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liptonsbabe · 3 years

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Chains of a family [B.W]

Bill Weasley x Grant! Reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Summary: Molly knows about the reader’s relatives and she’s not so sure to put her trust in a girl that had just betrayed her own family

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: Hi! i’m so happy that you guys liked this thing! thank you so much for your support and, again, if you want to keep reading this let me know. Same note as ever, english not my mother language, so tell me if something’s is wrong.

Chapter 2: Not your family

The next morning turned out to be quieter than you imagined.

You slowly got out of bed and looked at everything around you noticing how quaint Bill's old room was. The ceiling was lined with grainy wallpaper with stacks of photographs of Quidditch players hanging from the reeds that moved from side to side, simulating the playing field; the right side of the room had a huge hole behind the small stool that tried to hide it, and from that hole a small garden gnome was sleeping peacefully with a small piece of cloth on top of his head. You stood up, walking towards the huge window that gave you a beautiful view of the Weasley's garden that at that moment was covered by a thin layer of drizzle that had fallen during the night.

Molly's fruit trees gleamed under the faint rays of the sun and you saw how a doxy from between the leaves poisoned Mrs. Weasley's apples, causing them to fall from the tree branches in a thick black mass with a foul smell coming out of it. You shook your head, excited to witness a very different way to wake up.

Even though several minutes have passed since you woke up, the house continued to remain in a strange silence that made you think that the family had decided to leave the burrow with the intention of buying more supplies or something like that. You knew that Bill wasn’t at home precisely for his obligations within the Order, so you didn’t worry about looking for him around the room, so you decided that a better option was going down to the dining room and know what was happening.

As you went down the spiral staircase, you cursed in a whisper when you forgot to put on your slippers before leaving the bedroom cause the floor was so cold that you slipped a couple of times. Back in the days, when you were still welcome in your parents' house, you had many servants who did all the things for you - putting on your shoes as soon as you woke up was one of those things - but now that your life had changed so much, you assumed that you would have to adapt and start taking care of your own needs.

Your curious eyes roamed the walls covered in family photos that caused a big warmth in your chest. In each of those photographs, all of Molly's children appeared along with their father, smiling for the camera and sending effusive greetings. A pic was hanging at the fireplace were Molly and Arthur were carrying a small white bundle crying his lungs out. You assumed it was Bill as his parents seemed too young back then and even as a small baby, you could recognize those tantrum features anywhere.

A giggle escaped your lips when you noticed a funny sequence from that same photo in which, even with Bill crying in his mother's arms, his father tried to carry him for a moment to calm him down, however the baby's cries didn’t stop. The baby was so annoyed that he ended throwing up the milk ration that he must have had before the photo session on his father's neat shirt.

You laughed because you knew that William's impertinence was something he had carried with him for several years now.

"Bill hates those photos." You jumped in your place scared to see Molly standing behind you. Your cheeks turned red “He says that it’s embarassing but i think that’s nonsense. He was an adorable baby”

"he was," you answered, looking anywhere but into Molly's shrewd eyes. "but I guess displaying them in the fireplace isn’t the right thing to do."

“Is it not?

"No, they should be at the front door where everyone can see them”

Molly giggled as you watched the sequence of photos over and over again. A silence settled between you, but surprisingly it was not an awkward silence, but one that was allowing you to create a bond that neither of you expected. Mrs. Weaslsey brought up a rag, wiping it around the corners of the photo from the dust.

"Arthur and I had to save up for months to take those pictures," she mentioned wistfully, "we just had Bill and it seemed like a good idea to welcome him into our family with a gesture like that. Arthur was new in the ministry and wasn't earning too much, but we had that quirk and decided we could afford to skip certain things to pay for the pictures. It cost us ten galleons and it still took us four months to gather them”

“Oh” You didn't know what to say, but you just kept looking at the photograph feeling a bit uncomfortable. You never had those problems at home because your family was insanelly rich thanks to the inheritance in life that your grandfather Tim had left to his son and later to his grandchildren. Even the descendants of your grandfather's servants came to work in your house, reason enough for you and your siblings to grow up with no sense of responsibility other than your own wishes. Molly sighed remembering those times when life seemed to be easier.

"So when Bill asked me to remove it from the fireplace, I refused. He doesn't know how hard it was to raise that money, but I think he has nothing to be ashamed of, he was too adorable!

"I don't doubt it for a second, Mrs. Weasley."

"You can call me Molly," she said, walking back to the kitchen where you continued watching the way the pans moved back and forth preparing breakfast. You were not very good at cooking - in fact, you had never cooked before- however, that didn’t stop you from offering your help. So you took a pan, placed it on the stove, and decided that you would find a way to make a good mountain of strawberry-filled pancakes just like your dear nanny did. Molly observed you carefully. "I think that now that you are living with us it is appropriate to have a more cordial treatment.My son told me a lot about you”

“Just the good things, i hope”

“Kind of” You stopped mixing ingredients to look at her carefully” He told us a bunch of marvelous things about you and how you two met. Actually, what worries me the most is what he didn’t tell us”

And there was the recrimination you were waiting for. You were aware that it had to arrive sooner or later, however, you would have been grateful that it did it when Bill were by your side to give you the opportunity to defend yourself properly. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, knowing that what Molly needed to hear from your own lips was which family you came from. You continued your task with the pancakes, turning out as bad as you expected.

"I'm sorry it turned out this way, Mrs. Weasley."

"Molly," he corrected.

"Molly" you smiled slowly "But believe me when I tell you that it was me who asked William not to mention anything about my last name or where I come from. I know that in this case, with the war above our heads, it is necessary to be certain of the people who enter your family and I apologize for that, it's just ... Bill is very important to me” Molly's eyes narrowed “Since we met ... I have found a home in him and well, all that feels when someone is in love. "Mrs. Weasley shook her head, understanding the feeling." I have experienced the rejection before. When people know that Tom Riddle is my family ... they run away in fear, curse my family and even walk away from us, as if sharing a blood bond makes us as evil as he is.

“And it’s not like that?” Molly asked with a hand on her neck. She didn’t want to be like the others and judge you without knowing the full story, just as she had promised Bill the night before that she would, but it was so difficult not to remember the death of his brothers by Voldemort’s hands and to pretend nothing had happened in the past. You sighed because the eggs you cracked on the bowl got mixed with their own shell “ I've heard of the Grants before, they're all Death Eaters, including your siblings!”

“It is difficult to have to choose a side when you don’t have your own convictions”

"And you have it?"

You looked at Molly in pain. Of course you expected those reactions from Bill's mother, she was within her right to be upset that her oldest son never told her that he was in a relationship with a girl who seemed to have the most fucking powerful and evil wizard in the world as a great-uncle. No, Molly wasn't mad, she was deadly angry, she felt like she was bursting!

Her hands became fists and without knowing how, you found yourself between the wall and Molly's big arms from one second to the other. The pancake batter was forgotten, as was the woman's promise to treat her son's girlfriend in a good way.

"How is it possible ..." Molly questioned in an agitated voice, pressing your arms against the wall, "... that a single deer leaves the nature of its own herd?" How can you ensure that one rotten apple even in a gold container doesn’t rot the others?”Your breath caught at the questions of the woman in front of you. Once again, you were aware that your presence wouldn’t be good news to them, but at least you hoped they understood your motives before judging you “Explain to me, (Y/ N) Grant, when have you seen a pig away from his equals?”

Your words caught in your throat at Molly's fierce question. Bill had talked a lot about the temper of his mother. Even if she could be really grumpy at times, she was in general a very sweet, pleasant and maternal woman with everyone; however, you didn’t fit into that generality because it seemed that the woman was determined to kill you with her own hands.

"If my presence bothers you so much, then you shouldn't have let Bill and I to stay here."

“He's my son! All I want for him is to be happy, and that's why I don't understand what he managed to see in you”

"Maybe the same thing you saw in your husband." Molly's lips twitched in anger, but you didn't stop. You hoped that she would at least understand what your words meant, because that would make it easier for both of you to try at least get along better, even if Molly seemed not to want to do it under any circumstances. How is it that this haughty little girl dared to compare herself with her dear and wonderful husband? "I'm sorry, but I don't think this conversation is going to take us anywhere."

"If someone betrays his own family ..." Molly stopped you before you walked out the front door. The others got down the stairs, seeing the scandal formed in the kitchen “The rest of us can't expect too much, can we?

Your eyes blured.

#bill weasley #bill weasley imagines #bill weasley x reader #harry potter imagine #domhnall gleeson imagine #domhnall gleeson #harry potter #fred weasley imagines #weasley

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pagingevilspawn · 3 years

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Would you please write a fic about alex behaviour with children like the way he comforts them or help them through?

heart of gold

hey there! i’m not gonna lie when i say that this prompt took me forever to figure out, but when i did i was super excited!

this is mainly Alex centric with a bit of jolex added in (obviously). i hope you like it!

___

Of all people to notice Alex Karev’s strange ability to work well with children first, no one would’ve expected it to be Cristina Yang.

It was fairly early in their intern year, and both she and Karev were on the pediatrics rotation with Dr. Keith, someone who they could both agree was an arrogant son of a bitch that thought way too highly of himself for his own good.

They’d been trailing behind him like lost puppies all day, listening to him go on and on while he talked to the patient’s families, not even bothering to ask his interns any questions. He always thought that interns were a waste of time and space. He’s much rather have at least a third year resident on his service, but no such luck. They felt like crap and both wanted to kick the guy in the ass, but knew that the only thing that would do is get them knocked out of the program.

