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trikadekaphile · 3 years

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Excerpts from one of my favorite Han/Leia fanfics

Dant Solo once wrote a fanfic on the now-defunct TATS website, which was posted in three parts. It was titled "Oblivion" and focused on the missing moments from the period during the NJO (New Jedi Order) where Han and Leia were separated, then when they got back together. Dant Solo did what Kathy Tyers had neither the talent nor the decency to do: gave Han and Leia a proper reunion.

Now, it is no secret that I do not care for the pre-Disney EU, now called Legends. (For the record, I don’t care much for the Disney EU, either.) I flat-out hate much of the NJO, particularly the way it crapped all over Han/Leia's relationship -- not only separating them, but gypping them out of a reunion, and instead giving all the love/personal scenes to the red-gold pestilence and the penis on life support it married Mara and Luke...in the book that was supposed to contain the Han/Leia reunion. Tyers poured salt on the wound by offering a fake mea culpa where she said -- heck, gloated -- that she could have written some Han/Leia scenes, but she wanted to focus on the red-gold pestilence and the penis on life support it married Mara and Luke.

Han/Leia fans, justifiably outraged, began a campaign to get their couple better treatment. It took three years before Del Rey finally delivered something more than a half-assed stopgap measure: "Tatooine Ghost," set after Han and Leia were married, and thankfully retconned some of the most egregious and nauseating parts of the travesty called "The Courtship of Princess Leia."

Anyway, I feel a rant about the red-gold pestilence coming on, and I choose to quash it and refocus on the aforementioned excerpts from Dant Solo's fanfic. The whole fanfic is good, but I have some favorite parts, which are the ones I will post.

Without further ado, here are my favorite excerpts from "Oblivion":

*******

[Han] came to a lift and entered it with half a dozen other beings, traveling downward to an entertainment level. He found a familiar cantina, one that had been renamed but remained, nevertheless, the same sort of dive it had always been. He swaggered through the doorway, hand resting casually above his blaster in an old, customary habit. His senses were immediately assaulted by a musty, hazy smoke that filled the crowded, dimly lit room. Loud conversation filled his ears, and he suddenly hoped that no one would speak to him. He wanted a drink and he wanted to be alone.

He ambled to the bar and sat on a lone stool at one end, waving a hand to the bartender, a shiny headed Bith who greeted him enthusiastically. Grumbling, Han ordered Alderaanian ale, noting the way the bartender slunk away after he provided it.

Gulping the brew greedily, Han's thoughts returned to Leia. He couldn't remember the last time they had exchanged pleasant words. He supposed it must have been some time shortly after Sernpidal. Again, as had been the case for so long, despair flooded him at the thought of his friend and co-pilot. His eyes closed without him even realizing it, his mind remembering the final moments of the Wookiee's life, recalling the horrible, shattering events against his own will.

Chewie! No!

Dammit! His fist clenched around the cold, hard mug of ale, but almost as quickly, it unclenched with a weak, sorrowful acceptance, eyes opening reflexively.

Ahh, Chewie...What am I supposed to do here? I wish you could tell me.

He knew what the big lug would say...he would tell him to get off his ass and pull himself together. That there was no use beating himself up over it and that he had wasted enough of his time already.

And he would probably tell Han to go back to his family. If there was one thing Chewie had always felt very strongly about, it was family.

Maybe if he hadn't been running around with me, he'd be with his family right now.

A futile thought, but Han couldn't help but think it anyway. He sighed, feeling a shudder pass through him with the release of that breath. This was why he'd always been a loner. Granted, Chewie had been in his life for an incredibly long time before he'd lost him, but he remembered vividly the kind of pain that loss of any kind imbued, and he had vowed, as a much younger man, not to risk such loss ever again.

But first there was Chewie and then there was Leia, both taking on a tough edged scoundrel who really wasn't worth it.

Surely, Leia had recently drawn that conclusion in earnest. He thought of her trip to Hapes, of her time with the dashing, regal Prince Isolder. If she'd married him instead of Han, she wouldn't be alone right now; she wouldn't have to wonder what would become of her husband, her marriage. With a distant darkness, Han wondered what had passed between the Prince and his wife. He was still a handsome bastard; certainly Leia would have noticed that. Han had left her alone all these months, had in truth mostly left her alone for months before, all the while existing in the same home as her, drinking himself into oblivion.

The idea of Leia with Isolder inflamed Han with a heart clenching, smoldering jealousy that consumed him for a long, violent moment, tempting him to hurl his mug across the room, shattering it against the wall as concretely as the thought shattered his soul.

He pushed the agonizing thought from his mind, forcing it into a quiet corner of his brain, along with all thoughts too painful to bear.

He tried not to think of anything at all, and was barely aware when someone sat on a nearby stool and slid it beside him. He glanced over to find a tall, curvaceous woman with close-cropped, sun colored hair smiling at him in a flirtatious manner. He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, smiling inwardly at the realization of who he had turned into since he'd met a young, idealistic would-be Jedi. Then he returned his gaze to his drink, dismissing the young woman.

"Hi there," she said, turning to face him.

With a tired sigh, he looked at her again, smiling politely. She was very attractive, he had to admit that.

"Buy a lady a drink?" She smiled impishly.

Why not? It couldn't hurt. "Yeah, sure." He gestured to the bartender, who hastened over. "A drink for the lady," Han said with a gesture.

The woman smiled at the Bith. "Tagorian Tellder wine." As the bartender reached for the appropriate bottle and began to pour, she turned back to Han and extended a delicate hand. "I'm Shayna."

Han shook her hand briefly. "Han. Nice to meetcha." He took another long swig of his ale, watching the woman carefully as she received her drink from the bartender and sipped it slowly.

She raised an eyebrow at him before saying, "You look lonely, Han."

Han raised a brow in return. "Nah, I'm just fine. I like bein' alone."

"Really? You don't ever like company?"

Against his will, his thoughts turned to his family. It had been a long time, up until Chewie's death, since he had genuinely enjoyed being alone. Now it seemed the only option left to him. "Maybe sometimes. Not often."

She smiled coyly. "I don't like to be alone. I'm always looking for company." She leaned toward him and the loose front of her blouse slid forward enticingly, capturing Han's gaze for the briefest of moments.

He looked away quickly, guzzling down the last of his ale and signaling the bartender for another.

Without warning, Shayna placed a warm hand on Han's thigh, just as his second ale was placed before him.

"You want to go someplace more private and talk some more?"

Han looked at her for a long moment, holding his mug in suspended animation halfway to his lips. It could be so easy....to go with this beautiful woman and forget everything for a little while. His body was certainly willing. No one ever had to know. There was no way for anyone to find out. And in truth, he wasn't sure what was left of his marriage to begin with, so how wrong would it be, really?

Sighing mentally, Han realized that he would always know. And if he ever had a chance of fixing things with Leia, he wasn't sure he could live with that knowledge. Without warning, his mind assaulted him with an image of the hurt that would become present in Leia's eyes if he were to betray her. Trust and fidelity had always been in large commodity between them, something each had always counted on, perhaps even taken for granted. He could easily imagine how deeply this would cut her; how devastated and disappointed in him she would be. Hadn't he disappointed her enough already?

It wasn't worth it. A night with some stranger was not even remotely worth his wife and family, no matter what state those relationships were in.

He reached down and removed the woman's hand from his thigh, squeezed it gently for a second, then replaced it on the bar, noting her confused look of disappointment. "Sorry, not interested." He turned back to the bartop.

"You married?" She asked knowingly.

"Yeah. You could say that." He closed up, pulling back inside himself.

"Hmm....you don't look like the faithful type," she said mischievously.

Han glanced at her, eyebrows shooting heavenward. He supposed she was right, he didn't look the type. Funny how things changed. "Yeah, well, you'd be surprised." He stood up, took one last gulp of his ale, tossed a few credits on the bar, gave the woman a mock salute, and then swaggered away. *******

Han dug into the travel pack he had stashed in a compartment over the sensor console on board the Falcon. He was still undecided as to whether or not he was going to give Leia what was inside the pack.

He missed her already. Their time together had been far too short. After all the nights he had imagined holding her, he was still being denied.

With resigned uncertainty, he pulled out the gift he had purchased for Leia at the Abregadoe-rae spaceport. It had almost seemed a sign at the time. He had expected to see her when he arrived at Duro, and when he had seen this, he'd been uncharacteristically compelled to buy it.

The old fashioned book-- the actual flimsiplast sheets bound in a cover of burgundy with gold writing-- contained Alderaanian poetry. He had stood in the small shop, holding it in his hands almost reverently, trying to decide if he should purchase it.

In a hasty decision, he had done just that. Now he wasn't sure if he could bring himself to give it to her. He felt somewhat foolish about the gesture.

He stood and placed the book on the holochess table and removed a bottle of Corellian brandy from a nearby compartment. He went to the galley and grabbed a glass, filling it halfway with the amber liquid. This drink was different from the ones he had taken this past year. He didn't feel he needed it. He simply wanted it. The rumble of the hatch opening surprised him, and he went to investigate, hand reaching for his blaster. It was probably Jacen, but in such desperate circumstances, he couldn't take a chance. As he hurried, he heard the sound of the hatch closing again, and when he rounded a corner, he saw what had to be Leia, removing the helmet of her chem suit. He holstered his blaster and stared in disbelief as the helmet revealed her lovely face, surprising him yet again. Around her now shaven head, a white scarf was tied.

She smiled at his dumbfounded expression, enjoying it immensely. She knew she would have to be processed again in the morning, but she didn't care. It was worth it. She had dreamed of being with Han again for too long. "Surprised to see me, Captain?" She dropped the helmet to the floor and began removing the chem suit.

He just stared as she pushed the suit down her legs and stepped out of it. With her hair gone, she looked thinner, the dark circles under her eyes more prominent. It brought home to him what he had put her through, and guilt gripped his heart.

And here she is, doing everything in her power to be with me, yet again. What did I ever do to deserve this woman? He couldn't imagine.

Feeling awkwardly ashamed, he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked to the floor.

Leia picked up the suit and helmet, stashing them in a nearby compartment. She was absurdly nervous. Her stomach was fluttering in anticipation of spending time alone with Han. In an effort to calm herself, she reached out through the Force to touch Han's essence and found him as nervous as she. It was a comforting realization, and her tension decreased almost instantly. She turned back to Han and they lapsed into silence.

He returned his gaze to hers. "You want a drink?"

She nodded. "Sure." As she moved to follow him to the galley, she passed the holochess table and spotted, of all things, a book. "What's this?"

Han stopped and saw her fingering the book on the table. I guess my decision's made for me, he thought dismally. "Um...well, I got that for you." He felt his face warming.

She looked up at him in sharp surprise. He had gotten her a book? That was certainly unexpected. She smiled tentatively, sensing the sudden increase in awkwardness that permeated the air around Han.

Han crossed his arms over his chest, looking around the hold, everywhere but at Leia. "I just...saw it, and...well, it made me think of you. So I got it for you." Did he sound as stupid to her as he did to himself?

She picked up the book gingerly, almost lovingly. She fingered the cover, tracing the title with a fingertip: The Heart Of Alderaan. The old, familiar pain surfaced, competing with the pounding of her heart that was caused by Han's presence.

Han watched her, his heart churning. She opened the cover carefully and turned to the first page.

Han cleared his throat. "There was one poem..." He grimaced at the sound of his own voice in the quiet of the ship, shrugging sheepishly. "I thought it was pretty good. I marked it. It really reminded me of you."

Leia glanced up at him for a moment before flipping carefully through the pages until she came to the one Han had marked. Lead Me Back To You. Warmth washed over her, and in a voice choked with emotion, Leia read the poem aloud.

"Blind and running, not knowing to where

Burning sorrow, from what isn't there

Eyes could not see, you were there for me."

Leia's voice faltered a moment, the words he had so carefully chosen cutting her deeply. "Despair held reign, keeping me empty.

"Through the dark haze, your light strong and true

Ever shining, leads me back to you

Starlight so bright, a beacon in black

Filling my soul, completing my lack

"Worlds fall afar, hearts cry out breaking

Desperate need, my arms are aching

Moments are lost, lifetime spent running

Lovers are hurt, even the cunning

"Love and beauty, you brought to my life

Soothing comfort, an end to the strife

Further I fall, deep in your embrace

Hearts breathe in time, tears fall from your face."

Tears gathered, blurring the words. She looked at him, speechless. This was the most wonderful gift she had ever received. Just knowing he had thought of her, as she had thought of him, almost continually, filled her with joy.

He stared back, his own expression grave. "It's probably not the best poem you've ever seen," he began. "But--"

"It's beautiful," she whispered. "Thank you."

They stared at each other for a long, emotionally charged moment. Han wanted to take her in his arms, but felt oddly unable to move.

She offered him a teary smile of encouragement and it was all he needed.

"C'mere," he whispered roughly, reaching out a hand toward her.

With a small sigh, Leia took his hand in hers and stepped close, her eyes never leaving his, feeling the unique way his life force called to her. She wrapped herself up in it, drank it in with her senses.

With an almost inaudible whimper, Han's arms were suddenly around her, clutching her to him convulsively. His breath near her ear was harsh as he whispered, "I missed you, Leia. Gods, I missed you."

A waterfall of tearful emotion washed through her. She held him more tightly and returned the whisper. "I missed you, too. Every moment. Even when you were at home."

Her words stabbed at his heart, but he understood her need to say them. Eyes closed, threatening to overflow, Han breathed reverently, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

She pulled back just enough to look at his closed eyes. She thought she could almost see a trembling to his chin, but was not quite sure in the dim lighting. "I understand," she said, meaning it.

And he realized she did. Because she knew him so well, better than he even knew himself. He opened his eyes and brought up a hand to remove the white scarf from her head.

Her hand flew up protectively. "Han--"

"Shhh..." He removed her hand, then followed suit with the scarf, dropping it to the deck. He ran a hand along her scalp, humbled by the gesture she had made for a few simple minutes with him. He could barely release the heartfelt words that bubbled to his lips. "I don't deserve you. I never have," he breathed.

She shook her head slowly, eyes filling with bright tears. "Just kiss me, you nerfherder," she said around the tightness in her throat.

His mouth bent to hers, kissing her with all the loneliness, loss and desperation he had felt for so long. His arms held her tightly once more and he lifted her to dangle above the floor.

It was like coming home, for both of them. Almost forgotten passion mingled with the joy of rediscovering each other, to carry them away to a haven where nothing else mattered, at least for a little while.

He swung her more fully into his arms, cradling her lovingly. As he carried her to their cabin---their cabin, he thought with a soft squeeze to his heart--- he was almost moved to tears by the gentle touch of her hands surrounding his face.

They reached the cabin and he placed her in the center of the bed, staring into her eyes for long, grateful moments. Then they kissed again, softly, deeply, burrowing into each others' souls, erasing the pain and sorrow and replacing it with understanding and trust.

Their clothes were lost hurriedly, and when they were bared to each other, physically and emotionally, all else was forgotten. Their mouths sought comfort, their caresses sought solace. Forgiveness was understood, love granted unconditionally.

Too moved for words, they comprehended each other perfectly without them, sharing thoughts on a level of intimacy that left them both weak.

Crying out in a release that was as much emotional as it was physical, they clung to each other, trembling together, soaring on waves of passionate eternity.

Breath calming, Han held Leia in a gripping embrace, wanting to never let go. He was overwhelmed by his feelings for her, in a humbling way he knew not how to express. It permeated his soul, turning him inside out. The past year had taken a toll on him, and now those feelings surfaced in the most profound way, filling him up, overflowing from within him. He was unable to contain them, and felt the tears choking his throat, unstoppable now.

Leia sensed the deep emotion in her husband and reached out through the Force to touch his soul. When the first sob wrenched from his throat, Leia held him close, stroking the damp hair at the back of his neck with excruciatingly comforting fingers, feeling his tears trickle a damp trail down her neck. She reached out to him spiritually, felt him grip her mental touch almost reflexively, as if he did so without even realizing it. She stroked his mind, doing her best to comfort him in every way she knew how.

He cried as he hadn't been able to since Chewie's death. Not just tears now, but huge bursts of grief that emanated from his chest, obscuring everything but the soothing embrace of his wife. He allowed her, finally, to hold him, to share his sorrow, to see just how much the past year had affected him. He sobbed until he was too weak to continue, finally, blissfully, falling into a deep, exhausted slumber, the first of such in a long, long time.

Leia held him still, her aching heart at last peaceful in the knowledge that Han and she had made sense of themselves. The simple act of sharing his pain was proof that he was healing. It might take a bit more time to make him whole again, but they could do it...

Together, they could do anything.

*******

Leia watched her husband lying on his side, facing her. She was filled with relief and serenity. She had dozed on and off for the past two hours, while Han remained entrenched in sleep. She snuggled close to him, her thirst for his nearness not easily quenched. After all was said and done, they had found each other again, both equally unable to sever the bond they had shared for so long. Pride and arrogance set aside, there really was no reason for them not to be together.

Leia waded in the warmth of Han's sleeping thoughts, like a gentle current. His mind hadn't been so calm, so at ease, since before Chewie's death.

She sighed at the thought of the big Wookiee, so prominent a part of their lives. After all the loss she had suffered in her life, she was surprised at how hard Chewie's death had hit her. Certainly, not as hard as it had hit Han, but hard nonetheless.

She pushed aside that pain as she felt Han's consciousness stirring. She pulled herself closer to him, the skin of his shoulders so blissfully warm under her palms.

Stretching his legs before wrapping them around hers, he let out a low breath as his eyes flickered open and his arms surrounded her. She brought her face to his stubbly cheek, making a soft sound of contentment from deep within her.

They held each other for a long silence, until Han pulled back, a somber expression etched into his features. He leaned into her and kissed her lingeringly, then looked into her eyes once more, his expression growing slowly sheepish. "Sorry to fall asleep on you," he admitted, looking up at her with raised eyebrows, face tilted downward.

"That's okay," she whispered. "It just feels so good to hold you again."

"Yeah." Han swallowed against the sudden lump that rose to his throat. "I know what you mean." He leaned against the pillow, raising a hand to stroke the smooth skin of her shoulder, just above where the blanket fell over her. Her arms felt so good around him, too good to be true. But it was true, thankfully. Feeling mildly ashamed at his earlier display of emotion, he watched his fingers caress her skin and forced himself to speak. "And, uh...sorry 'bout losing it before, too. I don't want you to think it was anything bad about you--"

"I know what it was," she said softly, understandingly.

He looked back at her, nodding, resisting the urge to ask her to explain it to him. He felt better now, more in control, more like his old self. As if he had purged himself of some parasitic demon that had been eating away at his soul. He relaxed and pulled her down to rest against his chest, tenderly amused by her lack of hair. He rubbed her head gently, grinning. "I bet you can't wait till I shave mine, huh?"

She raised her head to look him in the eye. Happiness bubbled within her at the familiar sight of his charming, lopsided smile. "Well, we might as well match," she said with a smirk.

The amusement in his eyes slowly faded to reveal a deeper emotion, as his gaze roamed over well loved features that had only come to endear her more to him with the passage of time. It didn't matter to him if her gorgeous hair was gone, she still took his breath away. "You're still so beautiful, Princess," he whispered. He smiled wistfully. "Too beautiful for an old pirate like me."

She laid her palm across his cheek, an unnerving thought creeping into her mind. It was something she had thought of over the past few months, but had been afraid to truly acknowledge. She forced a smile. "You know you're still gorgeous," she said. Her eyes fell from his to study the hair on his chest. "I'm sure plenty of women told you so in your recent travels," she added quietly, unable to do more than imply her concerns.

His fingers lifted her chin, firm but gentle. "Hey," he said fiercely. "There was no one else."

She gazed into his eyes with hopeful uncertainty.

His lips pressed together before he spoke again. "I swear it. No one."

Their eyes held for a long, searching moment, and Leia didn't need to touch him through the Force to know he was sincere. She kissed him softly on the lips before returning her head to rest on his chest.

They lay quietly for a time, while Han tried to think of a way to tell her all that she meant to him. He had caused her so much pain, forced her to put up with far more than she should have had to. "Leia...," he began tentatively. "I don't want you to think I ever stopped loving you--"

Her head rose quickly, meeting his eyes with her own. "I never thought that. I know you too well," she said softly.

He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes at her chin. "Yeah, well..." After a brief pause, he continued. "The things I said to you, when I was drinking...I didn't mean them, not any of them."

"I know."

He sighed in a rush of defeated breath. He closed his eyes and tried to force the words that did not come naturally to him. "I just couldn't...I couldn't--"

"Shhh." Leia placed a finger to his lips, stilling the awkward sentiment. "Don't," she whispered, voice vehement. "You don't need to explain anything." His lips moved beneath her finger, his voice heavily laden with pain. "I hurt you, Leia, everything I did this past year--"

Her lips replaced her fingertip, kissing him softly. After a brief hesitation, he kissed her back. When she broke away from his lips, she gazed at him with large, soulful eyes. "Your fault, my fault...it doesn't matter. Not now."

Han's brow furrowed. "My fault. It does matter."

She shook her head, smiling gently. "No. It doesn't."

He stared at her, eyes softly dubious, lips parting as if to say something else. Then his mouth firmed into a thin line and he leaned up to enfold her in his arms. He spun her to her back, holding her to him in a powerful embrace. "I was selfish," he whispered into her neck.

