#does anyone recognize 'either way ill be so lonely'? i know i read it somewhere and it Struck me so crazy but i cant find it!

[kihnindewa]

"You bow your head when the choir begins. You never asked for this, I know. These early mornings are thankless work, I know. And me dancing in time, confetti bursting from my chest and bursting to flame And me reaching with your father’s fingers, reaching with your flesh & blood, Reaching for my martyr’s glory, Reaching for you. Either way, I’ll be so lonely."

Kihnindewa. venus, destroyed by global warming (a prelude)

An excerpt from something about a troubled mother-daughter relationship, about sacrifice or abandonment or something like that. Full piece & so much more here, featured image by James Nova.

#my writing #wlwocpoetrynet #poets on tumblr #wlwoc poetry #does anyone recognize 'either way ill be so lonely'? i know i read it somewhere and it Struck me so crazy but i cant find it! #i wanna credit whoever gave that to me... #physical restraints cw #restraints cw

[bro-stoevsky]

Could I please request Hartving and the class differences prompt? Love your writing!

oh friend. please understand i tried with this one. i really tried. like i have seen the terror approximately 5,000 times and i still started this fanfiction by googling “hartnell the terror” so that’s the level of sophistication you’re dealing with. this is my first attempt at writing either of these guys and I hope you like (don’t mind?) it! thank you for this prompt & sorry in advance

Tears Into Thy Bottle

In which Tom Hartnell’s brother dies under mysterious pre-canon circumstances, Irving tries to do a Good Deed, and no one is happy for even 30 seconds. 

Tom Hartnell removed his brother’s things from his sea chest one by one, feeling miserable and invasive. The chest had been left in disarray; the unruly boy who came home so many times with mud on his knees had, in the end, not even had a clean shirt to be buried in.

Hartnell took out trousers, the badly-folded coat John had worn on land, a pipe, and another pipe. Shoes that would not fit him and shirts he did not need. When he came upon a silhouette portrait of a woman he looked it over, curious, for a name, and his heart throbbed when he recognized their mother. He would have to be the one to bring her the news. He would tell her that her firstborn son had carried her portrait from Gillingham to the end of the map, and kept on carrying it.

“Alright, Tom?” He tore his eyes from the portrait, noticing belatedly that someone had put a hand on his shoulder. It was Harry Peglar of the foretop, quiet and tactful. “Mr. Armitage is here for you, Tom.”

“Mr. Armitage?” said Hartnell, not understanding what the gunroom steward would want of him or what interest he might have in a dead man’s old clothes.

“Mr. Armitage,” Peglar affirmed. “He has a message for you.”

Armitage was indeed there waiting, wringing his hands. “I’m awful sorry,” he said, “but Lt. Irving would like to see you, Tom.”

It made less and less sense. “Lt. Irving? What could he want with me?”

Hickey laughed. The crass, rude caulker’s mate had been somewhat in John’s orbit, at arm’s length but never entirely rejected, and he had come for his share of the dead man’s tobacco.

 “What couldn’t he want, that one? I’ll tell you what I think: you on your knees,” Hickey paused for a long time as he puffed on his pipe, grinning as he held everyone’s attention. With visible relish he reached his conclusion: “In prayer.”

All at once, Hartnell’s friends hissed at him.

“Can’t you show some fucking respect,” said Gibson. “His brother’s just died.”

“And the good lieutenant will pray for his soul,” Hickey replied.

“See what the lieutenant wants,” Peglar advised, “and I can keep my eye on John’s things. I’m sure you won’t be long away.”

Hartnell nodded, rising to follow Armitage up and aft to the officers’ cabins.

“Lieutenant,” said Armitage as he knocked on one of the doors. “Tom Hartnell is here for you sir, as you asked.”

The door slid back. Hartnell knuckled his forehead.  

“That will do, thank you, Mr. Armitage,” said Irving. “Mr. Hartnell. Will you come in? I’m afraid there isn’t much room, but I should like to speak privately to you.”

“Aye, sir,” said Hartnell, and stepped inside. It was the finest and most rarified place he had been aboard the ship, and it disappointed him to discover that the cabin was miserably small, little more than a bed and a cramped writing desk. Irving’s bed was neatly-made and there was a writing set on his desk, a sheet of unmarked white paper waiting for him. Hartnell searched these items for a clue in Irving’s purpose and could find nothing.

Irving shut the door behind him. “I grieve for your loss,” he said, meeting Hartnell’s eyes. “Your brother was a good seaman and well-liked. Will you accept my condolences?”

“Of course, sir,” said Hartnell, uncomfortable. He had known that Terror’s third lieutenant had a serious, searching gaze, but to have that wide-eyed attention pointed toward him at close quarters was unnerving.

“You do not need to stand,” said Irving, himself taking a seat at his writing desk. There was nowhere else to sit except the bed, and Hartnell hesitated at taking that liberty. “Please be at your ease, Hartnell. I’m sorry I can’t offer you a chair, but the bed will do you just as well. Are you—have you had your rum? I could call Mr. Armitage back.”

“I have had it, sir.” And more besides—the bosun having seen fit to measure out a final tot for John. He sat down on the bed, and the frame creaked. “There is nothing else I need.”

They passed a moment in silence. Irving laced his fingers together and separated them. “Death is harder to bear when it comes far from home,” he said. “It should not be so but it is. Would it comfort you for me to say that it matters not a whit, how far we roam? For our true home is in Heaven, and on Judgment Day your brother will not be forgotten.”

 It was not comforting at all, and in fact Hartnell did not like to think about Judgment Day or any of the other more dreary Christian aspects. “Thank you, sir.”

Irving sighed. “But I haven’t eased your mind a bit. I can tell from your face. You know, I asked Lt. Little for permission to speak with you, and his reply was, ‘If it please you, only don’t frighten the boy with your talk.’ And of course that’s just what I’ve done.”

“It would have to be worse than that to frighten me,” said Hartnell.

“Good man,” said Irving. His face did something that was nearly a smile, and it made his gaze less uncomfortably luminous and more congenial. “You know it was never my intention—is never my intention—to be such dismal company. Of course it would have been better for me to have said something more benign, your brother is on a cloud somewhere looking down on you.”

“You would not be the first to tell me so,” Hartnell admitted. He had, for the better part of the afternoon, been assured that John watched over him and sang in a celestial choir and would guide them all to the Passage.

“I know it. And you have all my compassion. It is only that I think it is a hard world, and it does us no good to pretend it is not governed by hard philosophy.”

This was altogether more speech than Hartnell had heard from an officer in his entire career at sea. He looked at Irving and was reminded that this man was very near his own age, and the only officer to wear a beard, very probably to obscure the boyishness of his features. From his conversation, it was clear that he did not find much sympathy with his views from his fellow officers—at once the tiny room and the privilege of privacy seemed horribly lonely.

“You make sense to me, sir,” said Hartnell, a little unsure who was being comforted.

Irving smiled completely. “You are kind to say so. But I had asked you here in the hope that I might provide you a more practical service. I do not know when we shall next have the opportunity to post the mail, but when we do, it will be better to be prepared. Should you like to send a letter to your mother, I will gladly take it down for you.”

“Sir?” The blank sheet of paper and the inkwell was explained, then.

“Your mother—she is living, yes? I thought I had seen it in the purser’s log.”

Hartnell saw her in his mind’s eye. He wondered if it was possible she did not already know what had happened. Surely she did. Surely the mystical powers bestowed by motherhood had alerted her already to calamity. And if not, John would have found some way to inform her.

“She is living,” he affirmed. “But sir, I can read and write.”

Horror dawned on Irving’s face. “I had not thought,” he said. “But of course you can. It was not my intention to insult you—I shall not take more of your time. Will you please express my consolation to her?”

Hartnell felt his face flush as he realized his misstep. He had contradicted an officer, the very thing that above all was not done in the sea service. For even young, even lonely, Irving was the third lieutenant of their ship and his word was as God’s to the ratings. But Hartnell’s mind was soft and fatigued with grief and he had not reacted correctly.

He tried to revise his story: “I should not have said that, sir, forgive me. I mean I can read and write a little, but not very well. I should be glad of your help.” He wondered, in the back of his mind, how Irving proposed his mother to read the letter, if she had indeed raised an illiterate child. 

Irving’s smile in response was enough that Hartnell was ashamed to have thought any ill of him. Young, he thought again, and lonely.

“Is this time convenient?” Irving asked, already wetting his pen.

Hartnell thought of his brother’s sea chest—the mess that John had not meant anyone to see, the junk that had turned in the space of a few hours into relics of the dead, the heartbreaking portrait of their mother—he had no desire to return. He had no desire to see any of it again, to dole it out to their friends, to hear the caulker’s mate make his crude remarks. “There is nowhere else for me to be,” he replied.

Irving gave him that shy look again, and wrote something on the sheet. “I am writing an introduction,” he explained, “in case she does not recognize the writing. And then you may say what you like, and I’ll write it down.”

“Can you start out with, ‘My dear Mother—’ or, ought I to put our location at the top?”

“I have already done so. ‘My dear Mother,’ it is a very good beginning. What then?”

“And then—I should go to the point. ‘I have terrible news,’” he tried to think of how to put this terrible news, but he could not take his mind away from the sea chest. He thought of his mother, darning one of John’s shirts, complaining that he was too rough on them. He thought of her portrait, which John had never showed him. “‘Terrible news, Mama,’” he repeated again, and when he tried a third time his voice broke and he began to weep.

Irving set down his pen. “Hartnell?” he asked, and there was a scrape of his chair as he crossed the step or so to the bunk. “Hartnell, let me get you a handkerchief—I have one—” there was a clattering of things around the desk, and then Irving was handing him a white square of fabric.

“Forgive me, sir, ” said Hartnell, wiping at his eyes and his nose. “I should return to the fo'c’s'le. I am not fit for your company. You have been too kind already.”

Irving sat down beside him, and after a minute’s hesitation took Hartnell’s hand in two of his own. “There is nothing to forgive. Come now—come now, your brother is with God.”

Grief did nothing to dull Hartnell’s other senses, and he realized that Irving’s palm was damp. He thought, distantly, of the propriety of their position, and Hickey’s crass remarks, and he was not compelled by these objections. It did him good to feel another living person beside him, someone whose attention was only on his comfort.

“Do you think so, sir?”

“I am certain,” said Irving.

They sat in silence for some time as Hartnell reeled himself in and regained his composure.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said again, looking at the handkerchief. The initials J.I. were embroidered on it. “I can wash this.”

“Do not trouble yourself,” Irving replied. He withdrew his hands. “It is a gift. As for the letter—I should have seen I was keeping you from your mates. Perhaps we shall try again tomorrow.”

“Of course, sir. But you’re not keeping me from anything.”

Irving stood up, and paused during his step to the desk. He looked at Hartnell again—shy, round-eyed and eerie—and he nodded with satisfaction. “Stay then, and we will finish your letter.”

#my fic #it's saturday night time to post MISERABLE FANFICTION #hartnell x irving #sort of #they just touch hands #sorry to psalm 56 #and god #also i am just noticing that this is my 666th post #so extra sorry to god

[soberqueerinthewild]

I don’t know what you saw, I want somebody who sees me 

{AO3 Link}

Alternatively Titled: In which Kyle goes to a gay bar

Part 1 can be found HERE : You likely want to read Part 1 first to get full context, but in theory this could be read as a standalone. 

More introspective Maria POV. Malex, mentions of Maria/Michael, Maribel if you squint, a scene of Kyle in a gay bar that serves no narrative purpose, but I just had to write it. 

Thanks to @seeaddywrite for fixing my grammatical mistakes and being patient with my run-on sentences.

***

It doesn’t end with a bang, but with a whimper. She never does work up the nerve to have that direct, adult conversation she knows would’ve been the healthy way to handle the new revelations. But with running the bar and taking care of her mother, she never really has emotional reserves to handle whatever the result of that conversation might be. And on the days she thinks maybe she could stand it, Michael always looks decimated from another day of practicing new powers, following new leads that turned into dead ends, or soaking his troubles in acetone.

Instead, she lets the relationship start to die the death of a million little cuts. Because after that day in the Crashdown, it’s like a a veil lifts and she realizes that the problems in her relationship don’t start or end with feeling like she’s the interlude in someone else’s love story. She let herself fall into familiar patterns with Michael. Maria’s been told more than once that she has a tendency to put her own needs last. Hazards of a psychic, she guesses, and it’s only gotten worse since her mom hasn’t been coherent enough to remind Maria that she matters; that it’s ok for her to ask for what she needs. It’s not that Maria is a pushover, far from it. She doesn’t let people walk all over her, and she stands up for herself when the situation demands it. It’s more that she rarely asks for help, because when she can innately sense that her friends are already struggling with their own grief and trauma, it feels easier to just... be her own damn savior. That way, she can stick to being the fun, supportive friend, instead of adding to their already heavy burdens. In relationships, when in every argument, she feels the disappointment and hurt radiating off her partner, well, who could blame her if she twists herself in knots to be everything they need instead. In recent years, she’s mostly stuck to dating people like Chad, with the emotional depth of a banana slug, whose feelings never reached the point of even registering; or one night stands, where she has no problems asserting her own needs rather than even trying for a relationship with any sort of future where she’d be forced to figure out how much of herself she was willing to give away.

It’s a little ironic because she’d seen choosing to accept Michael’s overtures and start a relationship as progress of a sort. Messy and perhaps ill-advised, but an attempt nonetheless at putting her own wants and needs first. It felt unnatural, and guilt settled heavily on her shoulders, yet she thought perhaps it would fade. Other people did this all the time, prioritized relationships over friends, and she thought maybe if she pushed through, it would start to feel better. And maybe it would’ve in time, but it turns out that making that one choice didn’t alter her well-worn patterns. Michael’s pain, as much as he tried to tamp it down with her, felt so overwhelming that she’d slipped into a familiar care taking role. She’d let herself be what he needed: a safe place, a distraction. She could sense that he wanted things to be easy with her, so she acquiesced. She didn’t ask the questions she knew he didn’t want to answer, and she pushed down her own resentments that he’d had a brother with healing hands and never told her, when he knew she had a mother who rambled about aliens and was rapidly losing her memories. Pushed down her fury that she’d been drugged and violated and used and he still hadn’t told her about what happened to her until events forced his hand. In darker moments, she wonders if he kept it from her not because he was so used to protecting the secret at all costs, but because it was more important to him to have someone with whom he could escape his reality than to be honest with her.  

In an alternate universe, she would’ve recognized what this was a lot sooner, and adjusted her expectations accordingly. In fact at first, right after Texas, she’d thought Michael Guerin might be the perfect escape for her, too. Someone who wouldn’t expect anything from her, who wouldn’t worry if she drowned her heartache over her mother in tequila a little more than was advisable, and who could help her work off some frustrations with sex whenever she wanted it. But somehow, someway, without her even recognizing it, her feelings for Michael had deepened, and learning about his history with Alex had raised the stakes. She wouldn’t risk hurting Alex for just a fling, but she’d begun to think that she and Michael might have a shot at something real, and perhaps, after feeling lonely for so long, it might be worth the cost. So she’d stubbornly ignored the signs, pretended that it was working for her, that they were headed somewhere, that she wasn’t just doing what she always did, and letting him take what he needed from her, while burying her own needs down deep. Now that her eyes are open, she realizes it’s not even a decent distraction. Sure the sex and companionship is nice, their banter can be fun when either of them is up for it, and she knows they do genuinely care for each other, but she can’t leave her problems behind with him. Not when after a day spent listening to her mom ramble about aliens and mind control, she comes home to Isobel freaking Evans in her kitchen, taking a walk through her best friend’s memories in the newest attempt to resurrect Max. This is not what she needs.

When Isobel and Liz finally leave, she knows she can’t leave it one more night. It’s Sunday, which is both her day off and the night the bar closes at 9, so it’s empty when she leads Michael down the stairs and suggests a night cap. Maybe this’ll be easier outside the confines of her apartment in a more neutral place. When she tells him it’s over, Michael looks resigned, but not surprised. It’s been weeks of cutting remarks, awkward silences, and disconnected sex, as her heart really hasn’t been in it. Maria had kind of been waiting for him to put them out of their misery, but now realizes Michael has never gotten this far in a relationship and has no idea what to do, so it falls on her.

“Is it the alien thing? Or is it just me?” Maria forces herself to harden her heart against the flash of pain in Michael’s eyes. She knows abandonment is a sore spot for him. “Or is it Alex?”

His name hangs between them, for so long unspoken. She doesn’t answer; it’s all those things and none at the same time.

Michael rushes to fill the silence. “I’ve told you, it’s over, I’m over him.”

It’s the blatant lie that pushes her out of the resigned acceptance, and sparks fire in the pit of her stomach. “Oh yeah?” She retorts. “Tell that to my light bulbs.”

When he doesn’t respond, but merely arches an eyebrow at her, feigning confusion, she continues conversationally, “You know, I lied. Kyle Valenti and Alex aren’t actually dating.”

Even as the words come out of her mouth she doesn’t know if she means them as a jab, a test, or just a parting gift. If it’s a test, he definitely fails, as she barely has to try to feel the wave of relief, and the spike of sharp hope that course through Michael in an instant, followed closely by guilt.

She cuts him off before he can mutter a denial. “You can’t lie to a psychic, Guerin.”

He hangs his head, but doesn’t try to convince her. She doesn’t want to make this hard. If he keeps looking like that, she’s worried she’ll cave. Her weakness is kicked puppies, after all. But this isn’t good for either of them. She’s seen the cracks and she can’t pretend they don’t exist. Can’t stay in this just so he doesn’t have to handle another person walking away. She desperately wishes now they hadn’t tried this. He could use a friend, they both could, and it’ll be hard to get back there now, with resentments between them. She tries for that maturity and honesty she hasn’t been able to muster in the last weeks.

“Michael, we just can’t be what each other needs. You want something that’s a little bit easy: a distraction, an escape maybe? It’s ok to want that, but it can’t be with me. Because for me, choosing this, us, wasn’t easy. It had a cost. And it’s not an escape when my mother’s afflictions are wrapped up in alien secrets you don’t like talking about with me. I can’t keep pretending those things aren’t true, or pretending this is gonna be something it never is.” She blinks back tears and avoids his gaze.

When he finally speaks he sounds as defeated as she feels. “It sounds like your mind’s made up then. Should I even bother trying to change it?”

She swallows her knee jerk response of ‘do you even want to?’ because it won’t help anyone. “Yeah, it is made up,” she replies instead.

She can’t resist taking this last opportunity to say the words that have been bubbling under her tongue for the last few weeks.

“And I know you didn’t ask, but just my two cents? Distraction is a coping mechanism, but it’s supposed to be a temporary one. Someday you’ve got to stop avoiding, stop escaping into a relationship or a bottle, and actually talk about some of your trauma. You’ve been through so much, and I know you want to focus on Max, but ignoring everything else isn’t helping. I know talking to a therapist is probably out, but maybe you should try with a friend. Maybe someday that can even be me, but not if we keep doing this.”

She doesn’t really expect a response from him, but his silence is a deafening confirmation that she’s doing the right thing. They sit there staring at each other for what feels like an hour before he finally mutters, “I’m sorry, Deluca.”

“Yeah, me too.” And she really is. “Take care of yourself, Guerin.” The last names feel like an attempt to erect a wall, to regain some distance and bring them back to a time where all that was between them was caustic exchanges about his bar tab and harmless flirting. He takes the cue and gets up to leave, with just one dejected look over his shoulder on his way out the door.

She manages to wait until she’s sure he’s out of earshot before she breaks down. Weeks of pent up emotions flow out of her and she’s choking on her sobs, making it hard to breathe. She feels so desperately alone all of the sudden. She should call Liz, but even though she knows it’s not fair, the only person she wants right now is Alex. Ten minutes later with two shots of tequila warming her veins and clouding her head just enough, she gives in and presses the call button. He answers breathless after three rings, his voice laced with concern.

“Maria, is everything ok?”

They never call, only text, especially lately. Hearing his voice brings on a new round of tears, she tries to speak through them, but the words won’t come. What could she even say? ‘I broke up with the love of your life and I need you to comfort me?’ She wonders for a sick, dizzying moment if maybe Alex already knows. If maybe he was the first call Michael made on his way out the door. She pushes away the paranoia, but still can’t find the words.

Alex doesn’t need them. “Are you at the bar?” She manages to choke out an affirmative. “I’ll be right there.”

True to his word, he’s there 10 minutes later, and for a second she wonders where he was, since clearly he couldn’t have arrived that fast from his cabin. Her question is answered as Kyle trails in after him. He seems to have appointed himself head of the Alex Manes defense squad and determined he might be in need of protection from Maria, for fuck’s sake. God, she really doesn’t want to lose her shit in front of Valenti. He seems to have matured but it’s still hard for her to think of him as anything other than the asshole, high school bully, who Liz was much too good for. Alex immediately understands what she needs and as soon as he sees her face he tells Kyle he can go as he takes three steps across the room to fold her into his arms. Kyle turns and leaves without comment.

Alex strokes her hair and she leans against him heavily. She knows she owes him an explanation of some kind for dragging him over here.

“It’s over. I broke up with Michael.” Alex’s hand stills in her hair for a fraction of a second before resuming the comforting, even, strokes. “You were the only one I wanted. I know it’s so unfair of me to even call.”

He shushes her as he takes the seat beside her, re-adjusting but never removing his arms from her shoulders. “You can always call me,” he assures her softly.

Maria tentatively reaches out with her powers and for the first time in months she can actually feel something from him. The empathy and love for her emanating off of him feel like a balm to her soul. It’s such a relief to feel anything from him at all, that she pulls back and stops herself from probing too deeply. If underneath there’s just the tiniest spark of hope, well, no one would blame him, but she’d rather not know. For now, she would prefer to relish the comfort of her best friend and leave reality for another day.

***

Her relationship with Alex isn’t magically repaired overnight. There is still a guardedness to their interactions that was never there before, but day by day things improve. Within a week Alex has started swinging by the Wild Pony again during slow times to keep her company, and joining her and Liz at the Crashdown for milkshakes. It feels like the old days for the most part, even though they both avoid the elephant in the room and haven’t discussed Michael at all. The night of the breakup Alex asked enough to ascertain whether or not Michael deserved an ass kicking (she’s guessing if she’d said yes he might have outsourced to Valenti, but she’s confident it would’ve been at least attempted either way), and then didn’t press when she didn’t offer details beyond the vague ‘we were looking for different things.’ It’s still not as effortless as it once was, but the fact that they are both trying so hard makes her confident that they can get back there eventually.

As the weeks pass she starts to feel more like herself and she wonders if maybe she should tell Alex that Michael hasn’t given up hope. Maybe all they need is a little nudge. She ultimately decides against it. There’s so much she still doesn’t know about what’s happened between them all these years and Michael’s not exactly in a great place to be with anyone right now anyways. Besides, the part of her that’s still re-learning to sleep alone isn’t sure she could handle being the conduit in their reconciliation quite yet.

Instead, she vows to stay out of it and let them work out their own shit if they can. Alex at least seems to be making progress on some of his. Though there’s a heavy sadness and guilt that burns beneath anything else he feels, now that he’s finally let her back in, she’s thrilled to realize that she no longer senses the blanket of shame that used to weigh down any joy he tried to claim for himself. It seems he’s cast it aside these past few months and traded it for a steady surety and confidence that suits him as well as the leather jacket he’s taken to wearing again.

Apparently his look isn’t the only thing that’s changed. Maria’s surprised and pleased when Kyle invites her one night to come along with him and Alex to the only gay bar within a 100 mile radius of Roswell. Since her breakup with Michael, Kyle has warmed considerably to her. He was never rude before, just coolly polite, always keeping one eye on Alex as if he might need to rescue him from the conversation at any minute. He’s finally dropped that habit and she’s come to find him witty and charming in a way she didn’t expect. And since she and Alex still fall into awkward silences when one-on-one, the specter of Michael hanging between them, Kyle has been the perfect buffer. She’s tempted by the offer, especially when she learns it’s karaoke night, but Maria never leaves the Wild Pony on a Saturday night. It’s her most profitable and she really can’t afford to miss out on the night’s tips, but a conversation with Liz grounds her in the realization that there really is no amount of money she wouldn’t sacrifice to see Kyle Valenti in a gay bar.

Liz and Rosa have opted for a sister’s night in, and so it’s just Maria, Kyle, and Alex for the night. Maria finds that even more amazing than seeing former homophobic bro-jock Kyle Valenti looking completely at home in a gay bar, is watching Alex’s whole demeanor noticeably relax as soon as they walk through the door. She’d anticipated that he might be nervous or uncomfortable, since as far she knows he’s not the gay bar type, but he looks completely at ease, smiling and even flirting a bit with the bartender as he grabs them all another round of drinks.

