborn into another mortal form and waiting for her like she had asked him to, like he had promised to do.

Her statue had guided her home in the end.

#A Monthly Rumbelling #anyelle #anyelle fic #macelle #Belle French #Joseph Macavoy #Fic: Déjà Vu

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writing-frenzy · 4 years

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Hollow Knight AU Idea- Other side of the Mirror

okay, so, I like the drabbler I am, saw this post by @catanutella and suddenly I got an amazing, if awful AU idea :D

Let’s set up first.

For the Radiant Children to be born, I imagine a world where, for a certain reason, the Pale King and Radiance actually have to work together. Like, maybe there is a big bad cult, and because I like the subversion of everything in Hollow Knight, maybe it is against a god/goddess of Healing or ‘Purity’. The Radiance has been fighting against them for a long time, but she never seems to be anything but on the defense with them, their planing and power able to outmatch her own. At least, until the Pale King comes into being.

Now, the Pale King has seen the future, he can see the path that can branch if he picks one road or the other, and in the end, the cult has ideas and thoughts he can never agree with. He can see that he would never be able to take them on alone, so with the aid of Unn and the White Lady, he meets with the Radiance and with terms laid down, they all work together to defeat the enemy god. After all, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Once the other is cast out, things get a bit complicated... but they are eventually ironed out, if a bit tense at time with some relations. In the end, the Pale King is able to give minds to the bugs all around them, the Radiance is able to give them all dreams, but in the end, it is up to the bugs themselves to decide who they wish to follow in the end. Hollownest is built and most of the Moths still choose the Radiance, with some going over to the Pale King. This of course causes tension, but it was agreed to let the bugs choose, so there is that.

So yeah, this is the world that the Radiant Children are born into.

Now, i’m going to say this; I think Wyrms have very low birth rates, one of the reasons their species went extinct. The White Lady, being of earth and fertility in my headcannon, is able to still give him a lot of kids. (With no desperate plans and void to enter into the egg) they have a few children, I’m thinking between like 30-50.

So yeah, here is the set up for this idea; of course there will be drama, with fae like gods and court politics and all these still very morally grey characters still being themselves. (I want feral Child Hornet to be born, so maybe it was a term set down in the beginning to get Deepnest’s cooperation, the desire for a strong brood in the future or maybe one or two of the Radiant children gets saved by Herrah, who thinks ‘what about a life for a life? and boom, Hornet gets to exist and her mom won’t be a damn dreamer here.)

Now, here we get to where I want to be.

So, if we were in a comic or story, this would probably follow after a few arcs with subtle and not so subtle foreshadowing. The Cult is making a comeback, they are preparing, and now they are ready.

They have a special weapon with them this time, a mirror called the All-Seer’s Glass, said to show possibilities for what can be, as well as able to power up those who know how to use it. They also are able to somehow trick Grimm, making it to where the Nightmare King can only watch what is to happen, much to his distaste. (He does not care to be commanded or ordered around; the Cult was at least smart enough to not ask him to fight on their side, just that he watch and judge, and not interfere.)

So, i’m going to say a lot of the Radiant Children were kidnapped, from Arlo the oldest to young little Chi. With the Glass, they are all trapped in this mirror like world, where the gods are weakened and the Healing/Pure Cult is mostly in control. Grimm is forced to watch from the side, though through some sneaky antics, he is able to at least help out the kids break their bindings and get out of enemy hands, but is unable to help outside of that.

All the kids are scared; from the strange shadows they see outside their vision in the mirrored walls, to all the fighting, hiding behind their guards or Mother as the Radiance and their Father, along with other strong warriors, fight the monsters before them.

But they are getting worn down; within the mirror realm, they are weakened, and with the Cult able to constantly heal themselves, it seems like no progress is actually being made.

Chi watched on, as their father, who always stood so strong, so tall is beaten back by the enemies, who laugh and sneer in the face of his power. Can’t help but cry out as he see a nasty blow hit Father in one of his wings, the guard protecting the little one stopping them from reaching out.

‘Anyone...’ Chi thinks, tears falling onto their chitin as they watch this terrible battle so different from the stories they read, ‘Anyone, just anyone... please! Please help us...’ those tears ever so slightly blurring their vision, but doing nothing to quiet the cries of their family and friends, from the battle screeching of those fighting.

‘Help my Father..’

Chi can’t help but cry out, jostled as they are by their guard suddenly jumping, trying to get away from one of the Cultist trying to take their precious ward. Hears the louder cries of his siblings, sobs reaching out, distractions on the battlefield that work rather well.

‘Help my brother and sisters!’

(All the while the guard is fighting, forced to put the little one behind them, shadows start to form in the mirrored wall behind little Chi, a form that starts to become clear and clearer as the fight goes on.)

‘Please...’

Chi looks up into those cold, dark eyes of the bug who killed his guard, their nail still stained from their kill as they walk ever so arrogantly forward, the youth easily able to smell how pleased they are. They raise their nail once more, their actions obvious in what they are about to do to stain their nail even further.

‘Help.’

Chi closes their eyes, not able to watch how that deadly nail reaches for them, to end them.

This means their wide eyes flash open when they hear the counter.

Hearing the clashing of nails loud in the sudden silence they seem to be surrounded by, Chi looks up from the ground, watching as a small, grey cloaked bug easily goes toe to toe with the enemy. They are amazingly talented with a nail, performing nail arts Chi has only read about in books. They are even able to perform spells, judging by the soul energy that finally finishes off the foe. It is in this still moment that Chi is able to actually get a good look at the other bug, as they turn to him...

And kinda wishes he didn’t.

From those very familiar horns, the indents inside the tip of them, to the white of their chitin, a pale glow just barely able to be seen, it reminded Chi of one of their sister’s drawings, without any color and unfinished, no life given to it yet.

And yet... it seemed to be living right in front of them, a mirror image of their self in body, if the glass was black and grey that is.

Chi can only watch as this... other tilts their head at the for a bit, the darkness that can only seem to stare at them from their eye holes seeming to deepen the longer they look. Chi can’t help but feel a little relived when the other nods, turning away before they are off into the fight, easily moving within the chaos and madness of it all.

Like they are used to it, at home with it as it were.

So yeah, Little Ghost joins the fight, and the tide is turned greatly. Ghost is a tireless, restless fighting machine who only gets more power with every hit they get. To say that the home team are surprised is a very big understament, as one; this looks like one of the children, and two; why do they feel like death and void??!! Pale King does not like this, White Lady is disturbed, and the Radiance is very uneasy.

Grimm is admittedly stunned as well when a little Grimmchild helps Ghost get a few stubborn enemies, the nightmare fire unaffected in this mirrored realm (almost a bit stronger in fact, hence why they tricked Grimm in the first place).

Ghost is very much giving off the Uncanny Valley vibe, and with me imagining this is a fully looped Ghost (every ending has happened, but because of Ghost’s special ability, he just ends up starting over every time) he gives off an even more creepy pasta child feeling.

Not to mention just how OP he is.

When the fight is won and all is said and done, Ghost can go back home anytime as long as he can get to the abyss... but come on, this is Ghost.

Of course he is going to explore first chance he gets.

(And thus, we now have Ghost running wild in this nice little au. :D oh what havoc he will rein.)

#Hollow Knight #Hollow Knight AU #Other Side of the Mirror HK AU #Radiance HK #Pale King HK #The Knight HK #Little Ghost hk #Grimm HK #just i like the idea of Ghost able to explore a fully alive Hollownest #and lets add drama to all that #Radiant Children AU #I guess?

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ceealaina · 4 years

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Title: Gonna Pick You Up When You Fall Collaborator Name: ceealaina Link: AO3 Ship: IronBros Rating: Teen Major Tags: Fluff and Angst, MIT Era, Meet-Ugly Summary: Jim Rhodes isn’t sure how he feels about having the Stark heir for his roommate, right up until he meets Tony and finds he’s the very last thing he expected. Word Count: 3643

Written for the prompts Engineer, Yearning, and ‘Stop that’ for @rhodeyappreciationweek

When Jim had gotten the letter informing him that he’d been assigned as a roommate to Anthony Fucking Stark, he had almost called up the residence office and informed them that it wasn’t going to happen, and he wanted to be reassigned to literally anybody else. He’d worked his ass off to get into MIT and the last thing he wanted was to be saddled with some rich, white child -- he was only fifteen, for fuck’s sake -- who had been pretty much guaranteed a spot anywhere from birth, just because of who his father was.

He had actually been on hold with Mia in the Reassignment department when his mother had walked into the room, glanced at the phone he was holding in one hand and the letter he had in the other, and had hummed in that way she had.

“What?” Jim asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Nothing,” she assured him, with a pointed look at the paper in his hands. “I just feel bad for that boy, is all.”