Six hours into their shift, the two were about to head to the cafeteria for a much desired lunch break when their pagers rang out, loud groans escaping their mouths at the noise they had come to detest the last couple of weeks.

All Alex really wanted was a slice of the hospital’s pizza. Granted, the crust tasted like cardboard, the cheese was old, and the sauce had no flavor, but he was craving it like crazy. He hadn’t gone out for groceries recently, so the only thing that was stocked in the shelves of his small apartment was cereal, some oatmeal, and off brand, nearly expired crackers that he had since he finished med school a couple of months ago. He had --for some unknown reason-- shoved them into a backpack that had made it with him as he traveled from Iowa to Washington, completely untouched.

With a huff he turns on his heel and makes his way to the pit where he was being paged, purposefully avoiding eye contact with the nurse he disrespected on his first day, along with the ones he’d slept with and hadn’t called back. He had a pretty large list of nurses who didn’t like him, and he didn’t feel like making that list any longer. Not today, at least.

Keith instructed him to go cast an arm for the seven year old in bed six, while Yang was told to go stitch up the cut on the little girl in bed two.

When Alex was done he passed by Yang’s area, watching as she was trying to calm down the little girl who couldn’t be more than five. The girl had tears streaming down her face and was nuzzled into the mom’s chest. The mother was glaring at the female doctor, who was saying something Alex could make out as “it’s not even scary, it’s just a needle.”

All he really wanted to do was get that damn pizza slice, and he had every intention of doing so, but seeing Yang be absolutely hopeless at getting anywhere with the little girl, he felt a bit of sympathy-- not for his fellow intern, but for the kid.

With a sigh he strides over to the bed, watching as the raven head’s mouth opens to speak, cutting her off immediately. “Let me handle this.” he says, reaching to grab the needle from her head.

Cristina glares at him, her expression turning into one of disgust. No way was she going to let Evil Spawn steal her patient, no matter how much she wished she’d be doing anything else.

“Karev-”

“--Yang!” he cuts her off sharply, plucking the needle from her hand and bumping her out of the way. Not the nicest thing to do, but she was practically terrifying the little girl. There was no way she would trust the doctor now.

His coworker scoffs, huffing a ‘fine’ before she goes to stand back and watch the scene, more than eager to watch the man fail. What good could he do? The girl was crying the second she had taken the disinfectant out.

Alex pulls up a chair, grabbing the attention of the little girl, who looks up from her mother’s chest for a second, only to dive back in right after.

“Hey kid, my name’s Doctor Karev. You mind telling me your’s?” he asks gently, slipping on a pair of gloves and flashing a signature crooked grin.

The girl makes eye contact warily, slightly unlatching from her mom's tight hold at the sight of the man’s smile. The other doctor looked super serious, it was kind of scary.

“Piper.” she answers, wiping the tears from under her eyes, the mom flashing him a grateful smile.

“Hey Piper.” he grins. “I see you got hurt up there. What happened?” he wettens the pad with disinfectant, keeping his eyes on the little blonde, knowing it would mean less questions if she was focused on his face.

“I was jumping on the couch and then I fell and hit the table.” she explains, Alex inspecting the cut to see if her story was reliable. He knew firsthand what it was like to come up with excuses for the bruises on your face, and wanted to make sure that she wasn’t just trying to cover up for something else that happened.

Luckily, the combination of the authenticity of the bruise and the level of trust the daughter had in her mom let him know that she really did do what she said. He knew at some point he was gonna need to not assume the worst in every parent that came in with an injured kid, but the wound was still fresh for him, and it would take some time to heal-- a long time.

“Well then Piper, I’m gonna need to clean your cut, but it’s gonna sting a bit. Is that okay?” he asks her, her green eyes widening, but eventually nodding. The doctor seemed nice enough.

He cleans the wound, turning back at the girl when he pulls out a needle, watching as her face begins to look panicked. “Hey, it’s okay.” he reassures her. His eyes dart around, noticing a backpack that sat in the corner, decorated with a multitude of princesses.

“Who’s your favorite princess?” he asks her, drawing Piper’s attention away from the scary needle in his hands.

“Belle.” she answers, a small smile making its way to her face. She loved talking about the princess’s and would chatter on about them anytime, any day, anywhere.

Alex smirks, letting out a sigh of relief. He knew all about Belle, since it was Amber’s all time favorite Disney movie. He’d seen it more time than he’d like to admit, and practically had the whole film memorized since he was fourteen.

“I like Belle too. She’s super brave huh? Never afraid of the Beast or anything.” he gives her a smile, watching as Piper’s face lights up, a wide, toothless smile splayed on her lips.

“Yeah! She’s so cool! She never lets the beast tell her what to do!” she exclaims, making Alex chuckle. She reminded Alex a lot of his little sister, with her dirty blonde hair, green eyes, and passion for princesses.

“Okay, well, right now I’m gonna need you to be super brave like Belle alright? And sit really really still, like she does when she reads a book. Can you do that for me Piper?” he smirks mischievously.

The little girl grins. She always wanted to be like her favorite princess, so she definitely wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to act like one. She already practiced around the house, so she was definitely going to practice in front of the nice doctor who looked like Prince Philip.

Cristina stood frozenly in the background, mouth opened so wide it could catch flies. Who knew Karev was so good with kids? She sure as hell didn’t.

She watches as he stitches up the cut, saying some reassuring words every time the girl flinches or squeezes her eyes shut. It was about twenty minutes later when he finished, Yang still standing there in shock. She sees him dress the wound, getting up from his chair and say, “All done. You did awesome Piper, but no more jumping on the couch, alright?” which earns him a nod. He flashes a friendly wink to the mom, who blushes as he walks away, forgetting entirely about Yang’s presence as he makes his way to the cafeteria to finally get his hands on the pizza slice he’s been drooling about for hours.

Maybe Evil Spawn wasn’t so evil after all.

~*~

Miranda Bailey was exhausted. Between Tuck and trying to begin a pediatric fellowship, all she wanted to do was lie down and sleep for god knows long. Tucker being difficult about their shared custody schedule seemed to only add to her fatigue and she swore on her life that she could crash on the nearest gurney and not wake up for three days straight.

It was with a heavy sigh she begrudgingly made her way back down to the NICU, remembering that she had left Karev there the day before after administering the kangaroo hold. She knew that by now he had probably dispersed, but she felt like checking on the little baby herself, just to make sure that the preemie was doing okay.

When she arrived at the NICU doors she could see a few faces that she recognized standing outside the window, talking in hushed conversations as they stared at the scene in front of them with imploring eyes, that is, until the one she knew as Reed rushed away-- a friend at her side, finishing their conversation quickly.

Miranda shakes her head. Though she had softened over the years, everyone still feared the inner ‘Nazi’ that came out from time to time. When she finishes gowning herself she makes her way into the room, stopping in front of the shirtless, sleeping figure on a chair. Surprised was the only word she was able to come up with, though it seemed like an understatement of the century. Alex Karev was sitting there, with a sleeping baby curled contently against his chest, her tiny breaths in sync with the man who was holding her.

She shakes her head, stopping a few feet from where the man sat. “Karev?” she says, making him open his groggy eyes, blinking as he does so to look around for the source of the noise, relaxing when he knows that no monitors are going off and the baby on his chest is still very much alive.

“Did you stay here all night?” she asks softly, watching as he looks out the window to see that it was in fact daytime, not evening like it was before he’d fallen asleep.

He takes another look at the baby in his arms, “Um, yeah. I… I guess I did.” he trails off, his voice rough since he barely was awake.

“Go home, get some rest. The nurse will take over for you.” Miranda scolds. These interns (who were now residents) were like her children, her babies, and as much as the sight warmed her heart, she needed her babies to be well rested. She couldn’t have them falling asleep in the middle of surgery.

He unintentionally pulls the tiny bundle of pink a bit closer, “No. Uh, I- I’m okay. I’m… good here.”

She lets out a small, barely there laugh, but not at him. She’d seen the soft side of Alex Karev, but it was few and far between. Everyone knew that the rough exterior he put up was just to stop himself from getting hurt, but this… this side was new. She had never seen him more vulnerable than he was right now, the baby sleeping so soundly on his chest that it seemed like no amount of noise could disturb her.

“Well, you'd be good in Peds, you know that?” she flicks her gaze from him to the baby. “You get invested. You have good instincts. You stick to your instincts,” she continues, Alex looking down at the child, making some kind of face she wouldn’t know how to describe.

“You’d be good in Peds, Karev.” she walks away, leaving Alex alone with his thoughts.

Maybe, just maybe, kids would be the one thing that would allow Karev to show everyone who he really was.

~*~

Alex Karev had sort of snuck up on Arizona Robbins. When he said that he was interested in Peds, she truly thought that he was joking, just trying to say something to either get a laugh out of her or annoy her.

She didn’t know much about Karev, all she really knew was what she had heard from the nurses gossiping loudly at their stations, and the occasional input from Callie here and there. All she really knew was that he had been married to Stevens, who had cancer, then they later got divorced, and before he was married he had earned himself quite a bit of a ‘man-whore’ reputation, nearly as bad as Mark’s.

Arizona was weary about Karev, so imagine her surprise when she saw his face light up as a kid called him Doctor Alex for the first time.