Kyle interrupts her musing. “The first time I brought him here he was all nerves. I don’t think he looked a single person in the eye, and look at him now.”

“Wait, you brought him here?”

“Well I couldn’t watch him sulk one more goddamn day. We’d both been buried in research for a month after that night, mired in guilt over the atrocities our fathers committed, and starting to go a little stir crazy. I knew we had to do something to break our rut, so I got online, found this place and kidnapped him. He was pretty mad at first, but it turned out to be fun. So we’ve come back every few weeks since, when we need to blow off some steam.”

“Well you look awfully comfortable here. Come to any new revelations about yourself I should know about?” She’s half-kidding, but on the other hand he seems awfully enthusiastic about bimonthly trips to a gay bar so maybe he is enjoying more than just the drinks.

Kyle lets out a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately, I seem to be unfairly, but fatally afflicted with heterosexuality.”

Maria lets out a startled laugh. “Wait, are you legitimately upset about that?” Maria has long considered herself to be, at the very least, on the flexible side of heteroflexible (bisexual, she guesses would be the right word, though it’s not one she’s ever used out loud to describe herself, in part because opportunities to explore this part of herself have been scarce in Roswell), so she can’t really relate to Kyle’s consternation.

“Yes!” Kyle exclaims, banging both hands on the table for emphasis. “I really opened myself up to the possibility, thinking maybe my homophobia in high school was really some version of self-hatred. But after much reflection, I think I was just a dick. I just... don’t want to have sex with men.”

Maria tries to follow. “And this is... upsetting to you?”

“Yes! I mean, Alex is my favorite person; we already spend all of our time together. Wouldn’t it be great if we could also have sex? I mean, if I were even just a little gay, or bisexual, I guess, and you know... if he actually wanted to have sex with me. Which I don’t think he does. Which is honestly a little offensive?! I mean have you seen me? I’m a catch. And I’m a surgeon. Do you think it’s ‘cause I’m not tall?”

Apparently after after a 48 hour call shift, the two drinks Kyle downed quickly when they arrived have hit him hard. Luckily, drunk Kyle is a trip and a half. Even if she has to carry his ass home, it will have been worth it just to bear witness to that little rant.

Maria pats his shoulder placatingly, “Yes, Kyle, you’re definitely a catch. You know how I know? ‘Cause all those guys,” she points to the six guys she can see right now that have zeroed in on their table, “aren’t staring at me. If you want to explore whether the attentions of men do it for you or not, I think you might find a willing test subject here.”

Kyle laughs, preening himself a bit.

Alex returns to the table as they are still laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh just Valenti enjoying a little ego boost,” Maria quips.

“Oh yeah, he’s very popular here. I actually feel kind of bad about bringing him here to disappoint his many admirers with his unfortunate heterosexuality.”

“But you do anyway, because I’m an excellent wingman.”

“Well,” Alex concedes, “you’re certainly a determined wingman.”

The banter is interrupted as a very attractive guy who looks like he just stepped out of a Navy Seals recruitment brochure, approaches their table and asks Alex to dance. To Maria’s utter shock and delight, he gets up, tosses a wink back at her and Kyle, and makes his way out to the dance floor. Maria can only watch in amazement. She wonders idly just how many glasses and light bulbs would explode if Michael were here to witness this, but pushes the thought away to focus on Alex.

Despite the fact that Alex has been out since he was 16, there’s always been a disconnect in his willingness to state he was gay and actually acting on it, at least in public. He confessed once while drunk and maudlin that though he’s been out to basically everyone since DADT was repealed, there are still moments when he hears the echo of his father’s voice ranting about how his perversions make him weak. That sometimes, when he catches himself looking at a guy in a certain way, he suddenly feels like he’s still that scared 11 year old who isn’t exactly sure why his dad is beating him, but it seems to be something about the way he looks at Kyle Valenti. Maria’s heart broke for him then, and she always hoped he’d figure out how to overcome it. Watching him now, relaxed in a room full of other queer people, it seems like he finally has, and Maria couldn’t be prouder. She’s not totally sure how Jesse Manes wound up in a coma, but she sure as hell won’t be shedding any tears about it. Sometimes she thinks she’d have killed him herself given half a chance.

The night flies by in a haze of drinks, dancing, and karaoke, and ends with Maria and Kyle shamelessly eavesdropping as yet another cute guy propositions Alex. They both boo rather loudly when Alex lets him down gently and suggests they finally head home. Alex is the designated driver (apparently Kyle had the honor last time, when they brought Liz and Isobel, of all people, with them. Maria tries not to be resentful that she hadn’t gotten an invite) so they have no choice but to call it a night and follow him out the door.

“Why’d you turn that guy down?” Kyle whines drunkenly. “I’ve seen you talk to him here before. He’s cute, right?” He looks to Maria for confirmation.

“Yes, totally.” She nods her head emphatically, the motion causing her to stumble a bit, and forcing her to admit that she’s more than a little drunk herself.

Alex smirks at them, a spark of mischief she hasn’t seen in a long time in his eyes. “Honestly, he’s just not that good in bed.”

“What?” Kyle practically screeches, “You’ve been holding out on me, Manes! As your wingman you are obligated to tell me these things. When did you even have time? I see you like every day.”

“It was barely worth writing home about. When we were here last month? Or maybe six weeks ago, he gave me his number and we hooked up one night you were on call, I think. It was fine, but I’m not looking for a repeat performance or anything.” Maria tries to catch his gaze, but he looks pointedly away and clears his throat, an awkward silence falling for the first time that evening.

Maria’s insides twist uncomfortably, guessing why Alex isn’t looking for repeats. She feels a momentary kinship with Alex’s random hookup, as they both hadn’t realized they could never compete with 10 years of cosmic, epic, star-crossed love. Maria forces herself to halt that train of thought. She really doesn’t want to let the bitterness take over and sour her night. She knows that eventually she’s going to have to reckon with Alex and Michael. If they get back together she will have to work on seeing them together and thinking about their relationship without it hurting. She won’t lose Alex again, so she’ll figure it out. But tonight is not the night for that. Tonight was supposed to be about fun, reconnecting with her friend, singing some karaoke, and watching Valenti get hit on by men, all of which she accomplished.

She forces herself not to dwell, and instead she slings an arm over Kyle’s shoulder. “Hey, I still think you’re a good wingman. You can’t be held responsible for quality.”

“Next time I’ll ask for references before sending anyone your way.” Kyle jokes as Alex shoves him towards the car.

“Get in before I decide to leave you behind.”

Maria clambers into the front seat next to Alex, forcing Kyle into the back. She tries to hold on to the joy of the night, of the few hours she was able to leave her troubles behind her. She leans against the door, and drifts off to the sound of Alex softly singing along to the radio, grateful for the temporary reprieve.

***

After that night, Maria realizes how important it is for all of them, Alex, Kyle, Liz, Rosa, and even Michael and Isobel to take breaks. She feels helpless in all of it, not able to cure her mother or be of much use in the plans for Max, so instead she focuses on taking care of herself and her friends in the process. She sets time aside for dance parties and slumber parties with Liz and Rosa, as well as movie nights with Liz, Rosa, Kyle, and Alex, as they all enjoy making Kyle sit through all of the Star Wars movies. She even pushes past her distaste for Isobel Evans, which she’s forced to reconsider a bit anyways as she learns that some of the actions Maria so resented were really Noah acting through her. So she does her best to be kind when she makes deliveries of food and booze for Isobel and Michael. The act allows her to feel useful without immersing herself in all the alien drama or having to talk to Michael.

About six weeks after she and Michael officially ended things, she catches him lingering in the Wild Pony parking lot, a look of indecision on his face. She stops and takes stock of him for a long minute. The sharp stab of pain, anger, and guilt she’s felt previous times they’ve seen each other seems to have lessened to a dull ache. She meant it when she’d told him that she hoped they could be friends again someday, and she supposes now is as good a time as any to start. She rolls her eyes and shoves him towards the door. He gives a surprised squak, and then a flash of a relieved smile, accepting her overture. After that he makes an appearance once or twice a week, mostly with Isobel or Liz. He doesn’t sit at the bar anymore, which she appreciates, as she’s not ready for the proximity, but it doesn’t hurt as much to look at him as she feared and she has hope that it will continue to get easier.

It seems that Alex and Michael have moved past some of their uneasiness too, enough that they aren’t limiting their interaction to text and email anymore. Liz has made off-hand mention of planning sessions where Michael, Isobel, Liz, Kyle, and Alex were all present. She’s also seen them at the Crashdown together a few times, talking quietly, with a nervous energy crackling between them. Maria tries not to wonder if they’ve made their way back to each other in other ways. She wants badly not to care, but her skin still flushes when Michael catches her eye, and her body still unconsciously seeks his in the middle of the night. She knows these reflexes will fade at some point, maybe after her patented cure of random sex, different guy, which she hasn’t worked up the energy for yet, but for now it’s hard to shake.

Intellectually, she’s pretty certain Michael and Alex are not actually together, if only because she imagines the nervousness would dissipate in that case. She can’t help but notice how Alex can’t figure out what to do with his hands when Michael is near, clenching them into fists or tucking them in his pockets, as if he needs to physically restrain himself from touching. She’s not too proud to admit she does eavesdrop the times she sees them talking. When Alex senses her presence he always takes an unconscious step backwards widening the distance between them, and elevating his tone just enough to be sure she hears that the conversation is business rather than personal.

Though she doesn’t immerse herself in alien fight club, she gathers from her talks with Liz, Alex, and Kyle that slow, but steady progress has been made in the plans to resurrect Max. She stays  stayed largely out of the loop, for her own sanity, but she makes sure Liz knows that if she does need to talk about it, or if Maria can be any help at all, she’ll set aside her reservations and do what she can.

That’s how, about six months after that night, which is how they all have apparently decided to refer to the night when Max died, she ends up in a dank cave, on a cold night, with claps of thunder echoing in her bones, questioning how the hell this is her life.

***

When Alex and Kyle had come into the bar just before closing two nights before, looking like death warmed over, she knew something was going on, especially when she spotted what looked like a glowing fingerprint peeking out of the neck of Alex’s shirt. She stares pointedly until he buttons it up all the way. Once she ushers out the last of the drunks, she pours tequila for all of them wordlessly, knowing she’s going to be in for a hell of a ride. The plan as they lay it out sounds a little convoluted to her ears, based off some Project Shepherd research, plus a lot of conjecture and half-baked hopes, but it’s all they’ve got.

“So, let me make sure I understand. Your research shows that strong emotions fuel alien power.”

“Yes,” Kyle answers first. “In all the experiments at Caulfield that proved true. Any strong emotions increased the effectiveness of the powers, like anger or fear.”

“Right, but also, we do know from Noah and from those experiments that killing is the most effective. But that’s out of the question?” Maria’s not sure if that’s a statement or a question.

Alex rushes to assure her. “Yes, out of the question. ‘Do no harm’ over here wouldn’t let us sacrifice my dad to the cause.” Its a testament to how far from normal they’ve strayed that Maria’s not sure if it’s a joke or not. Alex continues, “But we think that love is just as effective. In the experiments, the aliens were stronger when they were protecting others, and we know that Max brought Liz back from the dead, just on his own power, fueled by his love for her.”

“Right,” Maria continues, “So you want Michael and Isobel together, with their new healing skills, to use their love for Max to fuel his resurrection?”

“We think it’s gonna take a little more than that. Max has been dead nearly six months now. Liz had barely been gone a minute, and Max was more experienced at healing. It was his main power, not a side one, so we think they’ll need more help.”

“And this is where Liz comes in?” Maria asks. This is the part of the plan that scares her the most. This all sounds so intense and she’s not sure she wants Liz anywhere near it.

“Yes, Izzy has walked through Liz’s mind before, and when she does, she can feel Liz’s love for Max shine through her,” Kyle explains. “She thinks she can harness it, combined with her own, to boost her power. And since there’s a storm coming in two days, and Michael’s been working with electricity a lot, he’s going to try to do that Thor thing Max did.” Despite the serious nature of the conversation, Maria’s amused to see Alex shoot Kyle an approving grin, like he does anytime Kyle manages to make an accurate sci-fi reference.

Alex adds, “That’s the plan and we kind of just have to hope it works. We really can’t know until we try.”

Maria’s not confident it will,  but she knows one thing: she’ll have to be there. She fixes them both with a stubborn glare they know better than to argue with. “If Liz is going to tear down her armor to flay herself open with her love for Max, I have to be there for her. If this all goes sideways, she’s going to need someone that’s in their right mind.”

“I can do that, Maria. I know all this has been hard for you. You do not have to come.” Maria knows the sentiment is coming from a good place, which is the only reason she doesn’t flip him off for his slightly patronizing tone.

“I assume Kyle is there as, you know, an actual doctor to make sure Michael and Isobel don’t kill themselves in the effort. And I’m guessing you’re directing this operation, Alex. You’ll have your hands full, so that leaves me for Liz.”

Alex relents. “I think she wanted to ask, but she didn’t want you to feel obligated.” Maria shakes her head. Sometimes she and Liz are too alike for their own good, never wanting to add to the other’s burdens.

“Ok, then it’s settled. Just tell me when I have to be there and if there’s anything else I need to know. Like for instance, why you’ve got a handprint on your shoulder, Alex.”

“Because he’s a lunatic that’s why!” Kyle exclaims in exasperation. “Just sliced his own shoulder open today when we were going through the plan with Michael and Isobel. Michael healed him, fueled by anger primarily, since this one wouldn’t stop antagonizing him. I don’t know exactly what you were trying to do.”

Alex looks down, avoiding both of their gazes. “It’s just a backup plan, but hopefully it won’t matter.”

“Backup plan?” Kyle seems as confused as Maria is. “Oh, in case love isn’t a strong enough motivator for Michael, you wanted to see if he could heal with anger motivating him?”

“Something like that,” Alex responds evasively.

He’s obviously not telling them something, but when Maria tries to pry into his feelings she feels that steel wall again, as Alex was clearly expecting her. She doesn’t love surprises, but there are more important things to focus on, so she lets it go and she, Alex, and Kyle spend the rest of the night thinking about supplies to bring to the cave to be sure they are prepared for any eventuality. With so much out of their hands, they grip tightly to what they can control.

***

As happy as Maria is that they thought to pack warm clothes and rain gear, she realizes there was no real way to prepare for this. They wait helplessly while Michael paces outside in the wind and rain, trying to figure out how Max managed to harness power from the heavens. She hopes someone has thought of a plan to tap into Michael’s love for Max, because for now he seems to be cursing his name. At last, Michael re-enters the cave and he does seem to be buzzing with energy, so something must’ve worked. Now that the plan is set in motion, Maria’s suddenly freaking out a little. She looks over at Alex and copies the slow, deep breath he takes before he starts directing everyone as they’ve practiced. Maria and Liz are stretched out on a cot against the far cave wall, far enough to not be in the way, but in Isobel’s line of sight. Maria’s positioned Liz so she is sitting between Maria’s legs, leaning back on her for support, Maria’s arms tucked tightly around Liz to ground her if channeling her love and grief becomes too much.

Maria watches as Alex dips his hand in the silver solution and pulls Max from the pod. Immediately, Isobel and Michael place their hands over Max’s heart, and Maria can feel the swirling of love coursing through the cave. The energy emanating from Michael and Isobel is intense and a little frightening. Max’s body pulsates as power surges through him, but as the continued attempts don’t push breath back into his lungs, Maria feels Michael’s frustration mount and he lets out a pained scream. Maria can tell that the frustration and love aren’t working together to fuel his power, but rather fracturing it. She looks around panicked, unsure if anyone else is aware that Michael is about to come apart at the seams. Liz has her eyes screwed shut, tears streaming down her face as she pushes bruises into Maria’s arms. Isobel has both hands plastered over Max’s heart, eyes never leaving Liz’s face, completely focused on her attempts, only love flowing through her body into Max. But Maria can feel that Michael’s love for Max is clouded by anger, frustration, and fear, and he can’t seem to focus it, as the power he channeled from the storm threatens to overwhelm him. Maria sees Kyle take an unconscious step forward, seemingly concerned about the power expenditure but unsure what to do, until Alex orders orders him to stop and step back. Maria’s panic recedes a bit as she sees a calm certainty on Alex’s face. He moves purposefully, kneeling on the other side of Max directly across from Michael.

Michael looks at him panicked, “No, Alex, get back! There’s too much… it’s too much.”

“Michael. Stop. Look at me.” Alex’s voice is a stark contrast to Michael’s: calm, but commanding. Michael seems grateful for the intervention and does as he’s told. Isobel stops her attempts too. They both look to Alex for direction.

Alex unbuttons his shirt, sliding it off one shoulder, revealing the full glowing handprint Maria saw the corner of in the bar the other day. Alex grabs Michael’s left hand, the recently healed one.

“What are you doing?” There’s still an edge of alarm to his voice, but Maria can feel that he has settled a little.

Alex looks Michael square in the eyes. “Will you trust me?”

Michael just nods and lets Alex press his left hand to the handprint. He places Michael’s right hand back next to Isobel’s over Max’s heart and directs them both to try again. Maria watches Alex close his eyes in concentration. Maria’s senses are flooded by the waves of love that she can feel Alex push into Michael. It suddenly clicks for Maria. She knows from Liz that the handprint creates a psychic bond; that she and Max could feel each other, and if Max touched the handprint, they could even share in each other’s memories. This was always Alex’s backup plan, she realizes, to use his love for Michael to fuel the resurrection, and she thinks it might be working. When Maria tries to read Michael now, she senses a shift in his entropy. His emotions were storming before, fighting against each other, but now, it’s like everything else has gone quiet, and the love pours out of him bright and strong. Michael rests his forehead against Alex’s, eyes closed, gripping Alex’s shoulder with his left hand, as his right glows red next to both of Isobel’s. She can tell he’s emitting energy and the lights they’ve set up in the cave flicker wildly, but he no longer looks as pained.

Maria’s focused so entirely on Michael, that it’s not until she’s knocked sideways as Liz suddenly leaps to her feet and throws herself at Max, that she realizes that Max’s chest is now rising and falling on its own accord. Liz is clutching at Max and sobbing, as he comes to enough to wrap his arms around her. Isobel is sagged against Kyle, who is making her drink water as he takes her vitals. Michael collapses into Alex for a moment, until Max jostles them as he attempts to sit up. They seem to remember simultaneously that they aren’t supposed to be touching each other like this, and pull apart. Michael, after assuring himself that Max seems to still be breathing steadily, rushes to Izzy’s side, nearly knocking over Valenti in the process. Isobel lets Michael hold her, but she never takes her eyes off Max, seemingly afraid to blink in case when she opens her eyes, he’ll be suspended in that pod again. Michael has an arm secured tightly around Izzy, and his eyes flicker between his siblings, but his left hand unconsciously touches his shoulder in the same spot the handprint is splayed on Alex’s.

A hand on her arm causes her to flinch and she realizes Alex has come to sit down beside her. “You ok? That was a lot.” His tone is gentle, but uncertain in a way it hasn’t been in weeks. This close she can feels even more strongly the echo of emotions from both Alex and Michael, their energies intertwined through the handprint now. Maria considers him thoughtfully, before reaching over to grip his hand. “Yeah. It was a lot.” They both know she’s not talking about the resurrection. “I didn’t realize… I guess, maybe I didn’t want to…” She trails off, staring fixedly at their joined hands. “I am sorry, you know. I don’t think I ever said that.” She can hear Alex shift uncomfortably next to her. He’s always struggled to verbalize what he’s feeling, especially when he’s vulnerable, so it’s not surprising to Maria that he doesn’t respond right away. She does think it’s progress that he doesn’t immediately wave away her apology either. They both have work to do on accepting that their own wants actually matter.

When he does speak after a long moment, he seems to choose his words carefully. “I had ten years to tell you about it, and I never did. Part of it was because it didn’t feel like just mine to tell, but mostly I didn’t know how to explain it when I haven’t really always understood. It took me a long time to even get to a place where I was ready for it.” He laughs ruefully, “As always, our timing was obviously off.” He pauses, taking one of his deep centering breaths as he always does now when he needs a minute. He continues, “I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t hard for me, that it was you and him. But, I know better than anyone how everything else can disappear when he looks at you. If you needed that, well, I get it.”

She swallows hard, before forcing herself to drag her eyes up to meet Alex’s. “It was never like that with us...for either of us.” She admits. “We both wanted it to be, I think. But we didn’t, couldn’t, find that in each other.” They’re still kind of talking around it, not able to even say Michael’s name, but she thinks maybe it’s enough for now. It’s already an emotionally draining night, maybe they don’t need to say everything that’s been left unsaid between them right this minute.

They are interrupted anyways, by Max’s exasperated shout of, “Valenti, enough. Please, I’m ok, but I’d like to get out of this cave someday.” His siblings seem to have recovered their energy enough to move to his side, obediently waiting with Liz, close enough to touch him, feel his warmth, but allowing Kyle the space to do a brief checkup. Kyle and Liz have a silent conversation over Max’s head. Maria can tell they both would prefer to drag Max to a hospital and run every test in the book to be sure he really is ok, but they know that’s an impossibility, so they agree that they should all move back to Max’s place.

They haul Max up, and he leans heavily on Kyle and Liz. Isobel and Michael are too weak to be much support, so they trail close behind, unwilling to allow Max to be too far away from them, even for the short trip to the cars. Though his focus is on Max, Maria notices Michael’s gaze unconsciously flicker towards Alex every few seconds, as she and Alex walk behind the rest of the group. Maria sees Michael’s eyes narrow in concern over Alex’s barely noticeable limp, the result likely of too little sleep and too long kneeling on the uneven cave floor. Alex doesn’t seem to notice, as he’s too busy evaluating Michael and Isobel’s stamina. She can tell that he’s primed to step forward to support either of them if they stumble, even as his own balance is a little off currently.

Once back at Max’s they all collapse exhausted in his rather spacious living room. Liz curled against one side of Max, and Isobel on the other, while Michael’s reclines in the chair across from them, looking wrecked. Alex and Maria perch on stools next to the kitchen island, watching as Kyle rushes around doling out food and drinks, always the doctor, making sure everyone’s physical needs are met, before he begs off, indicating an early shift the next day. Maria suddenly feels like an outsider, unsure of her place here anymore. Liz can’t take her eyes or her hands off Max, and really doesn’t need Maria, but for some reason she’s not ready to remove herself from this situation. It feels petty to admit it’s mostly about the way Michael and Alex are looking at each other, the connection she can feel vibrating between them. Alex’s words echo in her mind: when Michael looks at him, everything else, including her, disappears. She really wants to get to a place where she’s happy for Michael and Alex if they can figure out a way to make things work, and it frustrates her that her stomach still drops at the thought. Maria feels a headache coming on. She wonders if it’s some kind of psychic hangover, brought on by an overdose of emotion swirling all around her tonight or the result of guilt that she’s having so much trouble being the bigger person. She’s not ready to leave completely but suddenly she really needs some air. The storm has quieted, so the air is humid but comfortable as she escapes wordlessly out the side door, sinking into an Adirondack chair by the fire pit. She lights up a joint, hoping it will combat the impending headache.

After about ten minutes, as the world begins to soften around her, she hears footsteps behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Alex head for his car, not noticing her stretched out in the chair nearby. He opens the driver’s side door but before he can climb in, the door slams shut. Alex whirls around to watch Michael shuffle towards him, seemingly having further exhausted himself with even this small use of power.

“What the hell, Guerin?” There’s no bite behind Alex’s words, just exhaustion.

“You’re leaving?” Michael sounds more hurt than angry.

“I thought you would want time with your family.” Maria has a good vantage point from where she’s sitting, the outside lights illuminating the cars, leaving the fire pit in shadow. This is starting to seem like a pattern for her, being in places she’s not supposed to be, hearing things she shouldn’t be hearing. But just like that day in the Crashdown, she’s glued to her seat.

“I thought you said you were my family.” Michael’s voice is quiet now that he’s made his way to the car and is leaning sideways against it, facing Alex. Alex sighs and takes a step towards Michael halving the distance between them.

“I am.” He replies, just as softly. “I was just trying to give you a little space.” Maria can see the familiar tension in his hands as he clenches them tightly behind his back.

Michael inches closer. “What if I don’t want space?” Maria can feel a surge of hope from Alex, even from this distance, followed by an immediate attempt to squash it. Michael continues, “I don’t think you do either. The handprint, it doesn’t lie.” He says it like a statement, but Maria can hear a questioning, insecure lilt to his tone.