“Bad?” Jim repeated incredulously. “Momma, he’s one of the richest kids in America. He’s had everything he’s ever wanted.”

“Still. Can’t be easy to grow up with that kind of pressure, all those expectations.” She had leaned in, kissing him on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Jimmy, but you know I’d be proud of you no matter what you did, right?”

Jim had hung up the phone.

There was no sign of Stark or his family or even any hired help the entire time that Jim and his family were moving his stuff into the dorm. He’d half expected Anthony to already be there, some sort of Early Move-In Day just for rich people. But since he wasn’t there, Jim refused to feel guilty for taking the good bed beside the bigger window. Maybe Anthony had changed his mind and decided to go to CalTech instead, and Jim could have the whole room to himself.

After getting all his stuff moved in, he had to see his family off. Then there was ‘mandatory’ Frosh Teambuilding, which consisted of a bunch of juvenile trust activities that felt more like the kind of stuff white people did at summer camp on TV. And then there was dinner, and then a ‘mandatory’ floor meeting going over all the rules of living on campus, after which he’d wandered over to the student union building and almost immediately gotten pulled into a truly painful conversation with one of the guys from his assigned frosh group.

By the time he was making his way back to the dorm, he was exhausted and had all but forgotten about his MIA roommate. Distracted with thinking about his bed, and the things he had to get done before classes started, it took him a minute to process what he was seeing when he stepped into his room and found the previously unoccupied side of the room fully decorated, complete with a large television and an NES. He blinked a minute, and then spotted Anthony Stark himself, sitting on the window sill over Jim’s bed, thank you very much, leaning out the window to smoke a cigarette. He was wearing tight jeans and a polo shirt, the collar popped, with a pair of expensive sunglasses dangling from the neck, and Jim shook his head.

“Oh no,” he declared.

He hadn’t actually meant to say that outloud, but Anthony didn’t seem offended. He looked lazily over at Jim, lips curling into a smirk around his cigarette as he gave Jim a slow look up and down.

“Hey there, handsome.”

“Oh, hell no,” Jim reiterated. “I’m gonna tell you right now. This? Isn’t how things are gonna go with us.”

Anthony blinked at him, looking mildly taken aback. “I’m sorry?”

“This.” Jim gestured wildly at him. “This whole… Too cool for school bullshit persona thing you’ve got going on? I’m not doing it.”

“Excuse me?” Anthony looked faintly amused which, Jim realized belatedly, was probably good since he likely had enough clout to get Jim kicked out of MIT entirely. “It’s not bullshit,” he added, with a dramatic pout around his cigarette that was entirely too sexy to be on a fifteen-year-old’s lips.

Jim rolled his eyes. “Right, so you’re just actually that fucking cool, huh?” he asked, voice dry. “Whatever you say man.”

Anthony tilted his head a little, eyes narrowing as he looked more closely at Jim. Jim had the uncanny feeling that Anthony was looking right into him, but he just set his hands on his lips, staring impassively back at him.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked finally.

It wasn’t said with an attitude; Anthony sounded genuinely curious, like he thought Jim might have somehow missed that fact somewhere along the way. Jim rolled his eyes anyway.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re Anthony Stark, boy genius, richest kid in America or whatever. I don’t really give a shit, man. I’m just here to get my engineering degree, and move on. I already did this bullshit in high school. I don’t need to go through it again.”

“Huh.” Tony took another slow drag of his cigarette, pursing his lips and dragging it out. It would have been embarrassing, how hard he was trying to look sexy, except he didn’t have that awkward edge most kids his age did. It seemed almost natural, giving him the uncanny appearance of being older than fifteen, even if his features said otherwise, and Jim shifted a little uncomfortably. “It’s Tony, actually,” he said finally, tilting his head back to blow smoke out the window. “And you’re James Rhodes?”

“Jim,” he corrected, grudgingly. Tony nodded, giving him a smoldering look and flicking his tongue over his lips, and Jim glared. “Stop that!” he squawked. “You’re fifteen, it’s fucking creepy. And put that out, while you’re at it. Smoking’ll kill you, and I don’t want your nasty ass smoke on my sheets.”

Tony stared at him and then shrugged, pressing the cigarette against the sill and then flicking the butt out the window. He didn’t bother to shut it before he hopped down off the ledge. “Well, Rhodey,” he drawled the nickname, smirking at Jim with smokey eyes. “Gotta say, I didn’t expect you to be so lame.”

Jim didn’t rise to the bait. “I’m not lame,” he told him, grabbing his toiletries kit to get ready for bed. “Told you, man. I’m just not here for the bullshit.”

When he came back from the bathroom, Tony had stripped down to his boxers, was spread across his bed like some kind of Playgirl model. Jim ignored him, flipping out the light and crawling into his own bed with a contented sigh. He was already starting to drift when Tony spoke into the dark space.

“I’m taking engineering too.”

“Yeah? We’re at MIT, dude. You, me, and half the campus.”

Tony huffed out a sigh. “Electrical engineering, since you asked.”

Jim hummed a vague acknowledgement and hesitated a moment. “Aviation,” he relented through a yawn. “Gonna be a pilot.”

If Tony answered, Jim was asleep before he heard it.

Tony, it seemed, didn’t know what to do with Jim. He didn’t let up on flirting, constantly trying to be sexy, but it quickly seemed to be less with intent and more just to irritate Jim. After the first day of classes, while Jim was getting a start on the five billion readings he had to do, Tony had wandered in from his own classes and immediately started taking apart his NES -- it seemed this was a common thread with Tony. He’d already taken apart and put back together his television and his VCR. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except that he couldn’t seem to stop rambling while he did it, name dropping about fifty famous people he knew, ranging from politicians to celebrities. Jim had just grunted occasionally, doing his best to tune him out, until he yelped when a pencil hit the back of his head. He turned to see Tony smiling beguilingly.

“Hey, did you hear me? That’s Sean Connery. You know, James Bond?” he asked, like Jim lived under a rock or something.

“I heard,” Jim said and then, because the pencil had hurt and he was feeling a little mean. “Doesn’t he advocate for hitting women?”

Tony just looked confused, like he couldn’t understand Jim’s lack of reaction, and he sighed.

“Look man, that’s cool and all, and I love James Bond as much as the next guy, but at the end of the day they’re just people. Unless you’re planning to set me up with Phoebe Cates, my homework is a bigger priority right now.”

So Tony had started leaving expensive things around the dorm room. There were more sunglasses, and platinum cufflinks, and bottles of high quality liquor that Jim had immediately made him shove under the bed because they were both technically underage now. Tony had just looked more and more confused the less interested Jim seemed, and then had come home the next day with an Atari 7800, which wasn’t even supposed to be released until the next year.

That, Jim had to admit, was pretty cool, especially since Tony immediately offered him a controller. And that was what he couldn’t figure out about Tony Stark. He didn’t hesitate to share everything he had. He’d offered up his tv and gaming systems almost right away, was constantly bringing home snacks and junk food and giving half of them to Jim, and when Jim had been running late one day and couldn’t find his own, he hasn’t hesitated to offer up a pair of his ultra expensive Ray Bans, telling Jim not to worry about returning them. He was a twerp, but he was also unfailingly generous, and Jim wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that.

So when he came home to find Tony reading some scifi novel at his desk just a little too casually, and a Rolex watch ‘accidentally’ sitting in the middle of Jim’s bed, he just sighed and dropped it on Tony’s book.

“Oh thanks!” Tony said brightly. “I was looking for that.”

Jim refrained from pointing out that it was the first thing he saw when he walked into the room.

“Hey!” Tony added when he started to turn back to the work waiting for him. “Did I tell you about my Ferrari 288 GTO?”

Jim hesitated long enough to arch an eyebrow at him. “Are you even old enough to drive?” he asked, heading over to his desk.

For a moment it was quiet, and then: “Okay, I give up,” Tony burst out, causing Jim to turn back around to face him with a startled look. “I can’t figure you out. Is it me specifically, or are you just allergic to fun? Seriously dude, does nothing impress you?”

Jim gave him a look. “Have you been trying to impress me?”

“Not like that.” Tony rolled his eyes, ignoring the fact that he’d spent the better part of their interactions flirting outrageously. “Just, you know… That’s how you connect with people, right? Show off your shit and compare notes, and decide what’s better…” He trailed off at the look on Jim’s face. “What?”

“Rich people are fucking weird, man.”

Tony frowned at him. “What does that mean?”

“Just… Sounds exhausting, constantly trying to outdo each other.”

Tony was still frowning, and Jim felt a little bit bad.