She stroked his hair, thinking of how she would miss its softness. "You were hurting, you couldn't help it."

He held her more tightly, felt her heart beating a steady rhythm with his. "That's no excuse."

Gently, she pulled away from him, looking into his eyes with a grim expression. She didn't want him beating himself up over this. There was no point to it. "Han, sometimes circumstances happen. And we can't help how we react to them. We cope the best way we know how."

Alderaan, he thought. It should have broken her, but it hadn't. Her inner strength was too tenacious. He always knew she was stronger than he was. Where he had crumpled, she had only grown stronger. In the early years, once they had gotten past the nasty taunts and sarcasm, her strength had probably been what he admired most about her. He nodded to her finally, unable to argue when she would not allow it. He would carry this guilt for a long time, regardless of her lack of blame. He almost wished she would tell him off, give him what he knew he so justly deserved.

Leia watched Han's features settle into resignation, then something resembling tender disbelief.

He shook his head very slowly. "How is it that you still love me so?"

She smiled, equally tender. "How could I possibly stop?" She asked softly, eyes wide and sincere.

He grimaced slightly, feeling so undeserving of her love and trust. "I love you, Leia." The words were barely a whisper.

Even if Leia hadn't been able to bask in the beauty of Han's emotions flowing freely through the energy of the Force, the look in his eyes would be enough. She kissed him with a fervent passion that they hadn't known since their younger years, and they surrendered to the growing need to drown themselves in the intimacy each had existed without for far too long. Their bodies moved together in a timeless rhythm, strengthening their hearts and fortifying their souls.

All around them, oblivion slowly faded.

#han and leia #fanfic which is better than profic #kathy tyers can kiss my ass

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moonknightly · 4 years

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and you keep me holding on : santiago “pope” garcia x reader (three)

Word Count: 5.5k+

Excerpt: “Had he told her? When she was leaving his office that night, had Santi told her how much he loved her?”

Warnings: Kidnapping, violence, mentions of blood, cursing, guns, uhhh that should be it?

[SERIES MASTERLIST]

OCTOBER 19TH - DAY THREE

Two days pass with absolutely nothing. Santi’s boss has given him strict orders to stay as far away from work as possible, and he actually decides to listen for a change. He knows he would be useless to his co-workers in his current state.

Cameron refuses to let him anywhere near the precinct either, saying it’ll only add to his stress. He knows she’s right, but part of him still wishes he could be there, just so he can sit right by the phone and be the first to know if she’d been found, but he doubts that Cameron would budge on the matter. He still begged her to call him if she heard anything at all though, and she’d promised she would.

It’s not a promise Santiago is taking lightly.

He’s hardly left Jay’s couch since arriving back in New York from Princeton. He only gets up when it’s absolutely necessary, and even then, it’s only for a minute or two at a time. He hasn’t combed his hair, has only brushed his teeth once. His drive and motivation are just completely lacking without her.

He’s been wearing the same set of sweats from the moment he was able to change out of his blood soaked clothes. He has no idea what Jay’s done with them, but he hopes they were put in the trash and not sitting at the bottom of the washing machine. He never wants to see those damn pants ever again, or the shirt for that matter. He’d been contemplating setting both articles of clothing on fire, but he was positive that Jay wouldn’t appreciate the smoke and ash filling his apartment, setting the fire alarm off and disturbing his neighbors.

But fuck, had he wanted to watch them burn.

The news of her disappearance spread rapidly, and Pope still doesn’t know if he’s thankful for the attention or if the coverage only continued to add to his rage and unease. He figures that he’s allowed to feel both.

Cameron had spoken at a press conference in the early morning following their trip to Princeton, and there had been an article printed on the front page of several newspapers. They’d used a fairly recent photo of her, one that was taken while she was dressed out in her scrubs. Santi was actually in it as well, though they’d cropped him out of course.

It had been one of his favorite pictures of the two of them together, but now it just makes his stomach sick every single time it flashes across the TV screen.

Her parents had been notified just prior to the press conference. Santi hadn’t been the one to make the phone call, and while he felt some sort of guilt over it, he was also glad he hadn’t had to face them yet — he’s not ready for her mother’s tears or her father’s icecold glare and sharp words. He knows they’re going to blame him for not protecting her properly, for not doing what was supposed to be his one job when it came to her, just as he was blaming himself.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to face them.

He doesn’t even know how to face his own parents.

His mother calls him at least once an hour, and each time he lets it go to voicemail. He has 41 missed calls and almost twice as many unopened texts, but he never fails to check who they’re from, jumping to his feet and snatching his phone from wherever it lay each time a new one came through, just in case it’s an unknown number that might be her or even Nathan.

But it only continues to be his mom and sometimes the boys, though they’re trying their best to give him the space they know he needs.

He doesn’t think he needs space.

Santi starts to have second thoughts about staying away from work. The later the day drags on, the more and more anxious he feels.

The more and more useless.

He needs to do something other than just sitting there, watching TV and waiting for the phone to ring once again.

He’s better than this, worth more than this. If he could only work on his own or with the boys even, he was sure they’d be ten steps closer to finding her. He knows it and he can’t stand playing by the damn rules but his emotions are still running too high and he doesn’t even know where to begin.

All Santi knows is that he can’t fucking sit there and do nothing anymore.

He throws the blanket off of his legs and stands from the couch, immediately going to the bag he’d brought from the apartment, pulling out a pair of faded jeans and a black t-shirt. It’s obvious that his shirt hadn’t been properly folded, but he has his bullet proof vest to throw on over the wrinkled garment, not that he really cares and not that it really matters.

He’s out the door within ten minutes.

Parker is the first to see Santi enter the precinct. She’s sitting at one of the tables in the corner, idly talking with Cameron about a case from several years ago and she can’t help the sigh and the not-so-subtle shake of her head that follows upon seeing him walk towards them.

“I thought you told Garcia that he couldn’t be here.”

“I did.”

She doesn’t have to turn around to know that Santi’s approaching, and she still doesn’t turn around even when she senses him come to a stop directly behind her, just a few feet away.

“But you and I both know how well he tends to follow directions.”

“Yeah,” Parker scoffs, shaking her head once again and folding her arms across her chest.

Cameron finally turns in her chair, facing Santi after several long seconds. She feels a twinge in her chest as she takes in his dejected expression and tired eyes. He looks rough, and so so worried but that’s all to be expected. She swallows the lump in her throat and wills her own nerves to settle, giving her full attention to Santi.

“What are you doing here Pope?”

“Do you know how fuckin’ awful daytime television is?”

“What, Judge Judy not doing it for you?” Parker jokes, a smirk plastered across her face as she leans further back into her chair.

Santi cracks a small smile, his first one in days, though it’s nowhere near genuine. It’s so extremely forced, his cheeks ache with the effort even. He shuffles his feet gently, glancing at his shoes briefly before he looks back up to Cameron.

“I just can’t sit on Jay’s couch anymore. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Cameron nods her head in understanding. She can’t count how many times she’s sat at home, her mind captivated by a case that she wanted nothing more than to work on for every second of the day. She tries to relate her own experience to what Santi must be feeling, but she still can’t imagine what he must be going through, as the case involves his wife and not just a random victim. She would be so far gone had she been in his shoes.

“You know,” she starts, trying to think of the best possible way to word her sentence. “You’re her husband first, before anything else you’re her partner Santiago. You really don’t need to be her detective too.” She refrains from reminding him that technically, he’s not even officially on the case. “We can handle this, Pope. You’re allowed to take the time to grieve.”

“I don’t want to grieve,” he mumbles under his breath, almost inaudibly. He sounds so completely unlike himself. Cameron begins to speak again, but he interrupts her with a shake of his head. “Not yet.”

Cameron knows it’s not the time to talk about statistics and probability. She knows Santi doesn’t need to be reminded of her chances and Cameron’s not even really paying attention to the numbers herself because this is her they’re talking about. It’s far too close to home.

They’ve definitely recovered missing persons who had been gone for much, much longer.

So she only nods her head slowly, giving Santi a soft, gentle smile. “How would you feel about doing some paperwork for me then? There’s still some notes on my desk that need to be entered in.”

She knows it would be better to give him some sort of work — something to distract his mind so he’s not just sitting there, only further losing himself to worry and panic. Santi seems to feel the same way because he nods without question, not complaining or groaning in protest like he used to whenever she’d ask him to do her paperwork.

“I can do that.”

Santi walks off without another word, sitting himself behind Cameron’s desk, trying to drown himself in busy work. He just needs to turn his brain off, put it on something else for a while.

And it works, kind of. At least, he thinks it does, but Cameron can’t help but frown at the haunted look that lingers in Santi’s eyes, still so noticeable even from across the room. Parker sighs quietly, looking between her lieutenant and Pope.

“You sure this is a good idea?”

She doesn’t know what to tell her, because no, she’s not sure. She’s not sure at fucking all.

Part of her think that he needs to take a step back and stay away, but a larger part of her doesn’t think having him cooped up in an apartment with only his thoughts to keep him company is a good idea either.

At least this way, he isn’t alone and they can keep an eye on him. Make sure that he wasn’t doing anything irrational, make sure he’s taking care of himself, drinking water and eating.

And so, she’s honest.

“I don’t know.”

Parker only nods, her stance on the situation exactly the same. It’s a hard position to be in, no doubt, having to decide whether you’re going to act as a friend or a person of authority.

Nothing else is said between the pair, and the day drags on slowly, though no one is complaining. Slow is a nice change, especially given the added stress they’re all under. Jay returns to the precinct from interviewing some of Nathan’s old co-workers sometime in the early afternoon, instantly noticing Santi sitting at Cameron’s desk, though after one look towards his Lieutenant, he decides not to say anything.

It was just before three o’clock when Santi is broken from an almost trance-like state. He’s been so focused on typing up report after report he’s hardly noticed the world around him in the time that’s passed. He isn’t even entirely sure what pulled his attention away until he feels his Apple watch buzz against his wrist.

He rolls his eyes, only slightly annoyed at the interruption. A sigh leaves his lips as he raises his watch to see who’d decided to text him — it was probably just his mother or maybe Frankie, trying to get in touch with him again, asking how-

Santi feels his blood run cold the moment the display of his watch comes up, because the name that flashes across the screen definitely isn’t his mother’s.

The name that flashed across the screen reads “Mi Vida”, or “My Life” from Spanish to English.

It’s her. Or, it’s at least her Apple watch. Her cell phone is still at the apartment, but Santi had completely forgotten about her watch.

He quickly shakes the shock away, blinking several times as her name fades away and the actual message comes onto the screen. It’s a picture, one Santi couldn’t see very well because of the small screen and he lets out a loud curse, not caring about the stares he receives in return, hastily digging his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and pulling up the text thread in a matter of seconds.

Santi’s stomach drops. His face turns pale and he feels the need to vomit yet again, though his stomach still doesn’t have much of anything to offer.

Jay hears Santi’s outburst and promptly makes his way over to the desk. Santi hears him ask what's wrong, but he can’t form the words, can’t make himself say anything. He doesn’t want to, doesn’t know how to. His entire focus is on his phone, on the picture in his hands. Because she’s in it, but it isn’t a happy picture — not one that he would normally sit back and admire with a soft smile and even softer eyes.

She’s in it, but she’s tied up, legs and arms bound with a gag in place. There’s an obvious cut in her eyebrow, no doubt from the broken shards of glass of their once bathroom mirror. It looks as if her hands are tied to a bed frame or a pole of some kind — Santi can’t tell, doesn’t care enough about that aspect of the photo, no.

No, he’s much more focused on her face, on the terror that is so evident and haunting he’s sure that he’ll see the same image every time he closes his eyes for the rest of his life. She looks so scared, so terrified, and Santi feels his heart shatter even further, and his own fear grips him tight and refuses to let go, doesn’t allow him to move even a muscle.

He still holds completely still even after Jay yanks the phone from his grasp, still stares into thin air at where the phone had been. Jay looks at him, concern etched all over his face until he looks at the screen, suddenly understanding the horror that’s taken over his friend.

“Cameron!” Jay calls out, the panic evident in his voice, his feet not daring to move. He feels stuck in place.

Santi still doesn’t move, he can’t move, doesn’t want to move because he feels as if he might faint but Cameron is the exact opposite, rushing over with Parker right behind.

Jay holds the phone out to her with shaky hands, but reels back when he feels it vibrate again.

Another message comes through from her watch. She, or rather Nathan, started sharing their current location — somewhere in Allentown, Pennsylvania. Santi hears the buzz, and promptly snatches the phone from Jay, looking at it for a moment before Cameron does the same to him.

She stands silent for several seconds. Part of her feels like it’s a trap, a set up to lure them off-course. It’s just too easy, it’s never that easy. There’s something entirely off about it, and the nerves in her stomach pick back up at a rapid speed.

But she can’t just ignore it because her instinct is off. It was too large of a lead to be ignored.

“Jay, call down to Allentown. Have them set up roadblocks on all routes out. Parker, start calling the surrounding towns and have them do the same. No one approaches Nathan until we’re there.”

They both fall into action immediately, doing as they’re asked, but Santi continues to sit quietly in his chair, eyes void of any and all emotion.

Cameron leans over him, pulling the chair back so he rolls a few feet away from the desk.

“Come on, Santiago,” she says gently, clasping her hand on his shoulder, giving him an encouraging squeeze.

Santi stands without a word, taking his vest off the back of the chair, putting it on slowly, slower than Cameron has ever seen him. She watches him closely, her heart sinking as she does so, as she thinks about so many different outcomes and possibilities.

If they don’t find her, she doesn’t know what will happen to Santi. What Pope will do, who he’ll become in the midst of his grief.

She isn’t ready to lose both Garcia’s

The drive to Allentown is even more agonizing than the drive to Princeton. Seconds feel like minutes, minutes feel like hours. The wait and uncertainty of it all is killing everyone, and the butterflies in the pits of their stomachs are buzzing around in a crazy sort of frenzy, though they’re by no means good or even tolerable butterflies. They so desperately want this lead to bring something promising, but the doubt still looms over their minds, causing nothing but anxiety and unwelcome thoughts.

Santi is leaning against the cool window of the squad car. Cameron’s driving, her knuckles white as she tightly grips the steering wheel. Every few seconds, she’ll glance over at him, just to check on him, though she doesn’t expect any change. He hasn’t moved since they left the city, hasn’t said a word and still she feels the need to just keep checking. Keep monitoring.

Santi watches the trees pass by in a blur. The last time he’d been to Pennsylvania, he’d been with her, when she wanted to take a weekend trip down to State College to show him around PSU, where she’d gone to school to earn her nursing degree. She’d taken him all around campus, even introducing him to her favorite professor. They went to eat at her favorite restaurants, she drove him past the house she had spent her senior year in. They had even caught the game that weekend against the University of Michigan.

It’d been such a fun weekend, but even the memory of it couldn’t bring a smile to Santi’s face. None of their memories together seem to trigger anything in that moment and he’s been flipping through them all, searching for one that doesn’t make him want to cry.

He thinks about all of the different trips they’d taken together, he thinks about their lazy Sunday mornings spent between the sheets, the stolen kisses and the sweet nothings whispered into each other’s ears — words spoken with so much conviction and love and trust. He thinks of the late night Netflix binges and the endless amount of family dinners her mother invited them to. Even the memory of their wedding makes Santi want to break down and sob, but he figures that to be the fact that their two year wedding anniversary is quickly approaching and he doesn’t know whether or not he would be spending it alone.

He thinks back to the first day they’d met, when the DEA had been working with the NYPD on a bust and he’d gone to interview a victim at the hospital. All it took was one look at her and he knew that he was a goner. Her confidence and her beauty had completely knocked the breath from his lungs, and he remembers feeling absolutely floored when he’d witnessed her interact with a patient for the first time.

He’d asked her on their first date three months later, after taking every chance he could find to visit the hospital. He expected her to be hesitant but she had accepted almost immediately, taking him by surprise but making him oh so happy at the same time. When he had asked her why, months after the fact, she had simply answered by saying “because I knew I was going to marry you the first moment I saw you.”

Santi had known the same, if he was being completely honest, and so he proposed after only nine months, and they married fourteen after that. He’d never pictured himself proposing to someone after such little time, really he never imagined getting married at all, but it had just felt right with her.

Everything with her just feels so absolutely right. He doesn’t want to think about what the last four years of his life would have been like if he didn’t know her.

And of course he can’t imagine going forward without her, either. Can’t imagine waking up for the rest of his life without her by his side, can’t imagine not being able to hear her laugh ever again, or being able to tell her he loves her.

Had he told her? When she was leaving his office that night, had Santi told her how much he loved her? Had he given her a kiss goodbye? Or had he been too preoccupied with the mountain of work that had been covering his desk?

He can’t remember.

He’s almost sure that he had, but he can’t help but second guess himself because he knows how easily distracted he can become.

There’s a new wave of guilt that comes washing over him, and he can’t help but feel so conflicted. He had tried to do something nice by letting her go home when she had been trying so hard to stay and wait for him. He knew she had been exhausted, but if he had just been a little selfish, if he had just let her stay with him then she might still be here. They would’ve entered their apartment together and there was absolutely no way in hell Santi would’ve let Nathan walk out with her.

He starts thinking about all of the times he had sent her home alone before, and how many opportunities that meant Nathan would have had to take her.

He quickly shoves the thought away after feeling his head begin to spin. Santi swallows the lump in his throat and gently shuts his eyes, trying to make himself think about anything else.

He doesn’t open them again until they arrive in Allentown thirty minutes later.

They flip their lights on just after they cross city limits, but keep their sirens turned off, a few Allentown PD cars merging behind them as they pass the roadblock. Cameron is following closely behind Parker, who leads the way in the other squad car. Jay had taken Santi’s phone before they left the precinct, and Santi had protested of course, but they all knew what would have happened had Santi kept it. He wouldn’t have looked away from it, not that Jay had been any better himself, but no one thought it was smart to let Santi suffer through the car ride with it in his hand, staring at a map and praying that the location didn’t go out.

Her watch has been sitting in the same location for the last forty five minutes — just outside of a book shop in the center of town. Jay has a bad feeling about the entire situation; a feeling he can only describe as somewhere between doubt and apprehension. He knows that if it had been her and only her, she would’ve gone straight to the Police Department or the hospital. She would have called for help, would have texted Santi, something. He knows there’s something wrong, something off.

“Pull off into this parking lot here,” Jay instructs when they’re only two blocks away.

Parker does as she’s told before coming to an abrupt stop, throwing the car into park and hastily climbing out.

Santi is already out of the other car by then, he’d thrown his door open before they were even completely stopped, but Cameron had done the same.

The squad wordlessly gathers into a small circle, all securing their vests and pulling their guns from their holsters, though they keep the safety on as standard protocol. The Allentown officers follow suit, and wait for instruction from Cameron.

She glances at each of her squad members, her eyes lingering on Santi for the longest. They’re all looking at her, all except for him.

He’s instead staring at the ground, jaw clenched and mouth set in a thin, straight line. His eyes are darker than their normal chocolate shade, and Cameron doesn’t like what she sees when she looks into them. There’s a certain sort of determination swimming in his irises — hollow and cold, calculated and oh so sure all at the same time.

She can tell with just one look that he’s plotting something.

That he’s thinking about what he’s willing to do in order to get her back, what he’s willing to give up. She can tell that he’s made up his mind, that he’ll do and risk anything to save her, and that even then, having her back might not be good enough.

“Pope,” she murmurs gently, almost flinching when his eyes met hers with a glare she knows isn’t truly directed at her. “You don’t have to do this. You can stay here, in the car.”

Santiago scoffs gently, shaking his head and biting the inside of his cheek. “And why would I do that?”

“Because I know what you’re thinking. I know what you’re planning. And Pope, if you do it, you’re going to lose a piece of yourself that you can never get back-”

“I can lose everything!” he snaps, voice raised, the anger and the pain oh so evident in both his tone and the expression written across his face. It makes some of the Allentown officers take a step back, but the squad doesn’t even flinch.

“I can lose fuckin’ everything but I can’t lose her.”

Cameron is silent, but she still holds his eye contact, still stands her ground. Santi is the first to look away, lip quivering slightly though he quickly sucks in a shaky breath to play it off, pushing his emotions down, down, down.

“God, not her.”

The anger quickly fades and is swiftly replaced by sadness and grief, the sudden change jarring for everyone. Cameron feels a pang in her chest as she watches him attempt to hold himself together — Santi has never been good at hiding his anger, but this is different from every other time he’s let his temper show around the squad.

It’s different and it makes her nod her head and gently clasp him on his shoulder.

“We’ll find her, and then I promise you, Nathan will get what he deserves.”

Santi sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently as he nods himself, still refusing to actually look towards Cameron. Part of him feels ashamed for the thoughts running through his head, but a larger part of him, the part he’s given into more than once in his time with the military and in law enforcement, didn’t care.

A larger part of him wants nothing more than to watch Nathan suffer.

Cameron waits a few more seconds before giving the squad the order to move, the Allentown officers following closely behind. Jay decides to put himself in front of Santi, and they all quickly make their way towards the book shop, guns drawn and aimed at the ground.

Santi’s the only one with the safety already switched off.

Cameron is several steps ahead, and rounds the corner before anyone else.

She instantly feels the dejection settle in the pit of her stomach, but she’d been expecting it.