Alex lets out another long breath, still working to keep his emotions in check. “Guerin, you’ve been through a lot tonight. Not just tonight, the last few months have been intense. What I showed you in the cave? That was the truth, that’s how I feel. But what you’re feeling right now? Liz told me that the handprint, it links us, links our emotions. So you’re feeling an echo of what I feel for you. It’ll fade in a few days, and you’ll remember all the reasons why you didn’t want to do this.”

“Come on, Alex. You’ve never needed a psychic handprint to know what I feel for you.” Michael shakes his head slightly, a fond exasperation on his face. “I still haven’t looked away.”

Maria’s not sure if she wants to roll her eyes or swoon. Jesus, Michael was never big with the declarations with her, but with Alex apparently he talks like he’s in a fucking Lifetime movie. The implications of his words sting a bit, but they are just a confirmation of what she already knew.

Michael reaches out, hooking a finger in Alex’s belt loop and tugging him even closer. Maria senses Alex’s resistance start to crumble. She feels a little like a voyeur, but there’s no way she’s leaving now.

“Michael,” Alex breathes. “I meant it when I said I wanted to start over, build things up the right way. But since then, we still haven’t really talked. About Caulfield, or Maria, or so many other things. I don’t want to keep making the same mistakes. Crashing back together or falling apart in the wake of traumatic and emotional events.”

“You called me Michael.” Michael sounds like he might actually cry. “That feels like progress. Can’t we just...forget the rest for right now? Just for tonight?”

Maria sees the instant Alex loses the battle he’s been fighting with himself, unlacing his fingers from behind his back and bringing a hand up to cup Michael’s jaw. “Ok,” Alex relents. “For tonight. And then we’ll talk?” Michael barely pauses to nod, as he slides a hand into Alex’s hair and surges forwards, kissing Alex like he needs him to breath. They grip each other tightly, swaying together for a beat before pulling apart just far enough to press their foreheads together, a mirror of their position earlier in the cave.

“Nauseating isn’t it?” Maria’s been so engrossed, she completely missed Isobel making her way outside until she’s collapsing in the chair next to her, plucking the joint from Maria’s hand and taking a long draw. Maria gapes at her as she continues, voice low, seemingly not wanting to be caught spying anymore than Maria does. “I feel like I have a freaking psychic hangover from the love fest going on inside, and now I come out to this.” Isobel waves her hand in Michael and Alex’s general direction, a look of annoyance on her face.

Maria lets out a startled laugh, before clapping a hand over her mouth. Luckily Michael and Alex don’t seem to have noticed. Michael leans heavily on Alex now, his head tucked against Alex���s neck, Alex’s arms wound protectively around Michael, as he braces himself against the car. Isobel looks at her questioningly. “I was thinking the exact same thing earlier,” Maria explains in a hushed tone. “It’s why I came out here actually. All that love swirling around gave me a headache. The pot helps.” Maria snags the joint back from Isobel taking another hit.

Isobel studies her appraisingly, as though she’s really seeing Maria for the first time. “Oh right, you’re kind of psychic too. Guess we have more in common than just our pathetic love lives.” Maria feels like she should be offended both by the ‘kind of’ and the crack about her love life, but god help her, Maria’s always had such a fondness for sass, so it really only endears Isobel to her.

She’s not sure if it’s the pot, the exhaustion, or the sense of connection that seems to have sprung up between them that leads her to ask, “With Noah, did everything else disappear when he looked at you?”

Isobel considers for a minute. “No,” she says finally. “It never did. I loved him; I wish I didn’t, but I did. But he wasn’t my person. I could never be myself with him, so I could never relax enough for that.”

“Yeah,” Maria agrees quietly.

Isobel seems surprised and embarrassed by her momentarily bout of honesty. She regains her composure quickly, returning to her regular snarky coolness. “Sorry though, your failed three month experiment of playing house with my brother kind of pales in comparison to my five year marriage to a serial killer who violated my body and mind to murder people.” Maria’s read Isobel before, but nothing she saw or felt from her during that reading is as illuminating as the edge of vulnerability that sneaks into her caustic tone.

Maria picks her words carefully knowing that this tentative bond will be snapped if Isobel senses even a trace of pity. Suddenly that’s something she really doesn’t want. “Wow, you really are a bitch,” Maria comments, keeping her voice light. “Luckily, I kind of love it.” Maria’s pleased when Isobel gives her another surprised and approving once over. Apparently Maria’s not the only one who appreciates sass.

“So, do you want to keep sitting here watching your ex-boyfriend and your best friend cosmically reconnect, or do you want to break into Max’s study where he keeps the good scotch?” Isobel offers. Maria allows herself one more glance over at Michael and Alex. They haven’t moved, still wrapped up in one another. For a moment she’s able to view them as an objective observer; the contentment radiating off of them both, the sense of peace they seem to find in each other, warms her heart. She forces herself to look away, before reality crashes back in. She pulls her gaze back to Isobel instead, transfixed for a moment by the way her blond hair gleams in the moonlight like a beacon. Maria gives her head a shake to clear it and throws Isobel a dazzling smile. “By all means, lead the way.”

#roswell new mexico fic #malex fic #maribel #if you squint #kylex friendship #maria deluca pov #my fic #soberqueerinthewild fic

[scandalsavagefanfic]

You are my thoughts fuel right now. Can't stop thinking about your aus and fics even when I'm working! Like your werewolf Ra's and turned hunter Jay: What if after a while Ra's gets intrigued by Tim? How Jason would react? Or Once he is left alone at the base in wolf form and the Hunters Bats break in and take a random wolf for interrogation. The shock when they see its Jason and is pregnant! And that just for that one!

Hello darling! I wanted to answer this so much sooner but I had to get to this point in the story (which didn’t start as a story, just some smutty fun, until I got so many amazing asks with such amazing ideas).

Anyway, I was so flattered that my fics were on your mind! You are so sweet and amazing! Thank you so much!

Words: 1626

Rating: T? M? (I don’t know… there’s no sex in this part either… what’s happening to me?)

Read the previous chapters on AO3!

Jason knows something isn’tright when Ra’s tries to send him away with Talia and Damian.

Ra’s usually likes to keephim close, especially when he’s this far along. Jason takes some comfort fromthe fact that the Alpha didn’t seem to realize how attached to his omega hewould become. Those unwanted instincts and feelings to make one’s mate happyand protect them are apparently a two-way street. Ra’s gets particularlyprotective and territorial toward the end of Jason’s pregnancies. And he onlyhas a few weeks before he gives birth.

Again, he thinks bitterly. On the one hand, he’s grateful that hedoesn’t have to spend 9 months pregnant like a human (though he would muchprefer the 65-day period of wolves) and on the other he despises that the 4month pregnancy and short recovery time means Ra’s has kept him swollen withhis spawn practically all year.

He wonders if that’s normal. Humansand wolves usually only mate once a year and though his first year with thepack is past, he was pregnant a third timebefore it ended.

He’s also a little bitterthat he’s going miss his change by about a week and he is going to have to popthe new ones out as a human. He had his first litter as a wolf and the secondas person. He much prefers going through it as the wolf. It’s less…embarrassing? Certainly less painful.

And even though he loves allhis pups, there’s already too many for him to handle on his own.

Jason sighs. He doesn’t mindgoing off to wherever Ra’s wants them to go.

With Damian.

Damian’s still a pup and asthe oldest child he’s actually been pretty helpful wrangling all his littleaunts and uncles. Jason knows that much of the kid’s motivation is to make surenone of his grandfather’s new children supplant him in the pack hierarchy, toestablish his dominance over them early. But Jason also knows who Damian reallyis, that Damian feels the same pull to Jason’s pups that his little ones felttoward Bruce and Dick, that they’re pack twice over. No one had to tell him,and no one has. But he can see so much of Bruce in Damian it’s almost scary.

But Talia? He knows Ra’strusts his Alpha daughter as much as he trusts anyone. But he doesn’t think hismate sees the way she eyes him sometimes. He’s the only omega in the pack(apparently it’s normal that only the lead Alpha takes a mate) and she’d beenaway on a mission when Ra’s let everyone else have a go at him after hisill-fated escape attempt. He gets the feeling she thinks she missed out. It’spretty unlikely the opportunity will arise again. Even if Jason were to try torun away… at this point, Ra’s is too invested. He has no doubt the Alpha wouldpunish him severely. But it would be private. Ra’s won’t share him now. Regardless,Jason doesn’t really want to be alone with Talia.

So he’s grateful when hisAlpha changes his mind and says he can stay. That it ‘actually works out betterthis way’ which then puts Jason right back on edge.

Their current keep, a remote Gothic castle somewhere in northern Germany, is strangely quiet as Jasontiptoes around. Something is going on, he has a sick feeling in the pit of hisstomach. And it’s not however many pups are in there this time.

Ra’s had told him to staywith the kids. But that’s always been a given so the fact that he had felt theneed to say something… well, it makes it impossible for Jason to resist leavinghis pups with Damian to go snooping around.

The few people he does runinto don’t try to stop him either so the rest of the pack must not know what’sgoing on any more than him. Though he does disappear into a shadow to avoidTalia.

As he creeps deeper into thelower levels he hears speaking coming from a room at the end of a long stonehall. Jason recognizes Ra’s’ soft, low tone easily and spares a moment to hate the way it immediately calms him.The other voice is too quiet to make out.

“—my eye on you since youstarted looking into his disappearance,” Ra’s is saying as Jason carefullymakes his way to door, “You’re very nearly as good a hunter as your ‘father’.What you lack in his physical prowess you make up for with intellect. Too badintellect only gets you so far when you go off on your own.”

There’s the sound of chainsclinking together and little grunting noises that indicate a struggle. Thensomething is mumbled too gently for Jason to hear.

“No they won’t, son,” hisAlpha drawls, “They do not know where you are and they believe he is dead.”

More garbled words, most ofwhich he can’t quite catch. He hears ‘found you’ and ‘babies’ and ‘you’re sick’and finally ‘knows the difference’ but not much else. However, there’s a smallnote of familiarity in the way it sounds. It pulls at the loose ends of faraway memories.

“Ah, yes. Thank you forconfirming that it was your meddlesome family who broke into our last home. Asfor Jason, I’ll have to have a word with him about it, I suppose. After all,family should come first. And Jason’s family is no longer your’s. It’s mine.”

Jason freezes. One of hisbrothers is chained up in that room with Ra’s. Just as he had been once.

Suddenly his Alpha’s desireto send away the only omega for miles makes more sense.

The wave of conflictingemotions that flood through him are debilitating. He’s hurt and angry that hismate would try to make another, especially now, while he carries yet anotherlitter of their pups. But he’s also terrified for…

Tim… that’s who’s in there,that is whose voice he hears. Restrained and at Ra’s’ mercy.

An internal war rages as hisinstincts clash. He hadn’t really had much time to get to know Tim before hewas captured by the Shadow Pack. Tim had been new, only been with them forabout a year. Bruce had taken him in after a lone wolf killed his parents.Jason had liked him but Tim hadn’t had a chance to come out of his shell yet.

Regardless, Tim is part oftheir clan. He is family. Who does Jason protect when both parties are pack?

It’s harder than it shouldbe, to choose Tim, and he hates himself for how long it takes him to stumblethrough the doorway begging “No, please, Ra’s don’t—“.

But it’s nothing to theself-loathing he feels when he sees Ra’s pull away from Tim’s limp body, teethbloody, and realizes he’s too late.

Jason’s knees hit the flooras Ra’s turns and smiles down at him.

“What… what did you do?”Jason asks softly, staring at the drop of blood that drips down Tim’s claviclefrom the bite in his neck until tears sting his eyes. He doesn’t expect andanswer. It’s obvious.

Ra’s slips his fingers underJason’s chin and tilts his head up before cupping his cheek. Jason meets hisgaze and the tears fall.

“You need assistance, Beloved,”Ra’s explains. Jason closes his eyes at the term of affection and leans intothe warm touch. “There is no appropriate option within the pack. So I’ve madeyou one.”

Jason glances back to Tim,still hanging unconscious against the wall, already starting to sweat profuselyas his body begins facilitating the changes to come.

In that moment he’s struckwith a sense of clarity. He won’t let Ra’s do to Tim what was done to him.He’ll help Tim get away before the bond that keeps Jason at his Alpha’s sidemore than anything else can be established. He’s relieved to find that it hasnothing to do with jealousy, nothing to do with Ra’s finding another, or a new,mate, nothing to do with being replaced. But everything to do with protectinghis brother. Ra’s will never touch Tim the way he’s touched Jason.

As though he can read Jason’sthoughts in his expression, Ra’s chuckles and leans over, pressing their lipstogether. Jason opens his mouth without complaint when Ra’s’ tongue prods athim for access.

When the Alpha pulls away andstraightens he cocks his head, regarding Jason with an odd warmth.

“Do not worry, my dear. Youare not being set aside. It did occur to me that two omegas would give me moreoptions in the future. But the pack has no need for another, not to mention theadditional temptation and distraction of an unmated omega, or the resentmentthat could build under a greedy Alpha with two mates. Our kind do not take wellto such departures from protocol.”

Jason tries to suppress thetingle of relief he feels. Focuses instead on his confusion because the packcertainly doesn’t need another Alpha and an Alpha wouldn’t be much help to him.He also tries to focus on that streak of fear he feels for Tim; the anger hefeels toward Ra’s.

“Timothy is much bettersuited to being a beta anyway.”

Jason frowns. He has neverheard of betas.

But then Ra’s’ fingers are inhis hair, his nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Come, Beloved,” Ra’s growlsdarkly, tugging him to his feet and pressing him back into the door frame, “Yousmell delicious. I want to spend the rest of the night inside you with yourneck between my teeth.”

#Jason Todd #Ra's al Ghul #Ra's al Ghul/Jason Todd #Ra'sJay #werewolf/hunter au #Opportunity Knocks

[unorthodoxsavvy]

An Unorthodox Update

Hello, friends, Romans, country-core-people... mutuals...

I’d like to take a minute to address this blog and the direction it’s been going in.

First let’s look at our roots.

I started this blog in November of 2016, about a month after I started dating my boyfriend (CretaceousHero, go give him a follow guys) and it was originally an MCR blog titled Welcome-To-The-Savvy-Parade (yeah it hurts to read for me too but there were good intentions). Around that time somewhere maybe like 2015 I had started watching Dan and Phil and my posts gravitated towards them and Bands™️. After a while I think I slowly changed over to mostly Dan and Phil under UnorthodoxSavvy, which has become my main branding everywhere, starting on here (Twitch, Twitter when I had one, Discord, other messaging systems, Pokémon go, AC: PC) and I use the name “Savvy” which I also went by IRL for a while and still kind of do I just don’t talk to as many people anymore. From there I was often lumped in with Dan and Phil blogs even though I never had an official Dan and Phil branding. Throw in some superheroes and tv shows, etc. I was even a front-runner for Phandom Meetups when those were a thing. Commenting on YOUR photos brought me happiness.

At some point I decided to split my content into two blogs, this one and my side blog. Both have a certain theme that are almost polar opposites when you compare them, but they are both me. I’m currently thinking of changing that url by the way as the joke has kind of died out. My content over there has also changed recently.

Dan and Phil have been posting less and less, which is OKAY. Personally I think that Dan can go do whatever the hell he wants and doesn’t owe us anything BUT I know that I’m in a minority of thinking that way. Even other YouTubers have suggested that not keeping up with your audience and telling them if you are still a YouTuber or what-not is kind of unfair, so, no offense, but hearing it from another YouTuber’s perspective makes me more inclined to see that you guys maybe aren’t as unfounded as I would have originally thought.

Either way, it’s clear that there is less DnP content out there which means less content for all DnP blogs, which I feel like puts me even more away from being labeled a “Dan and Phil” blog. I’ve never wanted to limit myself to just them though.

Over the past year or so I’ve grown into focusing more on posting nature, plants, “aesthetic” images, more positivity, more positive LGBT+ stuff. I’ve tried to step back from the discourse but that hasn’t always been successful. I’ve tried my best to put negative things on my other blogs but honestly sometimes I need to post on here about how lonely I am where people can see it. I’ve taken YOUR suggestions and I’ve tried to post more informational and positivity posts about things I am not in support of others: Trans and other gender identities, autistic post, psychotic and other mental illnesses that aren’t as well recognized/more stigmatized, etc.

The feeling I wish to convey on this blog I guess is a sense of peace and purity with information and a non-nonsense tollerance of hatred with some positivity and jokes here and there. Does that make sense?

I guess what I’m trying to say through all of this is I don’t really know where this blog is headed right now. Some content you can expect to see if I keep up with the blog is Queer Eye, LGBTQ+ things, plants, animals, photography, art, information, etc. If anyone has any other suggestions please feel free to throw them out. Tell me what you do/don’t like.

I say if I keep up with this blog because right now Tumblr Mobile’s new notification system has pushed me towards turning off all of my notifications on my phone for this app. That means if I get an ask, if I get a message, I am not seeing it right away because even if I had them turned on it would be swept in with all of the likes, reblogs, and comments and buried. By nature I’m not being as active on this blog.

I would hate to throw away everything I’ve worked for on here and though it’s hard for me to believe I think some of you might actually miss me if I just threw it all away. I had a good 3 days last week of constant hate in my inbox and notifications so that was fun too. Whatever man.

If you’re interested in any of my other interests like The Umbrella Academy, Stranger Things, Dark Egos, Vulture Culture, BFU, Cryptids, Superheroes, the general post about me complaining about people, feel free to follow what is currently @shes-demons-jim but will probably change soon.

Some of you may also know that Emory and I have finally opened a few online shops which I run the PR for. I follow many of the same blogs on there and drop by YOUR inboxes from time to time spreading the positivity I used to on here, but kind of slacked off on. From there I was to comment on your photos and lift you up. Though we are a store, we are us, Savvy ans Emory, dating for almost 4 years, have had your backs since day 1 and hope you have ours too. If you don’t know our shop’s proceeds are going to raise money for his top surgery, as he’s getting older now and it’s more of an option and because dysphoria sucks. Which I’m sure a lot of you relate to (and I feel for you I can’t even imagine). Also the blog for that is @unorthodox-hero-shop feel free to go check it out there will be more designs up today.

If I’ve missed any asks or messages over the past week or so, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I don’t feel like being as active as much because Tumblr gets worse and worse. People on here suck and I would hate to leave you all to the wolves ;) (I’ve been seeing some rough posts lately yikes).

Also who else do I have to bitch to about people??? So there! You can keep me around so I can bitch to you guys!! Look her real personality came through ya’ll.

Anyway I hope you’re having a great day as usual I don’t expect anyone to read this, it’s more for me then anything else I guess, have a nice day, see you over on my other blogs as well 👋🏻

#long post #like really long #thoughts #personal

[warmau]

{Special} College!AU Dowoon

major: character animation

minor: film 

clubs: frequents any club he finds interesting, but is never a permanent member. has done everything from surfing club to painting club to opera club

sports: did freshman soccer and then schoolwork took over his life LOL

dowoon is super chill - like he’s never ,,,, stressing out or getting super passionate about anything

he always has the same “life is good” expression on his handsome face and it makes people feel really comfortable around him

because he doesn’t seem like the judgmental or fake type

he doesn’t even have to try to make friends,,,,people gravitate toward him like he’s got some calm magnetic field

jae doesn’t get it - he thinks dowoon can be a real little shit sometimes (but jae thinks this about EVERYONE so,,,,)

while wonpil on the other hand flat out ADORES dowoon

nudges past youngk to sit next to dowoon when they’re eating lunch or running halfway across the quad just to say hi to him

wonpil just points at him like “my tall son”

and dowoon is like “im not your son, but do whatever makes you happy hyung”

the animation majors nicknamed dowoon the koala because he kind of does everything pretty leisurely, but at the same time look serene as hell

also whenever someone draws a koala they give it that calm look on its face,,,,,much like the always calm look on dowoons face

dowoon thinks its cute

but wonpil argues that dowoon is WAY more of a sloth than he is a koala

he choose character animation because he likes cartoons,,,,especially really silly cartoons

youngk or sungjin are always reading those dramatic webtoons or whatever but dowoon enjoys comic strips for quick, funny jokes

and he was always way more of a dreamer than a devoted student,,,doodling cute characters in the margins of his notes rather than jotting down his homework

traditional art like painting and sculpting were never in his interest either 

quite honestly he’d snooze whenever his class had to take trips to museums or when he had to take the class on human anatomy sketching

thankfully people liked him enough to nudge him awake when the teacher was looking LOL

he added film as a minor only because he’s interested in story boarding - a lot of his homework is actually done by wonpil and youngk who have vast opinions on cinema

while dowoon is like “uhuh, mhmm, oh ok i should right that in my essay? oh,,,,wait,,,you want to write my essay for me? i mean,,,well only if you want to,,,,”

is the drummer of night6 and decorated the back of his kit with small drawings

everytime someone points them out dowoon is like “i dont know how they got there ^_^”

totally a college student who owns a mickie mouse sweatshirt

totally owns mickie mouse pajamas that he wore to seminar once

messy haired boy with an even messier backpack

“hey,,,prof,,,i left my sketchbook back at the dorm!”

“did you bring anything to class dowoon?”

“,,,,,,,, my sticks,,,,,for drumming?”

 you see what i mean 

but it’s like lovable he’s like messy, dorky, and loveable

because he might not get his work in on time,,,,but he sure as hell gets his work in

and the glints of passion you can see on dowoon are secluded in his dorm room when he’s drawing 

or when he’s on stage drumming 

got a love letter from a fan once at a concert and wonpil was like ooooo romance~ love~ whats it say~ 

and dowoon was like

“it says i remind them of a bean sprout because im getting skinny and i shouldnt lose so much weight”

wonpil: “THATS touchig they care about your hea-”

dowoon: “THERES A DISCOUNT TO A CHICKEN PLACE IN HERE WOOOOOOOOO”

you know the rest of his friends are all like,,,,thinking a little about romance and love - wonpil is literally bursting with it while jae acts like he doesn’t care but lowkey writes all their songs about being lonely

youngk and sungjin too,,,,

but dowoon seems to think of romance as the last thing he’d ever need in his life right now

when people ask about relationships he assumes they’re asking about his friendships

and whenever someone shows interest dowoon reciprocates with absolute obliviousness

he’s just a fun-loving dude who likes to doodle and take naps in the library,,,,,,

that’s all he needs

and those naps in the library are how you meet dowoon

you work in the library, mostly just re-shelving and helping students find textbooks on reserve 

you envy the people who got desk jobs checking out books or helping with laptops,,,,,but at the same time you don’t mind the walking around 

it helps clear your mind

and one afternoon,,,,you were stuck in the least visited section of the library

there were new books to shelve so you were trying to figure out where they belonged when your foot caught on something 

and you almost ended up tumbling over whatever it was,,,,,,stopping yourself from face planting into the floor just in the nick of time

flipping over, you expected to see - a book,,,,a water bottle,,,someones backpack or something

but instead you saw a person

a boy,,,,,,with his legs stretched out and his head leaned back against the shelf

dead asleep

after a moment,,,you clear your throat and the boy jolts a bit

only to rub his sleepy eyes and give you a half smile

“is the library closing?”

he asks with a yawn

you deadpan “no, but you’re also not allowed to sleep in the bookshelf aisles.”

he doesn’t even seem to budge in response,,,,just stares at you with pool of dark brown

“oh”

oh????? is that all he has to say????