“Hey, you know what I’d actually find impressive? Seeing if you’re actually here for any reason besides your name. We’re a week into school and I haven’t seen you do one bit of work.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “Because I’m a genius!” he protested, and he didn’t sound like he was bragging, just stating a simple fact. “I built a circuit board when I was three!” he added, but there was a sparkle in his eyes now.

“I don’t know…” Jim smirked at him. “That was like twelve years ago, man. What have you done since?”

Tony narrowed his eyes briefly and then he was skittering over to his desk. “I’ll show you I deserve to be here,” he grumbled, pulling the bottom drawer out entirely, and apparently he wasn’t as entirely obsessed with looking cool as Jim had first thought, because the entire drawer was filled to the brim with Lego bricks. “Okay,” he said, grinning up at Jim. It was a good look on him. “We’ve got fifteen minutes to build a Lego machine. Best design wins.”

Jim wandered through the party, wincing against the glare of the strobe light. Despite what Tony seemed to think, he wasn’t actually that lame, and he did enjoy a good party. This, however, wasn’t really his scene. The house was packed dangerously full, men and women alike mostly naked -- he’d touched more random body parts than he ever had before in his life -- and in general everything just had that edge of too wild that usually meant the police were five minutes out. He’d been supposed to meet up with a guy from one of his classes, but he hadn’t seen any sign of him and he was done with looking.

Jim started to make his way for the front door, and then stopped as he spotted a tuft of curly brown hair that was already becoming familiar. “Oh no,” he muttered, letting his eyes fall shut for just a moment.

He thought about leaving Tony there, he really did. He was his roommate, not his responsibility. But then a voice that sounded suspiciously like his mother reminded him that Tony was only fifteen, still a kid. And then he thought about how desperately Tony had been trying to win him over all week with stuff and money, because that was apparently how he thought things were done, and how easy it would be for someone to take advantage of that. When he found himself picturing the pleased smile Tony’d had when he finished his rubber band Lego car, almost startlingly innocent compared to the way he’d been acting, Jim knew he was stuck.

Grumbling under his breath, he started shoveling his way through the crowd to where he’d last seen his wayward roommate. Of course by then he’d wandered off again, and it was a good ten minutes before Jim managed to track him down to some little room that he’d missed at first.

Tony was sprawled out on a couch, his dress shirt fully unbuttoned, and he was giggling as two girls in bikinis kissed their way over his neck. His movements were lazy and his eyes unfocused in a way that suggested that he’d had more than just booze, but his face lit up when he spotted Jim. “Hey!” he slurred. “‘S my Rhodeybear.”

Jim blinked once at the nickname. “Right.” The two girls looked as out of it as Tony was, but there was a guy watching the whole scene with sharp, sober eyes that Jim didn’t like at all. Mustering up every bit of his ROTC confidence, he strode over to the couch and bodily pulled Tony to his feet. “Come on, Tones. Time to go home.”

“Awww,” Tony whined, but he didn’t actually make any attempt to resist. “Five more minutes?”

“Nope,” Jim declared, just as one of the girls reached up and caught Tony’s hand, giving him a half-hearted tug back toward the couch.

“Yeah, jus’ five more minutes? We’re jus’ gettin’ started.”

“And he’s fifteen, so that’s illegal.”

“Rhodeyyyy,” Tony whined, finishing his name with a giggle. “Why you gotta give away all my secrets? C’mon le’s stay. They’re my friends. Didn’t even hafta do anything to impress ‘em, like you said.”

“Yeah.” Jim glanced back over to the corner, where the guy’s smirk had turned to glare. Jim was pretty sure that there was a video camera on the floor beside his feet. “They’re not your friends, Tony.” Heart starting to pound, he slung an arm around Tony’s waist and hustled him out the door before anyone could make a real attempt at stopping them.

Outside, Tony was in even worse condition than Jim had realized. He didn’t think he was in any danger healthwise, except maybe from puking, but he could barely stand on his own, needed Jim’s constant support to walk, and he was frighteningly pliable, happily going along with whatever Jim said. Jim had expected to be annoyed with Tony, at having to babysit him. Fifteen or not, surely he knew better? But mostly he was just pissed at the asshole who had tried to take advantage of him like this. He was just a kid, and clearly oblivious, and using his inability to understand how normal, non-rich humans interacted to try and hurt him had Jim seething. The more he thought about it the angrier he got, and if he hadn’t been busy with having to half-drag Tony back to their dorm, he might have gone back just to punch the guy in the face.

He managed to get them into their room without getting caught by anyone, at which point he’d helped Tony strip down to his boxers -- less awkward than he’d expected -- and slide into the bed. Tony had moaned blearily, rubbing his face against the cool sheets like he was feverish, so after dragging his garbage can close in case he did puke, Jim grabbed a washcloth and darted into the bathroom to rinse it with cold water.

When he got back, Tony was lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, lolling his head back and forth over the pillow in a way that Jim had vague memories of his baby sister doing as a toddler. He passed over the washcloth and Tony closed one eye and then the other, trying to focus on it.

“Wassat for?”

“It’s a cool compress. For your head?”

Tony was staring at him blankly, so Jim folded up the cloth and draped it over Tony’s forehead. “Jesus, Tones. Hasn’t anybody ever taken care of you before?”

Tony shrugged, sighing at the cool touch against his sweaty skin. “Only when they want something from me,” he mumbled, out of it enough that there was no joking, no exaggeration in his voice, just plain, simple honesty. “Oh hey!” His eyes snapped open, just as unfocused as before. “Did I tell you my thesis project yet? Gonna build a robot, one with a fully-functioning, self-learning AI.” He waved his hand in the air. “Thas not the point though. Gonna build myself a friend, Rhodey, like you said. One that doesn’t want anything from me, or expect me to buy them things… Just wansta hang out with me…” His eyes slipped shut again, voice trailing off, but Jim just stared at him with a sick feeling furling through his stomach.

“Shit, that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said. “Seriously, are those the only kinds of interactions you’ve had with people? You need real friends, Tony.”

“I have real friends,” Tony protested. “Had lots of friends in school.”

“Uh-huh.” He knew there was no point in arguing, but the sound of his voice seemed to be calming Tony a little, stilling his movements. “So which one of those real friends do you call when you’re in a jam? Who do you know that’s got your back no matter what?”

Tony was quiet for long enough that Jim thought he’d finally fallen asleep. He adjusted the cloth to be a little more comfortable on his forehead and was moving over to his own bed when Tony finally spoke.

“I called you.”

Jim glanced back over at him. Tony’s eyes were closed, but there was a little smile around his lips, like he’d come to some scientific conclusion and was really pleased with the results. Jim sighed.

“Yeah, Tones, you did,” he agreed with his own smile. “Get some sleep, okay? I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

When Jim woke the next morning, Tony was sprawled out on his bed, sheets kicked onto the floor and an arm flung across his eyes. He looked absolutely miserable, but he was breathing at least, so Jim left him to sleep it off, being as quiet as possible when he slipped out to the door so he wouldn’t disturb him.

When he made it back a couple hours later, Tony was awake, though he didn’t look much better. He’d hauled on sweatpants and a t-shirt but obviously hadn’t showered, and he was sitting up on his bed, blinking blearily at the TV as he watched what looked like Indiana Jones on VHS. Hiding a smile at the sight of him, Jim made his way into the room, dropping a wrapped breakfast sandwich on Tony’s lap on his way by.

Tony blinked at it for a too-long moment, looking completely confused. “What’s this?” he asked finally.

Resisting the urge to tease him about his supposed genius, Jim just arched an eyebrow. “It’s a breakfast sandwich. Thought you could use something to eat.”

“You…” Tony’s breath seemed to catch. “You bought me breakfast?”

Jim just shrugged, even though he knew it was a bigger deal than just breakfast.

“Nobody’s ever…” Tony stopped, cutting the thought off, and then smiled at Jim. “Thanks,” he told him, unwrapping it and taking a huge bite with a smile around his lips.

They settled into an easy quiet for a few minutes, and then Tony cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he said, and when Jim looked up, the smile that was around his face was softer and more shy, that overconfident attitude that he used like an armor chipping away. “I know you’ve got reading to do, but… You wanna watch Star Wars with me?”

Jim grinned at him. “Fuck yeah,” he declared, abandoning his books to climb up on the bed beside Tony. “Budge up, man.”

#rhodeyweek2020 #ironbros #james rhodes #tony stark #meet ugly #mit era #protective rhodey #fic #my fic

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alindakb · 4 years

Text

Letters to my Parents - Tuesday 15 March 1994 - by Alinda

Tuesday 15 March 1994

Dear mom and dad,

I lost the Marauder’s map. Draco says it’s because I got cocky. I took the invisibility cloak so it would be easier to sneak in and out of the basement of Honeydukes. Draco was waiting for me outside. We decided not to tell anyone else I was coming. Hermione had told us she was really worried, with Ron being attacked and all. And Blaise said he wanted to spend the day with Luna. I think they’re dating. Oh and Greg told us he kind of fancies Daphne, so we told them I wasn’t coming and Draco made up an excuse to leave them alone as soon as possible.