The first time she’d ever had the young man on her service she knew that he was cold, arrogant, and a bit too cocky for his own good. He was overall an asshole, and to say Robbins wasn’t happy to have him on her service was an understatement. Bailey had said something to her recently about Karev, but that didn’t lessen her lack of enjoyment about his upcoming arrival on her floor.

When the man did arrive, he was seven minutes late for rounds, dumping an empty cup of hospital bought coffee in the nearest trash can. He flashed her a crooked grin, apologizing for his tardiness, but not explaining why.

Arizona sighed, rolling her eyes discreetly. She wasn’t normally a strict teacher, but one thing she didn’t like was when her residents were late. The lives of tiny humans were in their hands, no second could be wasted-- much less seven minutes.

“Welcome to peds Doctor Karev…” She starts off, telling him about how pediatrics wasn’t wiping kid’s noses and cuddly bunnies all day long. Peds was hardcore, only for the elite.

She stops outside room 414, turning back to Karev and giving him as stern of a glare as she could muster. “Remember Karev, smile, engage. These are kids we’re talking about here.”

Alex rolls his eyes. He knew he wasn’t the nicest guy. He was an ass, a douche, and definitely not the man most women would be proud to take home to their parents. But if there was one thing he did know, it was kids. He practically raised one for god’s sake.

“Got it Robbins.” he huffs, fixing his posture as the two walk into the room, where a little boy sat on his bed, playing with his colorful toys that sat on his lap, anxious parents sitting in chairs beside him.

Arizona flashes a grin to the family, directing her attention back to the boy. “Hi Nico, how are we doing today?”

Nico shrugs, mustering a half-hearted smile. “I’m okay.” he answers, more focused on his toys than the doctors in the room.

“Well that’s good,” she jots something down on her chart. “This is Dr. Alex. He’s gonna be another one of your doctors, okay Nico?”

“Doctor Alex?” the boy confirms, making Arizona look up from her chart and Alex look back at the boy.

She saw it then. The way his eyes lit up at the name, how a crooked grin unconsciously made its way to his lips. He had it. The peds glow.

“Hey dude.” Alex smirks, trying to hide is bubbling excitement. He liked that name, ‘Doctor Alex’. It was different from Karev. It was lighter, easier, it sounded right. Doctor Karev was too… but Doctor Alex? Doctor Alex sounded pretty great.

Arizona bites her lip as she watches her resident and the patient interact, trying to keep her smile at bay.

There it is. There’s the real Alex Karev.

~*~

Jo Wilson sat in the intern’s locker room, knotting up the ties of her scrub pants as she listened to the chief resident rattle of names of who the intern’s were with that day. She was more than thankful for a new service, since Medusa was downright terrifying, but she was really hoping that she wouldn’t be assigned to-

“--Wilson you’re with Doctor Karev on Peds.”

Shit.

She was sure Karev was a great doctor, I mean, he wouldn’t be here-- at one of the best hospitals in the world-- if he sucked.

But she’d already heard enough about Karev to say that she didn’t like him, not one bit. So far she’d witnessed Leah crying into her locker about why he wouldn’t answer her calls, nurses complain to each other about why he hadn’t texted, and other interns chattering at bars about why he acted like he didn’t know them when they saw each other again.

In conclusion, he was a grade-A jackass who slept with any female that had two legs, and she was certainly not going to be the next one on his (extensive) list of conquests. No sir-ee.

With a huff she ties her hair back, giving Stephanie a deadpan look after she whispers a “Good luck. Make sure not to sleep with him.”

There was no way she would be sleeping with Karev, not in a million years. She had heard so much from others that she could already paint a picture-

Ew, no. That’s gross.

Either way, there was nothing he could ever say to make her fall in bed with him. Nothing at all.

…

She was exhausted. Karev was an ass. An ass who didn’t hate her, but was still an insufferable asshole. Jo stood at the nurses station, leaning over the counter as she filled out her charts, scribbling down her notes angrily. He made her angry.

Though she had to admit, seeing him all freaked out over her (fake) crying was pretty hilarious.

“--Wilson!” she hears her name being called by her asshole of a superior. She turns around, plastering such a faux smile on her face that she felt nauseated just knowing that it was there.

She’s about to respond when Doctor Grey comes running up to him, shoving a toddler in his arms, taking him by surprise.

“Alex. I need you to watch her.” the blonde pleads, making him scrunch his eyebrows.

“Mer I-”

“Please.” Meredith begs, Alex giving her a crooked grin as he takes ahold of his niece. If there was one thing that could make Alex Karev smile without even trying, it was Zola Grey Shepherd, a two and a half year old little fireball.

A large grin comes across the little girl’s face as she looks at the man in front of her. “Unca Lex!” she exclaims, clasping her tiny hand on the side of his face.

“Hi Ms. Zozo,” he smiles, Jo not even noticing how the corner’s of her mouth quirked up at the sight. This was not the Doctor Karev she’d been with these past few hours, this was someone completely new. This was… Alex?

Meredith sighs. “I have on OB appointment, and normally we’d take her, but she’s just been so fussy lately, and when I tried to take her to daycare she threw a fit-”

Alex cuts her off, “Mer, it's fine. I got her.” he reassures her, pretending to bite the little girl’s finger as it came close to his face, causing her to let out a loud squeal.

“Okay but-”

He rolls his eyes at the blonde, “Mer, go. She’ll be completely fine.” he smirks. “We all know that she likes me better than you and Shep combined so…”

Meredith hits him on the shoulder before she turns and waddles down the hall, leaving Alex with a toddler in his arms that was giggling as he tickled her, and an intern who wasn’t quite sure what she was seeing in front of her.

It was obvious that he had some skills with children, he was a pediatric surgeon for crying out loud. But nobody told her he was this good with kids.She watched as a large smile came across his face, a laugh escaping his mouth at Zola’s squeals and giggles.

Maybe Alex Karev wasn’t as much of an asshole that she thought he was.

~*~

Nothing was more perfect to him than the sight in front of him.

Never in a million years did he ever think that he would get to where he was now.

Alex sat next to his wife as they stared down at the little baby on her chest, her pink cheeks puffed up while her eyes were tightly squeezed closed as she tried to sleep. She was so perfect. So, so perfect.

A daughter.

He had a daughter.

A little bundle of pink that weighed a whole six pounds, seven ounces. Yet somehow, she had managed to take his heart out of his chest and hold it in her tiny, tiny palm.

Nothing could’ve prepared him for how much he already loved his little girl. He’d heard about it, read about it. He’d been in the room when parents met their child for the first time. But this? This was a whole new level of love, something he wasn’t prepared for in the slightest.

He watched as Jo ran her thumb delicately over the baby girl’s cheeks, tears streaming down Jo’s face. It had been all of two minutes since they welcomed their daughter into the world and she hadn’t stopped crying since.

Although he wasn’t crying, his throat was built up as he stared at his perfect little girl. A full head of wavy light brown hair sat on top of her head, her rosy lips pouted as she nestled closer to her mother’s chest.

Perfect.

That’s the only word that could describe the tiny figure that laid before him.

He rubs his pinky finger over her little fist, watching as it unfolds and grabs it with all of her strength.

He can feel his heart physically clench, never before had something felt as right as feeling his little girl’s palm around his finger.

Alex grins, placing a small kiss on the top of Jo’s head, a silent way of saying so many different things at once.

Thank you.

You did so well.

You’re so strong.

She’s so perfect.

I love you.

Thank you for marrying me.

Thank you for loving me.

Thank you for everything.

Thank you.

Jo readjusts the baby on her chest, bringing her up higher for them to see.

She lets out a watery smile, her bottom lips trembling as she stares at the tiny girl that she would do anything for. “Hi sweet girl.” she whispers, not even bothering to wipe the water droplets that cascaded down her cheeks.

Alex lets out a crooked grin, a small laugh escaping his throat in disbelief. This perfect creation was his daughter. How was that even possible?

“Welcome to the world Lorelei Karev.” he whispers, unable to focus on anything except the tiny girl that he would give up the sun, the moon, and the stars for.

“We love you so much.” Jo speaks softly, looking up at her husband, the love of her life, her eyes saying more than her mouth ever could.

Thank you.

I love you.

She’s so perfect.

Thank you for her.

Thank you for everything.

Thank you for loving me.

Thank you.

They share a small kiss, reveling in the moment they knew they would remember for the rest of their lives.

It was then he defied all odds. Overcame all of his fears. He wasn’t going to be like his dad, what everyone told him he was going to be. He was going to be an amazing dad, and he knew it.

As it turns out, kids truly were the one thing that could show everyone who the real Alex Karev was after all.

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kris-p-banana-bread · 3 years

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Here DOAFP fandom, have some organic, locally-sourced, home-grown pain. This is basically just me, a scarred older sibling, projecting on Bobby, another scarred older sibling. I really reached into my post-loss psyche for this, so I hope you enjoy the headcanons and meta (AKA I hope you shed at least one tear).