“and i just tripped over you, so you can see how it’d be a hazard-”

he slowly gets up, moving one limb at a time before he extends his hand to you

“sorry,,,,,,,,,ill help you up.”

you stare at his outstretched hand,,,but narrow your eyes and get up without his help

dusting off your shirt you give him a glare,,,,,to which he responds with the same dreamy half smile

“you can sleep in the student lounge on the second floor.”

with that you turn, taking your cart of books with you to continue your job

out of the corner of your eye you see the boy scratch the side of his head,,,,blink without thought at the things around him and then make his way out to of the aisle

you untense your shoulders,,,,,sighing

maybe you were too harsh or whatever,,,,but rules are rules and if anyone saw you letting him get away with it - it’d be your job on the line

although maybe you could have been less cold,,,,,

you shrug it off, not interested anymore in a student who you don’t even recognize as you continue working

you make your way over to the next aisle and just as you’re about to pluck a book of the cart you look down and 

there’s the same boy

sleeping

you straighten up,,,,staring at the top of his messy dark hair

you clear your throat,,,,but he doesn’t wake up

so you squat down beside him and use your index finger to poke him awake

he does the same little jolt and then turns to you

“hey”

“what did i say about sleeping in the aisles?”

he shrugs, giving the same goofy look to you

“it’s a hazard?”

you resist the urge to go “no shit” and instead motion for him to get up 

he does as told,,,,but gives you another half tired smile

“would it be cool if i went back to the aisle you finished shelving? i wont be a bother-”

“no”

he huffs, but the smile never leaves his face

he doesn’t seem fazed by your demands,,,,nor does he seem like he’s going to follow the rules

so you personally walk with him to the staircase and tell him again that the student lounge is free

he thanks you,,,,,,,,which makes you feel a little weird,,,,,and then disappears

you think about it for a bit,,,,,he looks like a slacker - or maybe he’s just the skipping class type

either way,,,,,,you hope you won’t find him in the next aisle

you dont,,,,,thankfully but when you arrive for your shift a couple of days later

you’re back in the same lonely part of the library

and just as you’re about to wheel your cart of books ,,,,, guess who you see

except this time,,,,he’s got a book over his face - as if he dropped it there right as he closed his eyes to sleep

you look at him,,,,crossing your arms

beside him is his open backpack,,,the contents threatening to spill out 

his hair is a little messy and peaks out from the book on his face and his pull over hoodie is thrown over his lap like some tiny blanket

you think for a moment that he must have been napping here for a while when you finally decide to lean over and poke him awake again

the books slides off his face and into his lap with a thump

he blink, coming to and then looks over at you

“oh,,,,,,,hey.”

he grins, you take note of his deep voice still laced with sleepyness

“didn’t i tell you a couple of days ago-”

he picks up the book and waves it

“i wasn’t sleeping,,,,i just,,,,dozed off while reading. i can read in the aisles right? that’s not a hazard?”

he innocently asks as you narrow your eyes

“listen,,,,,,i know you were sleeping”

he shrugs his shoulders up and down

“why cant you find somewhere else to take naps-”

you stutter over your sentence,,,,not sure even what this guys name is

“im dowoon, character design major.”

he puts his hand out for you to shake it and you stare at it

“ok, dowoon. you need to find other nap spots.”

he shuffles his hand around his bag and pulls out a tattered looking notebook

“i wont nap, i promise. ill just do some work and then i can stay, right?”

he flips it open to a random page where you can see multiple sketches and notes of different characters

technically,,,,students CAN study in the aisles of the library,,,,,there’s no rule against that

so you nod, going back to your cart of books

dowoon twirls a pencil between his fingers as if to send you off and then looks back down at his notebook

you go about your work,,,,but somewhere in the middle you get the nagging feeling to go check if dowoon really is working or did he rally go to sleep

so,,,,,,,you make your way down the shelves until you reach the one dowoon is in

and to your surprise he isn’t sleeping,,,,he’s actually drawing

and before you can make your quiet escape,,,,,he looks up and smiles

“wanna see what ive done so far?”

you feel a little embarrassed that you were caught,,,,but you nod and dowoon beckons you over

you sit down beside him and he shows you the new page of sketches he’s started

you stare down at one of them, it’s a bookshelf that seems to have come to life and beside it is a character

who looks familiar,,,,,

“that ones based on you,,,,,,i tend to be inspired by those around me.” dowoon says absentmindenly

and you look closer,,,,,shocked that even in such a small cartoonish drawing - there are details about it that do resemble you

you’ve only seen dowoon a couple of times but you’re shocked that he could remember just how you looked and compress it into such a cute drawing

you look up at him and he pushes the pencil behind his ear,,,seemingly content with what he’s gotten done

“well,,,,,as long as you’re not sleeping.”

dowoon nods, taking his book back “nope, plus i have class. see you around.”

he slips it into his bag before getting up and waving as he disappears out of the shelves

you sit there,,,,still thinking about the drawing,,,,,,and how maybe you had misconceptions about him afterall

dowoon does show up to the library again and again

but this time he doesn’t nap,,,,,he actually just spends time drawing 

which you actually come to really enjoy

he’s got such a simple, but fun style and he’s always willing to show you new sketches

and instead of him being that student who might get you in trouble,,he becomes someone you really look forward to seeing on your job

and after a bit of time,,,,you think dowoon feels the same way

just from how excitable he gets when you ask to see something and the cute smile he gives you when you push the cart past the aisle he’s in

in one way or another - you feel connected to dowoon,,,,you guys up in this section of the library,,,,,,,just the two of you

plus,,,,,,,,when you catch him sleeping again you let it slide - maybe because you’re sorta friends now

but also because you notice just how handsome he is when he’s asleep, pretty long eyelashes resting on the skin of his cheeks and the slightly curled dark hair that falls a bit into his eyes when he tips his head forward

but then,,,,,,,you come to work one day and dowoon is sitting in the aisle,,,,,,with someone else

they’re flipping through his notebook, giggling and pressing their shoulder against dowoon’s

you don’t know why,,,,but it makes you feel a bit ,, out of place

dowoon looks up just as you try to escape and calls you over

“i drew some more stuff for my class final, that character you like is in-”

you give a curt nod,,,,,,,and dowoon seems to falter when you turn away and shove your cart out of the aisle

but,,,,,,,he doesn’t follow you or anything

and when you find yourself aggravated,,,re-shelving books with way too much force then intentional

you ask,,,,,,,,what are you so upset over?

it’s probably a classmate,,,or a friend,,,,,,or a significant other

the thought of dowoon being with someone isn’t that baffling when he’s got this odd, calming charm to him

with a great face as an addition

but yet when you go up there the next day and dowoon is alone,,,,even then you don’t feel the urge to talk to him

but,,,,cold-shouldering dowoon is hard

not because you feel bad but because,,,,,after you ignore him for a whole week he just,,,,doesn’t show up anymore

and you think well whatever, right? now he’s gone and it’s not like you two bonded deeply or anything

but instead of dowoon in the aisle,,,,you find,,,,,,,,,,,

“im wonpil, you must be the one we’ve been hearing about.”

you look at the guy in front of you,,,,he’s definitely shorter than dowoon and his eyes have a different passion about them

“um,,,,im not sure what you mean?”

wonpil throws his hands up in the air and goes “dowoon! he hasn’t stopped talking about how he made one of the librarians mad! he’s all mopey about it too!”

you hush wonpil, his voice getting louder and remind him that this is still a library

and if anything you aren’t mad at dowoon,,,,you just had to work - this is your job after all

but wonpil doesn’t falter

even in a whispering tone, you can tell he’s still strung up about this

“WELL dowoon thinks you are mad! and believe me, dowoon doesn’t much care about how people feel about it him so you must mean something special.”

you open your mouth to argue but wonpil shakes his head

“no no you don’t GET IT- sorry indoor voice right,,,,,but dowoon has never shown an inkling of interest in anyone before,,,,,you’re,,,,,,you’re the first person he’s ever based a character on too didn’t-”

you pull back a bit, surprised “but,,,he told me he’s inspired by those around him?”

wonpil shakes his head, “inspired sure - but he specifically said he created that little cartoon to see if you’d like it. dowoon draws for himself, i cant even BEG him to make a little doodle for me but for you he’s-”

wonpil is talking a mile a minute and tbh most of it is going over your head at this point

because you don’t understand,,,,,,,you thought you were just another person to dowoon

just that librarian who nagged him before for sleeping in the aisles - but,,,,but now all of a sudden this random friend of dowoons is telling you ,,,,you’re something more??

“please just assure me you’re not mad at him.”

“im not,,,,,” you clutch your books closer to your chest and wonpil sighs

“ok. good. ill tell him and hopefully this is the beginning of something beautiful. gosh i just want dowoon to be in LOVE ALREADY”

you hush him and wonpil quiets down as he pulls his phone out and exits the aisle

you stand there for a bit,,,,,,,,but then turn to ask what the heck wonpil means by ‘love’ but,,,he’s gone

and although the whole thing stays on your mind,,,,work takes all of your attention

and when your shift at the library ends, you’re walking back to the main building of the college to get some late night studying done

when you hear someone call your name

you turn to see dowoon 

he looks like he’s just rolled out of bed,,,,wearing baggy overalls over a shirt you’re sure he’s owned for the better part of his life

he’s also got house slippers on which confuses you,,,,,,,did he like,,,,,run here in those?

“wonpil said he talked to you,,” dowoon starts

you nod slowly

“sorry he’s such a weirdo,,,he acts like my mom sometimes and i dont get it ,,,,”

you look down and wait for dowoon to get to the point - the point as to why he’s here after your shift in his damn pajamas for all you know

“he said you’re not mad at me,,,,so i hope i can ask you this and it’s ok,,,,,,,,,do you have time this weekend?”

“why?”

“the animation major is having a film festival thing and i wondered if you’d want to see mine,,,it’s really short like,,,,a minute and a half but y-you’re in it so,,,,”

the shock must be apparent on your face because dowoon is like oh but you don’t have to-

but you agree

you tell dowoon to tell you when and where and you’ll be there

but just as dowoon finishes giving you the details, he seems to want to ask something else

but you hurry off before he can

and the entire time you try to study you keep thinking about what dowoon means,,,,,,,you’re in his movie?

the film festival is really small, it fills up only one of the classrooms but it is filled to the brim

dowoon is surrounded by a group of fellow students, you recognize one of them as the person who was sitting with him in the book aisle

but you try to not let it bug you as you take one of the “free snacks” offered on a tiny table in the corner

dowoon only spots you when the films are about to start and he’s pulled away by a professor before he can come and say hi

you sit there, watching all the different cute films made by all the students

and they’re all amazing, you’ve never been much of an animation fan but the effort put into this works is amazing

and then,,,,,you see dowoon’s name flash across the screen

‘the magic of the library�� is the name of his piece

and it starts off with a character asleep in one of the aisles - until the walking bookshelf accompanied by the character who resembles you wakes him up

and taking his hand,,,,,,,,shows him the wonder of the library

dancing books, spinning desks, computers flashing with smiley faces

and you look at the characters - that are so obviously you and dowoon holding hands

and when it ends,,,,it is as short as he says,,,,,,you catch dowoon’s eye

he flusters when the clapping starts but you see that he’s got doubt on his face - an emotion you’ve never seen

and so,,,,without thinking

you make way through the students and up to dowoon

“did you like i-”

he starts, but you just lean up and press your lips to his cheek

the boys around him all gasp and dowoon turns to color of a lobster but goes 

“i,,,im glad you liked it,,,,,,”

“and you! THEY LIKE YOU DOWOON!” 

wonpil’s familiar voice comes from your right and everyone in the room goes “SHHH” as the next film starts

you take dowoon’s hand and he squeezes it as you two make your way out of the cramped room

and dowoon goes

“can you kiss me again, sorry i just want to know it happened.”

and you do it 

but then dowoon chuckles and go, “sorry - again. i want to feel it again.” 

and you’re like boy stop playing around

BUT it’s cute because now you and dowoon know your mutual feelings and,,,,,even though wonpil will probably not shuttup about it if you two go back in there

you’re content with that

but also wonpil’s like wanna ditch this festival and go on a date? and you’re like wont you get in trouble with your professor?

and dowoon shrugs like “it’s worth it”

dating dowoon is a lot of just,,,,,,doing normal things together 

and wonpil absolutely LOSING IT over how cute you two are

like you’ll just be sharing a drink and wonpil has tears down his face like dowoon,,,,im so happy for you,,,,,,

it’s wild - but you get used to it

dowoon is a drifter - he likes trying new things but never gets attached to them for too long

like he’ll invite you to this club he found on campus about flower arrnging

and you’ll be like it was super fun! and dowoon is like mhmm, next week lets try rockclimbing

which you’re not really opposed to,,,,dowoon looks like the laze at home type but the reality is that he is super curious and likes to learn whatever he can

which you love about him 

it’s always an adventure,,,,,,,,but that doesn’t mean he’s opposed to just cuddling on a rainy afternoon and ordering food online

but - with you it’s different for dowoon

he is in it for the long run and he values your interests a lot,,,,,,,

which is new for him, aside from night6, he’s not really close to anyone

but you are the center of his world,,,,,what you like - he’ll like too because he does wanna support you

and when he asked youngk for fashion advice for one of your dates youngk was so shocked he asked jae if dowoon had a twin brother or something like was this really happening

dowoon is still dreamy though

you guys will be walking somewhere from class and he’ll see one dog across campus and be like i gotta go pet it

even if he’s late for a class

and you have to be like no no no come here e have to go to class and dowoon is like but :( puppy :( 

sometimes you’re the only thing keeping him on track to graduating LOL

you also really like watching dowoon practice the drums

he’ll always try to get you to play something and you’re like i cant and he’s like it’s easy to smack the drums

and you’re like thats not how it works babe

and he’s like that’s what ive been doing and it’s been working SO

dowoon doodles you in his notebook but is too embarrassed to show you 

you are dowoon’s first real serious relationship and so sometimes he’s a little clutzy with romance but you don’t mind

especially when he gets shy about trying new things ,,,,,, physically

but it’s dowoon - with his big warm body and cute as hell face

in your head you’re like he could do anything to me and id be fine with it but ofc dont say that outloud because the one time you did dowoon almost had a heatstroke 

you wear anything that shows skin. dowoon goes into a blushing frenzy

wonpil was convinced before you that dowoon didn’t have the capacity to be jealous

but one time when wonpil was leaning his head against your shoulder and being you know,,,,wonpil

and dowoon literally picked him up and dragged him away 

you: oh so strong

dowoon: <3

wonpil: dowoon. dowoon put me down. dowOON

also you don’t really know it but dowoon thinks that a lot of the stuff you do is super adorable

like you once told him you love the library because you love the smell of new books

and he was like,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,you’re the cutest person ever

and you were like hmm and he was like nothing huh books right

dowoon is a sucker for you combing your fingers through his hair,,,,any chance at it he’s like head in your lap and you’re like ok ok i know what you want

for your first anniversary for 100 days he forgot to get flowers so he drew a photo of some flowers and was like,,,,,,is this ok

and you were like ,,,,, how are you so darn cute

still gets fan letters professing love to him and he’s like oh. now i get it they like me and jae is like yeah dude

but dowoon shrugs and is like too bad im taken 

dowoon couple matching bracelets (which wonpil is jealous off and wont admit it)

dowoon is the type of love that seems simple and sweet but the reality is that dowoon has never had someone special

and having you has really changed his outlook on life,,,,,like it’s dramatic and sappy to say that

but he’s grown because of falling in love with you and tbh when you ask him 

when was the moment he started liking you

he shyly admits that he thought you scolding him in the library for sleeping was super cute

and you’re like what how

and he’s like i like,,,,someone who tells me what to do 

you, blushing : o-oh ,,,,,this is good information trjkdlsfj

dowoon lets you wear his hoodie and ur like u should wear one too its cold

and hes like babe,,,,if im being honest,,,,the one you’re wearing is the only clean one i have,,,,,right now,,,,,,,

date: you and dowoon at the school laundromat with him sketching to pass the time and you reading

but you look up every now and then to see if the machine is done and also to kiss when no one else is around ,,,,,,,,,,cute

he’s a soft boyfriend who thinks of a cute nickname for you but is too nervous and shy to say it outloud so he writes it down on a piece of paper and shows it to sungjin

and sungjin is like “you’re nervous to call your own significant other,,,,,,,honey?”

dowoon, ears red: “i dont want to come off corny like you sungjin”  

day6: jae | wonpil | youngk | sungjin by group: bangtan | vixx | got7 | nct | kard | monsta x | seventeen gg specials: amber | momo | irene commissioned: iu | chanyeol | hongseok | baekhyun 

#day6 scenarios #day6 imagines #day6 au #dowoon scenarios #dowoon imagines #dowoon au #day6 dowoon #sfw #day6 #dowoon #im wonpil through this whole thing

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: Somewhere on Your Road Tonight (ch. 7)

Sara and Leonard made a life for themselves, together in 1958, after the Waverider left them, Ray and Kendra behind. But now they're back on the ship, Mick has been twisted into Chronos, Kendra is pregnant, and Savage is still out there. They'll deal--together. (Sequel to "Chances Are.")

Another chapter set during "Last Refuge" in this 'verse. Many thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta! Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

The jump to Dec. 25, 1986, is first, and Rip brings the Waverider in through a gentle snowfall as he gets as close to the Starling City Hospital as possible. He dispatches Mick and Ray to go kidnap little Sara before asking the older version to go check on the boys in the brig—a way, Leonard recognizes, to distract her from the mission that’s taking place.

Leonard falls into step with her (a touch hastily, he’ll admit, after he hears Kendra’s voice rise from the crew quarters, where young Mick had apparently gotten quite sick after their jump). If Sara realizes that, though, she shows no sign.

“So, I stopped by the brig after the medbay before. Young Ray had succeeded in getting young you to play video games with him,” she says after a moment or two, squeezing his hand before letting go.

Leonard snorts, grateful for the distraction himself. “I bet that went well.”

“It did, actually.” She laughs a little. “Apparently, he lost steadily for the first few games, then started figuring things out and has been kicking little Ray’s ass ever since.”

Is it weird, that he feels a rush of pride at that? “Ah,” he drawls. “Baby Palmer complaining to you about it?”

Sara’s lips twitch. “Actually, he was thrilled. Thinks his new buddy is awesome.” She glances over at him. “He was chattering up a storm, and young Leonard was watching him with a mix of...I think it was disbelief, horror and amusement, all wrapped up in one expression. Pretty sure I’ve seen that same expression on your face.”

"Sounds about right.” Two lonely kids far more intelligent than most of their peers, Sara’s voice says in his memory. He shakes his head.

“Mr. Snart? I...have an inquiry.”

They both glance upward at that as they slow, nearing the brig. “Yes, Gideon?” Leonard drawls, wondering. That sort of reticence isn’t like the AI.

There’s a pause. “It would not affect the timeline whatsoever if I give young Mr. Snart some vitamin supplements and…and get that sprained wrist healing a bit better,” the AI says quietly. “Would that be acceptable to you?”

Leonard stops despite himself. Even Gideon’s noticed both his younger self’s malnourishment and the injured wrist caused by a particularly rough jerk by Lewis, he thinks, wondering why the idea bothers him so much.

“I...yeah, that’d be fine,” he says after a moment. He can feel Sara’s eyes on him.

“Please bring him to medbay, then. I will compile the supplements.” Gideon’s tone is now businesslike, brisk. “It would be helpful if you would do so. I would like a blood sample.”

For an AI, Leonard thinks sometimes, she gets people more than, well, some people.

Young Leonard had still been regarding young Ray with the same bemused expression when they arrived, although the latter had pretty much bounded to his feet to greet them and the former had tensed, moving slightly away. For a moment, Sara had worried that the boy was going to panic when they asked that he go with Leonard, but when the older man makes no threatening moves—and, in fact, displays little interest in him—he warily agrees. They leave her behind with young Ray, who’s turned his attention back to the wonders of Xbox.

Or at least, he pretends to be until they depart.

“Ma’am?”

Sara reflects that this is where her life is right now. Being called “ma’am” by 12-year-old Ray Palmer. She turns with a sigh. “Don’t call…”

But the boy is standing there, looking at her with big, worried eyes, and whatever he’s concerned about, Sara caves. “What is it?”

Young Ray glances around, as if making sure no one will overhear him, but since young Leonard is headed to medbay with his older self, Sara isn’t even sure why. Then he takes another step closer and lowers his voice.

“That boy,” he says, nearly in a whisper. “Lenny?”

Please don’t tell me he stole something. “Yes?”

“I think…” Ray gulps. “I think someone’s been hurting him.”

Sara blinks. He’s so earnest and so worried, and for a moment, she’s just not sure what to say. Giving herself time to think, she pauses in front of him. “Yeah? Tell me.”

Encouraged, Ray continues. “He’s got lots of bruises. And his arm hurts him.” He nods at Sara’s expression. “He eats like he’s been starving, too, and I saw him tucking some bread away. Like to save it for later? He doesn’t get enough food, I think.”

Not for the first time, Sara thinks it’s lucky for Lewis Snart that he’s already dead. She tries to keep her more violent thoughts from her face, though. “That’s pretty perceptive,” she says.

Young Ray shrugs. “I saw an afterschool special on it once,” he tells her seriously, and Sara has to hide a smile. “You said you were protecting us. Can you help him?”

Oh, that hurts. Both the knowledge that they can’t, that they’ll have to put young Leonard back where they found him—and the fact that she has to lie to young Ray now, or destroy all that youthful trust and optimism. (Which is probably just a little off anyway, considering that they’re effectively his kidnappers.) Sara tries to make her expression reassuring, but she’s not sure how well she manages.

“We’ll do everything we can,” she tells mini Ray. “OK?”

The boy studies her, then nods.

“He wouldn’t say where he’s from,” he says with a sigh. “I wish it was Ivy Town. I don’t have anyone to play video games with. An’ he’s real smart. Most of...most of the kids I know, they think it’s not cool to be smart.”

He smiles suddenly, then.  "I bet my parents would help. If I told them he needed a place to stay. You know?”

For a few seconds, Sara stares into space, imagining what that would do to the timeline. Then she gives young Ray Palmer a wistful smile, because he’s just so...Ray...and the world needs more of that.

“Yeah,” she tells him, unable to resist ruffling his dark hair. “I know.”

Baby Sara safely onboard, they jump again, to Ivy Town in March 1950, while both Leonards are still in the medbay. The older version watches as the younger weathers the jump with merely an annoyed headshake and goes back to drinking the vitamin-laced hot cocoa that Gideon had whipped up. (It’s a little frightening just how well she knows their predilections by now. There are even mini marshmallows.)

Leonard sighs, then takes a sip of his own cocoa. The boy wouldn’t touch the drink unless he did, too. Understandable, really. He’s also pretty sure his younger self has something—a table knife?--up his sleeve as well.

Young Leonard had been quite dubious about the medbay sleeve Gideon had requested he put his arm in, but he’d eventually complied, and now the AI tells him he can remove it. While she doesn’t say so, older Leonard knows that this means the damaged ligaments and blood vessels have been healed, good as new.

Pity that it’ll just happen again after he gets home. Sooner or later, it will happen again.

The boy sits up on the chair, then glances at the man, curiosity and caution warring on his face. And before he even thinks about what he’s going to do, Leonard’s speaking to him, saying the words that have been rattling around in his head.

“It’s not your fault.”

The words come out in a monotone. Young Leonard starts at them, although he tries to conceal it. His eyes narrow, and he watches the older man intently, still holding himself like he’s ready to lash out or try to escape at any moment.

It hurts to watch him. But Leonard can’t help himself. He needs to do this.

“Lewis beating on you,” he tells the boy quietly. “The names, the curses, the...the abuse. Your mom leaving. Not your fault. Any of it.”

Unsurprisingly, younger Leonard draws back even more, and his expression hardens. His older self sees him teeter between alarm and anger for a moment and then go with the latter.

“How do you know?” he spits out.

Leonard studies the kid long enough for the anger to fade and trepidation to appear on the young face. Talking back to Lewis, after all, had been a guaranteed way to get a new bruise or three. Then he merely shakes his head.

“I know,” he says. “Trust me, kid. I know. And I can’t tell you how, and I don’t know if you’ll even remember any of this, but it’s not your fault.” He gets up from his seat from the bed. “And I just needed to tell you that.”

Young Leonard is still watching him stiffly, but after a moment, he gets up too, although he keeps his distance. With a sigh, his older self turns away, heading for the door. Then he pauses.

He’d been telling the truth when he said he was a late bloomer. Blame all that malnourishment and the distraction of keeping himself and Lisa alive. But eventually he’d started noticing some of the other people around him in a different way, even though he still preferred to keep his distance. (Hell, for the most part, he still does.)

When young Leonard had first showed signs of having a crush on a neighborhood girl, Lewis had actually clapped him on the back, making a suggestive comment or two that had made Leonard feel ill. But when it’d been a boy (the handsome son of one of Lewis’ “associates”) next, and Lewis had gotten an inkling...well.

His father had hated him before that. But it’d gotten a lot worse then.

Leonard abruptly turns back to the boy, who freezes in his tracks.

“Other things aren’t your fault either—who you like, what you feel,” he says, looking the kid in the eye. “And they’re not faults, no matter what Lewis says. They’re just you.”

And then he heads back toward the brig. After a moment, young Leonard follows.

Rip and Mick retrieve little Martin Stein from his birthplace by the side of an Ivy Town road, and then they all head to Central City in 1993, to the very hospital where Leonard was born—21 years earlier, which Jax gives him no end of teasing about.

It won’t be until later that Sara and Leonard will learn about what happens to Jax himself there. They have their hands full with other things at the moment.