Draco took me to see the post office and pretended to check the price of sending an owl to America. After that, we visited Zonko’s. We didn’t stay long. The place was so crowded it was hard to move around with the invisibility cloak on. Once we were outside again we decided to find a more secluded spot. Draco kept complaining that it was silly he couldn’t hold my hand. We walked up a slope to visit the Shrieking Shack, the most haunted place in Britain. It stands a little way above the rest of the village and even in the daylight it’s slightly creepy.

I took off my cloak, even when Draco said I shouldn’t. But he stopped complaining as soon as my lips found his. We had a lot fun until we heard voices. I pulled my cloak back over me and Draco tried to look less like someone who’d just been snugging his boyfriend. Nott, Crabbe and Pansy came around the corner. They said some nasty things to Draco I won’t repeat. I crept silently around so I was behind them and scooped up a large handful of mud and threw it at Nott’s head. Nott’s head jerked forward as the mud hit him. Draco was laughing loudly while Nott, Crabbe and Pansy were spinning around, trying to find out where the mud had come from.

I threw some more mud and this time Pansy got the full load. She screamed at Nott and Crabbe to stop spinning around and find me. Somehow she knew it was me, screamed something about how Draco won’t be hanging around Hogsmeade alone when the other option was to spend a day with me alone in our dormitory, that I had to be around somewhere. Nott and Crabbe started to grab around. I tried to get away in time, but somehow his foot caught the hem of my cloak and it slipped off my face. Pansy stared at me and then she turned and ran away, back towards the castle.

Draco gave me a quick kiss and told me to hurry. I had to get back to the castle before Pansy could tell anyone that I was in Hogsmeade. I never ran that fast in my entire life. Like a crazy person, I made my way back into Honeydukes, down the cellar steps, through the trapdoor and in lightning speed along the long passage. I was sure Pansy would be quicker than me and I was afraid that if she told Professor Snape I would get detention for the rest of the year.

I was halfway down the steps towards the basement when Professor Snape came out of his office and told me to get in there at once. I did what I was told, glad I left the cloak at the end of the passageway, just behind the stone witch. I’ll have to go back for it later, but at least I didn’t have any evidence of my escape on me. Snape told me he just had a visit from Parkinson and Nott, claiming they saw me at the Shrieking Shack this afternoon. Well, my head floating in mid-air. I tried to make a joke out of it, said that maybe Parkinson and Nott need to go see Madam Pomfrey. Only Professor Snape wasn’t fooled. He told me that my head wasn’t allowed to be in Hogsmeade, just like the rest of my body. And that if my head was in Hogsmeade, which was very likely since Malfoy was seen at the crime as well, the rest of me was also in Hogsmeade.

Professor Snape didn’t believe me when I said I had been in the library. He got extremely angry. Started shouting that this entire school, that even the Ministry is doing anything they can to keep me safe. And that I was a fool to think there would be no consequences for me breaking the rules and endangering not only myself but also Malfoy. Snape went on that Black could have killed Draco if he would try to protect me. I had to fight tears then. I hadn’t thought of that, of how Draco would be in danger because of me. I only thought I was the one that would get hurt. But Snape was right. I told him that I was sorry and that it won’t happen again.

Professor Snape than set down on his desk in front of me. He told me he would let it slide this time, that he was glad I wasn’t as arrogant as my father used to be. That even though the resemblance between me and my dad is uncanny, that at least my personality is more like my mothers. Except for the rule-breaking. I looked up at Professor Snape then, I had never known he had known you. I asked him about it and he told me he came to Hogwarts in the same year you two started. That you all were classmates and that for some years he had been friends with you, mom. I didn’t want to tell me what had happened, why you two stopped being friends. He only told me that he and dad didn’t get along, hated each other even.

We had a little moment and for the first time, I understood why Professor Snape has so mixed feelings about me all the time. He’s worried about me, and about Draco, but sometimes I know he wishes I was in a different house so he can duck more points of me, or treat me like he does with Neville from time to time. I think it’s because I look so much like someone he used to hate.

I did have to empty out my pockets, Snape said he couldn’t let me keep everything I bought at Hogsmeade since I was not even supposed to be there. So I emptied them out. Snape took my bag with Zonko’s tricks and the Marauder's Map. He was very interested in the map, asked me what the piece of parchment was. I told him it was a spare bit, but he knows me too well, I would never carry around spare bits of parchment. So he used his wand to try to get the Map to show itself. And then the map started to insult him, told him to keep out of other people’s business, and that he’s ugly and an idiot.

And then Professor Snape called for Professor Lupin, had him look at the map. Professor Lupin seemed surprised to see the Map. Snape asked him if he knew what it was, but Professor Lupin said it looked like a joke to him. This angered Snape, he shouted at Lupin that this was no joke. That he knew who the Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs were and what they were capable of. Lupin shook his head and told Snape to mind his own business, just like the map had done. Then he grabbed the map, shouted at Snape that he’ll take care of it and left the office. And then Snape told me to go and to stay in the castle from now on.

I ran from the office, tried to catch up with Professor Lupin. He turned around at the top of the stairs to the entrance hall. Draco came running into the hall at that same moment and I couldn’t help to look at him and give him a short smile. And then Lupin told me he knew that the parchment was a map and that he hand known the people who made it and that I was an idiot for not handing it in. That he was disappointed that I didn’t take Sirius Black seriously, that my parents had given up their lives to keep me alive and that I was gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks.

Draco was angry at Professor Lupin for saying that. That, of course, I took it seriously and that he had no right to say something like that. Lupin took ten points from Slytherin and then just turned around and walked away. I told Draco to drop it, that Lupin was right and that I should have never gone out. That I could have gotten Draco hurt or even killed by being out alone with him.

We went back to our dormitory and waited for Greg and Blaise to come back. When they did they told us that they had gotten all the supplies we need to lure Black to us. I told them I didn’t want to go through with the plan anymore, that they could all end up dead because of me. Draco asked me what I wanted to do instead and told me there was no way he would let me go after Black alone. I told them I didn’t know, that I had to think about it. So we paused the plan for now. Blaise went off to tell Luna. As soon as he was gone Greg started to tell us all about his day with Daphne. He’s madly in love with her, only she doesn’t seem to see it. I hope I’m not like him when I talk about Draco. He goes on and on about her beautiful hair and her sweet smile and her perfect eyes. Please tell me I’m not like that.

We also visited Hagrid last week. He’s going to London this Friday for Buckbeak’s case against the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. Draco brought some papers for Hagrid, the research he’d done while helping me with my homework. He’s always done faster than me with our homework. I wish I could have helped him, but with all the extra Quidditch practice Marcus is making us do, and my extra homework for Miss Davis, I just don’t have the time. I don’t get why I still have to go to her. I never feel like I did like back then. Draco says it’s good for me to go to her, just like it helps me to write to both of you. And maybe he’s right, I just wish I had a little more time to just spend with Draco without doing homework or Quidditch practice.

Draco is telling me I still need to finish my paper on Vampires for Lupin and that he would like to go to sleep soon, so I guess I’ll get on to that. I’ll write to you soon.

Love you.

Harry James Potter.

#letters to my parents #drarry #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #harry in slytherin #severus snape #remus lupin #buckbeak #hogsmeade #AlindasStories

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nancywheelxr · 5 years

Text

(our friends set us up on a blind date as a prank because we don’t like each other but neither of us wants to let them win so ) | Part 9:

( part 1 ) ( part 2 ) ( part 3 ) ( part 4 ) ( part 5 ) ( part 6) ( part 7 ) ( part 8 )

There’s something to be said about routines. It’s sort of calming, to ease back into a daily life knowing where all things fit.

Even if said routine might include chasing aliens on security cams or analyzing DNA that should not have that many helixes. Maybe especially then. It certainly makes the uncanny feel ordinarily common.

So what if that guy shines in the sun? Twilight did that ten years ago, get over yourself, dude. It wasn’t even that good of a movie, everyone was just visibly way too creepy stalkerish. Winn snorts, wondering for a fleeting second if Brainy watched the movies or if he even knows what Twilight is.

You know what, he just might drop a reference later to see what the verdict is.

Two DEO agents carry the Edward wannabe away in cuffs, his tail dragging uselessly on the floor and shining bright like a diamond all the way to the cell block. Winn spots Kara coming in behind them, dripping salt water and smelling strongly of rotten fish. He wrinkles his nose at the stench, shuddering, and he’s so busy not throwing up that all his brain registers are dark brown hair and a familiar uniform before jumping to the conclusion– “Nura?” He asks quietly bewildered before pushing his chair as far as he can from them. “Oh, my god, why do you smell like a dying whale threw up on you– Kara, I know I was the one to make that, but you need to burn your suit, cape and all.”