It won’t let me link it here so the post that inspired this is under the read more at the bottom ✨

- When I first watched doafp, I couldn't understand Elena's aversion to Sam becoming a prominent figure in her mom's and her life. Now I understand it almost too perfectly. There was never supposed to be someone after Robert. He and Gabi were deeply in love and happy. Robert was it; he was the first and true love of Gabi's life. Sam showing up probably felt like a huge and utterly disrespectful slap in the face of Robert's memory, because he wasn't even supposed to be there. I don't know if that's as eloquent as I wish it was, or if it makes sense, and it probably sounds really mean to Sam, but it's not even really about him. It was always supposed to be Robert; Sam hasn’t earned the right to be apart of or associated with her family

- After Robert dies, Gabi and Bobby make it a habit to find and keep photos and recordings/videos of Robert, even if the latter only has him saying one sentence. They won't make Elena join them for the search, but after they find some of those old audios of Robert, they'll sometimes play them back for little Elena

- Bobby put up the keep out sign (I credit this to a few other blogs for discussing this tho) because that's where he would cry sometimes. He actually used to be pretty close with Elena, but after he put up that sign and started distancing himself from them a bit so they wouldn't see the times he cracked, he got a little more short and jaded with her. It's that, plus just growing into a teenager and stuff. And I'm not saying that he and Elena have a bad relationship, but he's become more snappy and has more walls up than he used to

- Sometimes Elena feels bad because she doesn't always remember her dad's voice. She was pretty young when he died, so even though she recalls it a bit, and the recordings help, it's been a while since she's talked to him in person, so of course she doesn't quite remember what it's like to actually talk to Robert and she's forgotten some of his mannerisms. She likes to think she's all done (she marked the stages down in her grief journal after all) but grief isn't linear or all that rational, so it hits her hard sometimes

- I keep reading as an action close to my heart because that's a strong bond me and my mom shared. She would rec books to me, and we would joke and talk about them, or she would hint to some future event and then refuse to tell me until I caught up to that part. So Elena and Bobby do something similar in their grief. Elena has writing and words, because that's something Robert loved if I remember correctly (but if I’m not and that’s not canon, then I now declare it so) and Bobby has tennis. But besides tennis (I sent a couple anons to @freshlybakedfandoms about it but I'm not sure where she went) Bobby also was taught to play guitar by Robert (I liken it to Devi Vishwakumar and her harp) so when he misses his dad or is just sad, he'll take out his dad's old acoustic and strum

- (This next one is something I also think a lot about so this is pretty much 98% projection) Bobby thinks sometimes about the fact that he was never able to come out to his dad. He hadn't really started growing into that part of himself yet, and he never got to show it to his father. He wonders what he would have thought of him. Would he be angry? Would he dismiss him and say it was just a phase? Bobby didn't think so, but a little part of him insisted that you could never be too sure. After he comes out, Gabi and Cami assure him that Robert would've been so proud of him and would've loved him regardless (Since we know virtually nothing about him, I maintain that Robert was one of those dads who teases their kid relentlessly about their crushes and I think he would've done that with Bobby and eventually Elena)

- When Elena's quince rolls around (if she chooses to have one of course), Sam dances with her during the father-daughter dance. A part of her still hurts, still aches and wishes that Robert were dancing with her too; still knows on some fundamental level that he and Gabi had planned for this day, but he had simply never made it. But she's known Sam long enough that she feels comfortable here. Nobody can replace Robert, but Sam is her family, and it feels right like this.

- I might do some more research and deliberate, but for the moment I'm saying that Robert had cancer, I’m thinking along the lines of colon. My mom was terminal, but idk if I should make Robert terminal? Maybe towards the end. Or maybe he was diagnosed as incurable early on but Gabi kept it from the kids because, tbh, being told your parent is balancing on that kind of edge is traumatic for them. So anyways, I’m going on that assumption for this last point, and I’ll see if I can recover some of my old knowledge and talk about technical stuff later if anybody would like to hear it

- Elena and Bobby were both pretty young. Bobby understood about PET scans and tests somewhat, and knew generally what different answers from doctors meant. Elena mainly just understood what was happening by reading her parents' and brother's expressions when getting lab results in from the doctor. They both remember on some level what it was like when Gabi would leave the kids with Cami and take Robert out to the car (later she would have to help him) and they would all feel like they were holding their breath until they got back and confirmed that everything was ok (and later, the little shocks of fear when the answers were no longer as positive and there was more apprehension and risks. After all, cancer doesn’t deal in absolutes)

- Bobby can still remember Robert when he had to stop walking around a lot. He still remembers the phone call that Cami got from his mom, saying that something had gone wrong, and if this last treatment didn’t work, he wouldn’t have much time before he passed. Still remembers Cami rushing into a room when she got that call, and trying to hide what was happening until Gabi could get home and explain it; but Bobby was a sharp kid believe it or not. He heard about the treatment, heard Cami crying. He still had hope... but when Robert came home in a gurney, when he could barely stay awake sometimes, when his voice was quiet and his skin was a little jaundiced, Bobby felt incredibly empty. But Robert always had a smile for his wife and his beautiful kids, even if it was small and very tired, his eyes still crinkled the same. He always had a smile; right up until they had to say goodnight and get some sleep one night. And then... he passed.

- After he passed, the Cañero-Reeds needed help, and a lot of Gabi’s coworkers would bring food or materials if they were running low. Cami and Danielle would babysit and would distract the kids when Gabi needed a good cry.

- Like you’d imagine, and because of what is sort of implied in canon and in my own head, the kids dealt with it in different ways. Bobby put up that sign, and withdrew. He wasn’t awful, but his patience with certain people got a bit shorter and he was a bit quieter. And he was a really good helper when he had the energy and he cared deeply, but he would sometimes get physically and emotionally exhausted after helping Gabi/Elena/Cami/anybody else with something and would go into his room or mentally tap out to recharge. He took comfort in things that seemed natural and that he sometimes took for granted before, like video games and skateboarding (hehe bobby skateboards. Anybody second me on this?) and clothes etc... and other stuff. A lot of materialistic things or experiences that he would skip out on before. But they bring normalcy back to his life now so he loves them for that.

- Bobby doesn’t wanna think about big themes or anything anymore, which I can’t remember but I think it was Vi (freshlybakedfandoms, again, idk where she is and I hope she’s ok) who said he was a math and science person and I think that as much as that could transfer over to those subjects as well, it’s much harder to avoid existential and emotional themes in English and History class and Bobby doesn’t like it as much as Elena does for that reason. He had to live with the back and forth of his dad’s treatments and tests, so math and science is comforting because it’s more concrete (There could be a million arguments for why he would distrust math and science because of his dad’s passing though, I realize) Ultimately, though, it reminds him of Robert too much.

- On the other hand, after a period of shock and confusion, Elena threw herself into new things. First it was a grief journal, to make sure she was going through the motions. Then she read a lot, and when she felt too alone or like she wasn’t doing enough, like she was stagnant, she’d just find something to focus and persevere on again. That feels like her personality type to me; something is wrong so let’s fix it right away. But that could also transfer sort of negatively into “Something feels off or I’m very sad, let’s get this thing done and be productive so we can put off having to confront that but at least we get work out of it” but I could be entirely wrong (this is based off some of my family members and how they dealt with the loss.) And Elena throws herself into history and english because her dad loved it, and she wants to remember more of him. Because she believes words have power and history is a lesson and that’s incredibly interesting for her

#bear talks #doafp #robert cañero reed #bobby cañero reed #gabi cañero reed #elena cañero reed #camila doafp #sam faber #fun times #sorry?#I can write a cute fluffy fic to make up for it #i cri #also sorry if I made these a bit too much about bobby #I just relate to him as the older sibling #I added some more so if it got out of hand I’m sorry #tell me and I can make it neater #my meticulousness might just make myself do that on my own tho

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fandom-necromancer · 3 years

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Furniture struggle part 2

This was prompted by @headfulloffantasy and the AO3 users imaginaryfriendashkun and DetReed900! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 [part 1] [read on AO3]

Some new wallpapers and the essentials to survive didn’t make a flat a home. But more wasn’t possible in the short vacation time they were granted just after the revolution. Cases were coming in rapidly and they needed everyone back at the precinct as soon as possible. That’s why after all important work was done and they could both live in their new flat, Nines agreed to get back to work on 24/7 shifts. Gavin had protested against it but couldn’t say anything more as he was given a list of reasons. The main one being that Gavin couldn’t just forgo his vacation as his rent on his old flat was running out. He had to have all of his stuff out of his old home before the end of the week and moving was more difficult on his own when he didn’t have an android with superhuman strength and unlimited stamina at his side.

So, his days just got busier. Juggling watching over the shower installation crew, some technicians the landlord had sent over for the recently found water leak last minute, driving to and from his flat with his car to get out everything he could and carrying everything he couldn’t out for bulk collection, really took its toll on Gavin. And so, he was quite relieved when all was done and the last few days there would only be assembly of cupboards for kitchen and bedroom and more furniture for the bath- and living room.

Gavin swung back and forth in between the door to accept all the packages and his current projects, often forgetting a step during assembly or having to do it all over again because when he returned he had to find out which piece was what number again. It was a frustrating work, but in the end, he really liked the change. It was less a physically tasking one and more counting on endurance. Plus, the added satisfaction of seeing the assembled piece in its rightful place was enough to keep him going.

He couldn’t wait to see Nines’ reaction when he got home after his inhumane shifts and be able to relax in a fully furnished flat. Maybe they could spend the weekend on their new sofa. Or maybe the new king-sized bed? Either way it would play out, Gavin looked forward to spending it with his love.

Nines hadn’t minded staying at the precinct the rest of the week. It had been the normal for androids before the revolution, so he had supposed it would be easy for him. But knowing he could have spent his evenings with his human made it all the worse. He was so looking forward to the weekend when he could see him again. He was also quite excited to see how much work Gavin had managed on their flat. He hoped he hadn’t done too much. He already felt guilty leaving the man alone with it all.