Rip, whom Sara suspects of getting payback of sorts for Kendra (and Ray) having the temerity to get pregnant, has promptly turned both baby Sara and baby Stein over to the newlywed parents-to-be. Which means that, to get the proper amount of attention necessary for a toddler on a time ship, the other younger charge on the Waverider needs to go elsewhere.

As older Mick says, the brig seems appropriate.

Mini Mick stands in the middle of the converted brig, looking as surly and uncommunicative as the older version—but with both arms wound around the neck of a fluffy brown teddy bear nearly as big as he is. He’s directing the scowl, at the moment, at young Ray Palmer, who’s grinning at him with the nervous energy of someone who’s never spent much time around a younger child but is beyond excited to do so.

“Awww,” he says, kneeling on the floor. “You gotta teddy beaaar! What’s his name?”

Little Mick stares at him, then looks up at the adult Leonard and Sara with the clear WTF look only babies and toddlers manage quite so well. Sara bites back a smile and shrugs. Leonard rolls his eyes and gives the kid a smirk. Mick looks back at Raymond, nonplussed.

Approaching, young Leonard rolls his eyes in a gesture that looks so much like the older version that it’s downright uncanny, then sighs theatrically (also uncanny).

“You don’t need to talk to him like that, Raymond,” he says, the first time Sara’s heard him speak. “He’s 3. He understands you.”

Young Ray gives him a doubtful look. “I’m just trying…”

“You’re very trying,” young Leonard tells him drily, a comeback that has Sara turning away and closing her eyes to try to hold back a laugh. “Hey, kid. Michael?” He glances at his older counterpart. “That’s his name?”

This is just plain weird.

Leonard pummels his memory to recall if Mick’s ever mentioned any childhood nicknames. “Or Mick.”

“Mick.” Young Leonard nods. “OK. Hey, Mick?” The toddler eyes him skeptically. “You hungry?”

Jackpot. The boy’s eyes brighten.

“Cookie?” he asks hopefully.

But young Leonard shakes his head. “Something else first. Apple slices? Or carrot sticks?”

Young Mick visibly sighs. But he slings one arm around his bear’s neck and nods, dutifully following young Len over to the snacks Gideon had provided them with earlier.

Older Leonard, watching, is forcibly reminded of how many times he’s had to remind older Mick that beer is not a food group. A smile touches his lips as he takes a step back, fairly confident that young Mick is in good hands.

“Raymond?” he says, jerking his chin at the bear.

“Yeah.” Sara darts him a smile. “His heart’s in the right place.”

“That’ll make it easier to remove,” Leonard mutters, but he sends her a smile in return. “OK. Well…”

And Mick—older Mick—comes in behind them.

Leonard turns, as does Sara, but Mick lays eyes on the youngest boy in the brig and grunts.

Then he presses the heel of his right hand to his forehead. “What the hell….”

Leonard, who suddenly remembers that moment in Orange City when he’d acquired a set of new memories, stops. “You OK?”

Mick nods, but he keeps his hand pressed to his forehead a long moment before he sighs and frowns, glancing up.

“I remember that bear,” he rumbles. “I remember it.” He closes his eyes. “It burned. In the fire.”

Leonard pauses, then claps him on the back, exchanging a glance with Sara. “C’mon, partner,” he says. “Gotta beer with your name on it.”

They don’t know where they’re going now. Sara’s not exactly comfortable with that. But Rip, a particularly obdurate look on his face, had ignored everyone, this time, setting his course and sticking to it until they erupted into the air over the big country house in a landscape and timeline none of them know.

“We’re here,” the captain says, getting out of his jump seat, jaw set.

“Where is here?” Leonard immediately snarks back.

“Come. I’ll show you.”

Outside the ship, it’s not much clearer. It looks like they’re at some sort of country estate, timeless in its own fashion, but with nothing visible but some hills beyond the grounds.

“Again, where is here?” Leonard mutters, glancing around uneasily. He doesn’t like not knowing where…and when…he is. He’s pretty sure he’s not alone, too. Stein is frowning, and Kendra looks quite uncomfortable, rubbing gently at the curve of her abdomen. Sara glances at him—she knows him all too well—but doesn’t comment.

“We need a safe harbor to keep your younger selves,” Rip returns distractedly, moving onward.

But then a woman in a long blue coat emerges from the house, striding toward them. She smiles, and Leonard frowns. And Rip stops.

“I’ve been waiting,” the woman says. “It’s good to see you.”

Rip glances around, uncomfortably, then back at her.

“It’s good to see you too,” he says. “Mother.”

The parlor is the sort of semi-formal, partly for-show place that Leonard remembers from his grandparents’ home, long ago. This strikes him as a little odd, really, given that there are children running about all over, but that’s just one odd thing in a lot of odd things here.

The woman in the blue coat, whom Rip had introduced as Mary Xavier, had promptly settled them there and fetched all the fixings for tea, including a silver teapot that Leonard’s thief’s eye had pegged as worth rather a bit of money. He’d declined, perching carefully on a window seat, but many of the others had accepted.

Sara hadn’t either, but she had asked Mary for directions to a restroom, which the woman had promptly provided. Leonard, who knows Sara’s need to know her surroundings (and establish an escape route) is as strong as his own, watches regretfully as she vanishes. He should have thought of that.

He’s watching (and listening to) everything else here, though. The kids are laughing, the sort of carefree laughter that can’t be faked, at least not convincingly. They don’t shy from the woman, or even quiet as she shouts at them to take their boots off. Good signs.

One skinny boy, all floppy brown hair and coat that’s a trifle too big, darts into the room in a clear bid for some of the refreshments Mary Xavier has assembled for the guests. Leonard’s eyes narrow. But for all the boy’s furtive movements and slightly underfed frame, he doesn’t seem more than slightly disappointed when the woman catches him and his ill-gotten gains.

“Oi!” she cries, intercepting the boy and turning him about. “Out you go!”

Leonard tilts his head. Interesting.

“So, this is where Rip plans on keeping our baby selves,” Jax says quietly, looking around. The kid’s seemed uneasy since they’d picked up his younger self. Distracted. Leonard sympathizes.

Stein glances at him. “If all goes according to plan,” the older man says, “we'll only be here for a few minutes, then presumably never remember.”

Unexpectedly, it’s Raymond who says it: “When's the last time anything went according to plan?” He takes a careful sip of his tea, looking at Kendra, who laughs softly.

“I don't think there was a last time,” she says, looking down at herself. Leonard frowns as he notices her…flinch?

But Rip’s back now, looking distracted and a bit unsettled himself, and he surveys them with nostalgia clear in his eyes.

“I really would sit up if I were you,” he says, pointing at Jax. “She'll kill you if she catches you slouching.” He turns away, but Leonard thinks he catches a fond expression on the captain’s face. “Don't be fooled by appearances. That woman is as tough as nails.”

Leonard idly inspects a vase on the windowsill. “Funny how you never mentioned having a mother,” he drawls, thinking about what the former Time Master had said before about the group and its thoughts on family and connections.

Mary Xavier herself, however, has returned, teapot in hand. “Adoptive mother,” she informs him. “Now, can I interest any of you in some more tea?”

Several of them accept, and Leonard listens intently as Mary provides them with several interesting little tidbits about Rip himself (Michael, eh?) and the Time Masters. At one point, Sara reenters the room and takes a seat, meeting Leonard’s eyes thoughtfully, and he knows she’s found nothing suspicious, no reason not to believe this place won’t be safe for their younger selves.

Kendra keeps shifting uncomfortably. Leonard’s just about to say something about it when she exclaims, a look of horror crossing her face, and levers herself to her feet.

“I think…I think my water just broke,” she says with embarrassment, looking downward. “Your chair…I’m sorry…”

And then it seems like everyone’s talking at once, then, except for possibly Raymond, whose eyes widen and whose jaw drops as he freezes.

But Mary Xavier doesn’t. She sits the teapot down, nodding to herself as if this is a common occurrence in her household, and steps forward.

“OK, then,” she says briskly. “We’ve having a baby.” She looks at Raymond, who’s looking…well, the best word is probably terrified. “You! You’re the father?”

The inventor blinks at her. “Um. Yes?”

Leonard can’t help it. He snorts. Mary actually throws him a lurking smile but keeps most of her attention to Raymond. “All right. Get her downstairs to the infirmary.” She motions to the other doorway. “The stairs are right there; there aren’t many of them.”

As Raymond starts to escort the gingerly moving Kendra that way, Mary glances around the rest of the room. Her eyes light on Sara, who’s watching her friend with sympathy. “You, Ms. Lance.” Sara looks at her, a question in her eyes. “Please come with us.”

Mary turns away, then, as if she has not a doubt that she’ll be obeyed. But Sara’s eyes widen, and she puts her hands up. “Me? Hey, just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I know a thing about having babies.” She glances at Leonard, looking a bit desperate. He shrugs. Neither does he.

The older woman, however, turns back around and studies her. “League of Assassins,” she says crisply. “Correct?”

Sara frowns. “Yes. But…”

“Then you won’t faint at the sight of blood. And I need another set of hands.” Mary turns around again, heading for the stairway, clearly assuming that she’ll follow. Sara throws Leonard a helpless look and stands, but Rip does too, giving her a sympathetic smile.

“I’ll come as well,” he says. “I was there when Jonas was born. The least I can do is help with our father-to-be.”

Mary nods, glancing about. “The rest of you, make yourselves at home,” she orders. “This will probably be a while, and you’re safe here. Enjoy the reprieve.”

The others look around at each other. “But,” Stein says a little helplessly, “our teammates…”

Mary Xavier nods to him. “It will be fine,” she says, a certain secretive smile creeping across her features. “I am, after all, a Doctor.”

Leonard may know nearly nothing about having babies, but he does know they come on their own schedule. He helps Stein, Jax, and Mick move their younger selves to the house, younger Raymond excited and curious, younger Leonard cautious and curious—and younger Mick still grumpy and rather recalcitrant. Earlier, the babies had been moved to a nursery in the building, where Mary apparently has helpers. He’s not real clear on the organization here.

A few older children take the younger Legends in hand, and Leonard notices his own younger self glance back to study him a few moments before following the others. Young Raymond had stopped to wait for him, something that Leonard finds oddly touching, although he will never, ever tell older Raymond that.

He explores the house a little after that, finding nothing all that unusual. There’s one door in the very top floor that’s locked and he could almost certainly pick it, but his instincts are telling him that, one, this place is OK and, two, he might not want to see what Mary Xavier considers proper security measures. He leaves it be.

He goes to the kitchen then, but while Mick, Stein and Jax are there, they tell him he’s just missed Sara, who’d ducked in for a snack and to grab something for Raymond. Things are apparently proceeding as they should—which is all he really wants to know.

Stein and Jax choose to stay at the Refuge overnight, but Leonard and Mick head back to the Waverider. Mick heads to his room with a grunt and a nod, while Leonard ambles slowly toward the one he’s sharing with Sara. This whole thing—the Pilgrim, young Leonard, the threat of their families forgetting them—it has him a bit thoughtful.

How annoying.

He tries to read a while, but eventually nods off with the book on his chest. Still, he starts awake immediately when Sara appears in the doorway after an indeterminate amount of time, her eyes tired and her expression serene. Leonard blinks at her, propping himself up on an elbow, and her expression shifts to a weary smile as she crosses the room.

“Alexander Raymond Saunders Palmer,” Sara says with a sigh, dropping onto the bed next to him. “Seven pounds, 11 ounces, 21 inches long. Shock of dark hair and a really good set of lungs. Mom and son both doing well.” She stretches, arms over her head and back arching up off the mattress. “Apparently no harm done from being conceived in 1958 and born...whenever this is. And wherever. That’s going to be a fun birth certificate to acquire.”

Leonard considers that, feels a faint bit of concern he’d barely even acknowledged subside. “Mazel tov,” he says, as if to himself, but Sara hears him and smiles, turning over to lie on her side next to him.

“I can’t believe there are ever younger siblings in this world,” she says with another sigh. “Although they’ve got a full medbay suite here, despite how old-fashioned the place looks, that still doesn’t mean it was a picnic. Kendra was really grateful for the pain blockers.”

“How’d the Boy Scout do?”

That gets a chuckle. “He passed out when the baby crowned,” Sara informs him. “And if you don’t know what that means, I’m not telling you. You’re welcome.” She continues as he chuckles too. “Rip caught him, and he woke up pretty quick, but you can hold that over his head for a while if you want.”

Leonard smirks despite himself. “Nah. I got plenty of ammo, I don’t need that one.”

Sara sighs again, but now the sound is almost wistful. “He’s ecstatic,” she says quietly. “They both are. I don’t know that...that’s a thing I’d ever want, but I’m happy for them. One more little spot of light in the world.”

And as a final line to that long, stressful, complicated day…well, there could be far worse.

#somewhere on your road tonight #captain canary #atomichawk #legends of tomorrow

[brokenmimir]

The Soulmate Chalice

White Rose Week Day Two: Soulmate AU

All her life Ruby Rose had dreamed of getting into Beacon so that the Archmages could find her soulmate.  She was sure everything was going to be perfect, just like her parents marriage had been.

Nothing, not even some crabby girl she ran into after landing could get in her way!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14905727

The stories say you'll know the moment you meet them. Your soulmate. The person you're destined to spend the rest of your life with.

Ruby had been looking forward to meeting them since she was old enough to talk. Her mother and father had read fairy tales about soulmates to her, and she couldn't wait to meet her own. When her mother died and her father shut down, her older sister had taken over reading her stories, and while she'd been more hesitant, she'd never been able to resist Ruby's pout.

Of course, the world wasn't quite so simple, something she'd started to discover as she'd gotten older. Her mother and father had met at Beacon, as most mages did, but somehow her father had had Yang with someone else even though he'd already met his soulmate. In fact, despite most mages discovering exactly who their soulmate was, some never married them.

“You excited Rubes?” Yang asked.

Ruby grinned. “Yup!”

“Even though it means meeting new people?” Yang asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Ruby folded into herself a little. “Er…”

Yang chuckled and bumped shoulders with her. “Come on sis, it'll be great. You'll see. You're gonna make a ton of friends.”

“Why do I need friends?” Ruby grumbled, crossing her arms. “I'll have you! And my soulmate!”

Yang's smile faded slightly. “Ruby… it's not that easy. I mean, yours might not even be here, yet.”

“Yours was!”

“Yeah, I got lucky,” Yang said with a grin, which faded slightly as she gave Ruby a serious look. “That doesn't mean it was easy, though. Seriously, I had to work hard to win my kitty cat over. She didn't want anything to do with a soulmate, and it took forever to wear her down.”

“I still don't understand what some people have against soulmates,” Ruby said, crossing her arms. “Why would someone want to be with anyone else?”

“'Cause people choose what they want, no matter what some magic spell says,” Yang said. “Some people don't believe it's real, or that the Archmages make it all up so tjey can control everybody. Some people claim the soul mate finding spell is basically a giant love spell, making people they want to be together be together. And of course, most of the old families think marriage is the best way to make alliances and gain power.”

“That's all stupid,” Ruby grumbled. “I just… I just want what mom and dad had.”

“I know,” Yang said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Just remember… even if your soulmate is already at Beacon and you can meet them the first day, that doesn't mean things will just work out like, well, magic. You've gotta work for it.”

“I had to work for my magic, too,” Ruby pouted. “Not everybody taught themselves how to make fire when they were two.”

Yang chuckled. “Yeah, I wonder sometimes how dad isn't all gray hair.”

They airship set down at Beacon's dock with a splash and a creak, and the two of them stepped off onto dry land, walking past someone that was puking noisily over the side while a statuesque redhead rubbed his back. Once they were on solid ground again Ruby turned to her sister, who was already walking away. “Wait, where are you going!”

“Sorry Ruby, I'm off to find my Blakey!” Yang called as she dashed away.

“Wait, come back!” Ruby shouted as she tried to run after her sister. “I want to meet Blake… don't leave me alone! Oof!”

Ruby slammed into someone while she was focused on keeping up with her sister, knocking them both to the ground. She groaned for a moment, and was just about to get up and apologize when a loud, angry shriek interrupted her. “Get off of me!”

“Sorry!” Ruby yelped, stumbling back and barely reaching her feet before she was confronted by her victim.

The woman was about her height, with long white hair in an off center ponytail and angry blue eyes that glared spitefully at her. She was dressed in an incredibly fancy white dress, which was obviously enchanted since it didn't pick up any dirt from their impromptu fall to the ground. Ruby realized that she must be very wealthy, and was probably the most beautiful girl she'd ever seen, the scar over one eye somehow enhancing her already sharp features.

Then she opened her mouth. “You!”

“M-me?” Ruby stammered.

“Are you completely braindead!?” the woman shouted. “What are you doing, running blindly through a crowd?!”

“I said I was sorry, princess!” Ruby snapped.

“Do you have any idea who I am?”

“She's Weiss Schnee,” another voice drawled, this time coming from a tall brunette with cat ears. “Heiress to the Schnee Family… the most infamous family of dark sorcerers and demon summoners in the Magocracy of Vale. Only the Salem Clan has a worse reputation, but they didn't have enough gold to bribe their way out of banishment.”

“How dare you, Belladonna,” Weiss sneered, before turning on her heel and storming away, a small collection of white creatures, some form of imp that Ruby didn't recognize, scrambling to gather her luggage and follow after her.

“I'll make it up to you!” Ruby shouted, only to be ignored.

“You must be Ruby,” the woman named Belladonna said.

“Yeah! How did you know?”

She chuckled. “Your sister wouldn't stop talking about you. I'm Blake Belladonna… Yang's soulmate.”

“Oh!” Ruby gasped, before jumping forward and pulling Blake into a surprise hug. The faunus stiffened up for a moment, before relaxing and hugging her back. “I'm so happy to meet you!”

“I'm happy to meet you, too,” Blake said. “But where's Yang?”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “She ran off looking for you and left me behind. Come on, I'm sure she's around here somewhere…”

It took a while, but Ruby enjoyed getting to know Blake, and Beacon's campus was lovely, so she couldn't really complain. When they finally found Yang she was waiting in the main amphitheater with a growing crowd of students. Ruby hung back for a moment while the couple kissed, before finally Yang turned her attention to her. “Hey Rubes, I see you met Blakey.”

“Yeah, she saved me from some crabby girl,” Ruby said.

“Crabby girl?” Yang asked.

“Weiss Schnee,” Blake explained.

Yang made a face. “Ugh. Her.”

“What's her deal, anyway?” Ruby asked.

“She's a stuck up ice queen,” Yang said dismissively.

“She's worse than that,” Blake said darkly. “Her family uses magic to summon and bind creatures to their service. Mostly demons, which is bad enough, but they made most of their wealth by magically enslaving faunus. They only stopped when the White Fang forced them to, and even then it wasn't until Vale threatened to banish them to the Darklands that they agreed to free their slaves.”

“That's terrible!” Ruby gasped.

“Yeah, and despite everything they never had to give up even a copper of their ill gotten wealth,” Blake said, glaring hatefully at a head of white hair a few rows ahead of them. Ruby jumped as she realized that Weiss was close enough that she could potentially overhear them with how loudly they were talking. “They are the worst kind of mages.”

“But I mean, she was kinda crabby, and she had those imp thingies carrying her luggage, but… she's still in school so it's not like she enslaved people, right?”

“The Schnee slaves were freed ten years ago, so who knows,” Blake said. “At the very least she had faunus waiting on her hand and foot as a child, and she still acts like she expects everyone to keep doing so.”

“Yeah, she's a lost cause,” Yang said. “She spends all of her time studying and looking down her nose at everyone. She doesn't have any friends.”

“That's… sad,” Ruby said quietly.

Blake's ears twitched. “Sad?”

“Yeah, I mean, can you imagine not having any friends?” Ruby said. “She must be really lonely. Does she have a soulmate?”

Blake snorted. “She'd need a soul for that.”

Before Ruby could reply two adults walked to the center of the room. She recognized them as the Archmages Glynda Goodwitch and Ozpin. The rest of the room obviously recognized them as well, as everything quieted down.

“Thank you,” Goodwitch said. “Now, as is traditional, all new students will take these enchanted cards, fill them out, and then push some of your mana into them. Then, you will place them in this magical chalice, which will determine if your soulmate has done the same. This way every mage who passes through Beacon has the opportunity to meet their soulmate.

“Now, all new students, please come to the front so that we can begin.”

As excited as Ruby was, she hesitated for a moment. This was it. The moment she'd been waiting for. In a few minutes she could be meeting her soul mate. Or maybe she wouldn't be matched to anyone at all.

“Go on, sis,” Yang said, giving her a shove. “It's time!”

She stumbled a few steps, before rushing forward to reach the line of other first year students. She bit her lip nervously as she was handed the heavy parchment card and quill, writing her name on it quickly and then carefully channeling a little burst of mana into it. The card glowed bright red for a moment, and she grinned, knowing it was ready. She was ready. She could do this.

She also had a name in the second half of the alphabet, so while other students one by one were called forward and placed their cards in the chalice she watched everything that happened. Most names simply went in, making the chalice flash silver, but some of them flared with golden light, provoking cheers as two cards shot back out, snatched from the air by Ozpin who would then casually read the names of two people who's lives were bound together forever.

Ruby looked around at the crowd. Most people were eagerly watching, excited about the drama unfolding. Older students who hadn't found their soulmates yet were either playing things off as unimportant, or eagerly watching every student that approached the chalice, hoping or fearing that each one would be their soulmate.

She noticed Weiss sitting by herself near the front. Apparently her sister and her soulmate had been right about the girl not having any friends, as no one even seemed to want to sit near her. She had a cold, disdainful look on her face, like she was above all such silly things like soulmates, but Ruby saw a glint of well hidden hope in her eyes whenever the chalice flashed gold.

Ruby hoped that Weiss would find someone, even if she did feel a bit sorry for whoever was stuck as her soulmate. Even if she was kinda mean no one should be alone, and she bet that Weiss was probably mean because she was so lonely. In fact, when things calmed down she was going to track the white haired girl down and make her a friend, since everyone needed a friend. Besides, with Weiss she might actually have someone worse at making friends than her around!

“Ruby Rose!” Goodwitch called.

Ruby eeped and jumped, dropping her card and having to pause to scoop it up before she could run up to the front where Goodwitch was tapping her foot impatiently. She ignored the derisive laughter for her clumsiness and hurriedly stuck her card in the chalice, biting her lip as it disappeared into the shimmering opalescent magical fluid within.

Ruby felt like her heart was going to explode from her chest, and that was before the chalice flashed gold. She had a soulmate! She couldn't even imagine what they were like. This was the greatest moment of her life!

“Ruby Rose… and Weiss Schnee,” Ozpin read, giving her a warm smile.

“What!?” Yang shouted.

Ruby felt her smile freeze for a moment, before she turned around and looked at the crowd. Her sister and Blake both looked upset, making Ruby shrink into herself, and the unpleasant looks she was getting from the crowd didn't help either. Weiss, her soulmate, was looking at her like a particularly unpleasant bug that had crawled on top of her freshly baked cookies and started doing the can-can.

She swallowed hard, unable to move, until Goodwitch cleared her throat forcefully, making Ruby stumble forward, almost tripping over her own feet as she moved up next to Weiss, taking one of the empty seats beside her. The other girl stiffened up, her perfect posture somehow becoming even more rigid, although she didn't say anything.

“Hey,” Ruby said quietly.

Weiss just gave a disdainful sniff, but she was at least looking at Ruby out of the corner of her eye.

Ruby gave her a nervous smile. “Look… I'm sorry about the whole running into you thing, and the whole Blake ambushing you thing… uh, but… I mean… I hope we can get along.”

“Why?” Weiss asked flatly.

“Well, I mean… we're soulmates,” Ruby said with a smile, which faded as Weiss glared at her.

“I fail to see the relevance of that,” Weiss said. “No Schnee has ever married their soulmate. My father will pick someone for me to be with, so I can assure you that you won't receive one gold piece from my family.”

Ruby's brows furrowed. “What?”

“Look, whatever it is you think you can gain by being with me… you won't get it,” Weiss said.

“That's not… I don't want anything,” Ruby said. “I just… my parents were soulmates. And I remember… they were so happy. I've always wanted that for myself.”

“The world isn't that easy,” Weiss said, standing as the group was dismissed. “Soulmates are nothing but a waste of time.”

“If you thought that, then why'd you watch everyone so closely?” Ruby challenged, but Weiss ignored her as she strutted away, nose in the air.

“Rubes?” Yang said, coming up behind her and putting a hand on her shoulder. “I'm so sorry.”