She isn’t there, and neither is Nathan. The only person on the street is a teenage boy, looking down and fumbling with something in his hand that looked a lot like-

She stopped in her tracks, a scoff falling from her lips. Jay comes up behind her just a second later, followed directly by Santi.

“Jay, you’re positive we’re in the right spot?”

Jay glances towards the phone that is still in his hand, nodding his head as he double checks, triple checks. “Yeah, I’m sure. The signal is coming from right over there.”

Cameron nods towards the young boy, her shoulders sagging with the words that followed.

“We’ve been played.”

All of the hope anyone had been holding onto quickly fades. The atmosphere surrounding the squad turns heavy instantly, but Santi only feels a fire ignite deep in his chest, twisting his veins, taking over his every thought.

Santi pushes past Jay and Cameron, not bothering to listen as they both call his name, asking him to just hold on for a second and to just let them handle it.

The boy doesn’t look up until Santi snatches the watch away from him, gripping it tightly in his fist before using his other hand to grab the front of the kid’s shirt, effortlessly hoisting him off of the bench.

“Hey, what the hell man-”

“Where did you get this?” Santi questions, voice sharp, caustic, venom dripping from his tongue.

The boy’s eyes widen, and he holds his hands up in surrender once seeing the fury on Santi’s face, shaking his head frantically as he fumbles with his words. “I don’t-”

Santi’s fist tightens around the fabric of his shirt, and he knows what he’s doing is wrong, he shouldn’t be manhandling a young teenage boy but he’s positively seething and all he can see is red and why the fuck did this kid have her fucking watch?

“I’m going to ask you one more time. Where did you get the watch?”

“Pope!” Cameron yells from just behind him, though he didn’t turn the face her, his eyes staying focused on the boy. “Santiago, that’s enough.”

He can’t stop, can’t make himself even if he had wanted to. Not until he gets an answer.

All of the control he has left is completely gone, vanished the moment he realized she isn’t here.

She isn’t there she isn’t here she isn’t-

“Where!?” Santi yells into the boy’s face, completely ignoring Cameron’s command.

“Some guy gave it to me! He said all I had to do was sit here for a little while and that it was mine to keep and-”

“What did he look like?”

“He had brown hair and I...I don’t know man, just let me go!”

“Was there a girl with him?”

The boy looks confused now, eyebrows furrowing and lips turning into a deep frown. “What-”

Santi shakes the boy violently, only once, just enough to scare him. “A girl, was there a girl-”

“No! No, I didn’t see any girl!”

Santi feels his heart sink even deeper into his chest. He only stares for a few seconds longer, the full weight of what he’s just done to a young kid finally settling in just as his sorrow started to outweigh the anger once more. Pope looks down at his feet as he quietly mumbles something that sounded like an apology before letting go of the boy’s shirt, turning on his heel and briskly walking away, but not before Cameron stops him.

“Santiago, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” he mumbles, shrugging her off, desperately wanting to put some distance between him and everyone else, continuing to walk away, shoving his wife’s watch into his pocket as he does so.

Cameron calls out to him again, but just like every other time over the course of the past few days, he doesn’t listen.

As he makes his way back to the car, quickly walking past the squad and the other officers, Santi feels the anger flood into his body once again. He feels it settle between his ribs and make a home where so much love had once lived, where so much hope had been only moments before.

The constant back and forth is giving him whiplash.

Cameron still continues to follow him, still continues to call out his name but she really doesn’t think that he’ll stop, and she’s just about to give up when Santi whirls around with his gun still in his hand, though it isn’t aimed towards her. It isn’t aimed at anything, really.

The look in Santi’s eyes is even colder than before, if that’s even at all possible. Cameron feels fear prick at her skin, her hair standing on edge and her blood turning to ice. All she can do is take in his every movement and wait for a moment where she’s forced to intervene. Santi lifts his arms up, and for just a split second she thinks that he’s going to place the muzzle of the gun to his temple but he only lets the barrel rest against his skin, eyes falling shut.

Cameron still doesn’t like the fact that his finger is hovering near the trigger.

She cautiously approaches, making sure not to walk too fast, not wanting to scare him and cause him to panic. She reaches her own hand up and gently puts it overtop of Santi’s before slowly pulling the gun from his grasp.

His eyes snap open, and there’s absolutely no denying it. Not with eyes so dark and harsh and so devoid of emotion. Eyes that are almost dead.

Santiago is out for revenge. Out for blood.

He’s over this game of cat and mouse, he’s over chasing Nathan.

He’s over being toyed with.

Cameron is done watching her friend lose his mind.

And so, not caring about the anger from the entire squad that her decision will bring, she makes the only call she can think of. One she should have made at the very beginning.

One that will hopefully keep her from losing anyone else.

“I’m turning her case over. We’re done.”

#santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fic

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nikkoliferous · 4 years

Text

Phase One: Thor

Since I was looking up my past live-blog of the novel and realising how annoying and repetitive reading through it all is because of my having structured it as a bunch of reblogs, I’ve decided to organize it all into one long-ass post instead. In case anyone else wants to read it in the future. Or in case I decide to re-read it. Because I’m hilarious. 😅

SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO

My Hilarious Yet Wrathful Overview Of Phase One: Thor, Redux

—

If your son who’s to become king requires a babysitter to not screw it all up and also the idea of him being king is stressful enough to put you into a coma, maybe, uh… reconsider doing that? Just a thought.

But you see here why Odin was so deadset on Thor becoming king, despite him being ill-suited for the role. It’s not about what’s best for Asgard; it’s about personal legacy. Thor is Odin’s mini me, and Loki is very much not. There are places within the text where Odin laments Thor “lacking his father’s wisdom” (he’s definitely inherited your humility, though, Odin!), but he hopes for Thor to grow into a “wise king” like himself. Whereas he holds no such illusions (lol, pun) that Loki will ever take after him.

now with tag commentary! #this scene is in the script and both novelizations #(though in reading this novel seems to just be a more complete version of the junior novel? #idk i'm confused because they're supposedly written by different authors but so far the text is identical) #and it drives me insane each time i read it

“Haha, I’m a warmongering piece of shit, isn’t it funny?”

I know, I know. I try to cut Asgard some slack for being such a militaristic culture because social changes happen slowly and when you live for thousands of years per generation, it makes sense that your views on things like war would be regressive. The text says Odin has ruled Asgard for tens of thousands of years (so much for taking Loki’s “give or take 5,000 years” line literally; sure, the Odinsleep would have extended Odin’s lifespan, but by that much? Idk).

Still, fuck Odin. Especially since he’ll eventually try to shame Loki for doing the same thing he’s fucking boasting about here. And on a much smaller scale too.

…is it, though?

I actually think Loki’s relationship with being the centre of attention is really interesting in its complexity and we don’t discuss it enough. I’ve said this before, but he strikes me as the sort of person who craves attention but also wouldn’t really know what to do with it if he had it. He craves it as a result of neglect, because he’s never been shown recognition or validation. This is why he seems to revel in it in Stuttgart, even in (or maybe especially in?) his brainwashed state. But he also frequently comes across as pretty introverted and has horrible self-esteem, so I think on another level, sustained, genuine attention would make him feel kind of uncomfortable. Loki seems to believe that in order to be loved or respected, he has to literally be Thor, though. And Thor has always been the centre of attention, so for Loki, attention is synonymous with respect.

I find Loki’s relationship with wanting attention especially fascinating because I too both crave and fear it. As a borderline, I need it. When no one is paying attention to me, I lose my sense of identity. I feel as though I literally cease to exist. It’s excruciatingly painful. And yet, I have no authentic sense of self; I’m just a chameleon, and the closer people get to me, the more likely it is they’ll see behind my mask. They’ll realise it’s all a show and that I’m actually no one. And then they’ll leave. I can’t help wondering if that’s how Loki feels sometimes too.

Wait, what? You mean goat. His horns are shaped like a goat’s. This is a ram:

This is a goat:

This is Loki:

Do you see now? They’re like a goat. Not a ram. Not a cow. A GOAT.

This book was written before Ragnarok was a thing, so it may be unfair to connect the two, but it still seems worth noting that it was Thor who reduced Loki to being no more than a trickster to begin with. “You could be more,” my ass. Loki’s problem has never been that he was one-dimensional; it was always that the people in his life, including Thor, refused to see any other dimensions to him. Which makes those words particularly cruel—as if they aren’t cruel enough already, what with the physical torture and all.

Always happy to have cause to point out that

Loki was on Thor clean-up duty their whole lives; he certainly was not trying to kill Thor.

People like to point to Loki’s attempted genocide of the Jötnar and attempted(-ish? lol) conquest of Earth as proof that he’s some kind of violent maniac. But in a little place I like to call reality, Loki was historically far less aggressive and bloodthirsty than his peers.

Question: why is one conqueror evil and the other is righteously entitled to ruling over the Nine Realms?

Asgardian exceptionalism FTW

I can’t even begin to imagine what would lead you to expect such a thing, Odin. 😂

Uh, ‘cause it is?? And also their planet is MELTING without it??

This is all only within the first two chapters, btw. Lmao

—

“Looking for answers,” my foot.

YOU WOULD THINK SO, WOULDN’T YOU??

#i mean unless you knew heimdall #he only commits treason on days that end in y

—

What’d I say? Thor clean-up dutyyyyy

Just wanna remind everyone that this

is why he’s smiling during this scene

because it makes me laugh every time. 😂

—

My heart breaks every time I remember that second excerpt because literally ALL OF IT happened to him when he survived falling through the wormhole. My poor boy. 😭

But also of note… Loki gets cold (and also does not like being cold). This interests me because 1) as many are aware, the prevalent headcanon that Loki has a low body temperature irritates me and 2) it possibly(?) lends weight to the theory that he may not be fully Jötun, whether by virtue of his birth or Odin’s spell.

Haha, look at this Feminist Icon™ trying to take credit for his female friend’s accomplishments! Truly inspiring.

#for some reason the ragnarok lovers have somehow decided that thor is both a feminist and lesbian icon #whatever that means 🤷‍♀️ #and i'm still trying very hard to figure out why #is it literally just because he *says* he respects women or whatever in that dumb rambly conversation with valkyrie?

Ooh… you were so close to getting the point, Volstagg. So close. Take your tongue off Odin’s boot for just a couple minutes longer.

Also, the author just forgot the name of the Casket. How did this book get published? 😂

JUST LOOKING FOR ANSWERS, HUH?

Because fuck Loki, amirite? He, uh… he’s a prince too, you know.

Also… Fandral, you dweeb 😂

…am I reading too much into this, or did Odin just literally forget that Loki exists?

On the other hand, the author also seemed to forget Loki existed for most of this chapter, so who knows. 🤷‍♀️

lmao @ Jane immediately trying to convince herself she’s too rational to be attracted to a stranger

Honestly, though, big mood.

Just your periodic reminder that Thor’s sycophantic friends KNEW Loki was right and decided to throw him under the bus anyway.

Just as I’ve always said: That was it. That was their ENTIRE rationale. That Loki *could* have done it, therefore he must have. Please tell me these people have nothing to do with Asgard’s justice system.

…lol, jk, Asgard has no justice system.

Ok, first of all, no.

Second: thank you, Fandral. You’re a self-absorbed cad, but also evidently Thor’s least stupid friend.

Thirdly, how…? First, it was, “Loki arranged all this because he’s jealous of Thor.” Now they’ve suddenly jumped all the way to, “All of Asgard is in danger.” What exactly does Sif think Loki is planning? He’s gonna, what… assassinate Odin and then sell Asgard to the Jötnar?

—

Please stop hurting me.

Just so there’s no confusion: this one sentence explains everything Loki did for the rest of the movie. It explains how a person who has been historically non-aggressive suddenly transforms into a warmonger. To prove himself a real Asgardian, like his brother and father and grandfather.

—

…why did Odin fall into the Odinsleep in two completely different scenes in this book? I’m super confused.

Also, we really need to talk about how cruel it is of Marvel to keep forcing Loki to prove his loyalty again and again and again when he’s been doing so almost literally since we met him. And by “we need to talk about it”, I mean I need to tie Kevin Feige and co. to a chair and spend a minimum of five hours lecturing them on how poorly they understand their own fucking character.

Let’s just be clear here: they’re talking about Loki. They’re saying Loki, their LEGITIMATE king, is an enemy of Asgard, based on evidence so paper-thin it’s practically invisible. Just… please, let that sink in. Take a moment to appreciate how utterly fucked up that is.

I’m sorry (not really), but Thor was so much funnier before Ragnarok.

This scene has always kind of bugged me. If Odin removed Thor’s powers, how come he can still control the weather? Confusing.

So what exactly was Thor’s plan anyway, before he realised he couldn’t lift Mjölnir? He was just gonna call on Heimdall to help him commit treason AGAIN, show up on Asgard against the expressed command of his king, and… Odin would just shrug and be like, “You got me, son! I guess I can’t keep you down. Welcome home!”?

…I mean, I guess that more or less is what happened in the end, but it’s hard to imagine it would have still gone down that way without all the stuff that happened with Loki. Idk.

#look what i'm saying is... thor is not exactly a thinking person #no one on asgard is a thinking person #except loki but he's crazy now so he's also thinking somewhat poorly lol

Cool, Thor. Now imagine feeling that way for ONE THOUSAND YEARS and develop a little fucking empathy for your brother.

But you won’t.

You’ll brush off his feelings of worthlessness as “imagined slights”. 😒

Nice that somebody knows how the royal line of succession works, I guess…

That sound you hear? Yeah, that’s just my heart breaking. NBD.

First, they mislabelled it the Casket of Eternal Winters. Now it’s the Cask of Ancient Winters. Author must have been thirsty when they wrote this. Lol

Look, not to nitpick, but this is not the recommended procedure when you see a storm that you don’t believe is of supernatural origin coming. I’m just saying. Lol

Uh… ‘cause he is?? And your pals are committing treason AGAIN, Thor, so it technically is responding to a threat to Asgard. Just FYI.

Anyways, this is an important point that doesn’t get made often enough. People want to act like Loki illegally usurped the throne somehow, but even without the deleted scene that explicitly shows Frigga passing rulership to him (a scene which is, for some reason, entirely skipped over in this book, but whatever), understand this: Loki could not have controlled the Destroyer unless he was legitimately King of Asgard. The fact that he’s able to do so is irrefutable proof that his rulership is valid.

lmao you little shit

So… here’s my issue with this scene (and with Thor as a character): He always assumes that Loki’s acting out specifically to hurt him. That Loki’s entire life and thought process revolves around Thor. He does it in this scene, he does it in The Avengers… it’s just a chronic thing with Thor. Everything is viewed through the lens of Loki inexplicably hating him.

But that’s… just not accurate. Yes, Loki harbours a lot of jealousy towards Thor. But that’s not what’s happening in this scene. Loki is not trying to kill Thor here because he wants him dead; he’s doing it because Thor (and his friends) are getting in the way of Loki completing his ultimate goal. Loki tried to solve this problem non-violently, by lying about Odin being dead. It’s Thor’s friends who all but forced his hand by going behind his back and trying to bring Thor back to Asgard against Loki’s (and Odin’s!) direct orders.

For all the humility he’s learned in the past few days, this entire speech is still really all about Thor. About assuming that Loki’s doing this for personal reasons, because he holds a grudge against Thor for some unknown reason. This is implicit in his request to “take [my life] and end this.” It never even occurs to him that his friends are traitors to the Crown and Loki, as King of Asgard, is perhaps justified in pursuing them.

It also needs to be acknowledged that Thor’s apology here is hollow, even if it’s ultimately coming from his heart, because he has no idea what he’s apologising for. “Whatever I have done to wrong you” is not an apology. An apology addresses specific hurtful actions taken and commits to not repeating those mistakes in the future. Thor cannot commit to not repeating the hurtful things he’s done, because he doesn’t know what he’s done. Despite his best intentions, what Thor is doing here is actually kind of manipulative. He’s not addressing any substantive issue between the two of them; he’s just trying to talk Loki down. And it ultimately fails not because Loki doesn’t care or because he wants Thor dead, but because it doesn’t actually change anything.

Finally and only semi-relatedly, we should maybe at some point talk about the fact that Loki, who is stated to be a master tactician, has displayed a weird pattern of hardly ever being as lethal as he could be. He freezes Heimdall in place instead of killing him outright; he backhands Thor with the Destroyer instead of incinerating him; he, well… *gestures vaguely at almost the entirety of the first Avengers movie* Anytime the violence is even a little bit personal, he seems to hedge. Odd behaviour for somebody who’s supposedly super evil.

I’m sorry, I know I’ve pointed it out at least a hundred times before, but I just can’t encounter this scene in any form without taking a moment to appreciate how underrated and hilarious it is.

I also genuinely wonder how many Ragnarok stans who have accused me of having no sense of humour, have failed to laugh at moments like this one. Kinda feel like if you need to have the comedy spoonfed to you in the form of ass jokes, maybe you’re the one whose sense of humour is lacking. 🤷‍♀️

Let’s be super clear: this is not what happened. Loki did not betray Odin; he was betrayed by Odin. He did not open Asgard to its enemies; he attempted, misguidedly, to destroy Asgard’s enemies. And he most certainly did not commit suicide out of a sense of guilt.

I’m not saying Loki did nothing wrong, nor am I saying he feels no regret for the lives he has taken. What I’m saying is there’s no indication that he believes he betrayed Odin or Asgard in the process. Which makes perfect sense, because he didn’t. Everything he tried to do was for Odin and Asgard. It was misguided and horrible, yes, but it can hardly be classified as a betrayal.

The insurmountable burden on Loki is not that he did terrible things, but that no matter what he does or how hard he tries, Odin will never look at him with anything but contempt. Consider once more these passages from the very beginning of the book, at Thor’s coronation:

—

Consider that this book goes to great pains to point out that Odin favours Thor because Thor is a warrior like him. And yet even when Loki embraces that, even when he acts more war-like than ever before, Odin rejects him— just as he always has.

There is a reason why this moment is the last time Loki will ever call Odin his father. Because he realises once and for all that, no, nothing he tries will ever be good enough; no, Odin won’t ever look at him with pride. That is Loki’s burden. That is why he lets go.

The epilogue is really just two pages of making me want to vomit.

There’s your party where Thor and a certain subset of the fandom insist that Loki was mourned. There’s barely an indication here that anyone even perceives his demise as a negative thing.

“[Sif] could see Frigga thought [Loki was dead] as well” also contradicts the tie-in comic for TDW, so I don’t know what the author is on about there. Unlike the majority of Marvel comics, the tie-in comics are canon to the MCU, so it’s a bizarre statement to make.

COULD YOU SMEAR THE DEAD* ABUSE VICTIM A LITTLE HARDER, PLEASE? Fucking hell.

No matter how many times I encounter this scene, in whatever format, I still fail to become desensitized to how disgusting it is. I realise there’s a good chance that whatever version of events Thor has been told was twisted at best; but how you can look at a man whose son has just committed suicide under any circumstances and say there will never be a better father than that guy, is utterly beyond my capacity to understand.

And Odin’s “you’ve already made me proud” line just feels like extra salt in the wound because, again, Loki let go because he realized Odin would never say those words to him. And yet they come so damn easily when it’s Thor.

Fuck this entire family so much. I think I hate them more than Loki does. Sometimes I wonder what he would think about that. How he would react to knowing that not only is he actually loved, but that he’s so loved that people are genuinely furious at the way he’s been mistreated. That there are people who regularly devolve into full-on rants because they just can’t contain how much anger they have towards the people who hurt him. I think he’d have a hard time wrapping his head around that concept, tbh.

Anyways, to end on a not-completely-depressing note, I’m still waiting for someone at Marvel to explain how Loki knew what Thor said in this scene after plummeting into a wormhole. ‘Cause he references this conversation as Fauxdin at the end of TDW. So like… ?? Did he steal Odin’s memories before he erased them? Because that would be… kind of neat, actually. And very clever. Not entirely ethical, of course, but it’s Odin, so fuck ethics.

WELP, THAT’S IT. Thanks for following along with my dumbassery, hope you enjoyed yourselves. Lol

#phase one: thor #loki meta #thor meta #odin's a+ parenting #frigga's b+ parenting #topic: thor and loki's broken relationship #loki #thor #heimdall #lady sif #the warriors 3 #jane foster #ragnarok cinematic universe #mcu #topic: asgardian hypocrisy #topic: asgardian militarism #topic: odin's family dynamic

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

Text

Within the Circles chapter 3

The third chapter of my summoning fic is now posted! I'm sure things are starting to look up as we reach the middle of the story, right?

*checks notes*

Nnnnnnnnnnnnnope.

Lots of content warnings on this chapter, but like the previous one it's not graphic and most of them are mentioned only briefly or part of flashbacks.

As such, the excerpt below is only the first half of the first scene, minus any CW-content (apart from the fact that Aziraphale is being held against his will and his mind is confused).

“There we are.” The woman brushed her fingers across the final ring, and looked up to smile at Aziraphale. The genuine happiness dancing in her pale blue eyes sent a shiver through him, though he couldn’t think why. “Go ahead and try crossing if you like. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Great work,” the leader said, inspecting the changes over her shoulder. “Can you alter the other spells to match?”