Maybe it would have dampened his mood once he saw what awaited him at home.

Gavin had put the small brass name plate just above the doorbell and Nines affectionately let his thumb run over it before opening the door. Nines & Gavin Reed. He would never not love the sound of that. ‘Gavin I’m ho-‘

The words got stuck in his throat as his sensors overwhelmed him with new data. He had been about to hang up his coat on the clothing hanger, but froze mid-movement. ‘Oh, Nines! Welcome back! God, I missed you! Here, let me take that!’ Gavin came running in for a quick kiss, before snatching the coat from him and throwing it over the hook. ‘Come on, come on! Let me show you around! I got everything set up while you were gone and I’m loving it!’ Nines allowed himself to be pulled into the living room and swallowed hard. It was hard to think of anything Gavin had created as less than perfect as the man was perfect in every way, but… it was hard to look at. Incongruencies in size and shape, minutely wrong aligned edges and uneven surfaces. It might be along the five percent variation that humans couldn’t see or didn’t mind and looked nicely to a human, but he wasn’t. He was an android designed to be better and… it troubled him. ‘Do you like it?’, Gavin asked. ‘I just put it where I thought it would look best, but if you want something somewhere else, I’ll gladly change it!’ Nines looked around, desperately looking for a way out. ‘It’s nice’, he finally managed to press out, but he hadn’t expected the static a lie often brought with itself. Gavin, ever the attentive Detective, immediately frowned and looked up at Nines. ‘Hey, what’s wrong? We can talk about it. It is your flat, too and I want you to be comfortable.’ ‘It’s all crooked’, Nines admitted. ‘Minutely. I don’t even know if you would pick it up, but I see it everywhere.’ ‘Like the screw thing?’ ‘Like the screw thing’, Nines nodded. ‘But you got over it’, Gavin remembered, cocking his head. ‘Do you think you can bear this?’

As an answer, Nines took the screw out if his pocket. ‘You… How… Oh my god.’ ‘I went to search it in the night’, Nines confessed. ‘I meant to put it in once I was alone, but I didn’t have the chance to yet.’ ‘That…’ Gavin stopped, looking at the screw. ‘That still bothers you?’ Nines looked over to the shelf he had assembled, the knowledge there was a component missing not as pressing now as seeing all the other furniture abhorrently assembled. ‘Not anymore I guess’, Nines said. ‘Do you think it will be the same with the rest? Can you live like this?’ ‘I will make do’, Nines sighed. ‘Maybe it will make me less machine-like.’

Gavin stepped closer and took the android’s hands in his. ‘Hey, I love you as you are, tin-can. If you can’t stand it, you can tell me. I didn’t plan to spend my weekend like this, but we can disassemble everything and redo it so it isn’t as bad for you.’ ‘That’s nice of you’, Nines nodded and squeezed his hands. ‘But you spent so much time with it, I think I will try first. Maybe I will get used to it.’ Gavin chuckled, trying to lift the android’s spirits to make him feel less guilty about judging the human. ‘Hey, you got used to all my irregularities somehow.’ Nines huffed in amusement. ‘I did. Maybe with time I will love our home nearly as much as I do you, then.’ ‘Oh, c’mon, quit the cheesy shit!’ ‘Make me.’

That was something Gavin didn’t have to be told twice. Immediately he pushed Nines towards the sofa until he fell onto the still new smelling cushions on top of him and kissed him. Maybe that would give his sensors something else to fuzz over.

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #more fluffy bois #Nines is struggling but Gavin has his back #aka every soft!Gavin story I ever wrote

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theculturedmarxist · 3 years

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Bryan Fogel’s “The Dissident” was too hot to handle.

The documentary about the murder of Jamal Khashoggi, the journalist and political activist who was allegedly killed in 2018 on the orders of the Saudi Royal Family, was one of the hottest films at last year’s Sundance. It had glowing reviews, a ripped from the headlines subject, and a big-name director in Fogel, fresh off the Oscar-winning “Icarus,” a penetrating look at Russian doping that got the country banned from the Olympics.

And yet, Netflix, which had previously released “Icarus,” and other streaming services such as Apple and Amazon steered clear of “The Dissident.” Without any interested buyers, the film languished until last fall. That’s when Briarcliff Entertainment, an obscure distributor run by former Open Road CEO Tom Ortenberg, announced it would release the movie on-demand.

Fogel thinks the subject matter was too explosive for bigger companies, which have financial ties to Saudi Arabia or are looking to access the country’s massive population of well-to-do consumers. Using interviews with Khashoggi’s fiancee Hatice Cengiz, as well as friends and fellow activists, Fogel creates a damning portrait of Crown Prince Mohammed Bin Salman’s apparent involvement in brutally silencing the writer and thinker and the country’s crackdown on free speech. Thanks to previously unreleased audio recordings, “The Dissident” draws a direct line between Khashoggi’s assassination at the Saudi embassy in Turkey and the Saudi government’s anger over his outspoken criticism of the country’s human rights abuses and mismanagement.

“The Dissident” is currently available on-demand, but its rather muted release isn’t the way Fogel had dreamed of provoking a larger conversation around Khashoggi’s murder. He spoke to Variety about the difficulty of making “The Dissident” and then getting it seen and why he thinks his new movie had the major streamers running scared.

Why did you want to make “The Dissident”?

After the success of “Icarus,” I felt a great burden and social responsibility to make a worthy follow-up. I was looking for a story regarding human rights, regarding freedom of speech, freedom of press, journalism. I also wanted a story that had real world implications that could create real world change through social action or political action.

As the investigation into the murder of Jamal unfolded, my ears perked up and I immediately started reading more about this man. I hadn’t heard of him, but I found out how trusted and regarded he was as a voice on the Middle East. He was also being presented in many media circles as a terrorist sympathizer or member of the Muslim Brotherhood or a friend of Bin Laden. This was not true. He was a moderate, who was fighting for free speech for his country and believed women should have rights. He believed Mohammed Bin Salman’s policies were putting the country on the wrong direction.

Was it difficult to get his friends and fiancee and family to speak to you?

It was very very difficult. This is where the accolades and recognition of “Icarus” and the Academy Award really changed the conversation. In those weeks following his death every journalist was after Hatice. As I approached her and other people, they were able to see my prior work. Hatice invited me about a month after his murder to come and meet with her in Istanbul. I didn’t bring a film crew. I spent the next five weeks there just building trust. It was a harrowing time in her life and I just kept explaining that I was not there for a day or a week or a month. I told her: if we do this, we’re going to go on this journey together. I promised that if she let me into her life, I was going to protect Jamal.

At the Sundance premiere, you challenged distributors to “…not be fearful and give this the global release that this deserves.” How did that turn out?

[Netflix CEO] Reed Hastings was there that day and so was Hillary Clinton. We had a standing ovation. People were wiping tears from their eyes as Hatice took the stage. It was the same scene at each one of our screenings. We were blessed with incredible reviews from all of the trades. In any normal circumstance, you’d think of course this film is going to be acquired and distributed. And yet not only was it not acquired and distributed, there was universal silence. Not a single offer. Not for one dollar or not 12 million dollars, which was what was paid for another documentary title at the festival. Nothing. It was literally as if nobody knew me. It was that startling and that shocking.

Six months later Tom Ortenberg and Briarcliff Entertainment stepped forward and said, hey we want to distribute this film. That’s wonderful. People will be able to rent this film on-demand. But what I wanted was for this film to be streaming into 200 million households around the world. I wanted people to have easy access to it. Instead we pieced together global distribution here and there.

Will this have a chilling effect on movies that want to tackle these kinds of controversial subjects?

This is a depressing and eye-opening moment that any filmmaker that wishes to tell a story like this needs to pay attention to. These global media conglomerates are aiding and abetting and silencing films that take on subject matter like this despite the fact their audiences want content like this. I was told that “Icarus” has had somewhere in the neighborhood of 700 million views. I don’t know if that’s accurate, but I know it was substantial. The decision not to acquire “The Dissident” had nothing to do with its critical reviews, had nothing to do with a global audience’s appetite to watch a docu-thriller, but had everything to do with business interests and politics and, who knows, perhaps pressure from the Saudi government. Netflix did remove Hasan Minhaj’s episode of “Patriot Act” [at the Saudi government’s request] in 2019 and defended that decision by saying, “we’re not a truth to power company. We’re an entertainment company.” It has been a struggle to get this film into the world and to shine a light on the human rights abuses that are happening in that kingdom. These companies, that have chosen not to distribute this film, in my opinion, are complicit.

Have you had conversations with these companies about why they didn’t want to release “The Dissident”? If so what has been their response?

It has been to not respond.

Is this about money? Are they wary of angering the Saudi Royal Family because they have money from Saudi Arabia or want to access their market?