“Huh?”

“You got her as your soulmate,” Yang said, grabbing her and pulling her into a too tight hug. “I know you really wanted to meet yours, and then this happened.”

Ruby looked down, frowning for a moment, before looking up with determination. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” Ruby said, pulling away from Yang. “Nothing is wrong. I've found my soulmate, and now I just need to convince her to give me a chance.”

“Why would you want her,” Blake said.

“Because she's my soulmate,” Ruby said simply. “Look, I appreciate you guys being worried about me and all, but… she's my soulmate, and that's good enough for me. Now I'm gonna go find her.”

“Wait, Ruby!” Yang shouted, but this time she was the one left behind as Ruby ran out of the room.

Ruby didn't know where to look, but she refused to be dissuaded, running around the school as fast as she could, hoping to spot a glimpse of long white hair. Just when she thought she would never find her she saw someone hunched over under the shadows of a tree next to a small pond. It was only when Ruby got close that she heard soft crying.

“Weiss?”

Her soulmate froze, before wiping her face. “What are you doing here?”

Ruby carefully sat down next to her, although she stared into the pond to give Weiss a little privacy to recover from her crying. As much as she wanted to hug her and make her feel better, she was on thin ice as it was, and she had a feeling that Weiss' pride wouldn't let her accept being comforted. “You're my soulmate. Where else would I be?”

Weiss scoffed. “I already told you, this is meaningless. We're never going to be each others anything, no matter what a glorified cup says. So why don't you just go away and leave me alone.”

“Nope,” Ruby said.

“What?!”

“Jeez you're so loud,” Ruby grumbled, before finally looking at her. “Weiss… why are you so against this?”

“I already told you, this is meaningless,” Weiss scoffed. “Look, even if soulmates and that stupid chalice are real, my father would never allow us to have any sort of relationship.”

“But what about what you want?” Ruby asked.

Weiss blinked. “What I want?”

“Yeah,” Ruby said. “You told me what your father thinks, but what about you? Do you want a soulmate?”

“There's no such thing.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Come on, Weiss. I saw the way you watched people putting their names in the chalice. I know you wanted someone. Am I really that bad?”

Weiss hesitated, a sharp retort on her lips, before she looked away. “Bad enough,” she grumbled, but it lacked the force of her earlier complaints.

“Look, we're at Beacon, right?” Ruby said. “Even if your parents don't like soulmates, they wouldn't pull you out just because of this, would they? I mean, graduating from here will really help your magic and stuff, so wouldn't they let you stay?”

“Unless I bring shame on my family,” Weiss said. She didn't actually say that Ruby had the potential to be that, but Ruby felt her stomach churn at the implication.

She pushed that thought away and reached over slowly, giving Weiss a chance to retreat before carefully taking her hand. It was so soft and delicate, making her heart pound in her chest just from something so simple. “Then I'll be good enough they won't say anything! I'll work super hard, and they won't be able to be upset with you hanging around someone at the top of their class, right?”

“Maybe.”

“See, and we can get to know each other,” Ruby continued. “Before you know it you'll be like, 'wow, that Ruby is so awesome, and I'm glad I'm her soulmate.'”

“I will never say such a thing,” Weiss said with a sniff.

Ruby grinned. “Just you wait. I'm going to make you so happy you won't be able to believe you tried so hard to keep me away.”

“Why?” Weiss asked, staring into her eyes, obviously searching for something. “Why do you want this so badly?”

Ruby smiled at her warmly. “Because I want to be happy, and nothing could make me happier than being with a happy soulmate.”

Weiss finally looked away. “F-fine. If that's what you want to do I'm not going to stop you. Just don't expect things to work out so easily!”

Ruby grinned, squeezing Weiss' hand, which she noticed the other girl had never let go of. “Nothing easy is worth having.”

Weiss harrumphed but didn't say anything. She did, however, tighten her grip as well.

#white rose week #fanfic #white rose #weiss schnee #ruby rose #rwby

[arctic-urpo]

A..ALL of the oc asks for trolly?? ;v; they look so sweet and i couldnt narrow it down sakjdfh

!!! I presume you mean Tolly!! Thank you so much for asking about him, he’s my precious son and I’ve missed him

I’ll put this under a cut though bc this will get long x)

1. What is their favorite word

Hmm, I’m not sure he’d have one absolute favorite but I think he likes soft words, like ‘bubble’

2. How do they sleep

He has troubles sleeping and gets bothered by disturbances easily, so he wears that, what is it called, that blindfold-like thing to block out light, and earplugs etc. He sleeps better when he’s in company he finds safe, though.

3. Favorite companion

The closest friend he has is Will, and then of course he loves his eventually-to-be-boyfriend Neal :’) Both are his favorites, just in different ways!

4. What secrets do they keep, untold to anyone?

He’s really, really insecure about his body, he has freckles and moles all around his upper body and he’s chubby, both of which he tries to hide by wearing a lot of baggy clothes. (I wanna make clear that I don’t think these are “ugly” features at all personally but, he was bullied about these at one point and he has a really bad complex about being seen now)

5. How do they feel about magic

Huh… I think he finds it interesting and fun, he loves to read fiction and a lot of his favorite books include magic. I think if he played more games or trpgs he’d play mages (or clerics specifically if those are in the game). 

6. How do they feel about killing 

Bad!! Horrible!! Death is something he really mourns a lot, even with people he never knew, and he cannot comprehend killing someone…

7. How do they feel at night, in silence, all alone?

Lonely and scared. He doesn’t like darkness so he usually goes to sleep early. And while he is mostly introverted and has avoidant personality disorder and finds other people usually stressing, he also struggles with being alone a lot as well. So he’ll just listen to calming music and go to sleep before it gets too late.

8. Tell me about them in a modern AU

Well, he practically does live in modern world, perhaps a bit more advanced than ours. He’s currently a college student, he spends a lot of time hanging out with his friend group and often proofreads essays etc for his friends because he’s good at it (both writing them and editing them - everyone keeps getting surprised how strict he is proofing them when he’s usually kind and calm). He reads a lot of books and magazines on his free time and goes to therapy once a week… 

9. What is their favorite meal

Filled bell peppers! He usually makes them without any meat if he’s making them himself but he’ll eat them any way.

10. What guides them

A wish to be a good influence on the lives of others, which he hugely looks reference for from books and other sorts of fiction. He also wants to get better with his mental illness, and he has gotten really far from where he used to be.

11. What hinders them

His own inability to believe in himself, mostly. He wants to get better and understands kind of what he should do but, he just ends up always backing off because he can’t believe in himself.

12. Do they have hidden talents

As mentioned before, he’s really good with academic text, but that’s not so much ‘hidden’ talent as it is just his talent. He’s also pretty good at giving massages, which many don’t know. He also reads… really fast…. and he’s super fast at sorting. He’s also really good at comforting people, although he doesn’t realize it himself.

13. How do they carry themselves

Hmm… He mostly kind of keeps to himself and tries to take as little space as possible. He seems meek and, well, he is too. He tries to stay out of the way, seem small. He fiddles with his fingers a lot and has a bad posture. 

14. What are their vices

He has hard time gathering determination for anything and in turn loses it really quickly. He gives up on things and doesn’t usually try to pursue things even if they make him happy. He doesn’t say when things make him uncomfortable because he’s so afraid of causing any kind of conflict… In fact, he avoids anything that can lead to conflict, even if sometimes they are things he would need to do.

15. What was a turning point in their life

Meeting Will, probably. While they both struggle with their own mental illnesses, they’ve found a lot of comfort in their friendship and the strength to get better respectively. Will was the first one to know of Tolly’s struggles and he helped Tolly find friends.

16. Do they ascribe to any religion

He’s agnostic, for the most part. Religion is something that confuses him since, well, it’s not something easy to understand.

17. How do they react to trauma

Not well… He carries his trauma with him for long, finding it hard to let go of them. Every single hurtful word will haunt his thoughts for many, many years if not forever. He’s trying to learn not to mind them but, any wounds trauma has caused him always returns to echo in his thoughts.

18. What is their relationship to their parents

These days he has good relationship with them. In the past he had a lot of difficulties, his parents were distant and busy which partially caused his AvPD. They also used to be pretty conservative so he felt scared about coming out for a long time. Anyways once he finally got the courage to talk and start therapy, his relations have gotten a lot better, especially with his mother who is a psychiatrist and has actively tried to right the things she did wrong so far. His father is not that good at these things, but he tries his best.

19. Do they have siblings

He has an older sibling I haven’t yet defined that much, not even their gender identity;; All I know they’re a lot older than Tolly, something like 8-13 years older. They get along with Tolly but work in an another country so they don’t see a lot.

20. Tell me about their love interests

He gets crushes easily, so he has had a lot. He tends to get crushes on gentle and confident people (or at least people who seem confident, he can’t really recognize faked confidence). His current love interest who’ll in the story become his boyfriend is Neal! Neal is asexual, really calm and quiet and good at taking care of others. Tolly also did have a crush on Will but it didn’t really go anywhere.

21. What sexuality/gender suits them

Tolly is completely homosexual and a cisman!

22. Tell me about their body, are they tall, or smol

Tolly is pretty tall (if I remember correctly he was like 6′4″ - 193cm). As mentioned before, he has a chubby stomach but to the point that he can hide it with big clothes, mostly. His legs especially are long. 

23. What is their combat style and weapon of choice

I’m not sure if he’d ever get into combat… If there’s a possibility of magic then that is his choice, especially healing spells. He’d in any cases rather play support, and not hurt others.

24. Do they have any fears/phobias

Strangers, and other people in general. He’s mostly fine with people he has gotten to know and he has gotten better about this so he’s not constantly scared when he’s out somewhere with people, but he still can’t approach people and will avoid places with a lot of people. Also people yelling or being loud in general makes him uncomfortable. He’s afraid of being hated or being thought of as disgusting or gross and especially being called by those words. He is also really, really uncomfortable with sex scenes with a male-female couple.

25. Do they follow their instinct or hard facts

Mostly he goes by his emotions, so instinct. Logic he can approach well in studies etc, but when it comes to his own life and things that affect him, he goes by what his feelings say.

26. How do they cope with sorrow

He shrivels into his shell, isolates himself from others and cries alone a lot. He used to lock himself up in his room, would hardly sleep, and listen to a lot of music. He also ends up in the cycle of not eating and then binge-eating, repeating this again and again.

27. What makes them burst out laughing

Very few things, he doesn’t really show emotions that strongly. Laughing out loud would gather attention after all and his self-esteem gets in the way too and he feels stupid if he laughs loudly. If he’s at home and watching a comedy show alone or with close friends, he’ll laugh a lot though. Just, often it is quiet and muffled since he covers his mouth when he laughs.

28. Tell me about their grooming routine

He takes a shower every morning and makes sure to dry his hair soon after with a hairdryer. He also lotions his face daily and his body once a week. 

29. What makes them blush

Oh, gosh, many things. He blushes really easily, especially from either embarrassment or being flustered. Being complimented, mocked, making mistakes, seeing his crush, sometimes just talking with his friends… 

30. What makes them cry

Getting mocked or shamed for something, or in general feeling like he’s stupid or has embarrassed himself. He’ll also cry really easily at animal videos that are even a bit emotional

31. Tell me about their aesthetic

Books. A lot of books. Also winter clothes and snow, small and comfy apartments, pictures of the sky.

32. If they had a tumblr, what would they post 

He’d probably mostly use it to reblog things, like pictures he found pretty or things about the books he has read or series he has watched. Not really anything too involved, just nice looking things. Perhaps some occasional pictures of his life, especially study things :>

#urpo answers #mintyyprince #Tolly #sorry it took me a while to answer!!!! i had to go to sleep last night before i managed to finish this #and today i had friends over to watch a movie :'> #but thank u so much!!!! #i'm so happy to talk about Tolly it's been t o o long #i love my gay son #he's mostly a nervous mess so please be gentle with him #(also hey easy way to figure out how old my ocs are is to just check if they have a last name) #(if they don't they're probably older) #(if they do they're probably 2-3 years old at most)

[nanyoky]

ALL of the numbers for Wanda and for Pietro

OMG THIS IS SO LONG I TOOK FOREVER. I did a mix of canon and au, especially where canon limits the answers.

1.  What does their bedroom look like? Shared one until the bombings, very sparse - parents didn’t have much money. Then homeless until post - ultron.

Wanda: We see wanda’s avengers compound room In cw but I… don’t…. like… many things about that movie so - let’s say more cramped and closed off. Even if given a larger, open space I feel Wanda would fill it in an eclectic way. She nests like no other. When you’re not used to a set space being your own, it’s exciting and novel to surround yourself with things and images of your choosing. She goes to thrift stores and garage sales and collects just dumb things that she likes just because she CAN.

Pietro: Canon: hasn’t ever had his own. Nice happy everybody lives au: pretty plain, but nice. More stylish than people might expect. Some spillover of wanda’s possessions. Entire half of the walk in closet is devoted to sneakers.  2.  Do they have any daily rituals?

Wanda: Definitely a tea drinker, at LEAST in the morning and before bed.

Pietro: Not quite compulsive, but he actually falls into routine very fast. In the city, he had a circuit he would travel with things to do along the way- taking food, talking to people from the tent city, taking necessities, scoping out new places to sleep so they did not use one single place too often, checking in on the occupying soldiers’ movements, harassing police officers on duty, etc.  3. Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

Wanda: Not before the Avengers. Now she does, but grudgingly. It helps when the others point out the more varied her skills are, the more people she can help.

Pietro: He always ran, even before they got their powers. Somewhere in their teens, he started doing simple exercises like pushups and situps when they were bored because he thought people wouldn’t hassle them as much if he looked tougher. With the Avengers, he gets bored with all the training- routine that he doesn’t define himself. But he appreciates being able to to something he’s good at. 4. What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?

Wanda: She checks with her mind before going into any shared living space. If she doesn’t mind company, she’ll still come in and cook alongside whoever is there or share their food. If she’s not feeling up to it, she will wait.

Pietro: Uses his speed to work around anyone in there, which is annoying exactly 100% of the time 5.  Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.) 

Wanda: Organized chaos, for sure. Long bath goblin. We’re talking multiple hours here. Candles and music and a book and maybe even snacks in there.

Pietro: Neat and contained out of necessity for a long time. But the more comfortable he is, the more likely he is to be cluttered and messy. The team starts getting annoyed when he begins to leave his shoes and hoodies everywhere, but those of them good at reading human behavior (natasha, sam, clint) notice the pattern and guess why. 6.  Eating habits and sample daily menu

Wanda: Long time not knowing where their next meal was coming from means she eats when and whatever she can. Living in the compound is an adjustment, but she starts getting more discerning and learns what she actually likes an doesn’t like.  Sam introduced her to lemon bars and she ate a whole pan and then threw up one time she knew it was coming but they were just SO GOOD.

Pietro: Everything. So much. People know his powers include increased metabolism, but they don’t really GET IT. Steve will go to order pizza like “so you think 20 is good for all of us I know you eat a lot” and he’s just like “20 for me” “haha- right” “No. you don’t understand. You will all starve.” But he also has the terrible habit of eating too fast (surprise surprise) and makes himself sick. 7.  Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

Wanda: Definitely a “no time you enjoyed spending is wasted” type person. She loves to read and do her nails and listen to music.

Pietro: wasting time makes him anxious- unless it’s quiet time with Wanda. But even that is up for criticism if it lasts too long. He won’t complain to her, but he gets restless and fidgety until she tells him to go do something to get him to calm down.

8.  Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging 

They used to smoke sometimes in Sokovia- mostly when it was cold and they had to sleep outside. They don’t anymore, but sometimes get a craving they have to try to replace with something else.

Wanda: Collecting things like jewelry and decorations for her room. And sweets. Fancy looseleaf tea. 

Pietro: Doesn’t really think of things as indulgences. He does what he wants or needs and then moves on. 9.  Makeup? 

Wanda: Loves it. Feels stupid and underprepared for her day without it.

Pietro: Doesn’t like it on himself, but helps Wanda with hers. 10.  Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?

Woah boy. Can you say holy codependency batman? I don’t think either of the twins could ever get over this. Canon universe, I think grieving Pietro is going to be a lifelong process for Wanda. There’s just no way she can ever “move on” from the loss of him. Au- I think they could both work on some of their other issues and relax enough to form relationships outside of one another, but the codependency would never go away. They would still bounce back to “no one matters but us” the moment they are threatened. Neither of them will likely ever see this as a problem. They recognize that others do though, which only feeds into their “no one understands” complex.

They both have phobias and ptsd from their chidlhood traumas. Mostly these show as little things, but on a bad day, can be an issue. Claustrophobia and being tethered or incapacitated during crisis are always issues. Typical stuff like night terrors crop up regularly.

 11. Intellectual pursuits?

Their formal education ended at 10- as they skipped out on the foster system out of fear they would be separated. They would often spend time in the city’s library, as it was one of the few places that wouldn’t kick them out for not buying anything.

Wanda insisted they learn English. She thought it would come in useful on their mission to kill Stark. She also likes reading, though mostly fiction.

Pietro struggled with learning English because he’s easily frustrated and hates feeling stupid. He reads well when he finds something that interests him, but very rarely has the patience to sit and read for long periods of time. 12. Favorite book genre?

Wanda: Gothic romance and horror. Bronte, Shelley, Morrison, Jackson, some O’Connor.

Pietro: Would rather ask Wanda to read aloud whatever she’s reading than pick his own. He likes them though- particularly things with dry shows of humor and scathing judgements of social norms. He keeps his love of Vonnegut quiet, as Wanda can’t stand him. 13. Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

((we already talked about this a bit))

Wanda: I waffle on this depending on the story I’m telling. My two favorite Wanda sexualities are Bi!Wanda and Ace!Wanda. Like hard ace. Zero interest. Not repulsed, just uncomfortable with the idea of sex in relation to herself and her own body. Not particularly educated about different sexualites. Probably didn’t know there was a word for being asexual until much later in life.

Pietro: I love my dead bi son. Ditto above on education. But definitely observant enough to know differing preferences aren’t all that unusual.

Both of them don’t talk about sexuality much- not in a private or “i don’t like labels” kind of way, just in a “if i want to have sex with you, you will know. and if I don’t, then it’s not likely to come up” kind of way. 14. Physical abnormalities?  (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.) 

They both have faded, but still note-worthy scars from the bombing rubble. Wanda low key never has bare legs and Pietro never goes sleeveless.

15. Biggest and smallest short term goal?

Wanda: Depending on what part of canon or au we’re talking about, could be variations on “get through the week” and “make pietro smile”

Pietro: Always “get through the week” and “Make wanda smile.”

16. Biggest and smallest long term goal?

Before AoU, both of them had the goal of living long enough to kill Tony. Smallest would have been “find out what to do after.”

17. Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

I wrote a big long rant about the twins’ costuming/character design once this is MY JAM.

Wanda: Woah boy does she love her clothes. She loves collecting new pieces that she can layer. Jewelry is a must. She feels naked and vulnerable without it. Loves the aesthetic of fashion but doesn’t think much about how her body looks in it. Feels weirdly self conscious in light colors.

Pietro: comfort is #1, but it is not his lone concern. Almost opposite of Wanda- pretty bland aesthetic tastes, but likes how he looks in some things over others. Low key very aware that warm colors wash him out. Used to wear charms from their mother around his wrists or neck but they’ve all since been lost or broken or stolen. Wanda pierced one of his ears when he helped her do hers, but he rarely wears anything in it. (There was a shot in aou where pietro turns his head and you can see Aaron Taylor Johnson has a pierced ear and it just struck me as a very accurate twin scene like *smol Wanda holds up a needle and a handful of snow* “come pietro - were pierce our ears now” “nice.”)

18. Favorite beverage?

Wanda: Teateatea always tea.

Pietro: Constantly hydrating. Metabolism thing.

19. What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

Wanda: Long term plans. Starts with what she has to do the next day, the next week, the next month, etc. Doesn’t always help her sleep though.

Pietro: Short term plans. All the things he wants to get done the next day/should be getting done instead of sleeping. Almost never helps him sleep.

20.  Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

Occasional illnesses as children. After the bombings they both got sick on the street a lot. Pietro would always try to steal a wallet and get a hotel room whenever they were ill. Or at least befriend someone enough to stay with them.

21.  Turn-ons? Turn-offs?

Wanda: Ons: Tall men, women with curly hair, good tattoos, slow hands on her thighs, neck kisses, leaving marks with her teeth and nails, wall/counter sex, drunk/buzzed sex, the low-key voyeurism of whispering dirty things in public, slow, passionate makeouts that slowly and steadily build into faster and rougher sex. Offs: fetishizing innocence/inexperience (certain guys think her stockings are a sign of being into a schoolgirl vibe but any type of age roleplay is a hard stop for her), her partner setting the pace without give and take, being called “cute” or “sweet,” having her hair pulled, anyone who dislikes pietro.

Pietro: Ons: men’s forearms, curvy women, and…. a… few fetishes… biting, hair pulling/playing, drunk/buzzed sex, basic restraints, oral fixation but most of all PRAISE KINK and he doesn’t want to talk about it not at all don’t bring it up please for the love of god don’t make it A Thing. Sam wants to talk about it Sam Wilson wants to talk about it a lot.  Offs: people who think sexual intimacy means affection is now acceptable, being laughed at, people who think they’ve “figured him out,” anyone who dislikes wanda. 

22. Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

Wanda: vague doodles. Patterns and motifs. Sometimes lists and plans, but most of that is mental.

Pietro: little mini comics that will make wanda laugh. (during team meetings he draws little stick!steve and stick!tony arguing and the scene gets more and more elaborate until stick!stony makeouts happen and wanda just fucking loses it in the middle of tony discussing new tech.)

23.  How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

Wanda: Organized to herself. Clutter that only she understands. No one can find anything in her room if they need to, but she knows exactly where everything is.

Pietro: Very simple and organized, but he is That Guy who has The Chair or The Drawer where things kind of build up until he doesn’t remember what’s all on/in there.

24.  Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

Wanda: loves literature and language.

Pietro: is a better storyteller than a writer. Wanda says there’s no difference but he disagrees.

After his death she tries writing down some of his stories but he was right.

25.How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

pre ultron: dead. Both of them.

Post: Wanda just keeps trying to find more things she can do to help others and make amends. Pietro would join her if he were alive.

26.  Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

Kinda the same as above. No real back up - they will either succeed or die.

27. What is their biggest regret?

pre ultron: not being able to help their parents and not realizing what the true nature of the SHIELD facility was until it was too late.

Wanda in post aou: every single thing about that day.

28.  Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?

Friend - each other.

Enemy: Tony until post ultron, then they wouldn’t really know. Part of the experience of it all is learning things aren’t as simple as friends and enemies.

29. Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)

Of course, as children, their instinct was to stick together and hide. As adults, pietro handles any immediate danger, and looks to Wanda for the plan once there is a moment.

30.  Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)

They didn’t have time to grieve their parents. Wanda screamed for days after sokovia, then was basically catatonic for weeks. In a nice au… I don’t know. If they started getting close to others, then lost someone, I think pietro would get anxious and want to do something, while Wanda would close off and try to keep him close to her.

31. Most prized possession?

Wanda has the jewelry and clothes that Pietro stole from her. She likes mixing up her wardrobe, but those ones are special.

Pietro doesn’t keep much long enough for it to be “prized.” He keeps track of things very well, but once its outlived its use its gone. He still feels guilty about the charms though, and if any had survived, he would take special care of them.

32. Thoughts on material possessions in general?

They both feel they should not get too attached because they have lived so long only keeping what they can carry, but that has also meant they are very protective of the things they have.

33. Concept of home and family? 

Each other. Always. They did feel a sense of home and loyalty to their city, which is part of the reason they never tried to leave.

34.  Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)

Wanda: Wanda is very private. Part of the reason is that she realizes how much of oneself is constructed deliberately due to her powers and natural knack for perception. So she likes giving people as little to work with as possible. It gives her a sense of control. However, she is more likely to feel close enough to someone to tell them things that she wouldn’t tell strangers. Whereas....

Pietro: Private about some things, VERY blunt about others. Sort of the opposite of how most people might be. He’s the one to tell the story of their parents’ deaths, every time. And ah- certain subjects don’t make him uncomfortable. Ex: one time, bruce and helen set the whole team of enhanced avengers down to talk about different aspects of their abilities for their records and when it was Pietro’s turn- “I eat a lot, I’m fast, I don’t need to piss as much as you’d think from how much i hydrate? so that’s nice. I heal fast, don’t seem to bruise  from blunt impact, oh- and my refractory period is like- 30 seconds.” and everyone just “.....kay”

And of course, they have no secrets from each other. Zero sense of privacy between the two of them- like how they share a personal bubble.