“The containment spells, yes, I think so. Those are pretty similar to these. The harnessing spells we’ll have to test as we go, but I’ve already got some notes. Summoning…” she sucked her teeth. “That’s going to be difficult. Should only be one or two changes, but there’s a lot of possibilities to try, and it’s not going to be easy to narrow them down. But now that we know it’s possible…”

“It’s an excellent start.” He walked around the outer circle, counting sigils. “Have you ever studied demonology, angel? It’s a fascinating field.”

Aziraphale sat in the center of the circles, turning and shifting now and then to keep his eyes on the human. The others buzzed about in the background, shadows in the dark, too much to keep track of. Who were they? Scientists? Scholars? He liked scholars, generally. Did he like them?

“I’ve studied many things,” Aziraphale answered. The wave of pain was fairly easy to ignore by now. He just wished his mind would clear. “Spell books. Prophecies. Grimoires. As much nonsense as sense in all of them.” He giggled. “Does yours have that one demon, the lion with duck feet? Utter nonsense.”

“Oh I agree. What do you expect from backwards medieval minds? From so-called sorcerers ready to believe every rumor, and bored scribes who altered and embellished every copy? Four thousand years of practice, and yet every text contains misinformation and fairy tales. Hardly a science at all. That’s why we’re building our own grimoire.”

Aziraphale’s brow wrinkled. That should be important. If he could work out what it meant. “Are you…planning to summon every demon in Hell?”

“Perhaps.” He crouched down tapping a few of the sigils on the ring at his feet. “We’ve also been working through the old spells and rituals. Collecting them, compiling them. Taking a more scientific approach. Once you really understand how it works, you know how one little change…” he pulled out a wax pencil, adding a single line to one of the symbols “…can make a tremendous difference. You should be able to show us your wings now.”

Did he want to do that?

He could remember that he’d tried to manifest his wings, several times, though he couldn’t remember why. Was this human helping him? That didn’t seem right at all.

“No…I think…I’m more comfortable like this.”

“Come now.” The man smiled, but it didn’t reach his dark eyes. It hardly reached all the way across his lips. “I’m sure they’re nice wings.”

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale felt himself smiling back. “Very lovely, soft and white. Humans seem to find them very impressive.”

“Isn’t that nice? I would really like to see your wings.”

It was very nice. It couldn’t hurt to show them. Crowley had just groomed them the other day, and he always left the feathers so smooth and beautiful, though he would complain about how little attention Aziraphale had been giving them.

He closed his eyes, remembering. Crowley’s chiding, almost angry voice a contrast to the oh-so-gentle fingers running across Aziraphale’s wings. His touch so reverent, even after all this time, as if he couldn’t believe he were allowed such an honor. Now and then his grumbling would get out of hand, (nothing actually cruel, there was no cruelty in him, just an edge to his tongue he’d honed for thousands of years, to keep him safe from threats he would never discuss, never name), and Crowley would stop himself, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale’s waist, pressing his forehead to that spot between his shoulders where the wings sprouted.

And then he would get back to work, softly kissing Aziraphale’s neck and shoulders, until Aziraphale reached up to stroke that red hair, guiding his face closer…

Crowley.

With a shuddering breath, Aziraphale blinked open his eyes, trying to clear the tears. “I…would be happy to show you if you let me go. Please.”

The human smirked and pulled something—an amulet, perhaps—out of his pocket, pressed it to the ring before him.

The metal began to glow, a brilliant blue, brighter and hotter until Aziraphale had to shield his eyes, until the air was too thick and dry to breathe, until—

Read the rest on AO3!

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petersthree · 4 years

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Hey guys! I have another fic out for Luther & Allison’s dynamic - I’ve tagged folks who liked my excerpt post, please message me if you want to be untagged! :)

Thank you to @ginnxtonic & @superhero-bastards for beta-reading!

Crossposted to AO3 (properly formatted here!)

Summary: Luther and Allison have been doing things in reverse their whole lives, so it’s no wonder that it applies to their relationship as well. A character study on Luther and Allison’s journey to being romantic, to friends, to siblings again.

Note: I wasn’t entirely sure how to tag this fic so I thought I’d describe it here for people to determine for themselves if they want to/can read it. For shippers - this fic does not support or promote their relationship; I believe that Luther & Allison’s dynamic formed as a trauma bond and I really wanted to explore that concept, so this might not be the fic for you though if it is, great! For non-shippers - I wanted to explore their relationship and see how they could become genuine friends/platonic in canon. As I’m going through their dynamic there’s going to be incestuous undertones for the first part in particular.

Whichever way you fall on that please just be warned on that before you read, as your own comfort when reading comes first. Thank you!

Fic: The Days that Were (And Are to Come) under the cut!

Number One found out that Number Three was his soulmate on September 26, 1996.

The six-year-old had been sitting with Mom, watching Cinderella again - their favorite movie. Well, Mom’s favorite, he reminded himself. He liked Superman and King Kong, but Mom really liked Cinderella and none of the other siblings really liked watching it so One would sit with her, his eyes tracing between the sparkling spirals as Cinderella got her magical dress and his mother sighing contentedly when she did so.

“Sublime,” his mother would say, every time without fail. One didn’t understand why she would choose this routine, of sitting on the couch and watching the same movie, having the same reactions night after night after night after night, but the content smile on his mother’s face told One that there was something there for Mom.

The rest of the movie went on as planned. Mom would clap in delight at the pumpkin getting changed into a carriage, sing along to all the songs, and sigh and say, “Look, darling, she’s meeting her Prince,” when Cinderella and the Prince locked eyes.

Except for September 26, 1996, when Cinderella and the Prince locked eyes, Grace sighed, and said, “Look, darling, she’s meeting her soulmate.”

One looked away from the screen, a brush of panic hitting him. He didn’t know that word. He racked his head for every word his father had taught him, every language he could think of, but his mind was blank. Mom looked over and frowned (a frown that looked more like a smile, it seemed like Mom’s default mode).

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asked, and One looked up. The smile was back on her face when he looked at her. The light of the television reflected back onto one of her eyes like a monocle of light. It seemed wrong, threatening somehow, and something about the image was screaming to One that he couldn’t tell her that he didn’t know what the word meant.

Besides, he was Number One, he was supposed to know what every word was. He took pride in it every time he got to show up Number Two in their lessons and Dad told him, “Good job, Number One,” when he explained the difference between arthropods and molluscs, while Two had sulked in the corner with his head down. He couldn’t just not know something now.

“Nothing,” he said in response, and ran upstairs, ignoring Mom’s call asking him if he was okay. He was running down the hallway when he bumped into Three, and the two of them went sprawling onto the floor.

“Sorry,” One said, getting up and holding out his hand to Three.

“It’s okay,” she said, grabbing his hand and using her free one to rub the back of her head with a wince. “Where are you going?”

“I…” One paused, debating if he should tell her, but then Three smiled encouragingly. It was a true smile that reached her eyes, and there was no...wrongness to it, like there was for Mom.

“I need to look up a word,” he admitted. “Mom said soulmate. I don’t know what it is.”

Three tilted her head to the side, her nose scrunching up in thought. “Me neither,” she said, and she turned, walking towards the library. “Let’s find out, then.” One looked at her, walking confidently towards the library room. She didn’t even seem to really care that she hadn’t known, just seemed set on finding out, and One marveled at that confidence as he followed behind her.

It was at the library that they pulled out the large dictionary and searched painstakingly until they got to “soulmate”, and One read:

A person who is perfectly suited to another in temperament

A person who strongly resembles another in attitudes or beliefs

“Well that doesn’t make sense,” One sighed. “Mom was talking about Cinderella and the Prince. I don’t think they fit this.”

“Why don’t you just ask Mom?” Three asked, and One shook his head, the same flash of panic he had felt earlier rising up in his chest again.

Three must have sensed his panic because she reached over, taking One’s hand. “You can trust Mom,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Mom is here for us. She’s not going to be mad.”

One looked down at their hands, thinking of Mom’s plastic smile, illuminated by the pale glow of the television screen, her posture upright and her limbs looking not-quite right. He wasn’t sure if he trusted her, but he did trust Three.

“Okay,” he said, and squeezed back.

Three didn’t join him, saying she needed to help Four - or Mallory, the name he was trying out for the week - pick out another name, so One slowly walked back downstairs alone. Mom was still there, hands clasped in her lap and the movie still playing, the smile still on her face. If One looked closely he thought he could see something glistening in her eyes, but it was probably the reflection from the screen.

“Mom?” he asked, and she turned from the screen, her smile widening when she saw One.

“Sweetheart, where did you go?” she asked, reaching out to cup his face, and One moved back instinctually. Her hand paused and dropped to her side, but the smile never left.

“I needed to look up a word,” he said slowly and stilted. “Soulmate. You said it earlier, but I still don’t know what it means.”

His mother laughed, the noise somehow blending in perfectly with the music still blaring from the television. “Oh, silly, you can always ask me!” she said.

“A soulmate is…” she paused, and her eyes looked far off and her smile dropped ever so slightly - probably, One assumed, to download information on everything there was to know about soulmates for him, and just as expected, her eyes cleared and she looked back at him, looking sure of herself.

“A soulmate is someone who loves you entirely, and you love them the same. You both support each other, trust each other; that bond cannot be broken, no matter what or no matter how much time passes. That person is your person for life. Does that make sense, sweetheart?”

One nodded, and she smiled brightly again. “There. It’s like I said, you can always ask me, sweetie,” she said, and she moved, slightly slowly, to envelop One in her arms. He let her this time and he heard her sigh happily, but One was barely paying attention to her, his own smile wide on his face.

He had heard the definition and knew without a doubt that he already had a soulmate. He always knew their bond was important, but after Mom told him what soulmate meant he knew that it was more than he ever thought about.

A soulmate, he thought to himself as he walked up to his room. I have a soulmate.

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Bad love, bad love and misery….

The song droned on through the radio as Three and One looked through the baby naming books.

“Hm...Kurt?” One asked, and he and Three looked at each other, imagining it, before shaking their heads in unison. One sighed, placing the book on an ever-growing pile next to him.

“I’m never going to find a name, Audrey,” he groaned, and Three tried not to flinch at the name.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Three said. “Klaus changed his name tons of times before he picked one, Five and Seven still don’t have one.” One didn’t seem convinced, so she went on. “And hey, I don’t even know if I like mine,” she confessed.

One sat up, his face rapt with attention. “You don’t? But you were so excited,” he said sadly. “You were saying how much you love Audrey Hepburn and this would be a great name for yourself.”

Three sighed. “I thought it’d be nice, but it just doesn’t feel like….me,” she said. She hadn’t even realized what the issue was until she had said it - it felt like she was just wearing the name, not that it was hers. She wanted something that was hers, completely and wholly. Aubrey wasn’t her, it was a costume, a mask that she could put on as easily as if it was the mask on her uniform.

“Do you want to change it?” he asked, and Three thought to herself. She had been feeling it for a while, but she had told herself that when she announced her name, that was it, it would be the only one and that was it. She had gotten excited, told One all about it, then told the rest of the family and they all said how wonderfully it fit her and by the time Three realized that it wasn’t working for her anymore it had been so long that it felt dumb to change it now.

But One was looking at her, his eyes wide and non-judgemental, just filled with concern and understanding, and Three couldn’t think of what she was worried about.

“I actually have one in mind,” she admitted, and One’s eyes perked up, encouraging her to go on. “I think one of my favorite things about the whole name thing is trying to find one with you. Listening to Luther Allison’s songs on the radio, going through all these books over and over and over again, it’s all really...they’re my favorite moments,” she said, feeling shy all of a sudden - no clue why, One wasn’t going to be mean about it anyway. “And I think I like Allison, for my name,” she admitted.

“I think it’s great,” One said, smiling at her, and Allison smiled back.

“Then I’m Allison,” she said brightly, and she looked back at One. “I think there’s even a name there for you, if you ever want it.” One locked eyes with her, and she knew, she knew that he got what name she thought would work for him. It was how soulmates worked, as One had described to her only a few years ago. She knew he understood her as much as she knew that he would choose that name eventually, just as she knew that he wasn’t ready to use it right now and not be Number One all the time, but that he’d get there anyway.

“Maybe,” One said softly. “Maybe...you can just call me it when we’re alone? For now?”

The thought of Allison being the only one to call him by his name made her heart beat a little faster. No one else would know - it’d be their own special soulmate secret, something so special and unique that even Dad wouldn’t know about it.

“For now, Luther,” she said, and Luther smiled. The two leaned back on their spots on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, the only sound being their namesake’s music and the sound of each other breathing. Allison couldn’t see him, but she knew Luther was smiling just as she was smiling.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head towards Luther, glad to have her safe strong beacon here with her in this moment. She reached out until she felt his hand, interlocking it with her own, and they stayed there, quiet, away from the rest of the world.

We have it, she thought to herself, giddy with joy, knowing, knowing Luther was thinking the same.

A name.

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Allison had known a surprise was coming, but she hadn’t thought it was this. A part of her wanted to tease Luther and say that he just had to show her up, after she had decorated their little hideout into a beautiful tent scene, but looking at the necklace in her hands she couldn’t find the words.

No one had ever gotten her a present before, ever. She remembered this necklace, they had killed some robbers at a jewelry store weeks ago and Allison had peered over while Luther threw a robber through the window, had gasped at how pretty the necklace was, and squealed when the terrified clerk said, “I c-can engrave it for you, on the house.”

They had contained the scene and Dad had swooped in, so Allison had gone off to talk to the reporters and rumor one into taking some headshots of her, but she had noticed Luther hanging back, and now, looking at the necklace that just said A+L she knew why.

“Do you like it?” Luther asked. He seemed nervous, though Allison couldn’t figure out why when she was so happy it had to have shown on her face.

“I’ll never take it off,” she said, and she meant it. She smiled down at her necklace and then back at her brother. “Oh!” she said, getting up for the rest of her surprise. “I almost forgot. I brought one more thing.”

She put on the record and outstretched her hand towards Luther. She had seen him on their designated fun and games nights, whenever Mom would put on her Disney or romance movies. Luther always watched with rapt attention, even when he was pretending not to, and he’d sigh wistfully whenever there was a ball, looking longingly at the screen as the prince and princess glided across the ballroom floor.

Allison didn’t have a fancy ball gown or a prince’s outfit, but Luther didn’t need a costume to feel that way anyway, and she thought she could give him this.

He was about to grab her hand when Dad burst in, telling them what a disappointment they were, that he never wanted them in here ever again, and Allison flinched, moving ever-so-slightly behind Luther. Dad left and Allison slowly packed up her things, turning off the lights that she had so carefully strung up earlier that day and getting ready to take them off when Luther stopped her.

“Don’t,” he said. “Dad...didn’t say the lights and tent couldn’t be up.” It was a rare bit of not-quite disobedience from Luther, and Allison looked back at him and nodded.

“Yeah,” she said. “We can keep them up. We can come back on Saturday.”

Luther gave her a weak smile back. The two walked back silently to their rooms, and Allison stopped Luther, giving him a kiss on the cheek. She felt him still briefly before he relaxed and grinned, bringing his hand up to his cheek.

“Good night,” Allison said, and Luther stammered out a good night back.

Allison curled into her bed, clutching her necklace and smiling as she dozed off to sleep.

In her dreams, she saw herself in a long red dress, dancing with Luther clad in a suit, and the twinkling lights shining bright in the background. They twirled in the moonlight, her A+L necklace spinning with the two of them, and when he dipped her, Allison would hold his cheek and lean in, and he would as well. They’d kiss, just like in the movies they watched, and Allison would lean against him and just take in the moment as they swayed together, only enjoying each other’s company.

In her dreams, they danced all night.

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Diego leaves a few weeks after Ben’s funeral, yelling at their father in a way that reminded Luther all too well of a small cocky thirteen-year-old who had slammed a knife into the table four years ago.

“We’re kids,” Diego had said, pointing his finger at their father. “Kids. You’re supposed to protect us, we’re not supposed to do anything else but live our lives. You’re the one who failed us and Five and Ben, you piece of shit. We deserve better, we can go,” he had said, looking around at his siblings. Vanya was huddled in the corner, staring straight down at the floor, and Klaus seemed only vaguely aware of what was going on, his eyes an all-too familiar glassy shade that indicated that he was really only there physically. Allison locked eyes with Diego, and Luther puffed out his chest, standing next to Dad.

“If you want to leave, Number Two, you can,” Luther had responded, and Allison and Diego stopped their staredown.

Diego had looked at them all and sighed. “Whatever,” he said, grabbing his duffel bag. “You can all go to Hell. You especially,” he said to Dad. “They don’t know any better but you do.” With that he went off to the hallway, lingering a bit to say something to Mom, and then the door slammed and Diego was gone.

His father was silent and turned, walking back to his office.

“Wait, don’t you have anything to say?” Allison asked, anger overwhelming her voice.

“Training will be at 7:00 AM sharp tomorrow,” came the response, and the door was shut. Klaus laughed, muttering out a figures, and sprawled onto the staircase, staring at an unseen ghost and mumbling something about Ben. Vanya had disappeared from her corner on the stairs; Luther hadn’t even noticed when she had left.

Allison clenched her fists, strolling over to the office, and Luther grabbed her arm right before she could turn the knob.

“What are you doing?” he hissed, and Allison narrowed her eyes at him.

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “Either Diego’s coming back home or we’re not having training tomorrow, it depends on my mood when I walk through the door, okay?”

“You can’t,” Luther whispered.

“I can if you let go of my arm,” Allison said. The two stared down at each other, and Allison narrowed her eyes. “I-”

Luther dropped her arm. “Allison,” he said, looking at her. “Please.”

Something flashed in Allison’s eyes, too quick for Luther to properly figure out, and she dropped her hand from the doorknob. “Fine,” she said, turning around and stepping easily over Klaus as she left, not turning back once.

He found her later in their usual spot, crying and picking at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Luther said, sitting next to her. Allison’s fingers stilled.

“For what?” she asked.

“For making you mad,” he said, and Allison sighed.

“It wasn’t you, Luther,” she said. “It was Dad. We’ve had nonstop training since Ben died, and I just want - we can’t go on like this, Luther. Diego got that.”

Luther pushed down the reflexive annoyance at the comment. “Diego doesn’t know anything,” he said breezily. “He thinks that just because he has a few friends outside the academy that he’s better than us. He’ll be back groveling for Dad and the rest of us in no time.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” Allison said, resuming picking at the thread on her shirt.

“Then we don’t need him,” Luther said. “Allison, we don’t need anyone except each other, okay? It’s just like when we were kids, I always had you, and you always had me, right?”

“Right,” Allison said. “Yeah, you’re right. I always feel safe with you,” she said, looking up at Luther, her brown eyes wide and earnest. “Like nothing in the world could ever get to me as long as you were there.”

“I don’t want to lose that,” Luther said, and Allison nodded.

“Me neither,” she agreed, and there was a content silence, until Luther broke it with a question he had been wondering for the entire day.

“Allison, were you going to...rumor me this morning? With Dad?” he asked. Allison had used her power on their other siblings before, he’d see her trying to use it on Klaus to fix his addiction (something that would last about a week before it wore off), or to tease Diego; back when they were young she’d use it on Five so he couldn’t leave arguments when they were going back and forth. He hadn’t thought she’d ever use it on him, and the thought had made him feel special.

“I…” Allison sighed, putting her head in her hands. “I’m sorry Luther, I was. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Not try to rumor me?” Luther tried to joke, but it came out flat, and he cursed himself for the insecurity leaking through his voice. There was an awkward silence, and he reached over, gently clasping both of Allison’s hands in his own. They hadn’t done that before but he had seen it in movies and thought it’d feel awkward. It did, kind of, but it felt nice too, and Allison smiled at the motion, which gave Luther the courage to say what he needed to next.

“Allison, I will always have your back,” he said. “You can always count on me, okay? But I need to count on you too, and I need to know that you won’t rumor me.”

“I won’t,” Allison said, the answer coming so quickly and easily that it made Luther’s heart swell.

“I...also need you to not rumor Dad,” he said, and Allison wrinkled her eyes in confusion, and he felt her hands twitch ever-so-slightly under his own.

“But I thought you just said that we’d always have each other’s backs,” she said slowly.

“We do,” Luther said, trying to figure out where the confusion was. There shouldn’t be an issue after all, if they were together, they were in the house, and Dad knew what was best for both of them. There wouldn’t be any problems, he and Allison and whoever else wanted to stick around and listen would be heroes. They’d live a good life.

“It’s either I don’t rumor you, or I don’t rumor Dad,” Allison said, moving her hands away from Luther. Her eyes steeled over, and Luther found himself reeling back a bit from her. She couldn’t do both?

“I can’t do both,” Allison continued, as if she had heard his unspoken question. “I’m sorry, I can’t, Luther. Not even for you. I just need to know which one you’d rather I do, okay?” Her tone was softening, and she looked at him, but it didn’t comfort him. For the first time Luther felt like he couldn’t figure out exactly what was going on in Allison’s mind. There was something in her face, a desperation, her eyes searching for an answer that Luther didn’t think he had. It was as if he was getting one of Dad’s pop quizzes, and he hadn’t prepared for the possibility of one.

Which one would he rather have?

He thought about telling Ben that his powers were good enough for him to fight, and Ben’s casket getting lowered into the ground. Of Klaus, talking to friends no one else could see at the dinner table and the glint in his father’s eye, and the next week when Klaus came back quieter, and the months after when he started rolling joints under the table. Of Five, who had told their father how much better he had gotten at using his powers, and his portrait, hanging over the mantle to showcase his mistake for four years and counting.