My guess is both. Decisions are being made that it’s better to keep our doors open to Saudi business and Saudi money than it is to do anything to anger the kingdom. Netflix released a statement regarding Black Lives Matter that is in direct contrast to their statement regarding Hasan Minahaj. One stands behind truth to power and the other says we’re not a truth to power company, so it appears they are a truth to power company when it is convenient. But when their business doesn’t align with that or it might impact their subscriber growth, they’re not. The same can be said for all the streaming companies. In the film, there’s Jeff Bezos on the stage with Hatice. Jamal worked for Jeff Bezos [at the Washington Post, which Bezos owns]. So the same can be said of Amazon. I don’t want to point a finger at anyone because it’s all of them. This is a situation where business, subscriber growth, investment was more important than human rights. There’s got to be greater accountability. Not just on a business level, but on a political level. Trump vetoed the desire of both the House and the Senate to hold Saudi Arabia accountable for this crime. He continued to sell them weapons. He’s trying to get the Justice Department to grant Mohammed Bin Salman immunity from prosecution.

Would you still work for Netflix or the other streamers who declined to release “The Dissident”?

Listen, this is my career. This is my work. I’m sure that I will have other projects that might not take on subject matter like this and are not at odds with their business interests. When those projects come along, I will be glad to work with any of these companies. Look, I love Netflix. I really, really do. I’m so grateful to them because without Netflix, “Icarus” would not have become what it became. I’m not insulted by this. I’m not personally offended. I don’t view anything that is happening as personal. I just view it as business. I can understand it on a business level. I don’t agree with it, but I get it. I’m not mad. I’m disappointed.

What message do you want viewers will take away from the film?

There’s a hashtag #JusticeForJamal and the question has to become what does justice mean? We know that Mohammed Bin Salman will not stand trial for this murder. We know that the henchmen he sent are unlikely to truly stand trial. We have to look to the future. So what I hope people will take from the film is knowledge, because knowledge is power. Just like “Icarus” or “Blackfish” or “The Cove,” I hope this film has the ability to change hearts and minds. As more and more people come to “The Dissident,” I hope there’s a call to action. I hope that takes place on social media or through writing letters to congressmen or senators. The first thing I hope is people will spread the word. The second thing is I hope they will use the power of free speech that we have in this country and are so blessed to have to change the narrative. The Arab Spring happened because of Twitter, the Black Lives Matter and #MeToo movements took hold because of social media. We’ve seen that through combined action, change can come.

Disclosure: SRMG, a Saudi publishing and media company which is publicly traded, remains a minority investor in PMC, Variety’s parent company.

#netflix #saudi arabia #mohammed bin salman #jeff bezos #the dissident #sundance #jamal kashoggi #bryan fogel #cinema #film #censorship

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spacereadinglesbian · 5 years

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This Is How It’s Supposed To Feel

Word Count: 1145

Summary: TJ and Cyrus continue to talk on the bench about everything and nothing, all at once.

TJ and Cyrus continued to sit on the bench, hands intertwined ignoring the claminess they we were both getting. The two boys couldn’t help but smile at the fact they were actually together, that after all the drama they ensued, they made it. TJ was in awe, he couldn’t stop looking at the two hands that sat in the middle of both boys, he didn’t know what to do next. TJ decided to break the silence and cleared his throat.

“So, what now?” Cyrus could hear the shakiness in his voice, not knowing if they were more than friends and willing to put it out in the open.

“Well we can start off with who knows,well about this I guess.” TJ knew that Cyrus was talking about the unspoken gayness that was their hands, but at the same time he didn’t know how comfortable TJ was, well in his gayness.

“The first person that I ever told was Reed. I actually told him about my crush on you.” This caught the younger boys attention, a smile being placed on his face, and a little head nod that told TJ to continue.

“When I invited you to go dirt biking I told him before you got there. The whole time he was making fun of me because he thought I was showing off to impress you.” His voice trailed off into a frailness that seemed embarrassed. Cyrus chuckled, squeezing the older boys hand a little tighter, asking him silently to continue.

“After Reed, I told my sister, and she was so supportive and even said ‘Nobody with the name Thelonious can be straight,’ and we just continued on with our relationship. And the last person that knows, I didn't even tell them. She guessed. Kira made me choose between you two, and if I had to do it all over again, I would choose you sooner.” Thats made Cyrus smile and he squeezed TJ’s hand one last time before breaking his silence.

“As much as I love this,” he said pointing to their hands that have not yet moved but are fully enveloped in sweat “I want my hand to breathe a little,is that okay?” All TJ did was nod and put his feet on the bench, sitting in a criss-cross applesauce position.

“Now Cy, you get to tell me, who knows about you?” TJ was treading lightly, knowing fully that his close knit group of friends knew but not sure how comfortable he was telling the stories.

“The first person I ever told was Buffy. It was right after my first kiss with a girl named Iris, I knew it didn’t feel right, and Buffy assured me that there was nothing wrong with how I was feeling.” At the thought of his supportive friend, he smiled again, he couldn’t remember the last time he smiled that much. “After Buffy, I told Andi, at my bar mitzvah, and of course she gave me a big hug and told me how proud she was of me, and after that I told Jonah at the shiva, I couldn't have had a better group of people to come out to.” Cyrus could see TJ’s hand once again reaching out to be held, although his hands were still clammy he took it, and embraced the claminess with every muscle in his body, and then, they just sat there, in complete silence, holding hands looking at the stars in front of a beautiful fire.

“Do your parents know?” Cyrus once again broke the silence, looking into the green sea that was TJ’s eyes.

“My mom, she knows. I actually didn’t tell her, she kinda figured it out. After costume day I came home really upset, I was crying actually, and I told her that I switched costumes and felt awful for ditching you, her response is something I will never forget, ‘sometimes fear eats at you until there is nothing left but bad decisions. Don’t let the fear of your feelings eat at you until you don’t have Cyrus anymore.’ Then we just laid on my bed and I cried with her. She asked if she could tell my dad, I said yes.” TJ stopped himself looking Cyrus straight in the eye, seeing his reaction to the story.

“One day, will you tell me all about Kira?” TJ nodded his head, placing another squeeze to their hands

“Do your parents know Cy?” TJ knew well enough that with 4 therapist parents you have to hide some things, but all Cyrus did was nod his head.

“After Bubbe Rose died I told them all, I thought that anything can happen so if something out of the blue happens to them, I want them all to know.” TJ couldn’t help but think about how smart Cyrus was for thinking that way, he couldn’t help but want to show him off to the world now that they are both entering high school, he couldn’t help but think about the dances they can go to together and the snow storms they get to spend inside. It’s like Cyrus can read his mind with his next question.

“How public do you wanna be?” His voice was low, not wanting to ruin the moment, not wanting to scare the boy he so desperately cared about away. He wants to tell his friends about tonight, how he finally gets a love story after all. He wants to tell him about the way TJ’s hand fits in his like it's meant only for him. He wants to take pictures with him and make it his lock screen but he doesn’t want things to go too fast, he doesn’t want to scare the boy of his dreams away, and that’s when he speaks up.

“How public do you want to be, Cy? Because I want to hold your hand walking down the street and go to the movies together. I want to experience our first homecoming together and have double dates with our friends, but if you don’t want to be public, we can keep this between us. But if I can, I want to show you off to the world.” Cyrus can’t help it but a little tear escapes his eyes, and all he can do is nod his head, before he gets the courage to speak again.

“Can we do one more thing Teej?” And the older boy thinks he knows where this is going but wasn't positive until Cyrus moves closer and puts his hand on the older boy’s jaw asking for permission to kiss him, and is granted with an eager head nod. The kiss isn't passionate, it isn’t a sparks flying kiss, it’s a kiss that is emotional and speaks volumes, it’s a kiss that says that I’m no longer scared. A kiss that says, this is what it’s supposed to feel like.

#Andi Mack #andi mack fandom #andi mack fanfic #tyrus #tyrus andi mack #tyrus fanfic #tyrus week #andi mack spoilers #am spoilers #ALL THE FLUFF

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notapaladin · 3 years

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can’t let go of what’s in front of me here, version 2 electric boogaloo

Since I am INCREDIBLY hard up for obsblood fics (read: still feeding myself here), I reread my own stuff a lot. And while rereading this one, I realized I could fit EVEN MORE gratuitous Teomitl pining in it! ft the angriest bisexual pining you ever did see

Takes place during Harbinger of the Storm, can also be read on AO3.

“Fine. I’ll be kinder to your clothes than you seem to be. You might as well come inside.”

For a moment, Teomitl said nothing and slowly felt his face heat up, grateful that it would be hard to spot. He briefly thought of protesting—I can sit against the wall, Acatl-tzin, it’s fine—but the bigger (reckless, wanting, stupid) part of him had absolutely no intention of letting him miss this opportunity, and was already nodding and following Acatl inside. It would be all the better for protecting Acatl-tzin if something did happen, he told himself, since the man was clearly half dead on his feet with exhaustion. The fact that he sort of did want to watch him sleep was immaterial. It was only that even in normal circumstances (which these were not, his brother was dead, he’d been Revered Speaker almost all of Teomitl’s life and he was dead—) Acatl always looked so tired. Careworn. Serious. It made him long to see him smile, to hear him laugh.

(He had, a few times, usually in the presence of his family. It made something clench hard and painful in his chest.)