“Oh, come on,” she whines, sniffing at her hair and promptly gagging, “someone had to flush that guy out, it’s not my fault he was rolling in that disgusting mud.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I told you we had the sonar thing for that,” and now that Winn is a safe distance away from Kara and her overwhelming stench, he can focus back on the things around him. Like, for example, the fact that of course, that’s not Nura, even if her uniform looks a lot like hers and even if she has the same warm, smiling eyes and the same shape of her nose. Then, it clicks on his head. Right, the new addition to their team Kara and Brainy are always talking about.

Dreamer.

“No, you did not,” Kara is shooting back sullenly, her cape draped protectively over her arm.

“I did. And so did Brainy. We said, Supergirl, wait, the sonar will bring him out, and then you said no, there’s no time and dove in the ocean after his lair,” Dreamer says, barely holding back her amusement. She trades a conspiratory look with Winn, “we totally had time, the tide won’t rise in like, hours.”

“That sounds like her,” Winn nods sagely.

“Unbelievable,” Kara glares half-heartedly. Her nose scrunches up and her hand flies to her mouth. “Be right back, guys,” she tells them, voice muffled, before jogging out of there.

“You have superspeed, did you know?” He calls after her, laughing as she flips him off.

“Do you think they’d buy it if we tell at Catco that she fell in a dumpster?”

Winn shrugs, thinking back at all those times he and James had cover for Kara over the years. Or, even worse, the times J’onn had to get involved. “Maybe, she told worse excuses before.”

“Oh, of course– you worked with her there! I mean,” she falters, second-guessing her conclusions, “you’re Winn, right?”

“Yup,” he says, cheerfully. It’s nice to be recognized, alright. “The one and only.”

“Sorry, I’m Dreamer. But you probably already knew that, of course.”

“Yeah, the uniform is kind of a giveaway. But it’s very nice to meet you– and cool suit, by the way.”

It reminds him a lot of Nura’s own uniform, enough to see how Dream Girl was inspired by her ancestor when coming up with it. And that’s kind of a trip to think about, if he’s being honest, because Winn met Nura first, got to know her quirks and the love she had for her family, saw how proud she was of carrying this legacy; they became good friends in all those months he spent with the Legion. It’s just so weird– Winn hugged Nura goodbye last year and now here he is meeting her ancestor not even five months later.

“Thanks, it was my mother’s. Oh,” Dreamer lowers her voice, glancing around quickly, “you can call me Nia. Nia Nal. It’s nice to finally meet you too, I heard a lot about you from literally everyone here.”

Of course. Nia Nal. Time travel is so trippy. He can’t imagine how it must be for Brainy, who spent considerably more time with both of them.

“I knew you would be here today,” Nia blurts out after a second of silence. She closes her eyes, huffing, as if annoyed with herself, then amends, “I saw it in a dream, I mean. You know, how that’s my thing? Seeing stuff– and you probably already knew that too.”

Winn grins, before sitting up on his chair on his best The Godfather impression. “I know everything,” he says in a stage whisper because he definitely can’t do voices to save his life.

Nia giggles, sounding more at ease.

“Except how to get your own coffee, it seems,” Brainy says, and man, Winn is happy to see him climbing the steps towards them, two mugs on his hands. He stops by Winn’s chair, giving him a grumpy look before handing over one of the mugs. To Nia, he says, “greetings, Nia Nal. It’s good to have you back sooner than expected.”

“It’s good to be back,” she grins, and Winn isn’t surprised she genuinely means it.

Taking a sip from his coffee, he sighs contentedly. God, he needed the caffeine. “Thanks, and you were going that way anyway,” he notes, looking pointedly at the mug on Brainy’s hands.

The sigh from Brainy is long-suffering at best and he gives Nia a see what I mean? look even as he rests his hands on Winn’s shoulder.

“Hey, I needed this,” Winn defends himself, cradling his mug, “I’m pulling an all-nighter here.”

“Still looking for Alex’s shapeshifter?” Brainy frowns, leaning over his shoulder to study the security videos on the screen. And this close, Winn can smell his cologne and aftershave, and oh, it smells pretty good. He swallows thickly, clearing his throat. Maybe he’ll ask later what brand he uses. Brainy gives no indication if he feels overheated like Winn is feeling where his hands are digging lightly on Winn’s shoulder to keep the chair in place, calmly changing the camera angle every five seconds while the footage plays. “It’s a long shot, but have you tried running facial recognition?”

He clears his throat again. “Yeah, and I found him here,” he maximizes the videos as he speaks, “and followed him all the way down this street, through cameras 2, 5, and 7. See here? That’s our guy in the corner making his way downtown, walking fast until he’s out of shot, and we should see him here now, right? It’s the same street, not even a block away. But nothing, nada. Between cameras 6 and 9, he disappears.”

“Shapeshifted.”

“Yup. He could be literally anyone,” Winn levels them with a suspicious look, “even one of you.”

“Well, count me out, I was out of town until this morning,” Nia raises her hands, playing along, “and then chasing the fish guy in the docks with Kara.”

“So that’s why it smells like rotting fishes in here, the– ” Brainy scrunches up his face, and then makes the same sound J’onn had made when identifying the fish guy’s species. It’s definitely not meant to be said by anything with vocal cords, Winn is not even going to try to replicate that. Kara had tried, it sounded nowhere close. In fact, it sounded like a particularly hoarse kitten drowning. “They are surprisingly filthy for a kind that lives in the ocean.”

Winn and Nia trade another look, silently agreeing to keep calling him fish guy.

“Anyway,” Winn says through a yawn and takes another sip from his coffee before continuing. “Since face recognition has failed me because our serial department store thief is a shapeshifter, I thought, what is the one thing he can’t change?”

“Voice?” guesses Nia.

“Only if he had a stutter. Some species cannot change their irises, though,” ventures Brainy.

“No and no– but that is good to know,” he leans back on his chair to beam up at him, catching the way his lips twitch into an almost-smile. “What not even a shapeshifter can change is his gait– the way he walks. It’s been used for some time now along biometric identification, and sure, it’s still a bit wonky, especially since our guy keeps changing height and build, but,” Winn pulls up the security feed from the last department store robbed, “do you see that? He has a limp, in all the videos. It’s subtle, but it goes a long way to help my program.”

“Wow, okay, I see it now,” Nia comments absently, looking between them.

“It’s not perfect,” Winn scratches the back of his neck, feeling a little self-conscious. “It can only narrow it down to a few dozen possible hits.”

“Because of the aggravated spatial displacement,” Brainy explains as if that would clear everything up for anyone that hasn’t spent the night researching identifying methods.

“Yeah, that. You know, the differences in camera angle, height, speed, all that stuff,” he translates, “which is why I connected it directly with our facial recognition program, told it to discard anyone under 16, and because this guy is only copying people’s face, send an alert only when any remaining suspect has two hits in two different places at the same time.”

“You wrote all this in one night?”

Winn shudders, shaking his head, “god no. A university in Japan already had a pretty good interface, I only tweaked it a bit to run in our servers.”

The hands on his shoulder twitch and Winn looks up inquisitively. But Brainy is watching him again with that odd expression Winn has no idea what to make of, except that it sets off something warm in his chest. It might be pride. It could be pride, he sure is proud of his program. “This is really remarkable,” Brainy finally speaks, quiet as if meant just for Winn to hear.

Winn looks away, mouth strangely dry. “Yeah, thanks,” and the words weren’t supposed to sound so sincere. He claps his hands, hoping to defuse the weird atmosphere that settled in. “So, any questions?”

Nia smiles softly at them before raising her hand, “I have one, actually. Why not under 16 years old?”

“Glad you asked– I looked up all the disguises we know of so far, and they were all male adults, between 20-36 years old, and let’s go with fit for their age. And I mean, that doesn’t have to be necessarily weird, but there were several occasions where say, a kid or an old lady would blend in a lot easier.”

“So you think he has a type?”

“I think he’s a kid,” he licks his lips, setting his now empty mug on the desk. “A stupid scared kid trying to look big and strong. All he stole from the stores were some clothes, food, toys, electronics. In fact, if he hadn’t shapeshifted in front of like ten different cameras, it would have never caught our attention.”

“He needs our help,” she frowns, “not a manhunt.”

His thoughts exactly, but to do that, they have to find him first, and fast, before the press gets wind of this and turns it into something it’s not. People going around paranoid is never a good thing, especially with the air still a little tense. And Winn is sure Alex thinks the same, or she wouldn’t have told him to keep digging, even after the meager leads they had went cold.