35.  What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

Wanda: Like I said, doesn’t see things she likes as a waste of time- that is, unless there is currently something she can actively do to meet a goal. But she values planning time and that can be done while doing the things she enjoys.

Pietro: Flirting. He is a hopeless flirt (see deleted scenes from aou) and enjoys it, but honeslty he thinks it’s kind of silly. Either someone is into you or they’re not. Flirting is like the “how are you? say hi to your mom” of sex.

36.  What makes them feel guilty?

Before Ultron: Nothing but their parents.

After: everything.

37.  Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?

Wanda: both. Her emotions fuel her, but she’s too practical to go with the first plan that pops into her head. she feels she owes it to the validity of her anger and guilt to take the best course of action.

Pietro: definitely emotional. He analyzes just enough not to make things immediately worse, then acts.

38.  Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality? 

Wouldn’t know what that is.

Post AoU, Wanda reads more about psychology to help understand how her powers work. Once she comes across this, she’s educated enough to know how simplistic and meaningless it is.

39.  What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

Time together.

Post AoU Wanda: Time alone. Doing something that makes her feel like herself like drinking tea or painting her nails.

40.  Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?

Wanda: Bit of both, but leaning more towards superiority. But it’s less superiority, more utter confidence and faith in herself- even when misplaced.

Pietro: Bit of both, leaning towards inferiority. Scared he’s not enough to protect wanda or get them what they want.

41.  How misanthropic are they? 

Can be a weird mix. They hate what people are capable of doing to one another, which comes from the empathy of seeing themselves and others hurt. 

42.  Hobbies?

Wanda: the reading, fashion pursuits, etc. With the team, she’s gotten to try more things like cooking and music.

Pietro: He feels good when he’s running. Not even to speed. Just running is something he’s good at and he likes doing things he’s good at.

43.  How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?

(am i going crazy i feel like i answered some of these like four times)

Their formal education ended at age 10. Skipped out on the foster system and the attached public ed.

44.  Religion?

Their father was jewish, but somewhere about halfway between “observant” and “christmas tree jewish.” After the bombings, they have almost no residual faith and a pretty antagonistic attitude toward organized religion.

45.  Superstitions or views on the occult?

Their mother was Romni and used to give them charms and things to carry for luck and protection. She herself took the customs only vaguely seriously and just followed most out of cultural tradition more than anything. Wanda thought it was all very serious and magical when they were young, but after the bombings refuses to talk about it. As previously stated, Pietro used to carry the charms very carefully, but they didn’t have any on them when they were pulled out of the rubble and he tries to act like it doesn’t bother him that they don’t continue on with the traditions, but it does. He hasn’t told Wanda (she knows anyway), but he found a holed stone a year after their parents’ deaths, but lost it immediately. He still thinks it was a sign he’s meant for bad luck.

46.  Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?

Wanda: speaks for the two of them, most often. Except when it comes to sharing stories. That’s where Pietro steps in. 

Pietro: Makes Wanda’s will into action. Usually leaves the talking to her.

47. If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?

Wanda: Someone who doesn’t necessarily understand her, but does not seek to unravel or change her. She might have a tendency to desire partners who are possibly too passive when it comes to her. This prevents her from healthy relationships a lot. She has no patience for criticism, no matter if it is about somethign superficial, or about something genuinely concerning, like her self-destructive tendencies.

Pietro: Tends to confuse what he wants, which ends messily every time. He doesn’t consciously want a serious commitment, but unconsciously sort of... expects it? This goes one of two ways- his partner takes the relationship seriously and he doesn’t, which means he is callous and flippant with them OR his partner doesn’t take things seriously and he’s frustrated and hurt that he is such a minor event in someone else’s life.

The twins are... not good at dating.

HOWEVER, given the opportunity post aou, I think they would both try to improve their empathy and interpersonal skills a little better. Wanda would do well with someone who actively encourages her to express herself and step outside of her own head, but doesn’t get pushy. Pietro would do well with someone conscientious, but who would also coax him not to take himself so seriously.

48. How do they express love?

With one another: Protectiveness. The way Pietro always has his back, but Wanda is always standing between him and known danger. Physical affection/their shared personal bubble.

With befriending the rest of the team, they would struggle for a time. But eventually Wanda starts making two cups of tea when someone else is in the kitchen with her and Pietro starts smiling, just a little, at their jokes instead of rolling his eyes.

49. If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

Wanda: It’s not exactly speed that’s her strong point, she’s just ABRUPT. even before the experiments, she was very good at reading people and situations. She can tell when a fight is inevitable, and once diffusion is no longer an option, she will strike first and not fast, not stopping to let anyone get their footing. Dirty fighting. Knees and nails and big jagged rings.

Pietro: Big surprise- fast. But also very- full bodied. I love the way that with his speed, Pietro’s attacks in aou are mostly just “run into robot so fast it just falls apart.” I feel like that’s not just the powers, but also how he does things. Just kind of throws himself at/on people and hits with anything he’s got. Fast and dirty. No kidney or testicle is safe.

50. Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

Wanda: Pre aou: not if it’s together. Post: no. Would be somewhat of a relief. Finally going home after a long day. Wherever she’s going, it’s the same place as Pietro.

Pietro: Yes yes oh god yes.

#maximoff twins #codependent supertwins #long post #such a fucking long post #i'd say i'm sorry but if this surprises you in any way you probably should have unfollowed a long time ago #character meme #do it for the meme #asks #@essayofthoughts

[lightoverturesystem]

I think one of the hardest things for me to cope with has been missing the ones who have abused me in the past. Given I grew up in maddening isolation, when I entered into my teenage years and was finally able to branch out into the world, I clutched to just about anyone who would give me the time of day. I had no idea what I was doing, and since I missed a lot of normal socialization and developmental growth, had no idea how to interact with people in general. All I knew was combat or flee, quite literally my life has been nothing but fight or flight.

And for some of these people it had been the same, bringing devastating results, a hurricane meeting with a warm tidal wave. When one would take a combat stance, I would run. One of my lovers even disdainfully called me “a runner.” I’m not sure if the goal was to shame me, point out the obvious or make me aware of something I already knew, but either way, not being given the safety in life to live a life outside flight-or-fight mode has left its scars on other people. That’s a whole other layer given to me by my childhood trauma to undo, to grieve for, feel about, and eventually overcome. He also called me a coward for having what as my therapist puts it, “a normal reaction for your body given the circumstances and the fact your body was trained and brain hard wired this way.” Doesn’t excuse the pain it causes others, but understanding and context too is important. But that’s another rant for another day. Anyway, it was rare I could be the person who could de-escalate a situation and calm it down if it wasn’t mediating between two others. When others would run, I would start to get angry, but that didn’t usually last. I would usually become sad, because I understood, in a way.

I have a lot of flaws when it comes to socializing. I know how to appear passably normal in society if I choose to do so, but once you start to learn who I am under the surface, the entire picture falls apart. Bits and pieces don’t add up, if you are skilled enough to look deeper. This is why I choose to be very open online, because having to fake all of this in the physical world can be maddening; if I had to do it in the digital world too… Well I just don’t think it’s possible for me. Anyway, anyone who gets intimate enough with me are told of my flaws the best I know of them because it affects my socialization, especially in intimate relationships.

For example, the previously aforementioned lover also told me while a lot of the issues in the relationship was his fault, I had a problem where I made him feel safe emotionally when we really weren’t, because I would assure him I would keep him safe, but when things got messy, my emotions dropped to instinctually protect myself. This issue of mine varies person to person, but one variable remains the same. If I feel unsafe with someone, that’s when the wall has always gone up. I often put it up without even consciously recognizing it. Its been second nature to me. In this case, I was unable to put it down even when desiring to do so because it truly just wasn’t safe at the time. Finally now I am in a place where not only am I able to tear the walls down, but most of them never need to be built up in the first place; and if I sense bricks starting to stack, I feel safe enough to address it. And in the future if I don’t feel safe, depending on the situation, I know now to either take a risk to talk about it or remove myself as safely as possible.

When it comes to being or listening to someone being abused, my emotional protector Morgue switches or starts using passive influence, and I no longer can access a normal range of emotions. Everything feels flat, and dull. I don’t feel empathy where I should. I feel almost nothing.

It can be terrifying, in hindsight, or even in the moment. Sometimes in these moments, I am at the back of my innerworld desperately clawing to get free. I am far away, and have trouble hearing, and I want nothing more than to communicate; it hurts. I am dissociated almost against my will, it feels like. Other times if I feel I’ve been done a serious wrong, I can be completely cold and unfeeling. Either way, it is not good, or conductive to good relationships or personal health. What once kept me alive and safe, stopped people from taking advantage of me as a child, has been holding me down.

Luckily for me, I understand this issue of self and it is a work in progress between my current lover and I. When in a situation of nurture, I am far better able to dismantle the wall faster, and Morgue not only knows he does not need to protect me from her, but is actually starting to feel emotion regarding her, to which I am elated. If in a situation of conflict, I know enough about myself and have a solid ground in the relationship to tell Morgue his job isn’t needed, that it is okay to feel and be vulnerable here.

In the last year I have started to really analyze my own behavior, now that mentally I am in a place I can start to look and vow to become a better person rather than just want to off myself or – to my ignorance, have someone system flood. (Looking at you, Kyle.) I haven’t always liked what I found. I’m at fault for turning the other way often, for what I found was so much like my parents that still being around them, it wasn’t my time to undo it. I couldn’t safely keep my hatred for my mother under control and also live with her at the same time. Undoing these things would mean I would have to study their roots, and that would bring feelings about her I couldn’t afford to have until now.

But before I started doing this, I had become friends with the first handful of folk who were like myself in the only ways I thought mattered. They were all LGBT, some were just queer, some were trans, we all loved BDSM and some were systems like myself. All were mentally ill, and we all clicked in various different ways.

In the next two years as I started to read, change and find who I am, I started to see in these people a mix of patterns and behaviors I had to undo myself, and things I’d never had inside me in the first place. As I learned what abuse really was and wasn’t, what I saw in others scared me. In this time, I was still not quite self aware enough to know my own needs or what was good and bad for me. I told myself its their issues to work out, to give patience. I tried not to just flee. But eventually as I started realizing how I was being treated, how I was being lied to, just passively or by omission, being manipulated, blackmailed and worse, one by one I realized it was time to leave again. This was different than running, this was standing up for myself. I had to detach myself from people I loved, but who treated me in ways I either had no idea how to handle, or were just plain cruel. And that was unbelievably hard; realizing I would have to go back to being almost entirely alone was almost too bad a thought that I nearly turned away from. But I didn’t. Instead, I thought about how each loss was a difficult act of self love, and continues to be every day. Each loss was me saying, “I love you, but dammit, I love me now too. And you shouldn’t treat me this way. So if you must, I must bid you goodbye because it isn’t healthy for me and isn’t what I need right now.”

Each loss was harder than the last, as the people I considered family eventually dwindled to two. Months I spent building, gone.

I learned about how survivors of abuse often fell into this pattern of being around abusers without even realizing it. I felt stupid; surely with all my psychology background I would have noticed this happening? And it’s true, somewhere, I took note of red flags of all these people, and took this valuable clipboard of information and all but through it out a mental window. I learned a good lesson from that about listening to gut instinct, let me tell you. This handful of people, the only I considered family, I didn’t want these people I believed in so much to truly be this way. I thought better of them. There’s no way they could be as bad, especially after learning what happened to me, and the way they reacted to that, right? I wish I had been right. But it taught me a valuable lesson of passing on patterns, instilling my vow to not do it myself, at least perhaps besides what I have already done. That was a mistake on my part for some of them. Others put up false personas of who they actually were and I had to see through.

It’s been a year of my loss of some, and I’m still grieving.

It seemed just when I was starting to grieve one person’s loss, it was time to lose another. The grieving comes in waves. Not just 3-am-its-dark-and-im-lonely kind of waves. It comes at 9 am when I wake and would normally call someone and now find my breakfast a lot more quiet. The sunlight streaming through the trees at a particular time of day will bring back memories. It comes at 11:30 in the morning on a bus when you know someone’s tumblr queue would normally be going off. It comes at midnight when someone would come home from work and the last thing you’d hear is their voice before bed. And yes, it still comes at 3 am, because it would be their 9 am, and you’d want to make sure their day has been starting okay so far. It comes playing my favorite videogame ever, that I haven’t picked up since The Loss™ because there are a handful of ghosts around me. In hearing The Neighborhood, and often when I learn something new about myself as a system.

Because of my issues socializing, because of not wanting to go back to what feels like isolation, missing my abusers has been something I’ve battled with for years. These issues amplify my feelings of isolation and that no one else will ever love me; they strike hard into the core of who I am.

Every day, I fight. Some days are easier than others. There can be long periods of time I don’t think about anyone. But I end up stepping on a trigger, maybe its a new Pokemon game coming out, a new Wednesday 13 album or seeing Luke Cage has been added to Netflix or crossing the street where someone I loved once lived. But when it happens, I’m fighting until I’m lying in the fetal position in my bed feeling stabs of pain through my chest where sobs would be because trauma stops me from being able to cry most of the time.

I think society has this stigma that when you leave an abusive person, you should feel proud. That you should burn bridges and never want to talk to them again. You should feel triumphant, and sick if the thought of ever talking to them should cross your mind.

But that’s not what it’s always like.

With some of these people I can truly let go of and say “thank fuck that’s over.” With others, it’s clawing myself out of a hole for a couple years almost. And sometimes I hate myself, I feel dirty and disgusting in a way no shower can clean and I delve into my own psychology, turning over every mental rock I can find for an answer for something until months later I come to it. Sometimes people’s words rub into old wounds so raw that it takes you months to clean them out once you can bare to fold back the bandage reeking of infection by the time you are brave enough to address it.

Nostalgia is a great liar. It will whisper to you whenever you are down and out for the count and tell you that you need or want someone back in your life that you really, really don’t. A brain addicted to the chemical ups and downs of abuse will tell you all this quiet is driving you up a wall, even though when in the thick of it, quiet is all you wanted. That being wound up in a panic attack at 3 am, heart pounding and frozen in terror, falling-apart-at-the-seams with sadness and rage afterward is far more exciting than sitting in the dark alone at night. This is the nature of growing up with abuse. Your body can learn to crave it. Without it, something doesn’t quite feel right.

My therapist tells me this is normal. She tells me to be more gentle with myself, because inside my head I am incredibly harsh. I tell myself I’m a disgrace to human beings, and by doing that I put a disrespect with my selfishness to all those have ever loved me.

She tells me I am not a bad person for the mistakes I made to others too; if this is all I knew, how can I be expected to know otherwise?

She reminds me things are no longer about anyone else’s opinions. I tell her “but no one has to be gentle on me for what I have done, they are allowed to be angry.” She tells me that is true, but in order to heal, to keep changing and to let go of what anyone else thinks of me, or can see, I am going to have to forgive myself.

So I start to try, and then I slowly start to forgive.

I take a look at the child and teen I was. Lost, terrified, ignorant to everything but a world full of abuse. I spent my teenage years begging for help, with nothing ever coming. I look at the young adult he turned into, fumbling through this life. He’s gotten some help here and there, but realized no one can save himself but himself. And in his pain, he’s made a lot of mistakes. A whole new layer to address in therapy, the trauma caused by trauma. None were done on purpose sure, but regardless, they were still there; scars on others due to his ignorance. I decide to hold him responsible for his actions, and maybe I did far too harshly for far too long, but… Would I be unforgiving if that was someone else? If it was someone I loved?

No.

Most I’ve known who have made a mistake where they weren’t directly trying to harm me in some form or another, I have forgiven.

I accept I still have a lot to learn. I accept that I will make a lot more mistakes in the future.

And in turn, I apply this knowledge to some of the people I know too. They too have known really nothing else either, and are working to undo abusive behaviors too. I feel something move inside, like a piece of a puzzle locking into place, right where it belonged.

Forgiveness comes a little easier now. Not forgetting, not refusing to hold anyone accountable, but understanding. “Understand, then seek to be understood.”

I never have seen these people as just good-or-bad people because of their abuse. Sometimes I wish I could; but I have done both horrible and wonderful things myself, and understand I am not the only one. What makes them this or that are an alignment of other morals now, and if they are trying to break patterns, be better people, or are just turning away from all their flaws. If they hold themselves responsible or make excuses.

Missing your abusers can come as a terrible blow to a lot of survivors; why would you miss such a terrible thing? But for a lot of us, our abusers, outside the abuse, were great people. Which on the outside, may sound like one wild contradiction. But in reality, they may be great representers in a community, they may be amazing caretakers, or a great friend when you are going through a hard time. They can be creative, happy people who do generous things for others. But they can still be abusive. This is why so many people have issue identifying abusers, or accepting someone they love is one.

“But X does ____ and ___!”

“Yes, but they also do ___ and ____”

Life is full of grey areas, and some tones are so close in color, they are barely distinguishable. It is not so black and white, all-or-nothing, good-or-bad person. Most of us are not entirely good or evil. Toxic thinking like this will only get people more hurt, and less understanding will occur in the world.

Some of my exes, outside their abuse, are some of the most creative and thoughtful people I know; some of them genuinely want to help mankind be better, some are advocates like myself, all of which in the end only served to make things more painful and confusing. But they are also some of the most awful people I’ve come across, who have said unspeakable things to me and burned me for defending myself. Some were to me, a person who would hit a dog for biting them after a history of striking the dog in the face. Some have in the same month made me feel the safest I had ever felt in my life, and then put everything I love in jeopardy.

Humanity is confusing.

Knowing all this, I think it’s okay to miss someone you do or once loved. The good parts and the bad, long as you can recognize why, and keep yourself safe. They were an intimate part of your lives, you had someone you shared milestone moments with. Don’t let anyone, especially them, shame you for that. There is nothing wrong, nothing shameful, about missing someone. I see too many breakups being played like games where people are shunned for grieving and expected to never feel anything about the breakup, especially over social media. People’s hearts are not pawns, and if an ex treats your breakup like a game, not engaging or playing it will in the long run, help you go far. This may not be possible with some abusers, so judge wisely. Safety, first. But if you can keep yourself safe by not taking what is often bait, if you are successful in not viewing things that way, you’ll save yourself a lot of trouble. Viewing things as a game only distances yourself from the pain that will refuse to go unaddressed forever, and possibly cause new layers of pain on top because of consequences to actions taken by “playing” this “game.”

That being said, I’m starting to allow myself to grieve more deeply. For those I’ve lost, for myself, for the child in me who despite everything, keeps reaching forward for the love he so boldly dares to believe he deserves.

#word vomit???? #i just felt like writing on what i have been thinking about lately #abuse tw #tw abusive relationship #documentation

[penguinghostwriter-blog]

Mania and Suicidal Thoughts: Part One, An Understanding

To quote a favored blog post of an internet stranger "Yes, I'm suicidal and no, it's not what you think. As I see it, there’s some gray area in being suicidal. It’s not just black and white like a lot of people assume." - Rebecca Lynn Clark

I received a lot of feedback when re-posting this article, and said that I would write one of my own. In order to fully comprehend something, we must first understand it. So here it is: Yes, I'm suicidal. Always have been, always will be. But no, it's not what you think. Rebecca and I hold one very stark difference: She does not have a plan. I do. I have for some time now. Two people in this world know the plan - one of which is my therapist, the other, a very good friend. When the plan was constructed as a result of Lexapro's side-effect "suicidal thoughts," in a frenzied fear I told this friend on my birthday, of all days, every detail of the plan. I'll never forget the way his piercing blue eyes looked at me that day. And the words he said:

"Only you could take suicide and make it such a selfless thing."

We had a good laugh about that. He quickly amended, "Well don't do it, because I would be really fucking bummed if you did."

Without going into detail, the plan has always been weirdly unselfish. I'm not going to dive into the politics of whether suicide is selfish or not - everyone has their own view on things. It's not the point of this post. The plan, my plan, has its t's crossed and its i's dotted - no detail left missed. The irony and benefits of being a writer - nothing goes without detail. No mess, no cleanup, no second-guessing, no 'why did she do it,' no leaving any affairs unattended, no return engagements, and done in a way that would benefit ecologically. So yes, I'm suicidal, and yes, I have a plan. But before you reach for the phone, hear me out. We'll touch upon some psychological facts and readings, then get into the truth. My truth.

Before we deep-dive into this, we need to recognize a few factors at play:

Mania - "What is a manic episode? A manic episode is not a disorder in and of itself, but rather is diagnosed as a part of a condition called bipolar disorder.

A manic episode is a mood state characterized by period of at least one week where an elevated, expansive, or unusually irritable mood exists. A person experiencing a manic episode is usually engaged in significant goal-directed activity beyond their normal activities. People describe a manic mood as feeling very euphoric, “on top of the world,” and being able to do or accomplish anything. The feeling is like extreme optimism — but on steroids." - PsychCentral

Hypomania - It's worth noting here that due to my condition, I'm inflicted with a lesser mania (despite its name) called hypomania. "Hypomania is a less severe form of mania. In a hypomanic state, you’ll likely feel euphoric, energetic, and productive, but will still be able to carry on with your day-to-day life without losing touch with reality. To others, it may seem as if you’re merely in an unusually good mood. However, hypomania can result in bad decisions that harm your relationships, career, and reputation. In addition, hypomania often escalates to full-blown mania or is followed by a major depressive episode." - HelpGuide

Hypomanic Obsession - In my research prior to this post, I found someone who endures the same afflictions that I do. "Bipolar disorder is recognized by mania, depression and usually anxiety. One area of bipolar not usually talked about is obsessive thoughts and behavior. [...] The obsession comes with balance and/or mania or hypomania. We have energy and are doing things. Hopefully we are accomplishing things that need to be done. But then there is trouble.

One thing we are doing makes us feel good at first. Since it feels good we want to do more of it. Soon we are thinking of nothing else. Our normal daily activities get left by the wayside and soon all we are thinking about is the one thing we want to do.

From here it is not pretty. We think about it when we go to bed. Obsessing about it at night keeps us from falling asleep. We wake up tired and thinking about our obsession in the morning. We know there are other things that need to be done at home, at work and with friends and family. We try to think about these things. But our minds keep going back to the obsession." - Dave Mowry for BPHope.

Anxiety - "Behaving in an apprehensive manner (worried, fretful, fearful, nervous) causes the body to activate the stress response, which causes the body to secrete stress hormones into the bloodstream where they travel to targeted spots in the body to bring about specific physiological, psychological, and emotional changes that enhance the body’s ability to deal with a threat—to either fight with or flee from it—which is the reason this response is often referred to as the fight or flight response or the emergency response. You feel a sudden and unexplainable urge to escape, run away, or depart the situation, circumstance, or environment you are currently in as fast as you can. This sudden urge to escape or run away feeling can range in intensity from slight, to moderate, to severe. It can also come in waves, where it’s strong one moment and eases off the next.

This sudden urge to escape or run away feeling can change from day to day, and/or from moment to moment." - AnxietyCentre

I'm blessed enough to say that I have several resources in the psychological industry. Sometimes having a sounding board is the best resource one can have. In a recent discussion, we tapped into all the above - and why suicide would always be an option.

The moment one is diagnosed with any sort of lifetime illness, it's a bitter pill to swallow. Imagine someone looking you dead in the eye and telling you that what you're feeling will never stop. It will be a fight every single day for the rest of your life. There are things you can do to stop the pain, but they are only band-aids to a permanent facet. You'll spend the rest of your life using different band-aids. They'll work for a little while, but it's inevitable: eventually it will stop working, and you will need to start all over in finding a new fix.

Every day will be a new fight. You will never know a day without struggle. But here's the soundboard response on that: everyone, mental illness or not, is going through a struggle. Our fights look different, but at the end of the day: we're all fighting something, every day, trying to better ourselves. You'll have good days, and bad ones, and sometimes it will feel like the bad outweighs the good. On the flip side of it, the bad days will always make the good days feel so much better.

Recently, that realization came to the forefront for me: I will never know a day without struggle. I only know three other people who are afflicted with what I am, and they're still struggling. Combining the four factors above, I became hypomanically-induced obsessed. It will never get better. My own mortality was looking me in the face. How much longer do I have? When should I end it? Should I write my last will and testament now? How would I send out my final words to everyone? Should I do it post-mortem? Or prior, and risk someone getting my "goodbye" before I even left?