“Don’t rumor Dad,” Luther said, and Allison nodded.

“I won’t,” she said, though it seemed less sure than the first time she had promised, and then she sighed, bringing her hand up to massage her temple. “I have a headache, I’m sorry, so I’ll be - I’ll be off,” she said. She smiled at him, but it seemed weak, not reaching her eyes, and Luther couldn’t help but feel like he had just failed whatever test he’d been given.

She brushed past him and stopped at the door, her hand on the knob. “For what it’s worth, I don’t want to ever rumor you either,” she said, and then she turned the knob and was gone.

Luther sighed, and turned to leave. It was fine, he thought. This was the better decision. It was. It was a good decision. He gripped the doorknob and turned it, telling himself that he didn’t mess up, that there wasn’t anything wrong, that there was nothing he was missing, and by the time he exited he stood a little taller and his chin was up. The moment was difficult and hard but it had to be done, and he knew he and Allison would come through it stronger than ever. He knew, he knew, he knew.

It was a good decision. It was.

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“You’re leaving?” Luther asked, staring at the bags Allison had packed.

“Luther,” Allison said, her eyes filled with pity and sadness. “We knew this was coming.”

“No, we did not,” Luther said, even though he knew, deep down, that there wasn’t much shock there. Allison’s smile had seemed more strained lately, and she had locked herself in her room when Klaus had gotten kicked out a year prior, even longer when Vanya had unceremoniously left a few months later. The comments that she and Luther should run away together had increased, now no longer something she’d say in the safety of their hideout but something she’d say freely and carelessly: after missions, disposing of bodies, after Dad would turn a corner.

Luther would remind her that they had each other, hoping it’d be enough, but he guessed he wasn’t.

“I need to go out and live my life,” Allison said. “I’m just…” she sighed, searching for the words. “I’m just Number Three here, or the Rumor outside. I just want to be Allison.”

“You’re Allison to me,” Luther said, and in his mind he saw Allison’s eyes light up with the realization, that he saw her just like she saw him, that it didn’t matter what name anyone else thought of for them because they had each other, and she’d run into his arms and he’d hold her and they’d keep each other safe. She’d promise that they’d never leave each other like the rest of their siblings that had abandoned them, that she couldn’t even imagine that she had been about to do it.

Yeah, he could see it now, them dancing in their attic with the twinkling lights, playing some Luther Allison on tape. He hadn’t danced with Allison since Dad had interrupted them all those years ago. He’d do it for real this time and not let anyone interrupt, even Dad, because Allison was important. Allison was his soulmate and soulmates never left each other, ever, they protected each other and stuck through all the hard times and never wanted more because their soulmate was that more.

Allison shook her head no, shattering the plans already forming in Luther’s head. “I’m glad I’m Allison to you,” she said, walking over to him, suitcase in hand, using her other hand to gently cup his cheek. “But I need to be more than that.”

Luther shook his head. “No,” he said. “If you leave then, I’ll be-” he stopped, wanting to say he’d be alone but not feeling like it was right, somehow. He’d have Mom, he’d have Pogo - Pogo was his best friend, he wouldn’t be alone but there was something about Allison leaving that left him with a vast emptiness inside anyway.

“Come with me,” Allison insisted. “We can go somewhere, together. We know where the others are, we can see them from time to time but it’ll be the two of us, just Luther and Allison. Not Space Boy and Rumor, not One and Three, just Luther and just Allison.”

Luther tried thinking about it, a life outside the house. He didn’t even know what he would do, and the thought of it scared him. Allison didn’t know either, she was just stepping out into a world that would gleefully rip her apart if it could, just as it did with Ben, and Five, and Klaus, and what he was sure it was doing to Diego and Vanya right now.

“We’re better off here,” he said. “Allison, you have to stay here.”

He hadn’t meant for it to sound like a command but it did, and Allison sighed. “Luther, you have to let me leave,” she said, and Luther hated the resignation in her voice, and for a moment he hated her for having it. It wasn’t him wrecking their life, it was her, she just couldn’t see it clearly.

“No,” he said. “Allison, I - I won’t let you leave,” he said desperately, trying to think of how to get her to stay when it hit him. Of course, of course - he’d take her dancing and do whatever else she wanted for the day, just a few more moments and she’d get it, she’d understand, they could fix this, they could fix this.

“Luther,” Allison said, and Luther was pulled back to the Allison in front of him, tears pricking at her eyes as she touched her forehead to his, and Luther sighed in relief at the motion, and smiled when she said, “I love you, you know that, right?”

“I do,” Luther mumbled. He loved her, and she loved him, and their love was stronger and more important than anything else that was thrown at them. It was going to be alright. They were going to fix this.

“I heard-” Allison started, and Luther backed away, his eyes wide. He shook his head, shooting a rare look of anger at her.

“Allison,” he said, the pleading in his voice evident, and Allison gripped her suitcase, seemingly steeling herself. As if she was the one who was hurting here. As if she wasn’t intentionally throwing their world upside down because she couldn’t handle a few more years of Dad.

“I need to leave. I’m sorry,” she said. “I heard-” she started again.

“No,” Luther said, but Allison went on, the tears already clouding her image of Luther and the betrayal clear on his face.

“- a rumor.”

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A baby.

Allison had a baby. A baby girl. Claire. Claire Green, Allison had said after a beat. Luther tried not to wince at the full name but he was sure Allison felt it all the way over the phone and there was a five-second-pause that felt like the five years Allison had been gone. Allison was as flawless as ever, however, picking right back up to describing her daughter and steamrolling the pause to the ground.

“It’s amazing, Luther, she’s amazing,” Allison said. “Her hands are so tiny, but she’ll grasp onto my finger and won’t let go, and then it feels like she’s the strongest thing in the whole world.”

Luther stored that in the back of his head, knowing it was metaphorical but wondering all the same if Claire shared a power with him, and the thought made his chest ache.

“I’ve heard kids can do that,” he said, chuckling a bit, and he could hear the smile widening on Allison’s face.

“You know, I always kind of shook my head at people talking about how having their kids is life-changing, but they’re right,” Allison said. “I was scared, I was so scared Luther, this entire time about being pregnant.”

Luther hadn’t known that, but he nodded along as if he did and as if she could see him.

“When I went into labor, God, it’s stupid but I kept getting so worried Luther. I even thought that maybe I could just rumor her to stay in a little longer because I wasn’t ready, but then she was out and they put her in my arms and…” she sighed, and he could imagine the same faraway smile she had when she had announced to their siblings that her name was Allison now, soft and sweet and eyes sparkling with opportunity. “They put her into my arms and I realized something. I’ve never loved anyone more than I love that little girl.”

Luther’s mouth was thick, the aching in his chest getting tighter and tighter until he choked out a strangled, “I’m so happy for you, Allison” and a more sincere, “You deserve this.”

“You should come visit,” Allison said. “Diego and Vanya said they’d come, and Klaus…well, he’s Klaus,” she said, a hint of annoyance in her voice before it softened again. “I would love for you to meet her.”

Luther imagined visiting, seeing Allison and Claire and...him, even. He and Diego could be civil for a day or two, he could make small talk with Vanya, and most important of all, see Allison. Allison and his newfound niece. He hoped she’d like him. He had seen videos of babies being placed in strangers’ arms and immediately sobbing and he had the sudden image of Claire being placed into his arms, locking eyes with his form, and bursting out into tears. His eyes shifted from the phone to his arms, the skin black and wrinkled and bushy.

“Luther?” Allison asked.

“I ah….” Luther drifted off, but on the other end he heard a man’s voice. “Babe?” the voice said.

“Sorry Luther, I have to go,” Allison said quickly. “It was...good talking to you. I missed you,” she said.

“I missed yo-” Luther started, but he heard the line click and the dial tone of the phone. He hung it up as gently as possible, and shuffled back to his father’s office, knocking quickly at the door before entering.

“Allison had her baby,” Luther said. “A little girl named Claire.”

Mom gave a gasp of joy and clapped her hands, and Pogo smiled, his face softening with the news.

“Isn’t that wonderful, sweetie?” Mom asked Reginald, and she looked back at Luther, her eyes twinkling. “I’m a grandmother, we have a beautiful little girl named Claire!”

His father didn’t look up from his desk. Save for his pen stopping midway through whatever notes he was taking, Reginald didn’t seem to give any indication that he had even heard Luther. “Does the child have abilities?”

“No,” Luther responded.

The pen started up again. Mom’s smile stayed plastered on and Pogo’s face wrinkled back into his neutral sad state, and Luther waited, allowing the silence to overtake them all.

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“Moon sure is beautiful tonight, huh baby?” Ray asked, and Allison ripped her eyes away from the window.

“Hm?” she asked.

“The moon?” Ray repeated. “You’ve been staring at it for the past few minutes.”

“Oh, yeah,” Allison said, smiling at her husband. “It’s beautiful.”

Ray looked at her for a bit, knowing something was up, but he didn’t press on, and Allison loved him for it. He had been so understanding and patient with her, accepting her, “My life is...complicated,” as an answer to who she was. He had told her that it was all right, that he was planning on sticking with her for as long as God gave him on this Earth and that when she was ready, she could tell him.

She had kissed him then, smiling through her tears because here she was, offering nothing to this wonderful, kind man and being given the world in response.

It made her feel wrong, somehow, not telling him about her family. They’d find her, one day, and she didn’t know how Ray would react to meeting them with no warning, or when Five would inevitably fix the problem so they could go back to 2019. He’d probably come with her - she hoped - but then he’d have to adjust to 2019, and meet Claire and… Allison clutched the dishrag in her hands, forcing herself to think about anything else but her baby girl. She’d think about her every day, missing her daughter’s warmth, her smile, even her tantrums that Allison had so foolishly gotten irritated at so long ago. She would give everything up, her abilities, her life, her marriage if it meant she could hold her daughter for just one more day.

It hurt too much to tell Ray, and she wouldn’t even know where to begin. With the powers she had, the other siblings who were probably somewhere else right now causing havoc? She could hear him now, asking about all of them. How could she explain Ben without breaking down? How could she explain Luther?

It was easier to just keep quiet, even though every lie by omission felt like another bandage was placed across her throat, building and building until she couldn’t breathe anymore.

So she looked at the moon, and imagined her siblings were out there staring up at it as well. Sometimes she’d look up and imagine it breaking apart, the pieces hurtling towards her, and she wondered if Vanya ever looked up at the moon and felt a sense of dread. She’d look up and remember cursing at it when she had gotten Luther’s message that he was going on a special mission to the moon, looking up at it and hating that he was there, alone, hating Dad for sending him there and hating Luther for going and always wondering if it was so he could avoid attending her wedding and meeting Claire.

Her thoughts were filled with all her siblings, but Luther took up the most space, almost as much as they did of Claire and thinking about him filled her with both longing and guilt. She told herself it was fine, just her thinking of her favorite sibling, but in her most desperate of moments she knew that thinking about a favorite sibling shouldn’t make her feel like she was cheating on her husband.

She had been asked once, from one of her colleagues, if she had ever had a significant other and Allison had hesitated before saying no. It had felt like a lie and her friend had raised her eyebrows, disbelieving, but had let it drop. When Allison mentioned her siblings and brought up Luther the same look had crossed her friend’s face, and after an awkward silence, her friend mumbled out, “Well hey, no worries, at least you guys aren’t really siblings.”

That hadn’t sounded right either, but Allison couldn’t pinpoint why and trying to think about it more made her feel like she was standing back at the Academy right before Dad was ready to scold them, so she just nodded and said, “Yeah, technically we’re not siblings anyway.”

She could imagine the hurt on her other siblings’ faces, but saying she and Luther were only siblings felt wrong too, as if she was betraying someone no matter what she said.

How could she explain any of that to Ray? He may be the world’s most understanding man, but there was only so much that any person could accept. How could she explain that she loved him, really truly loved him, but that she had this bond that she couldn’t shake and didn’t think she wanted to shake anyway? How could she explain that Luther existed in this odd in-between of relationships in her life, a not-quite something but a not-quite nothing, that saying that he was her brother felt like a glorious truth and a stab in her heart at the same time? She couldn’t explain it to herself, much less Ray.

Ray walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I’m going to go to bed, all right?” he said, and Allison nodded, the thoughts of Claire and Luther and the rest of her family taking up too much occupancy in her mind for her to properly speak without breaking down. He kissed her cheek and untangled himself from her, and Allison heard him walk up the stairs to go to bed.

One day she would tell him. She would sit him down and explain everything, start to finish, and hear what he’d have to say and accept it, no matter what it was. She would.

For now, though, Allison stared at the moon.

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A file.

Luther’s life had been reduced to a short, one-page file. Or well, his new life. His new timeline life? He wasn’t too sure.

Either way, his name was Tom now, and he was a mechanic living in town. He had a twin brother living in Europe, he was British now, apparently, and he was dating a woman named Amy.

It was short, but apparently all that Dad could find on their new selves. He’d clearly invested as much time finding their alternate-selves as he had in ever raising them with any care in their lives. Not that it was any big difference from their own timeline’s father, Luther thought, remembering the reports he had found under the floorboard, with only a hint of bitterness. He had given up a life, love, his body for his father’s mission, and Dad had just tossed him aside like garbage and found a new group of children to raise.

He choked down his bitterness - it wasn’t going to help his siblings, and there was no use trying to hash out his issues with a father who didn’t care, anyway.

“Find out anything about yourselves?” he asked. Five looked down before tossing his file on the table.

“I’m galavanting around Europe, apparently,” he said dryly. “This me is a…. hippy who wants to backpack across the world,” he said, the words dripping with venom.

“Philosophy professor in Florida, which is horrifying,” Klaus groaned. “Philosophy professor is bad enough, but Florida?”

“I’m in Mexico,” Diego said, and when the siblings looked at him to expand he looked down and shrugged. “I do interior design, and if anyone makes fun of me -”

“-I’m dead,” Vanya interjected, trying to be casual, though the wobbling of her voice betrayed her. “Just died as a baby, according to my file.” Klaus started to move towards Vanya, but she shrugged him off. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it to be a thing, it just came out. We can move on from it.” The now was unspoken but clear.

There was an awkward silence, and Allison spoke up. “I’m in town,” she said, trying her best to sound cheery, even as she shot her sister a concerned look. “My name is Amy Jackson, and it doesn’t say much else about me.”

Luther looked at her, then back to his file. “Well that’s funny,” he said. “My girlfriend’s name is Amy.”

The silence got even louder and awkward, and Allison stared at the floor. Five sighed, and Vanya broke the silence.

“Okay, I think I’m fine with being dead now,” she said, and Klaus laughed.

“Hey, at least you two can do your whole, ‘technically we’re not related’ thing in this timeline!” Klaus added, and Luther opened his mouth to argue, and then stopped. Did he want to argue?

Allison grabbed his file from him and was reading it over. “It doesn’t say a last name,” she said. “It doesn’t mean it’s me. There’s a lot of Amys in the world.”

Diego opened his mouth, ready to tease, but Five interjected, saying that love lives didn’t matter but that they should at least check out the leads, and that they had the most information on Luther so they’d go and find him and go from there.

Luther was glad to have Five there, and even more glad when Allison said that she wanted to keep an eye on the rest of the Sparrows and the rest of their siblings agreed, leaving just Five and Luther to stalk his other self from afar.

The ride to the not-him’s house was short and quiet. Luther sprawled himself in the back seat, looking out the window as Five drove, not even caring enough when he saw people staring in shock as they drove by. When they pulled up to the house, Five turned to Luther.

“You know, when you see him, he won’t look like you, not exactly,” he said, and Luther shrugged.

“I know, I’ve thought about it,” Luther said, though he hadn’t, really. His thoughts had been wrapped up in Allison-slash-Amy and he hadn’t remembered that, save for being slightly stronger than other people, he would be normal in this life, in more ways than one.

Five looked at him, and turned back without a word.

They waited for a while, until Luther was sure that maybe his other self wasn’t going to ever leave his house, and then the door opened and he stepped out. He was whistling a tune, not a care in the world, absentmindedly checking his pockets and then turning at a woman’s voice yelling, “Wait, babe!” and the door opened yet again.

A young Asian woman ran out, holding out car keys, and his other self laughed and thanked her, and she kissed him quickly on the lips before going back inside.

The relief that Luther felt was immeasurable. It’s not Allison, he thought, giddy with the knowledge, and then the guilt and shame washed over him immediately. It wasn’t a bad thing if it were her anyway, because it was okay here. Allison was his rock, if she was his rock here it’d be even better. Right? He loved her, she had taken up every thought in his head every day that he had been without her, so why did he feel so much relief knowing that his other self wasn’t with her? Was he only in love with her in their own fucked up world? Was that why he was happy that he wasn’t with her here?

The revulsion grew in Luther’s throat as he remembered his father’s voice in his head, telling fifteen-year-old him that he was unnatural. Maybe Dad hadn’t turned him into a monster. Maybe he had just exposed what was already there, an abnormality that was already festering the shape of a human, and just made it obvious to the outside world.

Five didn’t say anything on the ride back home, instead just shooting him glances when he thought Luther wasn’t looking. Maybe he thought Luther was disappointed, or he could tell that Luther was conflicted - or rather, conflicted about not feeling conflicted. Luther wasn’t sure - he never knew what was going on in that little guy’s mind, but he was thankful all the same for him. Five wasn’t going to push for Luther to talk about his feelings, and Luther wasn’t exactly even sure about what those feelings were.

All he knew was that he needed this timeline fixed soon.

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When the timeline is fixed and they get their own Ben back, it’s the miracle of miracles, and Luther allowed himself to swoop up his siblings, lifting them up off the ground as he enveloped them all in a bear hug.

Allison went back home, briefly, promising to come back with Claire, and the thought filled Luther with anxiety but he nodded and smiled and told her to come back soon.

She did, and it all came crashing down again for Luther.

There was a little girl, about five years old now, holding onto Allison’s hand. Her eyes were wide and she was staring at them all with nervousness and excitement. Ben had approached her first, cautiously saying that she didn’t know this, but that he’d seen her as a baby with their Uncle Klaus. It was as if a dam had broken, and the other siblings gathered around their niece, some for the first time and others for a second.

Luther backed out of the room as quietly as possible and went back upstairs, to his hideout.

Allison found him there, half an hour later, and Luther sighed when he saw the sadness on her face.

“I’m sorry, Allison,” he said. “I want to meet Claire. I do. It’s just…” he trailed off.

“Just what?” Allison asked, sitting down across from him. There wasn’t any judgement or resentment in her voice, just sadness, and it occurred to Luther that no matter what he said, Allison was probably feeling it just as much as he was.

“What are we?” he asked Allison, and she looked down at her hands. “I feel like - I know that we’re siblings, but there’s….” he trailed off again, trying to think about it. His mind went back to Jack Ruby, sliding over Allison’s information with the comment, “You really know how to pick ‘em,” which had rubbed Luther the wrong way but he knew he’d be a fool to snap against.

Everything about that had felt a little wrong, from Jack knowing where she lived to him asking in the first place. When he had asked Jack to find her, Jack had asked if she was an ex, and it didn’t feel particularly right to Luther (she was his sister after all, and besides that she couldn’t be an ex if nothing ever happened between them, technically), but it had been simpler to just go, “Yeah, something like that,” in response. When he had heard Raymond Chestnut say Allison Chestnut, the words had been a punch in the face, but surprises of surprises, Raymond was kind to him and when Allison didn’t want to leave, Luther had felt another punch, but this time for Raymond and the overall unfairness of the world that Allison couldn’t be with the man she loved. When he had given Allison CPR, he’d felt the relief of her living, the thrill of almost-kissing someone, and then the immediate shame and awkwardness as he desperately tried to apologize.

He hadn’t known when that conflict happened. Maybe with the wrongness of asking Jack’s help or meeting Raymond, or maybe before that when he had bulldozed Vanya in his quest to avenge Allison in a revenge plot that she hadn’t asked for, or maybe long before that, in the back of his head even when he’d gravitate towards Allison with their soft touches and lingering looks. He’d always known she was his sister and he always knew that he loved her, but both had existed in two separate spaces in his head until somewhere along the way the cognitive dissonance had disappeared and something that had seemed so simple and easy to Luther suddenly felt complicated and uncomfortable.

They weren’t a relationship, but they weren’t a normal pair of siblings either.

“You feel like we’re in an in-between type of space?” Allison asked. “Like - we know our other siblings are our siblings, but that with us, it’s just a little different?”

Luther nodded, the relief hitting him as Allison spoke. “Yes, that exactly. And it makes me feel weird, Allison, because I’m thirty-two now, technically, and I’m only just now realizing that it’s not a normal thing. And I just-” he sighed, and the rest of his words came out in a panicked rush. “I want to meet Claire. I really do, Allison, I swear. I want to be the best uncle that I can be, but I think about her calling me Uncle Luther and I just can’t handle it.”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t worry,” Allison said, reaching out to grab his shoulder, and Luther stopped rambling. “I know,” she said, and he saw the tears in her eyes but they refused to fall. Instead, her grip only tightened on his shoulder. “You don’t need to see her now, and we can wait until you’re ready.”