“What’s this about a manhunt?”

Winn does not startle, because that would be too undignified a thing to do in front of his fake-boyfriend and a superhero he’s just got to know, so no, of course, he doesn’t startle when Alex materializes out of thin air, looking vaguely harassed and smelling strongly of car fresheners.

He’s going out on a limb here and say she was with the strike team that captured the fish guy.

“We’re avoiding one,” Brainy supplies helpfully.

“Thank you,” Alex says, halfway into a question like she’s not sure she truly wants to know the context. “That’s generally the consensus, but why are we in danger of one?”

She looks at the three of them waiting not so patiently for an answer; it doesn’t have to be a good answer, he thinks, the bar is pretty low lately.

“I have done something amazing,” Winn tells her, gesturing the computer with his program running.

Alex perks up, “you found a lead on the shapeshifter case?”

A deeply betrayed pause. “Why do you have to kill my vibe like this?”

There’s a snort from above him, and Winn doesn’t have to look up to know Brainy is absolutely not as ready to defend his honor as he should be. In fact, he can pretty much imagine the stupid amused grin that he must be wearing. Nia, too, is snickering quietly beside Alex.

“What vibes?”

Kara pipes up, grinning that little grin that really, is more of a smirk because she knows she’s being a little shit. At least the terrible smell is gone, mostly.

“You know what this department needs?” Winn throws his hands up, “bells. All of you.”

She laughs, shrugging innocently, and because she’s Kara Danvers right now and not Supergirl, she turns to Nia, “hey, James called, we have to hurry back to Catco. I can give you a ride if you want?”

“Sure, sure. Just give me a minute to change!” She rushes out, setting off towards the locker room and calling back a goodbye, “it was nice to meet you!”

Alex drums her fingers on the desk once, a quick staccato tapping that tells them her mind is nowhere near. Still, she smiles briefly at Winn. “Hey, good work on the program. Call me if you get any hits. Kara,” she whirls on her sister, “we have to talk about Lena’s gala next week.”

And then they are off to the balcony, talking in low voices.

Winn expects Brainy to leave after that, but instead, he lingers. On the screen, the grainy footage of security cameras plays on a loop. The chair creaks as Winn spins to face him, eyebrows raising when he finds him studying the computers thoughtfully.

“It’s– I’m impressed, that’s all,” the comment is said as off-handed and absent, as anything else. As if yes, that’s all there is, nothing strange to it. As if Winn should not find it so surprising, or pleasing. Brainy’s impressed, that’s all.

“Thanks,” he says, half shrugging on his chair. “We’re still on for dinner tonight?”

“Yes, we can head out after work,” Brainy nods, and leaves for his own desk.

Outside in the balcony, Kara takes off with Nia and Alex waves at them until they’re out of sight.

That’s all.

The rain starts when they’re a bit over halfway to Winn’s apartment and maybe walking back wasn’t the smartest idea, even if traffic is a nightmare at this hour. They should have known the dark clouds wouldn’t hold out for the twenty minutes walk.

By the time they actually make it inside the building, Winn thinks he’s never going to be warm again. The water had been freezing, as it always is in the first three months of the year; they definitely haven’t hit the April showers yet.

It’s more on the lines of March freezing baths.

Now, with both of them dripping puddles on his living room, Winn has no choice but shove a set of sweatpants and a hoodie that he thinks might fit Brainy into his hands. “The bathroom is down the hall, there are fresh towels in the cabinets,” he directs, before changing into dry clothes himself and going to the kitchen.

Mac and Cheese are generally very easy to prepare, especially the kind that comes in a box, and Winn has never been more grateful for it. With the rain battering on the roof and the lack of sleep he’s running on, he’s not sure if he would be feeling up for doing anything more complicated than that.

“Winn?”

Brainy is on the doorway, wearing Winn’s old UCLA hoodie and Winn’s old sweatpants that are a little frayed at the hems, and Winn needs a minute to adjust.

Just.

It’s weird, okay?

Give him a break, he’s tired. “Yeah?”

“This,” he holds up a cilinder– oh, “I did not know you kept it.”

Right. The dirt collection. Winn narrows his eyes, “you went snooping,” he accuses jokingly, shrugging off Brainy’s vaguely guilty face. “It’s cool, relax. But yeah, I did. I mean, I threw away the bug first and scanned every inch before bringing it out of the DEO– by the way, jerk move, dude– but it was dirt from the future and it’s not like I knew back then I’d get the chance to see it for myself, so.”

The vaguely guilty expression turns vaguely constipated. “I apologize for that,” he fidgets uncomfortably, “at the time I did not realize I would be crossing boundaries. I was worried about the upcoming fight with Reign and wished to know the outcome. I hoped it would be positive, but… I really hoped it would be positive.”

“Well, Mon-El wouldn’t have stayed behind without it and he was kinda helpful,” Winn concedes, “and it was a long time ago anyway. Apology accepted, as long as you help set the table.”

“Of course. I will put this back where I found it, but– can I ask something first?”

“Go for it, man.”

“Why do you keep it inside a cabinet and not displayed like the others? When I ran a diagnostic on your personality, it seemed something you would be more likely to brag about.”

Well, he’s not wrong on that. Winn would absolutely love to have it where everyone can see, but he also would love not to have a lawsuit opened against him; the DEO’s non-disclosure agreement is tight. “Can’t really tell people that’s from the future, you know? I mean, the DEO is a secret branch, so. It has to stay hidden along the alien dirt.”

There’s a long minute of silence before comes the flat, disbelieving reply. “You have been to other planets.”

“Hey, don’t give me that look– I so did! No, I’m serious, you can ask Kara and Alex, they were there! We had a transmat portal and J’onn couldn’t go and there was this trafficking ring– it was a whole thing! No, you know what, that’s it. Go put the dirt back on the cabinet and help me set the table, ‘cause you’re about to hear the whole unabridged story.”

Brainy smiles drily, “I cannot wait.”

“Chop chop, come on. It all starts, really, with James going just five more minutes like vigilanting around is suddenly the same as saying screw you to your alarm clock–”

As Winn launches into a retelling of that mission from years ago, the first really, where he felt like an actual DEO agent and not just a glorified IT guy, Brainy takes the plates and silverware passed to him, snorting every time he tries to imitate someone’s voice. Not that he notices beyond a passing, background thought, but outside, the rain is finally letting on.

#winn schott #querl dox #brainy #brainiac 5 #alex danvers #kara danvers #nia nal #winndox #when in rome #look im addicted to cop shows #and investigative shows in general #a chapter semi centred on a case was bound to happen #but im pumped to write the L-Corp gala scene

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demiboypercyjackson · 7 years

Note

Please consider: trans will freaking out and giving a younger camper a long lecture after they come into the infirmary with bruised/cracked ribs from binding with ace bandages and after that incident you can get free binders at the infirmary if you need it

Will Solace had seen a lot of things in his days as head medic of Camp Half Blood, head surgeon on the battlefield, and head counselor of the Apollo cabin. A lot of those things had scared him, had scarred him, and had left him gasping for breath afterwards, waking from night terrors that shook him awake to stare at the moon as if asking for guidance. Most of these things included the sinew-y stubs of missing limbs, bloodied wounds left by claws and teeth, or insides that were, decidedly, no longer insides; things like that. There were other things, too, that shook him - these for an entirely different reason.

There were other things, too, that hit far too close to home.

To set the scene: it was a relatively quiet day. There hadn’t been any new campers for a few weeks now, so there were less newbies getting injured trying to “climb the totem pole” and impress people. No one had come back from any quests recently and likely wouldn’t for a week yet at least. There’d only been a handful minor injuries so far for the day. Younger campers coming in with scratched knees or aching tummies had been the most of Will’s worries for the majority of the morning and he was rather glad for it.

At least, until Mateo Herrera came into the infirmary.

Now, Mateo; he was a good kid. Mateo, in fact, was a very good kid and very rarely ended up in the infirmary. Mostly, Will knew him from the few times Austin could manage to drag his older brother to his music classes. Mateo played the trombone and was very good at it for a beginner. Will respected that. By Kayla’s descriptions, he was also quite good at archery - it was almost uncanny, in fact, how close the two sharp-shooters were in ability, despite Mateo being much newer to the craft.

Distantly, Will wondered when Apollo would hurry up and claim the boy. He was unclaimed and had been for the six months he’d been at camp. Surely it wouldn’t be much longer, right?

This was what Will thought often in regards to the younger boy, but was definitely far from his thoughts when Mateo whispered his reason for being there.

“Will,” said Mateo, his whisper fear-filled and a bit too loud. “My chest has been hurting and I think I know why.”