By now, you might be wondering why. These thoughts kept me up all hours of the night, and all hours of the day. Yet, when someone would I ask, I would say I was okay. My anxiety was out of control, but that's nothing new: so I truly was okay. If you read the above, anxiety instills in you a constant "fight or flight" reflex. What other permanent escape is there but to leave this earth entirely? As foreign as this may sound to you, the sounding board I mentioned confirmed: this is perfectly normal. Well, normal as I ever could be, that is. Suicide will always be an option because it's the ultimate escape from life. It's the ultimate flight. One you'll never come back from. In that context, it sounds like freedom. When you're trapped inside your own mind, any freedom sounds like the ultimate bliss.

Someone close to me even offered to help me travel somewhere. I considered it for a time, knowing that doing so would only put me in more debt. But the chance to escape, even for a little while, was enticing like a moth sees a flame. Nevertheless, I was conscious enough to decline. Both for the sake of my bank account, and with the realization: no matter how far I run, or for how long, I will always have to come back to these same struggles. There is no real escape. It's just another band-aid.

I had a realization when discussing all of the above with one of my psychologically-educated colleagues: Sometimes things do not make sense to you until you're forced to explain them to someone else. That's what this blog is, me explaining to anyone who feels like listening. People hear the word 'suicide' and immediately go on high-alert: with good reason. But we need to recognize that it's much more common than anyone talks about. I'm only one person, but I'll help remove the stigma: it's okay that you feel this way. We need to talk about these things if we want to fix them. I'm lucky to have a very strong support group who reach out to me the moment they realize something is off. Not everyone has that - and I feel lonely even knowing they're there. I remember a time when I didn't have this support system, and how lonely I felt then. So if you're reading this and can relate to what I'm talking about: you're not alone. I know. I understand. I hear you. I'm listening. There are many people in this world who will also listen. They're few and far between, but I promise you that they exist.

If suicide is always an option, what do we do now?

I love that question.

"What are you going to do now?"

Everyone has a different answer to that question. Some have their lives planned out, some don't even know what they're going to do in the next hour. I fall finely in the middle of that scale.

Today, I choose to live. Is it easy? No. But is that the right question to ask? Also no. I understand that I'll continue to have good days and bad days, and that will never end. I understand that everyone experiences this. So that's what I'm going to do now: take things day by day. Today was not a very good day, so I've redirected my attention to making this blog instead. That's the key to stopping hypomania and the obsessions that come with it: distract, and redirect. Tomorrow is a brand new day. I'll still have the same problems, but who knows: perhaps tomorrow I'll have a strength I didn't have today. I'll never know if I don't make it through the rest of the day.

That's what keeps me going most days. The hope for a better tomorrow.

It's a hard pill to swallow, but it's a fact: with the rates of mental illness these days, suicide is and always will be an option. The trick is to make it the very last option, and to put every other option before it. Take it day by day.

I'll see you tomorrow.

If you or a loved one is experiencing any of the above, or you are concerned for their health, here are some resources for you. The first step to anything is to raise awareness. Together, we can end stigma. Let's talk:

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline - 1-800-273-8255

Help Someone Else

Suicide Prevention Resource Center

National Institute of Mental Health - Suicide Prevention

To find local resources in your area, visit To Write Love On Her Arms.

Afraid to talk? It's okay - just text. You can reach the Crisis Text Line 24/7 by texting “START” to 741-741.

For additional resources, see the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention and SAVE (Suicide Awareness Voices of Education).

Provided by The Mighty: you can read the following stories from people who’ve been there:

If You Feel Like You’re ‘Losing’ to Your Mental Illness, This Is Your Reason to Stay

For When Your Only Thought Is Suicide

The Difference Between Wanting to Die and Wanting the Pain to Stop

Dear Suicidal You

#suicide #suicide prevention #depression #anxiety

[zippdementia]

Part 11 Alignment May Vary: Undying

Today’s post is part 11 of an ongoing series detailing the converted 3.5 campaign of Tomb of Haggemoth into a 5th edition romp. In this post, the three players go on an adventure of my own creation, giving them the opportunity to level and to add some length to the main campaign.

First of all, a shout out this session to Rock, Paper, Wizard, a welcome oddity among D&D licensed board games. We played it before our session and it is a blast. Quick, active, and hilarious—the point of the game is to have your token be at the front of a small linear board by the end of the round (because you get more gold that way). To acomplish this, spells from D&D are dealt below the board (Burning Hands, Fireball, Charm Person, and the like). Each spell does some combination of advancing yourself, pushing another player, or stealing gold from another player. Each one also has an accompanying unique hand shape, like making horns with your pinkie and forefinger, or a circle with your thumb and forefinger, or a fist. Every player reviews the spells, secretly decides which one to use and on which player, and then you call out “ROCK PAPER WIZARDS!” On Wizards, everyone makes the hand gesture of their spell at the player of their choice, and then going around the table in turn order the spells are resolved.

The resolution of spells often leads to hilarity, as some of them do fun things like reverse your target’s spell back on themselves (this is how I fireballed myself in the face second round). Others might pivot the spell clockwise, or affect the people on either side of you. Also fun is that if two people use the same spell on each other, the power of their magic explodes and turns into Wild Magic—mechanically, giving them both random spells from the deck.

A game takes about 20 minutes to learn and play, plays up to six players, is simple enough that anyone can pick it up, and is a great pre-session warm up to get everyone in the mood for hanging out.

House of Horrors

Last we left our adventurers, they had followed a distressed woman to a mansion on an otherwise deserted island, only to witness the death of her husband as he expires with a final cryptic message: “You cannot leave!” The man is holding a teddy bear that draws some suspicion because it seems so out of place, but when Abenthy uses his Aasimir powers to detect demons, undead, or aberations he picks up on nothing abnormal about it.

This is the beginning of a one-shot adventure I came up with for this session, and which I’m planning to put onto DriveThru RPG, once I write it up and PDF it. I was inspired by a monster called the “Treacle” in Kobold Press’ Tome of Beasts—which is an amazing product well worth the $30 for any D&D DM—though I redesigned the monster extensively for my adventure.

This is a good example of how a single monster can be a great inspiration for an entire adventure. Read the monster manuals you have and pick a monster that piques your interest. Really delve into it—one of the benefits of modern gaming is the internet as a research tool. Many D&D monsters have been aroud for multiple generations of the game and you can learn a lot about them online. Just a single interesting detail might become the basis for an entire adventure, like how the Treacle is supposed to split in two after it eats enough, and how its most frightening targets are when it becomes a toy and drains the life from children...

The background is that fifteen years ago, a brilliant inventor, Franke LaCroix, took his wife, Maria, their two twin boys, Marcus and Tom, and baby girl Olivia, and moved them away from what he called the “taint” of Waterdeep out to a deserted island, where he built a manor to be self sufficient. He raised goats, hunted in the forest, and cultivated crops. He kept inventing—most of his inventions practical to make the running of the manor easier (such as special fertilizer to keep his crops healthy and needing little care) but some of them more playful (such as a recording device much like a video camera and accompanying projector). Overal, He and his family settled into a life free of the concerns and dangers of modern society.

He also studied spores and molds and fungi, of which there were several interesting varieties on the island. He became obsessed with one in particular, which seemed to be semi-intelligent, or at least responsive, and able to shift into several simple shapes. He kept this sample, which he labeled the “Dopple-Ooze”, in his workshop in the mansion he had built for his family.

And that was his first mistake.

The Dopple-Ooze proved to be a more malevont hunter than Franke had expected. It made its way from the workshop to the nearest bedroom, which was Olivia’s, and took the form of a teddy bear, which she snuggled into bed with. Having made contact with her skin, it sapped her strength and blood until she was an empty husk.

When Franke found out what had happened, a piece of his mind broke. He captured the Dopple-Ooze and locked it in Olivia’s room, using a combination of magic and technology to keep it there, semi-dormant. Under normal circumstances, the Dopple-Ooze would split into two after feeding. This was its normal “breeding” pattern. But Franke kept it from doing this, convinced that somewhere inside its limited intelligence was kept the memory and soul of his daughter.

Weeks went by, and again the ooze found a way to escape, calling out in Olivia’s voice to her mother, Maria, and then laying with the grieving mother while she slept her last sleep. With his wife and daughter now both consumed by the creature, Franke’s mind snapped and his plan changed. He gathered up the twins and fed them into the creature. Then, desperate to rejoin his family, he offered himself to the Dopple-Ooze.

It rejected him.

Perhaps some memory of his family did linger in the ooze, or perhaps it recognized its captor and was getting back at him. Regardless, the next several weeks Franke found himself the target of vicious taunts from the creature, as it took more and more the form of his family, calling out to him, but never devouring him. Never accepting so much as a drop of his blood. Franke kept the door to Olivia’s room locked, but it didn’t seem to matter. The Ooze seemed able to manifest through the walls of the home. Eventually Franke confined himself to his workshop and lost all motivation to live. He fell into malnutrition and sickness, and eventually passed, alone.

The Ooze remained, in a semi-dormant state, until a hunter came to the island to poach the pelts of the Displacer Beasts that lived in its forests. He went looking for pelts, but instead found Maria, who lured him back to the mansion under guise of being a lonely widow, and then trapped him in the house and (along with her twins, all representations of the Ooze) bled him dry. The man did not last long, and soon the Ooze was hungry again.

The second “guest” to arrive was an explorer and his crew. This time, the Ooze was slower, trapping the men in the walls of the house (which the Ooze was able to infect) and bleeding them almost to death, before releasing them, nourishing them back to health with the bounty still being produced by Franke’s inventions, and then doing the process again until finally they all expired from the strain. Their bones still line the walls of the twins’ room.

This baiting has gone on for over five years, and the house has become one entity controlled by the Ooze to the point where it can block doors and windows and control the forms of Maria and the Twins enough to tend the land and the animals to feed its “guests.” Most recently, it attracted a shipwrecked sailor and fed on him for six weeks, finally letting him die the night my players arrive at the house. They believe they are witnessing the death of Maria’s husband, Franke LaCroix, when really they are witnessing the death of the house’s latest victim.

Whispers of Fear

Abenthy knelt by the bed and began to pray. Twyin walked over to Maria and offered her a gentle embrace. “My lady, I am so sorry for your loss. Words cannot express the sorrow that fills my heart for you. If there is something I can do to ease your pain, but name it and it is done.”

“May Tyr watch over his soul on his journey,” Abenthy murmured, from his place at the foot of the bed, head bent in supplication.

“What am I to do?” Maria sobbed. “The children... what is to become of them? Of us? The fields and the goats, the hunting—this was all Franke’s work. I do not know how to operate his machines or tend to his gardens. We have enough set aside for a time, but...” she trailed off.

“... and may he find his way into your light, oh lord of justice...”

“You will come with us,” Twyin said. “We will set you at any port.”

“And then what?” Maria asked. “What do you propose we do next to care for ourselves?”

“I... I do not know, but we will figure out something.”

“... think well on his deeds, and judge him not only for all the good he did, but for all the good left undone.” Abenthy rose, as Maria moved away from Twyin.

“Supper,” she said suddenly. “The twins must eat. And so must you all. Yes, I’ll prepare our supper. Just like normal.” In a daze, she wandered off downstairs.

“Well that was awkward,” Karrina mumbled.

Though trusting of Maria and the twins, my players realize several things are wrong with the house while supper is being prepared. Twyin finds a locked door to the West Wing, underneaht the main foyer. When he tries to open it, it bangs and rattles in the door frame, and he hears a heavy moaning come from somewhere behind it. 

Abenthy, meanwhile, helps Maria prepare supper, and discovers some of the history of her husband’s illness and a lot of the backstory that I described earlier (of course, stopping before any mention of the ooze is made). Olivia is conspiciously absent from this story, conspicious because while Abenthy is hearing this, Karrina finds the mansion’s study, where a large painting of the LaCroix family hangs. In the picture is Maria and the Twins, and Maria is holding a baby. Also, Karrina notices that the man in the picture looks very little like the man they saw die upstairs.

Supper is a quick affair, and afterwards Maria shows them to their assigned rooms (it is too dark to make their way down the spire tonight and besides there are displacer beasts out there). Karrina and Abenthy are shown to one room, and Twyin to another—though, after Maria leaves them, Abenthy forces Twyin to “do the gentlemanly thing” and sleep in his room, giving Karrina her own. Karrina is only halfway grateful, as the house has her seriously spooked, and this room is full of old toys Franke made for his children. The party agrees to sleep for a few hours, to stave off their exhaustion, and then to sneak into the sick room and get a closer look at the dead “husband.”

In the middle of the night, Maria comes looking for Twyin under the guise of desperately needing companionship. She wears naught but an open robe, come prepared to seduce him and be taken into his bed. Of course, what she really wants is to be taken into his bed so she can make direct skin contact and start bleeding him (1d8 necrotic damage to hit point maximum every hour), but Twyin traded beds with Karrina... so she crawls into bed with her instead.

Both Karrina and Maria are startled by each other, but Maria plays to Karrina’s sympathy and the Tiefling agrees to let this human girl (or so she thinks) sleep in the same bed with her—minus the seduction and aftermath. Maria doesn’t care: she doesn’t need sex, she just needs touch.

Meanwhile, Twyin wakes up suddenly, feeling something moving at the foot of his bed. He sees a dark shape there and leaps from the bed, turning on the lamp. He sees nothing out of the ordinairy... until he notices the teddy bear at the foot of the bed.

Wholely freaked out now, Twyin wakes Abenthy (”What? Is it time?”) and tells him: “That teddy bear was moving.” Cue long pause. “Are you feeling okay?” Abenthy asks.

Long story short, the two eventually decide that, whatever is going on, they aren’t going to be able to get much more sleep right now. So Abenthy gets his armor on, while Twyin goes to wake Karrina. He opens the door to see the mostly naked Maria wrapped around Karrina, spooning her. He takes a good eyefull before coughing politely and waking the two women up.

“Goddamit,” Karrina says, when she realizes who it is and what he has seen. Maria blushes and quickly covers herself. Twyin’s smirk died on his lips though, when he saw something glistening on Karrina’s chest.

“Is that... blood?” he asked.

Karrina, startled, rubbed a finger across her chest. No wound, but yes, that was blood. Fear took her as she remembered the man in the other room had died from some kind of sickness. Was it contagious? Why had they decided to stay in a plague-ridden mansion?

Before she could contemplate or regret further, they all heard a scream coming from down the hall.

“That’s Marcus!” Maria said, and turned deathly pale.

The point of this set up, as a game designer, was to give the setting some weight. We didn’t spend a lot of time on supper or exploring the house, maybe twenty minutes between the two, and a lot of this action was driven by the players, like deciding what to do before supper. It let them settle into the environment and become uncomfortable with the situation. The trick with a slower set up, esepcially a horror set up, is to give the players a mixture of “things to steer the action on” and “things to react to.” The first (examples: what rooms to explore, letting them steer conversations, giving them time away from the NPCs to discuss plans and change things, like what rooms to sleep in) is important because it keeps the setting from feeling like a tour of a bunch of pre-planned encounters and jump scares. The second (example: Maria coming into Karrina’s room, the banging door, the scream from the twins room) makes them feel like they are in the middle of something bigger than them and keeps the action moving forward.

Speaking of which...

Twin Trouble

Twyin did not waste time grabbing his armor. He ran from Karrina’s room down the hall, grabbing Abenthy on his way as the lithe Paladin entered the hall. The two burst into the twin’s room, Maria and Karrina not far behind them.

“Oh gods,” Maria said in a shocked whisper.

Twyin had to agree with her sentiment. The room ahead of them was lined with bones. They were in the walls, the remains of bodies in twisted positions. The lamps in here flickered on and off, casting disturbing shadows that made the bones look like they were moving, reaching for the interlopers at the door.

“Help me!” Marcus’ thin voice cried out.

The child was halfway in the wall between his and his brother’s bed, his arms flailing madly as he fought to pull himself free. Behind him, the wall was a mass of angry scars and pustules, and his screams spoke to something horrible happening to his lower half, already embedded in the wall.

Abenthy ran forward and grabbed the child’s arms. “Help me pull him free!” he called. Twyin was quick to respond, leaping onto one of the beds and getting a grip on the child’s arm.

In response, Marcus grinned at Twyin, wrapped his child arms around him, and buried his teeth in Twyin’s throat. Twyin yelled in surprise and fear. Karrina moved forward to help but then felt cold hands wrapping around her throat as Maria grabbed her from behind.

A small giggle came from another wall as Tom emerged into the room, pulling free of a stack of bones in the wall. He ran at Abenthy, and leaped onto the warrior’s back, seeking a place he could bury his fangs.

These three are the main baddies in the house. Maria is the easiest of the three, basically a weaker doppleganger. Her main point is to (a) trick the person whose bed she sneaks into, lowering their max hit points. In another scenario, the party might have slept a lot longer, but as our group decided to set a wake up call at around 3:00am to explore the house more, she only drained about 10 hit points from Karrina. After that, she simply exists to make the twins more difficult.

The twins are no joke. They have two main attacks. One is to try and latch onto a person with bite. If successful, it turns into an automatic grapple while they suck the life and strength out of the victim. But worse, they then try to drag that victim into the wall, where the escape DC becomes much higher, and their AC becomes higher. Also, the damage done each round while an opponent is grappled is automatic max hit point drain. It is a low die roll, a 1d4, but it adds up quickly. Twyin drops his hit point maximum by nearly half by the time combat is over!

Their other attack is a multi-attack swipe, which doesn’t do life drain like the bite, but which is heavy enough damage to keep party members distracted fighting them instead of helping their friend getting pulled into the wall.

The party plays against them perfectly. Abenthy lets himself take the brunt of Tom’s attacks, because his 19 AC is tough to break through. Karrina turtles up, too, using her arcane skills to cast Blade Ward and keep Maria occupied (and ineffective). Twyin takes the brunt of the hurt in this fight, as his arm is stuck in the wall and slowly being stripped of its flesh by Marcus, while he struggles to break free. But once he is free, he unleashes his dual weilding forces upon the wall where Marcus is hidden, until both twins flee.

Maria isn’t so lucky. One of the joys of this fight is that Abenthy refuses to attack the children with anything other than non-lethal damage, which does nothing to an these oozes. He simply can’t bring himself to harm children. But when Twyin chops Maria’s head off and it continues to scream at them despite hanging upside down from her neck, he finally presses the attack and chops her in half, sending her sprawling into the hallway in a bloody heap.

I wanted this house to feel less like a dungeon and more like an environment, so I moved away from the idea of filling certain rooms with certain encounters and opted instead to build a “creature” that could roam the environment, being fought in multiple locations. Thus, the twins ability to move through the walls. Doing something like this occasionally in your own game can keep dungeons from feeling too simliar to one another, and it works especially well in horror settings, where the focus might be better placed on a singular monster or two, rather than on a dungeon crawl.

The twins continue to haunt the players as they move through the mansion, throwing Karrina off the foyer to the entrance hall 20 feet below, and trying to pull Abenthy into a door frame. Finally, they have a last confrontation in the dining room, where Tom rushes Abenthy with butcher knives, and Marcus tries to absorb Karinna into a wall (he fails, as she does a barrel roll... no really, she barrel rolls over the dining room table to get away). This is where the twins are finally cut down.

Abenthy looked at the ruin of the child that had once been Tom. Your blades did this, he thought to himself. You brought this one’s life to an end. Even though he knew that this creature was no longer Tom, nor a child, and had likely not been for many a moon, he still could not get the image of cleaving a child in half out of his head. Was there nothing he could have done to save him? Was there nothing he could do now? A thought began to form in his head, and Abenthy knelt close to the body...

So Abenthy, who has roleplayed his character’s justice flaw so well, gained a minor madness here as he cut down what looked like a young child. I rolled on the random madness chart in the DMG and got “you feel compelled right now to eat something.” Abenthy and I looked at each other. “You start eating the child,” I said. “You believe you can take his soul into your own body this way and deliver him unto Tyr.”

And so things get gross for a moment.

The West Wing

With the Twins defeat, the door to the West Wing flies off its hinges and opens up the way to the rest of the “dungeon.” I’ve talked in previous blogs how I think a good adventure should have a mixture of four different kinds of obstacles:

Social obstacles, in which players have to interact and roleplay with NPCs, usually trying to get something from them, whether help, directions, or an item.

Skill obstacles, in which players have to use their skills and ability scores to bypass barriers or make something easier (jumping over a chasm, climbing up a tower, finding the secret door behind a bureau, beating the pirate king in a game of chance in exchange for his help).

Combat obstacles, in which players use their stats, spells, and abilites to overcome monsters and other enemies in combative situations.

Puzzle obstacles, in which players have to use their own minds to figure out how to beat an obstacle (solve a riddle, figure out a way past a trap, figure out where a hidden key might be).

So far, the adventure has started out with a nice dose of social obstacles, and then led into a long section of combat. Now I bring the focus to puzzles. Past the locked door are two rooms: Franke’s workshop (where his dessicated body still lies, untouched by the ooze) and Olivia’s room. The latter is locked (and is the location of the final encounter). The former hides the key to her room. The recording device I mentioned earlier is here, and by searching the room the players find the gems that activate the device and hold the recordings. From this, they learn the true history of Franke and his family tragedy as described before. They also find a ring which makes them look like Olivia. Disturbingly, Franke had used this ring to make himself look like his daughter, then record himself talking to himself as her. Later, when he would play back these recordings, he could pretend Olivia was alive and speaking to him, a mental mindscrew that speaks to just how far gone he was. His video says as much:

My mind is going... I’ve been putting things in the wrong place... I can’t remember one day to the next. I wish to rejoin my family...

Franke’s message here is a clue. Above the worktable is a shelf holding four jars. One holds a key—but it is a red herring. It unlocks nothing. The real key is hidden “in the wrong place,” inside a jar containing brown mold. In previous messages, they have seen him put the key away on this shelf, and say it is important, which does trigger Karrina to wonder if there is something to the other jars—but it isn’t enough.

My players figure it out eventually, and also find a way to destroy the brown mold and get to the key, but it takes some prodding and first they try pretty much everything else—searching the whole hosue for the  key, attempting to pick the lock and break down the door... and this is after they’ve already gotten all of the clues to the puzzle. This leads me to believe that the riddle might be a bit obtuse—I think in the final version of this adventure I will change this and add in a skill based option to bypass it. Maybe a loose panel somewhere that leads into Olivia’s room through the woodwork—that could be freaky and also explain how the Ooze escaped from the room in the first place.

In any case, inside the room is the final boss, a creature that resembles a giant teddy bear dripping with ooze and pus (if you’ve seen Akira, you know my inspiration). It has Ogre stats, making it an easy to hit heavy hitter. In addition, it can try to grapple on a hit, and if successful forces a single character inside itself, pressing them into its gut where the ooze traps them, removing them from combat until they can break free. It also reduces damage against him by half, dealing half of it to the trapped character.

The idea in designing this fight was to create a monster that wasn’t too hard on its own, but would get harder depending on how much life the players had lost in the previous sections of the house. The beast can hit pretty solidly, possibly killing a character whose life has been drained to leave him with only a dozen or so hit points.

My players actually don’t have much problem with this fight, and I think I will ultimately toughen it up a bit in the final version, maybe adding a “Maria” or two to the room as well, to force players to split their attentions, or giving him a multi-attack to let him at least target multiple characters and try his grapple more than once. Twyin, in particular, makes this combat a breeze, trapping the teddy in a corner and going to town on it with his multiple attacks and special abilities. As a battlemaster he has acces to parry, which reduces damage by 1d8. He uses this to immense effect, saving himself from death dealing blows twice.

I’ll talk a little more next session about designing fights and monsters in D&D 5th Edition.

After this, there is not much else to tell. The players escape the house as it collapses, the ooze having infiltrated most of its structure and dying when its central brain was destroyed in the final shape it took. They eventually make their way back to the boat, where Krisp tells them they missed a rockin’ beach party last night, and that the repairs are done and they will reach the oracle’s island within a couple of days.

Everyone is now level 4. Karrina resolves her flaw, too! It used to be that she was racist against humans, but her time spent amongst them in the last month—not to mention having her past companions sacrifice themselves so that she might live—has changed her perspective. She realized this fully when she was willing to comfort Maria when the woman came to her in the middle of the night, claiming she felt so alone in the room she used to share with her late husband.

Karinna’s new flaw is a tendency to perform acrobatics in the heat of combat. Her natural arrogance has increased as she has survived more deadly encounters and now she is like a kid who has learned to ride a bicycle well enough that they start to wonder: “Can I ride with no hands?”

Next time, depending on how things go on the oracle’s island, we may get a chance to find out...

#playthrough #dnd 5e #Red Hand of Doom #Tomb of Haggemoth #epic #Dungeons and Dragons #Journey Log #Wizards of the Coast #fantasy #RPG