Acatl didn’t speak as he unrolled his mat, and Teomitl took the opportunity to look around. Almost immediately, he wished he hadn’t. It was so...bare. He’d call it depressing and make a crack about not needing to live in Mictlan even if you were a priest of Lord Death, but somehow it didn’t seem the time. There was a simple, mostly monochrome frieze of owls and spiders on the wall, a few woven chests on the floor holding Acatl’s meager possessions, a table that had seen better days, and a sleeping mat. And that was it. Granted, he didn’t keep much more in his own chambers—he had never been comfortable with the ostentation of the court, especially when there were more important things to think about (the glory of war, the power of magic, Mihmatini, Acatl), but it rubbed him entirely the wrong way to see Acatl’s house like that. At least his rooms in the palace had color. And there weren’t—he squinted—yes, that was a spiderweb in the corner of the ceiling. He knew Acatl had spent years in Coyoacan as a simple priest, with a simple calling, living in a plainer and much smaller house than this. Still, the High Priest of the Dead (his Acatl-tzin, his) deserved so much better.

“What is it?”

Oh, he’d been glaring at the wall. He shook his head dismissively, and aimed a smile at Acatl instead. It was easy to smile for him. It always had been—especially now, with the man blinking tiredly at him on the mat, hair unbound to spill over his shoulders in a fall Teomitl was not going to let himself contemplate yet. So instead of saying what burned through his mind—you deserve the finest dishes from the palace kitchens served on gold platters, with beautiful slaves rubbing your shoulders and fanning you with quetzal-feather fans—he told him, “Nothing, Acatl-tzin. Get some rest. You need it.” Another thought flickered across his mind, and was just as firmly squashed before it could escape—namely, the idea that if there was fanning and shoulder-rubbing to be done, he would probably (definitely) volunteer.

Acatl let out his breath in a long sigh as he settled down and arranged himself into a comfortable position. “Are you really intending to stand here and watch me sleep?”

Ah. Irritation was a familiar feeling, and he welcomed the burn of it even as his jaw clenched and he willed himself not to snap. “I know you by now. You’d think of something you had to do, and you’d get back up, and then it would be three hours later and you’d pass out in a corner somewhere.” With the star-demons.

“...And you say I worry too much,” Acatl muttered.

Someone has to. But saying that out loud was too close to vulnerability, and so he said nothing as Acatl slowly melted into the mat, tension draining out of him as he drifted off. Teomitl watched, leaning against the wall, until he was sure the man was asleep. It was far, far too warm to cover him with a cloak, but the urge to protect him—to mother him, as he knew Acatl would huff—was nearly overwhelming.

When Acatl’s breathing evened out, Teomitl closed his eyes briefly, relieved, and sank down to the floor to sit a bit away from him. Finally. Thank the gods. He didn’t want to see the shadows under Acatl’s eyes, or the careful way he held himself upright. With luck, this nap would help.

Stand up and keep watch, his survival instincts told him. Keep a hand on your sword. He could manage the second one, but the first seemed suddenly impossible; as his eyes opened again, his gaze flitted around the room and landed on Acatl’s face, where it stuck. He couldn’t look away. He could count the number of times he’d seen the man truly relaxed—not focused on magic, or investigations, or whatever was going on around him—on one hand, and probably have fingers left over. He’d certainly never seen him like this, looking younger and softer in sleep. He’d never had a chance to simply study Acatl’s face before.

He took that chance, propping his chin on his hand. With his usual slight frown erased—though it had left a faint crease between his eyebrows, one Teomitl’s fingers suddenly itched to smooth away—Acatl looked a good deal more like his actual age. He found himself remembering a moment with Mihmatini when she’d been teasing Acatl for his seriousness over a game of patolli—Like an old man, Acatl, should we call you Grandfather?—and Acatl, cracking the faintest smile, had pointed out to his little sister that he was old. Teomitl had stayed silent, focusing on his meal; then as now, he felt very strongly that thirty-one was not old at all, especially when anyone with working eyes could see how handsome Acatl was when he smiled. Less so now, which was probably good for Teomitl’s heart, but still his sleeping face drew him in.

It was a narrow face, unlike Neutemoc’s and Mihmatini’s but apparently quite like a long-dead mother and aunts, with sharp cheekbones and a blunter, less hawkish nose than Teomitl had unfortunately inherited. (Most days it didn’t bother him, but then he thought of Tizoc and—no. He wouldn’t think of Tizoc now.) There were the beginnings of lines at the corners of his eyes and dark circles under them, signs of far too much stress over too long a time. He has longer eyelashes than I thought, he realized. They shadowed his cheeks, and he could so easily imagine them brushing his skin like the wings of a butterfly. His lips were full and slackened a little in sleep; Teomitl clenched his fist before he gave into the desire to trace them with his fingertips, just to see how soft they were. He resolutely did not wonder if Acatl was the sort of priest to pierce his tongue with thorns. It was better for his sanity if he didn’t think about Acatl’s tongue at all.

It was probably also a good idea for him to spend less time staring at Acatl’s face before he did something stupid (before he started imagining those eyes opening and gazing at him warmly, for once not exasperated but proud, loving…) He should look out the window at least—but no, his gaze trailed over Acatl’s throat and down his shoulders and chest instead. His priest would never be a warrior; he was slight, and what muscles he had were more wiry than anything else, but Teomitl could never think him weak. Not now, after all they’d been through. He found his eyes lingering on old scars, not all of them ones he recognized. The ones from the beast of shadows were invisible, he knew, unless you reached out with magic. He shivered at the memory of those wounds. Duality strike me if I let you get any more.

Acatl’s chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths, and before he could think better of it, his hand was hovering in the air a scant inch or so from warm skin. The half-formed thought in his mind—to trace those scars gently, to lay a hand over where his heart thumped away in his chest—skittered away the next instant, and he yanked it back. Idiot. He’s just gotten to sleep, what are you thinking?

But he knew what he’d been thinking. The memories of that night never faded.

(A night of chaos, of fury, of both of them fighting for their lives, and there’d been a second he’d thought they would both die there. And then Acatl had thrown his knife at the thing, missing him by inches—but striking true. In the dark, aiming by magic, with one good arm. Looking back, even though he’d been furious in the moment, Teomitl was pretty sure he’d fallen in love as soon as the battle high wore off.)

Acatl moved, and he held himself very still. To his relief, the man wasn’t waking, only shifting a little in his sleep; muscles and sinew flexed under the skin as he curled in his arms and stretched his legs. The movement drew the eye to his hands, and Teomitl look a moment to admire them too; long-fingered, scarred, and as skilled with a reed pen as they were with a knife. He flushed, feeling his pulse kick up speed, and expelled a harsh breath. He would consider all the things those hands could do to him later, under the cover of night, when he was too far gone with lust to remember any of the reasons why that was a bad idea.

For now, he let his eyes wander over the curve of a slender waist, or at least what he could see of it; Acatl’s hair fell only to the top of his hips, but it got everywhere when he let loose the ribbon keeping it off his face. Unlike other priests, those of the Dead didn’t mat their hair down with the blood of their sacrifices, something which turned it into an impenetrable, stinking mass. When he had been younger, when things between them had been...better, Tizoc had said to him that the reason people gave priests such a wide berth wasn’t anything to do with the power or dignity of the gods, but everything to do with the stench. Until he’d realized the hatred and spite in his voice, he’d thought his older brother had been joking; even when he realized Tizoc was deadly serious, it hadn’t been until meeting Acatl that it had made him angry. (Since meeting Acatl, he’d discovered that a lot of things about Tizoc made him angry.) While there sometimes was blood caught in Acatl’s hair—an unfortunate result of long hair and frequent offerings to the gods—it was never allowed to remain there for long.

A good thing, in Teomitl’s estimation, because Acatl had beautiful hair; black and lustrous as obsidian, with a smooth wave to it that made him long to wrap it around his fingers and see how it looked in a thousand tiny braids dressed with gold. His fingers twitched at the thought. He’d look imperial. He’d look—beautiful.

It was useless to speculate over things that wouldn’t happen, and he curled his lip in disgust at the path his thoughts had taken. He’d never seen Acatl with any sort of ornaments in his hair, which was a terrible shame; it would no doubt be even wavier when they were taken out. Apparently it was something else he’d inherited from his mother, because Mihmatini’s hair was straight as an arrow.

And Teomitl had never had the urge to bury his hands in her hair to see if it was as soft as it looked. Partly because she’d skin him alive, admittedly, but even if she would allow him the privilege...

He realized he was worrying the inside of his lip plug with his teeth and forced himself to stop. With only half his mind alert for danger, his other thoughts were free to roam over whatever topic they desired, and they were merciless as the sun above. He took a moment to breathe, focusing on nothing but the next expansion of his lungs. It didn’t help.

He liked Mihmatini. He admired how brave and strong she was, how much she loved her family—and how they loved her in return for who she was, not what she might do for them. (It wasn’t something you could have in the Revered Speaker’s household. He wondered what it felt like.) Her acidic tongue was a pleasure to hear even when it turned on him; mockery and insults cut deep, but not as deeply as empty flattery did, and Mihmatini was sparing enough with her compliments that they rang even more true when she deigned to voice them. He knew in his bones that if she had been by his side when he’d needed to borrow a peasant’s boat, she would have dragged him up by his ear to ask permission (which he would have deserved, honestly; Jade Skirt’s power had been ruthless in showing him how full of himself he’d been, and he was still amazed Acatl had never slapped him for it.) From what he’d seen of her wards, she would probably have been able to incinerate half a dozen beasts of shadow without blinking, never mind being mauled by one.

Yet, for all her ferocity, she was so patient with her nieces and nephews that he was sure she’d make a wonderful mother to all the children he hoped to have one day. (Even if there were times he remembered his mother’s fate and—no. Mihmatini would be luckier. He would believe that.) And she was beautiful, of course, with her oval face and gleaming hair. He could easily imagine going to bed with her and thoroughly enjoying himself in the making of those children.