Normally, Will would chalk it up to growing pains, give dear Matty-boy an aspirin or something, and send him on his way out, but the way Mateo was holding himself seemed more serious. He was obviously very sore and seemed to have difficulty breathing comfortably.

“Why’s that, Mr. Herrera?” Will said as nicely as he could (though Nico told him often that his bedside manner when he was in “Doctor Mode” was oftentimes absolutely dreadful and usually hilariously so).

Mateo’s dark brown eyes looked down at his red and black sneakers, his weight shifting from his left side to his right. He looked up at Will in embarrassment, taking a hand up to smooth the dark curls growing out of his head. “Well,” he said. “I have kind of a... body issue. And the way I take care of it makes it ache.”

Will nodded seriously, hoping distantly that his eyes conveyed kindness. “What is this issue, Mateo?”

He coughed, which quickly died and turned into a wince, accompanied by a slight wince. Mateo admitted with difficulty, “I have breasts. And I... bandage them to make them less noticeable b-but-”

“Wait,” Will’s eyes grew wide and he knew he was showing a bit of teeth, but he couldn’t help himself. The look on his face was undoubtedly the same expression he’d made many an occasion - occasions such as, for example, the first time Austin said “bitch” and the first time Kayla admitted that she kind of wanted to join the Hunters of Artemis (but that was a story for a different time). It was a look of disappointment - the shocked, protectively angry kind of disappointment. “Bandage, you said?”

Face full of shame, Mateo nodded. “Yeah, ace bandages. They aren’t that good but they can make you pretty flat-”

Will put down the clipboard he’d been holding as carefully as he could. Without meaning to, he’d begun to grip it so hard that his knuckles had turned white and since he didn’t want to break it, it seemed wiser this way. “Mr. Herrera, will you follow me to the back? I’d like you to take those bandages off for a quick x-ray. This may be urgent.”

Mateo nodded, visibly sweating. “Okay,” his voice shook. “Yeah, no problem.”

In a few minutes time, Mateo had taken the x-rays, and seemed very glad to be out of the ace bandages, though Will could see those lines setting into the younger boy’s face that seemed to spell one thing, a thing Will knew very well; dysphoria. Will knew it wouldn’t be easy for poor Mateo, but he had to put his foot down.

“No more binding.” Will demanded. Mateo opened his mouth to protest but the blond shook his golden-haired head. “No. No buts and no whats. I’m the doctor and I say no binding, at least for a while. Ace bandages are not okay, Matty.”

Mateo looked down at his feet again, examined the light reflecting off of the three remaining aglets. His eyes shined too, only with tears.

Will sighed, his heart maybe breaking a little. “Mateo... I understand, okay? But there are better ways. Safer ways. Your ribs aren’t like normal bones. Those bandages can squeeze them all wrong, break them even. You seem to be mostly alright, luckily, it was smart of you to come to me, but... I’ll check the x-ray just to be sure.”

Mateo nodded. He rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand and sniffled. “Thanks. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Will said. “Be safer. I’m gonna have to ask you not to bind for at least a week. But, don’t worry. I won’t bind either. You won’t be alone in this.”

Mateo made a face, confused. “Wait, I don’t understand. What do you mean you won’t either?”

“I’m trans, too, Matty-man.” Will shrugged. “I don’t really hide it. But, after all this, I can help you get a real binder too. You’re a bigger size than me,” Will was a bean pole of a boy and Mateo was much shorter and a bit chubby. He’d definitely need a bigger size - Will was already theorizing his measurements, which, once he realized he was, was a bit creepy. “So I can’t lend you one of mine, but we can get them here easily enough.”

“How?”

Will shrugged again. “Mr. D is the genderfluid patron god of transgender and gender non-conforming individuals. I’m always surprised more people don’t know that.”

Mateo smiled for the first time since he’d walked into the infirmary. “Wait, really?”

Will nodded. “Yup. I would be, except I’m not genderfluid and also about a gazillion years too late.” Mateo laughed, so Will continued. “Some sweet benefits, though, right?” Giggling quietly, Mateo nodded in agreement, and Will let himself relax a bit.

It had been a long time since Will was in Mateo’s shoes, and had definitely been lucky to have Cecil’s mother, who was and always would be PFLAG to the grave and had immediately done everything she could to help this baby she had taken in, to help this boy she’d barely known be true to himself and to the people around him. As soon as Will had begun to have noticeable... unwanted developments, he’d gotten his first binder - a simple black tank that had meant the world to him. It was too small now, but he still had it. Sentimental value and all that.

If Mateo had been able to fit it, however, Will would’ve handed it over. No one had told him that ace bandages were bad, it was obvious. No one had helped him cut his hair, which was a mess of curls cut at short but varying lengths once you saw it up close. No one had helped Mateo be Mateo. And Will would do anything to give this kid the same kind of influence that his mama - and he would always call her that, Mama - had given him.

“Wait,” Mateo murmured. “You mean that? You won’t bind either?”

Will shook his head. “Nope. Think of it like... a blood pact. Except, instead of blood, it’s boobs. A boob pact.”

Mateo bit his lip to keep from laughing. “A boob pact?”

Solemn as he knew how to be, Will nodded. “A boob pact. A sacred bond between trans brothers. If you have to free ball it, then I will too.”

It was a moment that passed, in near silence, a kind of special care in the air between them, before Mateo tentatively smiled. “Thank you, Will.”

And Will smiled. “Of course, bud. Now.... Let’s take a look at those x-rays, huh? And then we can talk colors for your binder.”

“I like red.”

“Red is definitely your color. Absolutely yes.”

Maybe this encounter with Mr. Herrera wouldn’t wake Will in the dead of night, shaking. Making it wouldn’t bug him too terribly in daylight hours, even - the problem was solved, after all. But, when he would lay down for the night, pajamas warm and clean, blanket soft, pillows fluffed and cool, Will would be unable to close his eyes. He’d be stuck thinking of every home like Mateo’s, every home like the one Will had grown up in - if you could call those things homes. Every place and every transgender child with a sad face and a lie on their nametag. These are the things that stain his evening thoughts, that remind him of days long past. Things are better now, he tells himself. I’m safe now. I can help kids in ways more important than even I realize. Sometimes, it helps him sleep. The look on Mateo’s face when he sees his first binder... it helps. The look on Mama’s face when he tosses a golden drachma into a spray of rainbow mist just before bed, the yell of happy surprise when she notices the call... it helps.

But there is still work to be done.

sorry this got super weird and dark aksjda ive been having Thoughts and i wanted to add them here. to lgbt, mogai, or otherwise queer people struggling with accepting their identity - it may not always seem like it, but its does get better. maybe not all at once or all the time, but please, take it one day at a time. remember the people that come after us too. we have to survive. for people like us, we have to survive. keep the legacy alive, keep fighting for a better future, so people like us, so kids like mateo here don’t have to fight quite so hard. and for the love of god don’t bind with ace bandages and don’t double bind!!!!!!! be safe out there, you dorks! - mod will

#long post #trans will solace #will solace #pjo oc #pjo fic #percy jackson #my fic #fic rec #mod will #iris message #eviduso

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rebeccahpedersen · 6 years

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Tall Tales From The Trenches On Feelgood Friday!

TorontoRealtyBlog

Last Friday, when I offered another edition of “Photos of the Week,” a couple of readers mentioned that rather than sharing negative reviews of listings, photos, and seller/agent behaviour, I should provide some feel-good examples of listings done right.

So in the spirit of positivity, let me offer you a story for “Feelgood Friday.”

Perhaps I don’t often share enough of the good stories, and despite this chaotic market, there are many.

Last week, I sold a condo listing amid 13 offers, and the ending sent chills up my spine…

You’ve heard this from me before, but I honestly don’t enjoy working on the selling side on “offer night” during multiple offers.

Most listing agents love it.

I mean, what’s not to love?

Power? Status? Envy?

That’s not me, I’m sorry.

Call me dramatic, but when I receive 13 offers on a listing, I can’t help but think about the twelve buyers, and buyer agents, who go home disappointed.

Once the “winning” bid has been accepted, I personally call all the agents with unsuccessful offers to tell them that I appreciate their offer, and their efforts, and that I hope to see them again out there in the real estate trenches.

In today’s market, when you have 13 offers on a property, the person-to-person connection often goes out the window. More to the point, the buyer-to-seller connection goes with it.

Some of my clients couldn’t possibly care less who buys their house or condo, and yet to some, it’s tremendously important.

The first property sale I ever witnessed was my childhood home, which I mentioned in my Pick5 video today, on Parkhurst Boulevard in Leaside.

It was the spring of 1992, and I was 12-years-old.

I remember my father telling me, as I was upset that we had sold the house and were moving that a “young couple” were going to buy the house, and “start a family.”