“What if I’m never ready?” Luther asked, staring at the floor, and Allison sighed, though her hand never left his shoulder.

“Then that’s fine too,” she said, and Luther knew she meant it, that if need be she’d always tell Claire that Uncle Luther had something to do and wouldn’t hold it against him, because she was far more adjusted than he was even if she felt the same bond, and far kinder and forgiving than Luther ever was.

It wasn’t fair to her, though. It wasn’t fair to Claire. It probably wasn’t even fair to him, though he couldn’t think of why it wasn’t.

“Allison?” he asked, ripping his gaze from the floor. “Can you rumor me?”

Allison blinked, and her hand finally dropped from his. “I - rumor you?”

“Rumor me,” Luther said. “It’s okay, I want it. Just rumor me, and I can be around you and Claire without a problem.”

“It’s not how that works, Luther,” Allison said. “You know it’s not. My rumoring only lasts a week, tops-”

“Bullshit,” Luther said, and he didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh but it did. “Vanya’s block lasted until 2019.”

“She was five, Luther, and Dad kept her drugged up and kept gaslighting her to think that she was normal, this is different, you’re an adult. I’d have to rumor you every single week to not have feelings.”

“Then dammit, Allison, do it!” Luther cried, hitting the floor with his fist. The motion made Allison flinch slightly and the tent to finally collapse around him, and Luther put his head in his hands, trying and failing to stop the tears.

“Luther,” she said, leaning back towards him. “I did this to Vanya. I did this to Klaus. It doesn’t work. I don’t want to control another sibling, okay? I won’t do that.”

“Please, Allison,” he said, trying to wipe at the tears that just kept on coming. “I just want to be normal.”

“Stop saying that,” Allison said, and he looked when he heard the anger and the break in her voice. “You keep saying you’re not normal, you are. Maybe we’re a bit unconventional, sure, but you’re not some monster.”

“But-” Luther started, and Allison shook her head, wiping furiously at tears starting to form.

“And if you are then I am too, so stop saying that, okay?”

Luther didn’t think he was all that normal if he was a half-gorilla man who was in love with his sister, but he never wanted Allison to feel that way either, so he nodded, and Allison softened. She started moving the collapsed tent away from Luther, letting it fall on the ground in a heap.

“Look... I used to get therapy, sometimes,” she said, untangling the string lights from the tent’s cloth. “I probably should have gone more often than I did, and I rumored half of them, but for the times I didn’t it was... good.”

“You think I need therapy?” Luther asked. That didn’t feel like something a normal person got to him.

“I think we all need therapy,” Allison said, wrapping the lights around her hand. “And it’s great, Luther, it is. You pay someone to just sit there and listen to you talk, and they’re not there to judge. Their entire job is to just help you.”

Luther was quiet, and Allison moved on to the crumpled cloth on the floor, folding it neatly and putting it next to the string lights.

“Rumoring you isn’t going to work long-term,” she said. “And it wouldn’t be your own thoughts anyway. Claire deserves better than that. We deserve better than that.”

Luther wrapped his hands around his knees, thinking. “You’re getting therapy too?” he asked.

“I’m getting therapy too,” she affirmed. “Think about it.”

With that, she reached out her arm towards his face but then seemed to think better of it, opting instead to pat his knee before going back downstairs, where their siblings were still talking and Claire was yelling with laughter.

Luther listened to the sounds, wishing he could go downstairs, and he wrapped his arms tighter around his knees. He wanted to be able to talk to Allison the way he did Klaus, or Diego, or Five. He wanted to see his niece, and give her a piggy-back ride and be an uncle. He wanted to have a family.

Maybe therapy wasn’t a bad idea after all.

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Therapy was weird.

It was good too, Luther thought, but mostly weird. He liked Dr. Martin, so that was good. In their first session she had asked him about why he had come to therapy and he had talked to her about Allison, and the moon, and his body. He had expected a “and how does that make you feel” and had been ready to bolt right then and there, but she had just said, “The moon? Interesting, tell me more about how you lived there,” and he had perked up and talked. They had spent the rest of his first session talking about goals for Luther - a “be able to feel like I can meet Claire” goal at first.

She hadn’t even broached the body stuff until a few sessions later, and then slowly as they went on she asked more about his siblings, slowly getting to Allison along the way.

Luther was learning a lot about himself. Mostly that he carried a lot of guilt, like Dr. Martin suggested. He should have been the protector of the group as Number One. He hadn’t protected any of them, not even Allison, she had told him what she wanted loud and clear with Vanya and he had bulldozed over the both of them, so wrapped up in thinking that he was protecting them, all of them, that he had hurt his siblings all the more. Alongside the “be able to meet Claire” goal he added another one: Apologize to your siblings.

He wrote all this down and more in the journal that Dr. Martin had given him (he needed to ask her for another one, the book was down to its last few pages and Luther had so much more to say). He had written about his childhood, and growing up in his house, and he had been upset, at first, when he read it all out. There was so much that he had thought was beautiful and special about growing up in the Academy, but reading it out on paper just felt so…sad. He wondered if this was how Vanya had felt when she had written her book, and the story that felt like a traitorous ramble started feeling more like an insight into her mind, and he wrote another goal in his journal: Re-read Vanya’s book.

He was also starting to get his relationship with Allison. “Have you ever heard of trauma bonding?” Dr. Martin asked.

Luther had blinked, taken aback by the word. “Trauma bonding?” he repeated, trying to bite back the initial thought he had. I don’t have trauma. The thought still reverbated in his mind from time to time, but he’d only have to take one look at his journal to remind himself that he felt sad for the child in the journal, and that if he felt sad it probably wasn’t a happy childhood.

“Trauma bonding,” Dr. Martin said, nodding. “When two people grow up in a toxic environment, they may develop bonds with one another. This may be between an abuser and their victim, or individuals suffering the abuse together. I think it sounds like what happened with you and Allison. You were both a safe space for each other that you couldn’t find anywhere else in your home, and these strong emotions were interpreted as attraction.”

It sounded beautiful, in a way, even though Luther didn’t think it was meant to be taken that way. It also made sense, if Luther were to think about it. They had always been pillars of support to each other, had been one another’s confidants and shared their hopes and dreams with one another, always circling back to each other when they were upset and hurt, which in their home was almost all the time. Their entire relationship fit so perfectly and neatly into two words.

It was on Luther’s mind when he and Allison met up later that month, as they did nowadays. It felt off, planning their meetups, and Luther constantly had to remind himself that it wasn’t a date, but it was also something to look forward to rather than how they used to meet. He had gone from seeing Allison every day to not seeing her for years, to the random pop-ins with the apocalypse and all and it was nice, knowing there’d be a day designated to talking to Allison, hearing updates about Claire, and them both talking about therapy if they wanted, and how they were doing.

The lunches were hard, at first, there was so much that was still so difficult to say between the two of them, but then one day Allison had started showing him new photos of Claire and telling him stories about how she had Five wrapped around her finger, which Luther found hilarious, and they were slowly getting back to themselves. They talked, slowly, about therapy and how it was going, and each lunch got a little bit easier and a little less sad each time, and Luther was excited, for once, to share something from therapy with Allison.

“Trauma bonding, have you heard of it?” he asked after a quick hello and hug, and Allison nodded. Luther grinned. “It’s what we have!” he said, leaning back in his chair. “There’s a whole name for it, something that other people have and share, and we have it.”

“I’ve heard it,” Allison said. “I don’t love it, though,” she admitted. She saw Luther’s face fall and added, quickly, “I’m not saying that you can’t, Luther. You can. Maybe one day I’ll like it more, maybe I just don’t like the phrase, I don’t know. It’s okay if it works for one of us.”

“Oh,” Luther said. It felt a little confusing, for him to cling so happily to the phrase while she did not, but he thought he understood. “What do you think of us?” he asked.

Allison picked apart the cookie on her plate, until it was crushed into small crumbs. “Do you remember when you told me we were soulmates?” she asked.

“Yes,” Luther said, feeling a bit apprehensive. He remembered being a six-year-old hearing what a soulmate was and all he could hear was trauma bond trauma bond trauma bond, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t tell Allison that it was so clear to him now what it was.

“I think...we’re still soulmates. Not - not in that way, I’m not saying I think we should get married or that I even want to - no offense -” she added, as Luther’s face betrayed a bit of offense at the comment. “I just think, well - dammit why is this so hard?” she asked, crushing the last bit of her cookie.

“I know,” Luther said softly. “I don’t think it’s ever going to stop being hard.” That was something else he had to come to terms with in therapy. He had thought that having a name to his issues would make them all go away - body dysphoria, child abuse survivor, trauma bond - but while they helped him figure out what was wrong they didn’t make any of those feelings actually go away. “Maybe a bit easier, but always just a little bit hard. We have each other, Allison, and we always will. It’s okay if it’s hard to say.”

Allison looked at him and smiled. “That’s why I think you’re my soulmate, you know that, right?” she said. “I don’t think they have to be romantic, they’re just people who are always going to be with you and support you. I feel safe with you, Luther, like I can be myself completely, like if I fell off a cliff you’d be there to catch me and help me and that I could do that same for you. You’re my soulmate, Claire is my soulmate, the rest of our siblings are my soulmates. That’s what I mean.”

“I think that sounds beautiful,” he said, and he meant it. He wasn't sure he agreed, but he was starting to get what Allison meant about them having different definitions and that being okay. He had a trauma bond, she had a platonic soulmate. There was something there that intersected and he tried to figure it out. A trauma soulmate, he thought briefly, but he didn’t say it because it felt a bit stupid to say out loud and he didn’t want to minimize the moment. Instead, he took a breath and said the other thing he had wanted to tell Allison.

“I think I’m ready to meet Claire.”

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Claire looked up at him with wide eyes, her neck craning up as she tried to meet Luther’s face, and Luther laughed despite himself.

“Hey Claire,” he said, crouching down and smiling at his niece. “I’m your Uncle Luther.”

The words still felt like a punch in the gut, but nowhere near devastating as he thought they’d still be, and when Claire smiled and said, “I knew that!” he felt a warmth that made the punch worth it.

They spent the day at the house, Claire asking every single story about their old missions and space and Luther happily obliging. She grabbed onto his hand at one point as she looked around his room, pointing at the replicas of rockets he had hanging around and pulling him forward as she looked at all of them. Luther let her drag him around in a daze, as Claire kept on talking and asking questions. There were no questions on why she hadn’t met him before, no shrieks of fear at his size, no expectations besides fun stories about the Academy that she had already heard a million times before from their other siblings.

When Allison said they needed to get Claire back to her father’s house, Luther felt a pang of disappointment, but it went away as quickly as it appeared when Claire said, “This was fun! See you later Uncle Luther!”

And he did, over and over and over again. Sometimes he’d be with her and one of their other siblings, sometimes it’d just be Allison and Claire only, sometimes Allison would let him babysit and it’d just be Claire hanging out with her Uncle Luther, which was the nicest of all.

One day they were out at the aquarium, Claire pointing at different fish and oohing and aahing at how pretty they were (Luther agreed), saying she thought she’d love to be a shark (Luther would rather be a dolphin), scrunching up her nose as she tried to read the descriptions and asked him what on Earth a mollusc was (Luther didn’t know). It went on and on for every exhibit, and Luther loved every moment of it. It was when Allison was letting Claire pick out something from the gift shop that a woman walked up to him, beaming and saying that she thought they had the cutest family. Luther blinked once in confusion and looked back at Claire and Allison before saying to her, “Oh, no, that’s my sister and my niece.”

It was later, when Allison was putting down a tired Claire to bed that he thought about what he said, and he paused before admitting to Allison that he hadn’t ever said she was his sister to someone else that easily and quickly before. It had always come with a bit of hesitation in his mind, a weird little pause before he’d mutter “yeah, kinda” to whatever the person’s assumptions were. He told Allison about it and she smiled.

“I’m proud of you,” she said, smiling, and she bumped his shoulder with her own when he didn’t reciprocate the smile. “What’s wrong?

“It feels good to hang out with Claire. It makes me feel...happy,” he said. “She doesn’t have any bad memories of me, and she just thinks of me as fun Uncle Luther. That’s it. I like being that person.” He frowned then, and went on. “But I also feel like I lost something, you know? Like I’m mourning the fact that I didn’t hesitate. And I’m getting there with you, it’s like every day it’s a little bit easier and I start thinking of you like I do my other siblings, but it feels like a...loss, somehow?” he finished lamely. “Sorry, it’s dumb, I know it’s what we want.”

“It’s not dumb,” Allison said, a twinge of annoyance clear in her voice, as it always was whenever Luther said something self-depracating. “I get it. I’ve been going through the same thing,” she said, and Luther looked over in surprise. Allison had been honest about therapy and her feelings, but she had seemed so put-together since she had started. She’d speak about everything in her sessions with such a certainty. Besides, out of the two of them she was the only one with previous husbands, and she had gone on dates here and there with other people with such ease that Luther had assumed that she had managed to quickly work through whatever feelings she had for him.

Allison got up, grabbing a bottle of wine from her fridge and pouring it into two glasses before setting one in front of Luther. “I’m glad,” Allison continued. “I’m glad we’re friends now, and I still feel like I can tell you everything, but you’re right. Things are different now.”

Luther nodded, and a silence fell between them, though he couldn’t determine if it was an awkward one or not.

“I think,” Allison said, looking past Luther and at Claire’s closed door. “That it’s okay though.” Her eyes moved from the door to Luther and she smiled. “It’s like our relationship with Five, or Ben, or Vanya now. They’re never going to be the same as they were before Five disappeared, or Ben died, or Vanya didn’t know about her powers, and maybe that’s okay. It’s not a relationship dying, it’s just...taking on a different form.”

“Huh,” Luther said, mulling it over. “I think I like that.” Maybe he wouldn’t have that hesitation before saying Allison was his sister anymore, and maybe a part of him would always feel a little bit guilty about that. Maybe one day he’d find someone who he could actually be with, genuinely and completely, and he could talk freely and openly about it as much as Allison did to him, and maybe it’d be a little bit awkward, but they’d get through it all the same.

And maybe that awkwardness wasn’t bad either. Clinging onto the past had proven unhealthy for them, but trying to brush it under the rug and ignore any lingering jealousy or awkward moments wasn’t the way to go either. He liked the thought of building this new bridge with Allison, an awkwardly built one that probably looked a little lopsided, but a strong foundation all the same, and mentally, he added a new goal to his journal: Appreciate this new relationship with Allison, always.

Allison raised her glass, smiling at Luther. “To moving forward,” she said.

“To moving forward,” Luther repeated, and the two clinked glasses.

Tagging: @let-the-whump-commence @pennsylvanya @uaklauslovesdave @hamdehlesmis @odrantheseeker @angel-starbeam @dykerory @rulerofturtles @milkylai @of-sunshine-and-sea @superbandnerd99 @tuafives @kalinara @challengerblue @trulyalpha @ostentatiousalibis @thingsanthoughts-on-lifeanfandom @imarealdad @sparrowchristopher @the-maidofmischief @daisyrose1966 @soaring-falcon @adelheid32 @69-octane-69

#tua fanfic #the umbrella academy #luther hargreeves #allison hargreeves #tua fic #janie writes stuff

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zoey-wades · 4 years

Text

Golden Boy

Characters: Carter Jackson x MC (Dionne Hughes

Rating: T

Summary: Dionne spends some quality time with a new friend and reevaluates her morals.

A/N: I have a type. And it’s jocks with a heart of gold.

——————————————————————

Dionne learned quickly that Carter Jackson didn’t have one malicious bone in his body.

When he knocked on the door of her room at 1 in the afternoon on a Saturday, she expected the worst. And, honestly, she kind of deserved it. Before her arrival to Belvoire, Carter probably had a very easy time with Poppy and his friends. All it took was a very public smooch and a dance routine to make it all come crumbling down.

She expected fireworks. Maybe even fire and brimstone.

Instead, she opened the door to find the 6’2 football star staring at his feet like a punished Dickensian orphan. The corners of his mouth were pulled into a deep frown, and his brows remained pinched as if he was in deep concentration. She couldn’t help but find the expression adorable, but kept her inappropriate opinion to herself.

“Carter?” She questioned, leaning against the door, “What’s going on?”

“Am I stupid?” He asked, finally looking up to meet Dionne’s eyes.

She instantly remembered an excerpt from a book she read as a child about how people with good thoughts had the loveliest faces. Carter was no exception. He radiated a softness in his eyes that made Dionne’s heart melt.

Not completely. But just enough to make her want to hug him. Instead, she mirrored his frown and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Of course you aren’t stupid. Why would you say that about yourself?”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket, choosing to focus on his feet once again, “I don’t know. Poppy always said I was when she got mad at me. I know she was just mad, and she probably didn’t mean it. But she’s not the only one to ever say it. And...I don’t know, Di, this time I think I really fucked up.”

If Dionne was heartless, she would ask why he was coming to her with his existential crisis. If anything, she was the last person he should be seen with after Poppy’s post-game meltdown. But, against her better judgment, Dionne stepped back and allowed him a way to pass into her dorm room.

“Come sit with me, I’m about to make some lunch,” she offered him the warmest smile she could, letting Carter know that he was safe in her space. The minute he crossed the threshold, his eyes lit up.

“Hey, it smells good in here. Like sugar cookies.”

He looked around the decorated living room, searching for the source of the scent before Dionne pointed at the candle on the counter.

“It kind of reminds me of my grandmother’s house,” she explained, a more genuine smile gracing her features, “A nice scented candle makes any place feel a little more comfy.”

Carter eyed the large Yankee Candle with raised brows, “The Alphas could totally use that in the bathroom!” He paused, “I hope one of us doesn’t get fucked up and try to eat it though.”

At this, a giggle bubbled out of Dionne that she would be ashamed of under other circumstances. It was the kind of giggle you give when you’re 12 and the person you like makes a terrible joke. Was Carter’s comment that funny? No. Was he trying to be funny? Dionne wasn’t sure. But damn it she was going to giggle anyway. The sweet smile that spread across his face made the nauseating gesture worth it.

But it was time to get to the meat of the problem. She sat on the kitchen barstool and patted the seat across from her, “Let’s chat, Jackson.”

He blinked as if waking up from a daze, “Right, I did come here for that reason.”

Sitting across from Dionne, Carter shifted a bit uncomfortably and shoved his hands back in his pockets.

“Now,” Dionne crossed one leg over the other—not for any particular reason—and noticed his eyes flicker down to her thighs before focusing back on her face, “What makes you think you’re stupid? You do well in class don’t you?”

He sucked his teeth and shrugged, “I do alright. But what if they’re just passing me to keep me on the team?”

“Well, what if they’re not?” Dionne gently challenged. The look he shot her screamed “Are you kidding, Di?” and she continued on, “I’m serious. What if you’re actually doing well?”

Carter laughed bitterly, “Poppy has a point, sometimes. She talks about things—finances, social stuff—I don’t always understand it. I want to. But...” he drifts off, as if shuffling through his thoughts, “I’m used to being called stupid. But this time I think Poppy actually meant it. I know I sometimes get things wrong, but this time I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Dionne listened carefully as Carter sorted out his thoughts, and laid them out on the table for her. She was angry at the ways people made him feel mentally inferior, while banking on his body for social and financial gain. He concluded with a deep, tired sigh.

After some thought, Dionne finally responded in a gentle, measured tone, “Carter, there’s more than one way to be intelligent. What you’ve just expressed to me is a deep sense of emotional intelligence that most people take their whole lives to figure out. Your teammates love and respect you. Your brothers respect you. You’re a natural leader and an honest person.” She smiled at him, “Professor Kingsley even told me that they really enjoyed your time in their class.”

Carter’s eyes widened, “They said that?”

She nodded. It was half-true. Kingsley admired that Carter was so easy to get along with, and seemed to genuinely enjoy learning even if he found it difficult. He maintained a C-average in that class, but she wasn’t going to bring that up now.

There was a brief silence between them as Dionne daintily picked at her chicken salad. She wanted to devour it, but she kind of hated eating in front of people. She doubted Carter would really care, but...

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and suddenly much closer to her now than he was a few moments before. She fought the instinctual urge to raise a questioning brow, as he still seemed lost in his own thoughts and completely unaware of the action.

“I don’t know why Poppy doesn’t like you,” he said, locking eyes with her, “But you seem really cool. Like someone I could talk to. Zoey, too! But mostly you.” He twisted back and forth on the swivel chair, “Sometimes, it gets super hard being one of the few black people on this campus. Like, I love my bros. They’re the best. But it’s really nice having you around.”

“Well,” Dionne began, “Maybe I’m not as cool as you think I am. Maybe I’m just as bitchy as Poppy is, and you just don’t know it.”

She was half-joking, but he seemed surprised by the statement.

“Poppy really isn’t that bad,” he returned his hands to his pockets and leaned away from her. Back in defense mode, she guessed, “She might be kind of mean sometimes. And she yells a lot when she’s stressed. But when she’s chill and not mad, she’s actually really fun to be around. She just doesn’t really handle anger well.”

Understatement of the century.

Considering how much Poppy tore down this guy’s self esteem, it was wonder why he was so willing to jump to her defense. Would she do the same for him? Every time she saw them together, she was more focused on maintaining her dignity than enjoying the people she surrounded herself with. It had to be a lonely experience for both Poppy and Carter.