In my mind, this was our house. I belonged to us, and no matter what happened, and who moved in, it would always be our house.

Once we had moved out of our home, and into our new one on Bessborough Drive, we went back to the vacant house on Parkhurst, God knows why. I think my brother, sister, and myself wanted to say some sort of “goodbye” before the deal closed, and another family moved in.

I remember laying on the floor of my bedroom so vividly, I can almost smell the 80’s carpet fibres, which always seemed a little dirty, and a little greasy. My mom was trying to round up her three kids to get going, and she walked by the doorway to my tiny room, saw me laying on the floor with my arms outstretched as though I were hugging my room, and said aloud, “Oh my God, I knew this was a mistake.”

When we moved to Bessborough, I still thought of Parkhurst as “my house.”

Our family jogging route took us from Bessborough Drive along the outskirts of Leaside – Bayview, Southvale, Laird, and then back up Parkhurst to Bayview again. We jogged by our old home hundreds of times.

We moved to Parkhurst from a house around the corner on Airdrie Road shortly after I was born in 1980, and lived there until 1992 – a total of twelve years.

I remember in 2005, chatting with my sister, when she said, “Can you believe the family who moved into our old house on Parkhurst has now been there longer than us?”

It was crazy-talk to me.

Longer than us? Really? How could that be?

“Time flies,” and all that? Twelve years?

I remember when I was coaching Bantam baseball from 2007 to 2013, at some point one of the kids mentioned a party at the house (why do parents leave they teenagers alone???), and my head popped up. I gave them the address, and they said, “Yeah, you know it?”

Time flies, indeed. It seemed that the non-existent child from the “young couple” who were “going to start a family” as my Dad told me back in 1992, was now a 17-year-old, throwing parties with the kids I coached.

Well, guess what? That family is still there.

They’ve been there now for a whopping twenty-six years, by my count.

And I think it’s fair to say, that of all the people that have ever owned that particular property, the 26-year tenure really makes it their house.

I think if you took a quick poll, and perhaps we should do that, you’d find that the ratio of people who care, and don’t care, about who buys their home, is about 50/50.

When I received 13 offers on my condo listing last week, my sellers said they really wanted to know who was buying the property from them.

They’re a really nice couple, and I could tell from the first time I entered their condo, that they take an immense amount of pride in their home. They also like to entertain, and left behind in that condo, as is the case with everybody who moves, are a slew of good memories, great times with friends and family, and a few years of their lives.

When we settled on the “winning” bid of the thirteen offers, I called the buyer agent to let her know. She was a little surprised, as anybody would be in the midst of thirteen offers, and she said, “My client will not believe this!”

She told me again, “You will not believe how much this means to my client, just, wow.”

I’ve heard it before; emotions run high in these situations, and the reactions are often hyperbolic.

I emailed the accepted offer, and asked the agent where she was, and where I could get the certified bank draft for the deposit.

And then things started to get really interesting.

“She’s at King & Sherbourne,” the agent said. “I’m in the west end; I could go meet her, then meet you, wherever you are.”

I told her that I actually live two blocks from King & Sherbourne, and provided she trusted me interacting with her buyer-client, I was happy to save her the trip at 9pm in the evening, and go meet the buyer myself.

She took me up on the offer, and was quite grateful.

“Let me give you the address,” she told me, and I said, “I already know.”

Creepy-sounding, but it wasn’t. “230 King Street East?” I asked.

“Yes, wow, how did you know?”

“I lived there for five years,” I told her. “When you said ‘King & Sherbourne,’ I had a feeling.”

Ironically, in hindsight, I realize it could have been 39 Sherbourne Street, aka “King Plus Condo,” which is directly across from King’s Court at 230 King Street.

But I just had a feeling it was my old stomping grounds, and I got in my car, and headed down.

I got to the condo, and walked in through the beautiful lobby (it’s an old bank where they’ve preserved the interior as it was in the 1900’s, and even have ‘before’ photos posted on the walls), then found a seat on the padded benches in a separate waiting area off the mailroom.

It was on that very bench, on the same side, in the very same spot, where I waited for a friend of mine to meet me, along with my mother, back in 2005 when I was looking at purchasing a condo in the building. And here I was, years later, waiting for somebody else, who was looking to buy a condo.

Not exactly the same situation; this lady was looking to buy someplace else, but the coincidence wasn’t lost on me.

I met the woman, as she peeked around the corner and asked, “David?”

She was carrying with her a dog that, I swear – I actually did a double-take as I thought it was my dog.

The resemblance was uncanny.

“That’s my dog’s face,” I told her. “The nose, the eyes, the little teeth – this is my dog!”

It was a half Maltese, half Yorkie, just like my dog. Yet another coincidence.

She handed me the deposit cheque, and we chatted for a while.

She told me that the dog was a rescue, which was ironic, given I had literally just had a conversation with my wife about adopting a rescue dog. Not any time soon, of course. We have a dog, and a 17-month-old baby. Another dog is not in the cards. But my wife volunteers for a non-profit called “Save our Scruff,” which helps find owners for rescued and abused dogs, and she said if we ever get another dog, it’ll be a rescue.

As we chatted, I asked the new-buyer what the importance of her offer price was.

I realized as soon as the words came out of my mouth that it’s a far more personal question than it seems.

A buyer might offer $800,610, because they got married on June 10th.

I’ve seen all kinds of numbers, with all kinds of meanings. Birthdays, anniversaries, lucky numbers in various cultures, favourite numbers, sports jersey numbers, number of children – anything you can think of.

Of course in this case, the lady said, “My Dad.” And then added, “My Mum.”

“My dad died on that date,” she told me. And as the lump in my throat started to grow, she said, “And my Mum on the other date.”

Oh boy. Well, add “death date” to the list of potential numbers and meanings above. I guess I didn’t think of that.

“I actually lost both my parents in a very short time,” she added. “In the same month.”

Right. I was so glad to bring that back up for her…

But you know what? She wasn’t sad. She was actually happy!

“My parents always wanted to help me buy a place,” she told me. “And tonight, they did.”

Boy, was I ever caught off guard.

I have to be honest, maybe I’m not a deep enough person, but I never really thought of it that way.

We had 13 offers, and as is always the case, the bidding was close.

The dates of her parents’ passing were used in her offer price, and those numbers helped her win the property.

In essence, her parents did “help her buy a place.” as she put it.

It was heart-warming, and the coincidences were not lost on me.

But there was even more ahead.

She told me how she had been a tenant in the same unit for eight years, and how recently her landlord asked her to sign a new lease, at a much higher price than what was permitted by law. When she respectfully declined, he sent her a Form N12 by email, with no subject line, and no text. Just the form.

The form specified that a family member would be moving into the unit, specifically his son. She added that she had known him for eight years as his tenant, and she was pretty sure he didn’t have a son…

Rather than dwell on her situation, she decided now would be the time to take the plunge into the housing market, and she started to look at condos.

I know a lot of buyers say this, so it sounds cliché, but she said, “As soon as I walked into the condo, I felt like I was home.”

“They had my stuff,” she said. “Half the stuff I have, they have!”

They also had a dog, as did she, and she had always wanted a terrace for the pup. This condo, by the way, happened to have a 300 square foot terrace.

The coincidences, similarities, and happenstance was just too much. I stood there in the lobby of my old building, and smiled.

And then came the clincher.

She told me, “I just absolutely love that terrace! I’ve always wanted one,” she said. “I actually live above a huge terrace in my current unit.”

It made me think.

“Do you live above the units on the second floor – the ones with the 440 square foot terraces?” I asked.

“I do!” she said.

I knew these rather well, of course. There are six units with 440 square foot terraces, as I used to own one.

“I used to live in one,” I said. “Which unit are you in?” I asked her.

“Unit xx2,” she told me.

Go figure.

“Small world,” I said. I used to live four floors below you. Directly below you. I’m was in Unit xy2.

We both laughed.

What are the odds?

She actually lived there, a few floors above me, for two years while I was there.

We shook hands, I went out to my car, and I went home feeling good.

This can often be a miserable business, and I’m sorry to say, but an overwhelming majority of interactions that you have with people, no matter what role they play, are negative.

So how good did I feel, meeting such a pleasant lady, with such a great story about bidding on and winning this condo, with all these incredible coincidences and personal connections?

That’s a rhetorical question. And suffice it to say, you don’t have to guess how happy my sellers were to hear the following day what a great person they sold their beloved condo to.

Perhaps I’m being overly-sentimental, or maybe you caught me on an off day.

But most “tales from the trenches” don’t end well, so I’m glad I could provide you one on an otherwise feelgood-Friday…

The post Tall Tales From The Trenches On Feelgood Friday! appeared first on Toronto Real Estate Property Sales & Investments | Toronto Realty Blog by David Fleming.

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