“Do you love her?” The question slipped out before Dionne could stop it, and she regretted it immediately when another frown pulled at Carter’s lips, “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business. You don’t have to answer that.”

He shrugged and fidgeted with something in his pocket, choosing to avoid eye contact, “I think I do...My parents do. Everyone says she’s good for me. I think I’m good for her too.”

Dionne was probably about to step onto a land mine, but it was a risk she was willing to take.

“Someone who makes you doubt your worth in the world isn’t someone who’s good for you,” she stated, slowly.

“But what if I’m not much better than she is?”

She smirked, “Copying my lines now?”

He returned another half-hearted chuckle, “I mean it, Dionne. If Poppy is as horrible as people say, and I love her anyway, what does that say about me?”

She considered this for a moment. If Carter could see the way Poppy spoke to people, and still chose her over and over, what did that say about him? Did he ignore it if it wasn’t directed at him? Did he make excuses?

“It says that you’re human, I guess,” she finally responded. She noticed his soft sigh of relief, and made a mental note for later, “Sometimes, when you love someone, you’re willing to overlook the flaws because you want to see the best in them. You know?”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience?”

Dionne stiffened and avoided his gaze, which now seemed determined to burn a hole through the side of her face.

“No,” she quickly stated, “I’ve never loved anyone.”

“You’re telling me you can give me this advice without any experience,” he chided, “and I’m supposed to believe you?”

“I’ve never been in a relationship,” suddenly her salad was super interesting. She bit into a crisp cucumber slice as Carter considered her answer.

“Hmm...that’s surprising,” he reached up to scratch the back of his neck, “I mean, I think you’re really cute and really smart. It’s hard to believe you haven’t been with anyone at all.”

It was true. Dionne was cute. Anyone with eyes could see that. And she had her reasons for remaining single. But the gentle earnestness in Carter’s words and expression made the heat rise in her cheeks. He seemed completely oblivious to the effect he had on people, Dionne specifically. It made her feel...things.

She didn’t like it.

She cleared her throat and shrugged, casually, “I have standards.”

Just as Carter opened his mouth to respond, his phone vibrated dully in his pocket. He quickly glanced at the message, and his shoulders slumped, “Damn. I gotta head out, I forgot I had to meet with the coach before practice. Can we pick this up again, later?”

“Sure, of course,” Dionne nodded her understanding, “let me walk you out.”

As they walked side by side to her front door, she could admit to herself that this conversation made her feel something akin to guilt. Maybe. Here he was, being so sweet to her, after she used him just to get under his now ex-girlfriend’s skin. That wasn’t her initial intent. Kissing him and asking for his help was simply a means to an end, but she never considered how he’d become collateral damage. And she definitely didn’t factor in this slowly blossoming fondness for him.

As he passed through the doorway, she reached for his arm, “Wait.”

He raised a brow at her, “What’s up?”

“I just wanna say sorry,” she swallowed, “For everything that happened.”

“What happened?”

“You know...kissing you. Asking you to help. I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I’m sorry it ended up this way.”

He stared at her for what felt like an absurdly long period of time before opting to lean against the door frame, “Dionne, you have nothing to be sorry about. I may not be Professor Einstein or whatever, but I know that everything happened because I wanted it to. Do you understand?”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

She studied the intensity of his face—that goddamn face—in complete silence. For once, she was at a loss for words. She nodded, latching her teeth into her lower lip. His eyes followed the action, and he grinned at her before pushing away from the door.

“I’ll see you around?” There he was again. Sweet Carter. Golden Boy Carter. Maybe he wasn’t entirely ignorant of the effect he had on her. That made him a problem.

“Yeah. See you around,” she mumbled back.

#playchoices #carter jackson #naja writes #carter x mc #queen b #choices qb

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goodtimingz · 4 years

Text

dreaming you would come true

intro. pt1. pt2. pt3. pt4. pt5.

AN: plz send in your relationship goals or prompts, i’m losing ideas and my brain cells.

tags: studentlife, jae day6, fluff, college!au

: the one where you meet jae in your second year of college and it’s basically love at first sight. just little excerpts of what i think a relationship w jae would be like c:

1.2k words

Please stop being cute now, baby.

When you woke up there were 2 immediate thoughts. One, why the hell was it so bright? Two, who the hell had their face smushed to your side?

Your first task was to orientate yourself, made extremely difficult because you could barely open one eye. Your head ached worse than you’d ever experienced before and it was too hot. You could identify two more things now, one being that you were lying on your own bed (a king single), the second that you were lying beside what felt like a human heater.

Jae.

His name flashed through your mind and everything rushed back, except how (and why) you both managed to be lying in bed together. As though a bucket of cold water had been dropped on you, your whole body tensed and your felt your breath quicken.

So there was that.

Your curtains were still wide open, a glance at the clock read 8am, there was Jae sleeping angelically beside you with blue hair wearing a t-shirt and what felt like sweatpants, but why??? His arm rested over your waist holding tightly and he looked totally peaceful. The complete opposite of how you felt.

Last night you had stayed in despite it being a Saturday. Jae had surprised you with soju and the two of you had ordered Chinese food while very drunk. The memories washed in like waves but there were so many gaps in the puzzle. You remembered kissing Jae, unsure how to forget that… And you had definitely confessed to each other… but then Wonpil had returned…? Yeah.

Wonpil had returned with a bottle of wine to your room around 3am, very drunk. He had known Jae would be there after receiving the boy’s text before going out, however, he had not expected to find you two sitting on your floor with a sheet on the ground, dying Jae’s hair blue. (Actually he wasn’t quite sure what he expected). Of course he didn’t even question it because it was 3am and he probably wouldn’t question anything considering how drunk he was. He simply busied himself with pouring you all a glass of wine, mumbling drunk words of congrats for getting through the semester, and made his way out back to his room down the hall.

Because that’s what best friends were for, right? (Aka Wonpil doing random stuff when drunk).

So the Wonpil-getting-you-drunk explained the headache (and the 3 bottles of soju), which also (briefly) explained, why Jae’s hair was blue - although you could hardly imagine how the two of you had washed his hair at 3-something-in-the-morning, but that was a minor detail. Now to explain why Jae - who to your horror was waking up, lay beside you. You were in your PJ’s same as you had been when Jae arrived (thankfully). Which meant you definitely had to have went out in public drunk and in your PJ’s to buy blue hairdye together.

“What time is it…” A very sleepy Jae mumbled, moving closer to nestle in his face into your neck. He must’ve realised the same thing you had because after 1 second of you tensing like a freaking rock, his whole body tensed too.  

“Y/N?!” His eyes were wide open for a second, before a delayed response to the major headache he probably had cause him to wince.

By now the two of you had made decent space between you, but it was a single bed so the space meant more like 4 inches. Jae’s cheeks were flushed and he ran his hands through his hair, as if to prevent the major morning head he was absolutely sporting.

“What exactly happened last night…?”

You looked at Jae, and then his hair, and then Jae again. Instinctively you covered your face with your hands, laughing awkwardly.

“Your hair is blue.” The words were muffled by your attempt to hide and your eyes were shut tightly. Jae laughed slightly, removing your hands away from your face. “I just remembered that part. You pushed me into the shower before I could even change.”

You rn: HJSHDJFHGSJDGFSJG Jae rn: :)

“Let’s never do that again. Oh my gosh.”

“Let’s definitely do that again. When else am I supposed to hear you sing the Pororo song to me while I rinse out blue hair dye?!”

You could not bring yourself to face Jae, focusing more on trying to shape-shift into a tiny ball and disappear off of the earth. Jae falls silent beside you, and you don’t dare look up. Did he remember the kiss? He seemed a bit more sober than you last night.

To be fair, in any other situation you might be concerned Jae had taken advantage of you, but the fact that you now realised he’s wearing the sweatpants Wonpil had left in your room awhile back and a very bashful vibe… That was definitely not a Jae thing. Plus, nothing hurt inside (author note: hgfjjfj).

Jae hadn't slept so well in a long time. No more finals and someone warm beside him? It was perfect...

“What time is it…” He mumbled softly, pulling his girlfriend closer.

But Jae didn't have a girlfriend (yet).

When he woke up beside you he had genuinely forgotten everything. You hadn't taken advantage of him right???? No. You weren't that kind of girl (not that there's anything wrong with that).

You acted so shy as you both attempted to puzzle last night's happenings together. However, all Jae could really think about is that you'd finally kissed, which lead to his next thought: What if you don't remember?

He realised now why he didn't get drunk often. With your head dropped in embarrassment, Jae took the chance to fully look at you. You sported the cutest bedhead and in your PJ's aswell? That was just too much cute.

"D-do you remember-" "That we kissed?" Jae cut you off because you looked so nervous. Of course he remembered, and so did you apparently.

"Do you regret it?" Your eyes filled with so much worry as they met his. Jae reached over and held your hand gently, happy to see your shoulders drop slightly.

"Yes, I regret it so much..." He watched as your faced dropped, speaking again before you could pull your hand away. "-That I think I might have to kiss you again?"

That morning Jae was hit 4 times,

and he could only laugh, finding your reaction so damn adorable. The way you exclaimed his name, it was too fun not to tease you.

Watching you settle back against the headboard with your arms folded, he couldn't resist fulfilling his words. He reached up to touch your face, relieved when you immediately turned to face him. When your beautiful (sleepy) eyes met his he swore he wouldn't trade you for anyone else. From then on he wanted to be the one to wake up beside you, the first one to say good morning, and the last one to say goodnight.

Gosh, he was so whipped for you and he knew it. He wasn't the kind to fall so fast but somehow you did all this to him. His gaze dropped to your lips. You and your pretty lips, pretty nose, pretty eyes pretty face. Ugh.

Surprisingly, when his eyes returned back to meet yours, you were already leaning forward. And yes, it was the morning and yes you both looked like a mess (read: adorable), but he didn't care and the way you kissed him, softly at first and then so passionately as if you really meant it... He knew you didn't care that it was the morning either.

There was someone else though. Wonpil, apparently cared. He burst through your door as if it didn't weigh 100pounds causing the two of you to break apart so fast it actually hurt a little. It felt like you two were the deers and Wonpil was the headlights.

"YA! Park Jaehyung! What are you doing!"

Jae watched you facepalm out of the corner of his eye, preparing himself for whatever was to come out of Kim Wonpil’s mouth.

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thespooniewrites · 5 years

Text

This is where the ‘write’ part of your writeblr really happens. Personally, I find this stuff scary. I think I waited three months before letting anyone see my writing, but when I did it was met with love. Be scared, but don’t let it stop you. Writeblr is a really welcoming community for the most part. If you want heavy interaction on any of the things listed below, you have to use your writeblr tags, and ideally you’ll have already had people interacting with some of the stuff you posted as suggested in the list of easy & slightly harder things.

Post snippets of your canon writing

Maybe you’ve just written three lines of dialogue that you find hilarious, or you wrote a few paragraphs you’re proud of. You’ve been talking about your writing, people have been getting to know your characters and little blips of the plot and worldbuilding, but maybe they haven’t actually gotten to see your writing yet! Post some of it. [example of a canon excerpt by @elliewritesstories here]

Post any of your writing at all, really

Got a little drabble? Slap it on up there. It doesn’t have to be a scene in the story, it doesn’t even have to be canon-compliant (but please let people know it’s not canon-compliant when you post it), just POST! YOUR! WRITING! I’ve seen a lot of people write AUs and post those [ @lux-scriptum has many AUs if you wanna go check those out]. These tend to get attention because they can be posted in full, instead of teasing little excerpts and snippets that usually get posted from canon work since the writer understandably wants to keep spoilers and stuff secret. Same as canon-noncompliant drabbles, let people KNOW that your AUs are AUs or else they might mistake it for canon. Don’t force yourself to write an AU just for interaction, though.

Make a WIP powerpoint

This was apparently started as a meme but it quickly evolved into a way that I think people really like getting acquainted with a WIP. It’s a bit like your WIP intro post in that people can reblog & interact, but has more detail, as well as images & colours which are more likely to attract a wider audience. WIP powerpoints tend to include a title page, a page about the setting, about the plot, fun worldbuilding facts, and characters. Some of them will have little “random facts” thing at the end, for any of those little bits that the author wants you to know but they couldn’t find space for in the other categories. Keep in mind when making your WIP powerpoint, the tumblr photo limit for photosets is ten, so fit it all into ten pages. You can really have fun and be silly with this, people don’t take it too seriously. Also, most people just use MS paint, I don’t know of many people out there really making their slides on powerpoint. [example of a WIP powerpoint by @raiswanson here, and another example of my own here, the title of the wip and several character names are different now but I still had a lot of fun making it]

Talk to writers

Hit up their inbox, send them a message about how you really liked that excerpt they posted, ask a question about their characters or how they came up with the idea for their story or whatever it is that you’re interested in knowing. I know it’s scary, we’re basically all socially anxious introverts here, but you have the potential to make really good friends this way. Not everyone will be down to talk, not every conversation will be big and exciting, not every big conversation will be followed up another, but there’s a chance some of your best writeblr buddies will be met this way. (Though, I’ll happily confess to always interacting publicly in ask games and responses to posts first, so I’m not a totally strange face appearing in their inbox)

Make advice posts about things you genuinely know about

Whatever it is you know well, post about it. Do you work with wolves? Do you study poisonous plants? Do you know a lot about the medical field and see a lot of writers making mistakes? Post about it. These make the rounds. I made a post about writing characters with disabilities in a moment of spite & anger expecting nothing but a couple likes, and it ended up being one of my biggest posts. I still see spikes in my follower count every time it gets a new burst of reblogs, and it’s been a while since I posted it.

Build a tag list

A tag list is a list that a writeblr compiles of URLs that have asked to be tagged in posts about the writeblr’s WIP(s). These posts include things like excerpts, aesthetic boards & art, writing updates (ex. If you rename your story or are ready for beta readers), and whatever the writer feels those on the list would appreciate. Sometimes when you start putting your writing up, people will ask to be added to your tag list without prompting. Of course, this won’t always be the case. There’s no shame in asking if people want alerts. It can be simple as:

I want to compile a proper tag list for (WIP NAME, ideally with a link to your wip page) so if you want to be tagged please interact with this post and I’ll tag you in future updates! Likes, reblogs, and comments will be counted as interaction and you’ll be added to the list.

Don’t get discouraged if nobody responds. This could be nothing more than a day that a lot of people are off tumblr and don’t see it. Try again another day (maybe at a different time of day).

Accept that it takes time

Oh yes, this is one of the hardest things to do. Building a solid following and getting a lot of interaction takes time. It takes time and effort and good connections and all this random stuff that’s basically out of your control, and I do believe a lot of it comes down to luck. It’s all luck that someone stumbles upon your blog, luck that someone notices you’re a regular in their notes, luck that a big writeblr reblogs your moodboard. Of course you can sort of nudge this luck with good post timing (queued and scheduled posts are your friend), with using your proper tags, and by being consistent in your interactions with other writeblrs, but ultimately it comes down to luck and timing and probably magic or something. I know it sucks, but you have to accept it or you’re going to take every single instance of low interaction as a personal failure instead of what it really was - luck simply not being on your side that time.

Just keep trying. You’ll get there, friend.

Main Navigation post

Part one: The Launching point

Part two: The Easy Things

Part three: The Slightly Harder Stuff

obligatory disclaimer: These are only suggestions for boosting writeblr interaction. Never post anything you’re uncomfortable posting. The levels of difficulty are subjective, based on what I found emotionally challenging.

#new writeblr #new writers on tumblr #new writing blog #long post

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a-place-for-me-au · 5 years

Text

A PLACE FOR ME : CHAPTER 1

Summary: September 2nd, 2019. First day of freshman year.

Trigger Warnings: Cursing, homophobic slur (as joke), bullying (mentioned), homophobia (mentioned), depression, deadnaming, violence, food

Characters: Deceit, Roman, Remus, Patton, Virgil, Logan, Remy

(mentioned) Corbin, Sloane

Words: 5770

AO3

CHAPTER 1 |

Notes: Big thanks to @missfay49 for being an amazing beta reader!

VIRGIL

Monday. The air was crisp, the leaves had started to turn, but still the grass was fresh and green. I set my eyes to the ground, but I still felt the heat of bodies moving around me. My eyes flitted across the faces of people I may have known years ago. My eyes returned to the ground and I saw the grass. Most of it was bright and green, but soon I found underwatered patches. The dew however, made the bright grass brighter. As I glanced back up, my heart was beating a little fast, I guess. Last time I was in school, I got beat up, and nearly sent to the hospital. Maybe now it would be a little different. I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and walked into the cold, uninviting school.

PATTON

September 2nd. The leaves were golden and the air was shiny and bright, with cold light making the colors morph into something else. The trees loomed overhead. It wasn’t quite cold enough for the sweater I was wearing, but the heavy, knitted sweater kept me safe and held. I had never been to school, and I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve seen a handful of movies about high school, but, to be honest, I never cared much about movies. The looming building seemed tall and intimidating in front of me. The people all seemed tall and intimidating. I stared at the ground and imagined that instead of hoards of hormonal teenagers, I was surrounded by animals of the forest. Deer, rabbits, frogs, birds...

DEE

The second of September, the first day of school. It was just another day, and yet, the gold in the leaves was all the more noticeable. A chilly breeze grazed my skin, and I put up a hand to the burned half of my face. I didn’t care about it, and no one else did, and yet, the idea someone might find it wrong never left my head. I stared up at the grey building, framed by a grey morning sky.

ROMAN

Monday, on the second of September, in the year 2019. The tall sweeping trees, dotted with browns and vivid oranges swayed in the light fall breeze. The green of the grass, while not as vibrant as in the intense summer months, was still vivid, especially when juxtaposed against the cold cement surrounding the school. The school, a grey, uninviting building with bars on the doors, felt grand and mysterious. The grey bricks made me think of great castles of villains. I sighed. I took a glance at my brother Remus, but quickly looked down at the ground. I’d barely slept last night. I’d finally gone to sleep at the foot of my brother’s bed somewhere around five in the morning, my face wet from tears. It had been a tough week so far, but at this moment, I felt nothing.

REMUS

It was Monday, September 2nd. The trees twisted over the concrete, and I gazed up at their colorful leaves that had just started to change. The grass was still bright and colorful, and full of vibrancy. Feelings dashed through the air like leaves falling from trees. I could feel excitement, fear, worry, boredom and dozens more emotions flitting through students minds. I could feel my brother Roman beside me. The school loomed over, highlighted against the bright grey sky. I imagined spikes coming from the top of the grey prison and skipped forward, putting a bright smile on my face. Time to make some impressions!

LOGAN

Mon. 02/09/2019. The trees lining the concrete pathway to the school were starting to turn brown. Some leaves had already fallen. However, the grass was still green. The school was simple and plain. It was blank and gray, with grates over the windows. A feeling of anticipation was welling up in my chest, and while I hesitated to call it excitement, the idea of learning new things was...inviting.

VIRGIL

I took a deep breath. It’s this or get dead named in front of your entire class.

“Excuse me, is this 204? Mr. Johnson’s room?” I asked, hanging off the doorframe. A tall man with dark, wrinkled skin and a bright, grey beard looked at me and beckoned me to his desk.

“I am Mr. Johnson. What can I help you with? Class doesn’t start for another twenty minutes.” His face had a quizzical expression, and he placed his head on his fist.

I pushed my hands deep into my pockets, reaching for some security. “Um, see...well, it’s about… my, um, like my name.” I took a deep breath. I could feel my hands shaking. Would you really rather be doing this in front of the entire class? “My name is Virgil.” I blurted.

He gave me a strange look, then pulled out his roster sheet. “Um, let me see if you’re on here…”

“I’m not.” I swallowed. “I came because,” My head felt light. “My name is, um, Virgil Ancell.” I took a deep breath.

In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.

“My legal name is, um,” It had been a while since I’d used it. “Amelia.” I said quietly.

“Well! Nice to meet you Virgil, I’ll be sure to make note of that, I wouldn’t want to use the wrong name for someone.” I smiled, I was still shaking, but I felt more grounded.

Now I just have to do that six more times.

I took a seat near the front and laid back, pulling a fidget cube out and fiddling with it. Mr. Johnson continued working on something. “Hey kid, Virgil.” I look up. “Do you think you could put a syllabus on each desk? There’s, one sec, uh, 27 students, so…” He counted out several sheets of paper. I placed my cube in my pocket and walked to the desk. He handed me the papers. “Just, yeah, put them on the desks, thanks kid.” I smiled, and did as asked.

Some time passed, after I’d put syllabi on all the desks, and kids started to filter in. I pulled my hood over my head and looked down. Mr. Johnson shot me a look. “No hoods.” He said, looking at me. I took it off, and immediately regretted it. I could feel the stares, I swore.

I heard people talking under their breath.

“Who’s the new kid?”

“I don’t know, but he seems emo as hell.”

“Seriously though, we haven’t had a new student in years, do you think they moved here?”

I sunk into my seat and gazed lazily at the door when a short, round person walked in the room. They held their head low, keeping their eyes on the ground. They had short, curly, golden hair, and large, round glasses. Their cheeks were rosy and covered in freckles. They were wearing a white tank top and a knee-length blue skirt.

Heads turned. They shone like the sun, their footsteps soft, eyes sparkling. Just seeing them was like breathing in a bouquet of sweet-smelling roses. The room got physically brighter as they sat in the front row, right in front of me. Their presence was like an angel come to sit on Earth.

Suddenly, a tall guy with dark hair and sunglasses sat on the desk next to me. He was wearing a white shirt, a leather jacket, and some short jean-shorts.

“Hey.” He said, a nonchalant look on his face.

I looked down. I was scared. No way around it. I was in a new environment, and I was scared. “Hi.” I said meekly.

“I don’t know you. What’s your name? And you too, pretty boy.” He looked at the soft boy in a skirt. The boy looked at him, and then at me.

“I’m… Virgil.” He gave me a look like he’d seen a ghost.

“Oop. Welp, what’s up, kid. Name’s Remy. You might remember me.”

Remy.

My heart beat fast. Looking now, I recognized him. Those eyes, the eyes that stared me down every day of my life. That voice that would tease and ridicule me. Memories of being called a dyke, a faggot, of my head being dunked in the toilet of the boy’s bathroom.

‘Go back to the girl’s room, Amelia. Amelia. You were such a pretty girl.’

“I should let you know I’ve changed a lot.” He was awkwardly rubbing his neck. “After you left, I got put in my place.” There was a moment. I didn’t know what to say--I couldn’t say anything.

“Well hon, “ he said, breaking the silence, “That’s too much to unpack.” He took a deep breath and turned to the boy at the front.

“Now you, pretty boy.”

I looked down. This was… Remy? But he was so… awful. I looked at him, refusing to believe someone could change like that. But maybe. Maybe they can.

I moved my seat a few inches away from him.

PATTON

The first few minutes went great! People are already starting to talk to me! I think they’re being genuine. I don’t know.

The boy… Remy. I didn’t know what to do. Should I tell him my name? Why is he calling me pretty boy? Is that normal? I was confused.

“You there, kid?” He waved his hand in front of my face. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m… Patton.” I said shyly. He reached out his hand to shake mine, but then the bell rang, and class started.

Class passed by quickly. I wasn’t sure of everything, I’d never been to public school, but it was somehow a lot easier than I expected.

Finding the rooms wasn’t that difficult. There were five floors, and the room number corresponded to the floor. 501, for example, was in the northeast of the fifth floor.

That didn’t make switching classes any easier. I was tossed around like a bouncing ball at the beach by the waves of students making their way to each class. In the forest, everything is calm and peaceful. There’s more than enough space for everyone. In the hallways between classes? It’s a thundering storm, paired with a flood.

The day went on uneventfully. Mostly, teachers were giving out syllabi and setting rules. We got a bit of homework for English, but that was just to check on all of our reading levels.

English had been quite nice actually. The teacher, Ms. Green, passed out the syllabi for the class, as well as a few pages of a story. It was just a simple exercise, to see how long it took us as a class to get a reading activity. It was an excerpt from one of my favorite books: The Secret Garden. I’d read it a thousand times over. Well, I’d read a lot of books a thousand times over.

I was walking through the halls towards the cafeteria, reflecting on the day when I was suddenly I was thrown from my thoughts when I found myself tripping and falling into someone. I could feel their hands grip my arms, and they pulled me up. I looked up into deep, dark brown eyes. He had reddish brown hair and a cocky smile.

Well I knew I wasn’t straight, but in the name of all that is good, gosh darn it. Am. I. Gay.

I could feel my face getting red. It’s my first day and I’ve already tripped and fallen right into the arms of a frickin’ prince.

I tried to right myself, and force out an apology. “My goodn--oh my--geez--I am--so sorry. Are, I, uh, hurt? Are you, um, hurt did I--”

“It’s cool.” He gave me a smile like the goddamn sun was shining in my face.

“I’m am so I am sorry.”

He chuckled, then he looked at me closer. “You’re new. Did you just move to Marshfield?”

“I was-- um, homeschooled. I’ve always lived here, well, near, I technically don’t live in the, uh city, I--uh--town limits. I live just outside. Near the, uh the forest. I live, um, across the river.” I realized I had been staring a hole into his face and I quickly looked down, blushing. I noticed he was wearing a white and red letterman jacket and jeans.

“Then I can see why you’re so nervous. I shouldn’t keep you waiting for your next class.”

“I um, it’s cool, I, uh, it’s my lunch.”

“Oh yeah?” He said.

I smiled, trying to seem a little stable. He was tall. Really tall. At least a head taller than me. “Hey, want to come join my and my table? To be honest I don’t know if there will be a seat but, if there is, you can chill with us.”

Should I accept this? Will I be rude if I don’t? Is there some sort of unspoken conversation going on?

“Well, I, um I wouldn’t want to,” I paused. “Impose on your, uh, friend group.” Will this work?

“It’s cool, I’ll just see if there’s any extra seats?” The guy said. I nodded, I mean, I didn’t know how else to respond.

“By the way, what’s your name?” He said, walking towards the cafeteria.

“Patton.” I said shyly.

“Alright, come on Patton, I’m Roman.” As Roman walked, another boy came out of the crowd. He had the same face as Roman, but he was thin. He had a light mustache and heavy eye bags. However, probably the most noticeable thing about him was his bright green, embroidered, floral patterned shirt with ruffles on his shoulders.

“I’m Remus, the sexiest man you’ll ever meet.” He wiggled his eyebrows and Roman turned around to playfully slap him. He turned back to me.

“He’s my twin.”

When we got to the cafeteria, I could see the tables were small, and could each fit eight people. I followed him to a table near the back of the room where someone was waving. Once we got closer, I saw it was Remy, from my first period.

“Hey, pretty boy.” Said Remy with a wink.

“Shut up Remy, he’s new. Besides, you wouldn’t want Dee to hear you.” Roman said.

“Someone say my name?” A tall kid turned towards Roman. A scar, which seemed like an old burn, covered half his face, and stretched down his neck. He was wearing a black button down shirt, and, to my surprise, a black cape that went halfway down his back, trimmed with yellow. He also wore a black bowler.

“Yo, Ro, I don’t think we have enough seats, ‘cause I’m pretty sure Corbin has this lunch period too.” Said Remus as he looked around the table.

“Ah, shit. Well, I hope you find an empty table, you’re always welcome here if one of us doesn’t show up.” Roman gave a sympathetic smile.

Great, first day, and I’ve already embarrassed myself in front of the hottest guy in the school.

I scanned the cafeteria, searching for an empty table. I saw one in the corner near the kitchen, with only two people at it. Upon approaching, I saw it was one of the kids from my first period class. What was his name? V-- I couldn’t remember.

“Can I sit here?”

The boy from first period--Virgil!-- looked up, and then to the other person. The boy, who had well groomed, dark hair, and thick square glasses, looked at me and shrugged. He was wearing a black button down shirt, and a blue tie. I took a seat so that we were of equal distance from each other. I was unsure if I was supposed to talk to them in this situation, so I looked down at my food and decided to let them do the initiating.

DEE

“Dee!” A body crashed into me as I was walking down the hall, and a pair of arms latched onto my torso. I feel a light peck on my neck, then I hear the ice of a Starbucks cup.

“Hey, Remy.” I turned around as soon as Remy released me.

“Oh hon, you look fine. That’s one hell of a cape.” I looked down at my questionable clothing choice.

“The extreme tends to make an impression.”

“Ooh, he’s hot, fearless, and a Heathers fan? I might be in love.��

“Oh, shut up, Remy. Do you know what table we’re sitting at?”

“Not yet,” he linked arms with me and started to walk, “but Roman said to meet him and Remus in the cafeteria during breakfast to coordinate. You know, lunch periods and all that jazz.”

I nod. “The cafeteria is on the top floor?”

“Sure is, hon.”

We made our way to the top floor, Remy saying hi to about five dozen people as we walked past.

“Do you know everyone in the school?”

“Hon, I know everyone in this town.”

Remy might not get all As, (in fact, one A was an accomplishment) and he didn’t always know how to read emotions, and he wasn’t great at solving problems, but if there was one thing he was smart in, was names. He knew every name he’d ever been told, he claims. And it wasn’t just people he’d met; actors, singers, bands, he was a genius. He knew everyone in the school, even if they weren’t friends.

“Hey Jack, honey, looking gay!” He said, knocking his voice up an octave.

“You too!” He winked.

Another thing Remy was? Gay. Some people are gay, but Remy was not satisfied with that, no. Every had to know. He was up and out and proud.

It’s kind of funny, he use to bully all the gay kids, or the trans kids. His parents were never accepting, and I guess he used to bottle up a lot of internalized homophobia…

“Ooh hon, stop doing your head monologue and say hi to Roman!” He said when we got into the cafeteria.

Roman, hot as ever, and at least a few inches taller.

“What it do, faggots and Roman.” Remy said.

“Uh, rude much.” Remy released my arm and ran up to squeeze Roman. Not letting go of him, Remy leaned back. “Man, you are a hunk.”

“Well, I spent the last three months working out everyday. I guess puberty finally set in.”

“Oh, and you got a little fuzz! You are a man, hon.” He gasped, and let go of Roman.

“Remus! You got a mustache, and you are rocking that top. Dee, get over here.” I walked around Roman. Remus was wearing a frilly shirt, green with a floral pattern embroidered on.

“Hoo, I feel underdressed.” I smirked, fiddling with my cape.

Soon I felt Remus’s arms wrap around me. “Hey noodle.”

I giggled. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Aww, my little angry noodle.”

I rolled my eyes, but I felt warm inside.

“Come on, guys, I’m going to show you the table.” Roman said, walking through the lunchroom. Remus let go of me. There was a table in the back corner, complete with Corbin, Sloane, Kai, and Elliot already sitting there. “Everyone, time to compare rosters.”

I found out I didn’t share many classes with the gang, but I was in the same lunch period as the rest of the table. After we were all satisfied, we caught up until the bell rang, and we were off to classes.

***

The classes passed uneventfully, and soon it was lunchtime.

When Roman walked in, there was a short boy in tow.

He had round glasses, but they didn’t distract from his glittering blue eyes. His steps were dainty and small, and still somehow graceful and sweeping. His head was held low, and he couldn't have been more than five foot, but when he walked in, the entire room was at his fingertips.

I could feel light and warmth filling the room. I looked around and found half the cafeteria with their jaws to the floor staring. I could swear a melody was playing in my head as the boy followed Roman to our table.

“Shut up Remy, he’s new. Besides, you wouldn’t want Dee to hear you.” Roman said.

“Someone say my name?” I said, breaking my stare to look at Roman.

“Yo, Ro, I don’t think we have enough seats, ‘cause I’m pretty sure Corbin has this lunch period too.” Said Remus as he looked around the table. My head processed the situation, and then my heart sank a little. The Literal Angel would not be sitting with us, he would have to find some other seat.

“Ah, shit. Well, I hope you find an empty table, you’re always welcome here if one of us doesn’t show up.” Roman gave a sympathetic smile.

I wanted to offer up my seat, but before I could form the words, the boy had shuffled off to another table.

ROMAN

“We’re meeting everyone in the cafeteria because apparently I’m the leader of this friend group and I have to decide where we sit.”

Me and my brother Remus we’re walking into the school building. Not five minutes in I was bombarded with hordes of joyous teenagers.

“Yo, Ro!”

“What it do, kid?”

“It’s the little guy on the football team!”

“Not so little anymore, hey kiddo!”

I forced a smile and slapped the hands of the people walking by.

“Hey!”

“Was your summer good?”

“Hey, watch it, you almost bumped into me!”

“You good?” Remus leaned over to me. The rush of people around me faded away as I felt my brother lean into me. I threw my arm around his shoulder.

“Yeah.” I lied.

He could tell. He always could. I gulped, and straightened my spine.

Feeling his warmth so close to me was a comfort. Like having a too big dog in your lap, like curling up to your mother on a cold night. Like your brother that’s always there for you in your time of need.

We travelled through the waves of people, eventually cutting through the crowd to the top floor, where the cafeteria was. I put on a smile and went through the motions. I greeted my acquaintances.

Then it was time for classes.

***

Remus was talking, but I wasn’t really paying much attention to his words. We had the same roster this year, so a lot of what he was saying was just repeating the events of the day before. I was in a trance, the words going in one ear, out the other. I could barely register the way my feet were hitting the ground.

I was suddenly yeeted from my daydream when a body was thrown in my direction. On instinct, I grabbed the arms of said body, gripping them tightly. I put on a cocky smile, and then the head of the body turned up at me.

He had eyes that sparkled like diamonds, they were a pale baby blue. His touch seemed to ooze happiness. I could feel something spreading from his hands, coursing through my blood. I felt happy, for the first time in a while.

It was as if sunlight was streaming through the tiny windows along the wall as he tried to apologize.

“My goodn--oh my--geez--I am--so sorry. Are, I, uh, hurt? Are you, um, hurt did I--”

“It’s cool.” I said, giving a genuine smile for the first time that day.

“I’m am so I am sorry.”

His nervous demeanor only made him more adorable. I wanted to grab his hand right then and run away from this school forever. As I looked at him, I wondered why I’d never noticed him before.

“You’re new? Did you just move to Marshfield?”

He stammered out a string of words, which I managed to connect to “I was homeschooled.” As he spoke, though, his face took a pink tint and he looked at the ground.

Suddenly the thoughts were racing through my mind. I tried to think of all the possible ways I screwed this up, or could screw it up more.

I spat something about being nervous, but I wasn’t really sure of the words coming from my mouth anymore.

“I um, it’s cool, I, uh, it’s my lunch.”

Then I invited him to my table. I could feel my heart beating. Stupid stupid. That’s weird. He’s going to think your weird. What will the others think. I don’t have enough seats.

Indeed there weren’t enough seats, as pointed out by Remus. I stared at him. Sorry. I thought, giving him a smile. He returned it and walked off to another table. I gazed as he went.

I expected my heart to return to it’s grey, melancholy state. And yet? The warmth stayed, even as I turned away from him.

“He’s cute.” Remus said.

I rolled my eyes and took a seat, a touch of pink on my cheeks.

REMUS

Today was a bad day. I’d woken up to Roman curled at the bottom of my bed for the third time since last Monday. His hair was messy, and his face. His light makeup had been skewed by tears. Now, as we were walking down the hallways, he was masking his mood with a smile.

People greeted him in the halls left and right. I leaned over “You good?” It was a silly question. I knew he wasn’t. He laid his arm on my shoulder.

“Yeah.” He lied.

We walked into the lunchroom and were soon confronted by a sunglass-wearing gay.

“Ooh hon, stop doing your head monologue and say hi to Roman! What it do, faggots and Roman.” Remy said.

“Uh, rude much.” Roman said.

“Man, you are a hunk.” I heard Remy say. I refrained from mentioning I was the one who got him to work out every morning. I zoned out for a minute until I heard Remy say my name.

“You got a mustache, and you are rocking that top. Dee, get over here.”

I noticed Dee for the first time and smiled.

“Hoo, I feel underdressed.” I heard him say before I leapt forward and pulled him into a hug.

“Hey noodle.”

He giggled, adorably. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Aww, my little angry noodle.”

He rolled his eyes, but I could feel his heart warm up.

“Come on, guys, I’m going to show you the table.” Roman said, walking through the lunchroom. I let go of him with a smile on my face.

***

Pretty soon I was walking to Biology side by side with Roman. I managed to slip into the room just before the bell rang. I gave a cocky smile to the teacher and picked a seat in the back row. I looked around the room at the students. When my eyes landed on Logan, I smiled, and a memory came to mind.

People were gathered in the classroom, we’d just been told that Amelia… uh, Virgil, the trans kid, had left the school. I was looking around the room at the students reactions. Many were snickering, but quite a few also seemed to be seething.

I heard several remarks, but didn’t catch any. I guess I was sad that a student left, but we hadn’t been friends, so. Well. I guess s--he didn’t have any friends. I started to feel bad for him when suddenly an angry kid stood up. The teacher was standing just outside the classroom talking to someone as the kid--Logan-- walked up to everyone’s favorite bully, Remy.

Remy had been a jerk to Am--Virgil for years. Before he came out, and after. He bullied him for being a lesbian, for being trans, and other made-up and fictional “problems”. Remy bullied everyone, I guess, but Virgil… it was bad for he--him.

My eyes followed Logan as he walked right up to Remy. Remy looked nonchalant at the approach, and didn’t even look at Logan. “Hey.” Said Logan, looking straight on at Remy.

“What do you want, nerd?” Remy said, standing up. As I examined Logan, I could see his eyes were glassy with the threat of tears.

“It’s your fault. If you weren’t such a goddamn jerk to him all the time, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Oh what, you’re defending that girl, she’s not worth it.”

“Shut up Remy, he’s a boy, and I am here to punch you.”

Logan did not disappoint. I saw the teacher turning around out of the corner of my eye, but quickly gave my full attention to the two boys. Logan raised his fist and--

BAM!!

His fist collided with Remy’s face, sending him backwards, tripping over the chair. My heart beat faster. Logan’s face turned cold and unmerciful. He wiped a tear from his face and looked down upon the body.

(The teacher gazed apathetically before giving a thumbs up and turning back to the door.)

Well, I don’t know how I’m supposed to believe I’m straight.

Butterflies fly through my stomach, and my heart turned over in my chest. He was beautiful, and his fist could do magic.

That was the moment I fell in love with Logan Lowell.

I was pulled back to the present as the class started, and began to take notes on the teacher and the like. My eyes never strayed far from Logan, though. I got lost in daydreams, as I often did. Many of them involved confessing my love to Logan in extreme and extravagant ways. I also created a few vivid descriptions of how exactly I would go about physically torturing him, but I put those aside.

***

The next two periods passed uneventfully, and pretty soon me and Roman were walking down the halls to lunch.

“And let me tell you about his eyes.” I’d been gushing about Logan since this morning, and was not slowing down. “He just has the most--” I was interrupted when I noticed a small body making his way down the hall--straight towards Roman. Neither of them were paying attention. I reached a hand out to pull Roman to the side, but before I could even touch him, the two collided.

As the two apologized, I stared at the boy. He was short, and yet, you didn’t feel like he was. He seemed to be glowing, but I blinked, and the aura disappeared. He had pale, shiny blue eyes, and luscious golden hair. He was beautiful.

Roman invited him to his table. I might have protested, but the boy seemed so sweet that I didn’t dare.

“Patton.” His name was Patton. I felt it was necessary to step in,

“I’m Remus, the sexiest man you’ll ever meet.”

Roman, I noticed, didn’t take his eyes off of Patton, which, I mean, who could blame him? As we walked into the lunch room, I counted the people at our table. After a moment of thought, I realized we didn’t have an extra seat.

“Yo, Ro, I don’t think we have enough seats, ‘cause I’m pretty sure Corbin has this lunch period too.” I saw Roman shoot a sympathetic look, and the boy, Patton, walked away.

“He’s cute.” I said. Roman blushed and took a seat.

LOGAN

I stepped into the building, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose, and glanced around the hall.

Hordes of teenagers rushed across the shining floors, racing to their next class. I stepped through the crowds, swerving around, hitting no one, and yet moving swiftly past. Years of ballet had trained me to move quickly, efficiently, and gracefully.

I stepped into my first period classroom and look around the room. The teacher, a well dressed woman, gave me a smile, and I took a seat in the front row, by the window. I pulled out a notebook and wrote “AP Physics” and my name, “Logan Lowell” on the front. I opened it to the first page and began copying down information from the board about the teacher.

‘Daphne Moon

[email protected]

Graduated from…’

Slowly other students filed in, some familiar, some not. I never paid any attention to the students, I never much needed to. I spent the time waiting for class to begin, staring out the window at the leaves of a large oak tree.

The class went fairly smoothly, the teacher introduced herself, talked about the syllabus.

Then we were off to our next class. English.

***

“Hello class, I’m Ms. Green. It’s a pleasure to meet each of you. I have my contact information up on the board if you want to read that and…”

She gave a nod and began counting papers on her desk. She looked up, apparently counting the students, and soon began placing papers on desks. I took a look at them. One was titled “About Me”, and it had a variety of questions on it. The second one was the syllabus, and I began to skim through it.

“Please fill out your about me papers, there are markers if you want to color it.”

It was like being back in kindergarten.

I began to fill out the paper.

What is/are your favorite subject/s?

Physics, astronomy

What do you like to do outside of school?

Ballet, research

How can I best help you?

Challenging the students more than you think they can handle, offering resources to learn more for students who are interested

I finished the paper quickly, and spent the rest of the period relaxing and gazing out the window.

***

Third period came and went, and soon I made my way to lunch. I had brought a sandwich, and apple, and a bottle of water, which I promptly laid out once I’d found an empty table in the cafeteria. Soon, a boy in a hoodie took a seat across the table from me. I nodded out of politeness, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge him.

I began my lunch, taking in the scene

Then he walked in.

I don’t quite believe he was a boy, more a celestial being. I scoffed silently. An angel? Logan you’re really going mad.

I wasn’t quite sure why I was gazing at him like there were stars in his eyes, but I followed him as he walked with the football player, Roman? to his table. He was meek, and short, and yet he commanded the attention of the room. I blushed and forced my eyes down to my food. I felt silly for admiring him, but I ignored it.

I stared intensely at my food as I ate. I heard footsteps approaching my table and looked up It was him. I tried to ignore him.

“Can I sit here?”

I shrugged. My odds of avoiding human attraction have severely declined. This is going to be a nice school year.

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