But.

His gaze slid over Acatl’s hips and the long lines of his thighs, imagining a jewel-netted hip cloth and a loincloth of gauze-thin cotton. He very carefully did not let himself imagine what lay beneath. If Acatl woke, and saw him…

He knew he was staring anyway; he could feel his mouth water. If he was a woman, and not sworn to the gods...Southern Hummingbird strike me down, I swear I would be courting him instead, and with all joy. The idea felt like it was lighting his brain on fire. Acatl dressed in embroidered cotton and quetzal feathers, covered in gold and precious stones, turning that radiant little quirk of his lips on him. Acatl naked on his mat—their mat—pulling him closer so he could finally trace all those scars with his fingers—and his tongue, while he was at it. Acatl asleep just like this, open and soft and trusting him to guard him in dreams. The mat was only large enough for one person, but that didn’t matter—or it wouldn’t, at least, when they were tangled together. They were of a height, and it would be so easy for Teomitl to tuck his head in against Acatl’s chest and just..sleep together. Warm. Close. Safe.

And here he was, panting over him like a dog in heat.

He wrenched his gaze away from where it had been drifting down the curves of nicely muscled calves, disgusted with himself and his thoughts of slender ankles decorated in gold and jade. Axayacatl is dead. My brother is dead. The next Revered Speaker—gods, it will probably be Tizoc, and I will be Master of the House of Darts if he is!—is all that stands between us and another slaughter like Ocome, except with people I actually care about. And I am supposed. To be courting. Mihmatini. Who has to be waiting for a proper marriage, it’s been a year now! She’d kill me if she found out I…I…and…

He sucked in a too-loud breath. He’d deserve her hatred, her fury. Here she was, strong and lovely and skilled in all the ways a good young woman should be, and he was lusting after her brother, who would never have him. Acatl is sworn to the gods, to a life of celibacy, I am actively courting his sister, and even supposing he is—is interested in anyone, surely it would not be me. Not a warrior, not a brother of the Revered Speaker. If I’m lucky, he sees me as a brother himself, and certainly not as a man.

True, Acatl had always treated him well. He was placid and rational by nature; even when Teomitl pushed him to annoyance, it never went beyond that. A lesser man might have struck or snapped at him for his teasing insolence, but Acatl only ever responded with narrowed eyes and a mild variation on his sister’s acidity—enough to sting, not enough to wound. On the whole, he seemed to have rated a sort of reluctant fondness in his teacher’s eyes. He’d never doubted that Acatl at the very least liked him. But there were times when Acatl looked at him, smiling, and for a moment he would think—

—Well. He would think stupid things, really. That if it wasn’t for the gulf between them (the unbending rigidity of Acatl’s role as his teacher and his own as a warrior of imperial blood, the knowledge that all the smiles in the world mattered nothing if the man granting them only saw him as an impetuous child in need of guidance), that if he was perhaps only a warrior and Acatl only a regular priest, they might be...friends. That Acatl might respect him as a man, that getting to put an arm around his shoulders or link elbows with him in the street would be enough for him.

It would have to be. The gods knew he wouldn’t get anything more. Even if I made my feelings known...ha, he’d let me down gently, but he’d still expect me to show up for our lessons! He’ll never...he doesn’t…

Suddenly, even being in the same room with Acatl was beyond his endurance. He couldn’t sit here watching the steady rise and fall of the man’s chest, the occasional faint twitch of a limb, the way the shadows lay across his bare skin. It was all too close, taunting him with what he couldn’t have.

He shut his eyes tightly and stomped out to the courtyard, where at least he could punch the tree until he felt better.

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #teocatl #paladin writes stuff

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essaysbyciara · 4 years

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Old Habits Die Hard | Part Seven: Backseat

Warnings: Language, mentions of sexual situations

Peace, loves! We’re back. Thank you to all who hit me up about this story. My laptop died back in July so I’ve been trying to write on a tablet which…yeah. A struggle is a nice way to put it lol😔. Go ahead and catch the vibes and thank you for the reads, likes, comments and follows. Y'all are the realest.

“I thought you didn’t smoke”

“I don’t. Doesn’t mean I haven’t…”

You take a strong pull of Dave’s blunt in conjunction with heavy breathing caused by his right hand causing a madness in the between. The cracked window of your car brings enough of a cool down so that the both of you won’t pass out from the nighttime haze and the heat travelling from your bodies. Finally, after two weeks, Dave understands your love language; he can’t keep his hands off of you even as you try to take a break from him. He lifts up your left leg with ease, draping your thickness over his right toned, tatted up thigh. The madness is now turning into magic.

“Dave…let me ch-chill. Shit.” He immediately relents, pinching your quivering thigh with that same right hand while grabbing his dutch away from you.. As you sit in puddles of sweat and Dave’s ruins, you stare at the stars above you. It’s the clearest night you’ve seen since you arrived in the city. It just so happens to be your last.

Dave catches your gaze at the night sky through the skylight above you. “You good, shorty?”

“Yeah, I just…” a slight chuckle escapes your lips. “…I can’t believe I’m smoking blunts and fucking in a backseat like high school.”

Dave feels the ping of your words. It’s the first time in the two weeks of your summertime escapade that he’s reminded of how different you two are.

He felt the slight of your words. You and his relationship always reminded Dave that he had some growing up to do. Because of his lack of a place – and the privacy that comes along with it – you two got it in whenever and wherever you could; after his brother went to work in the AM hours, when Aunt Jerri left the house for bingo, in the backseat of your car. Your surroundings would never get in the way of what you two were there for.

Just like Dave wouldn’t let anything stop him from getting at you the day you met. It was an unseasonably cool day for a block party. He and his boys were on the stoop, shooting the shit as always, when Dave saw you walk outside of Aunt’s Jerri’s house carrying trays of food. He knew all the girls from the neighborhood but he never laid eyes on you before. Your cut off shorts toed the line between modest and disrespectful. A white crop top tee and Air Max 90s sandwiched your goodness in the booty shorts you bought with the intention of showing off.

You turned around to see this caramel-covered king, 6’5, tatted from root to tip, body sweating through a white tank top inquiring if you needed any help. You froze like the bucket of ice Aunt Jerri laid down in front of you. He caught you by surprise. You didn’t remember boys from this part of town looking this damn fine. Dave was beyond that. The man you were supposed to be in the Bahamas with didn’t look like him either. Suddenly you were happy he bailed on you.

“Oh. My bad. I didn’t see you there…” You acknowledged Dave’s reach around you to grab a bottle of water from the same ice bucket that mimicked your gaze.

“Yeah, you bad…” Your right eyebrow never arched so high. It wasn’t the only body part that moved. You didn’t know how to respond to Dave’s street-laced flirtation, only to let your tongue peek out the side of your mouth, leaving Dave no choice but to stare at your lips. Dave’s stare and loitering in your presence caught the attention of your Uncle Trace. As Trace schemed Dave down to the basement to grab more lawn chairs, Aunt Jerri gleefully tapped you on the shoulder to remind you that what happens in Philly, stays in Philly. Trace told Dave to not let anything happen.

But as you kept talking, Dave slowly fell into your grooves. Dave didn’t know that you fit in so well because of your summers visiting Aunt Jerri, Uncle Terrence and the rest of the characters that made up your Dad’s side of the family. You acclimated to the energy. Half of your DNA was Reed Street, North Philly; the same as Dave. You two fit especially well in the spare rooms, backseats and basement meetups to you hid from Trace and the rest of the world that thought you had no business together.

But after this last backseat episode, you would be going back to the place that made you so different; to your senior grant writing job, your townhouse and your Roth IRA. Dave was just months into an overnight warehouse job that paid just enough to give him some change to save money to move out of the spare bedroom of Pardi’s already packed rowhouse. He was a work in progress while some would look at Dave as a sign of regression.

But for you, in that moment, nothing – and no one – would or could be better than Dave.

Until he disappeared and you met Yahya.

Right now, you hate Yahya’s guts. It’s been weeks since he told you that he’s taking on Dave’s case on a pro bono basis as a favor to Aunt Jerri. Still seething as you tried on wedding dresses, you kept your cool just enough to keep peace between your mother and her arch nemesis. This time you sided with your mother.

Yahya caught the rest of your static. He caught the silent treatment all weekend, the AM news radio station being the only background noise as you and him drove Aunt Jerri to Union Station. Once her and her hot pink suitcase rolled out of view, you went at Yahya’s neck. You never called Yahya so many words for “inconsiderate”, your Masters in Communication coming in way too clutch. But Yahya passed the bar, so his combative energy matched your loquaciousness. Onlookers got a good look at you two spar as he weaved through Beltway traffic.

To say that you were mad that Yahya took a case this close to the wedding would be a lie. You knew him to have a kind and caring heart, a heart that wouldn’t let injustice slip by. If this was anyone else’s plight, you’d be all for Yahya’s gracious spirit. But it was Dave. Dave who ignored you not once but twice. Dave who, in the very backseat of the car you’re yelling at Yahya in, told you to give him a few weeks and he’d be down to see you. The same Dave who defied all of the rules – and Uncle Trace’s threats– to get at you. Only to leave you. Dave needed to reap that.

But the Dave you knew – despite what others thought – wouldn’t hurt anyone. He was just a hair over eighteen when he caught the gun charge that sent him to prison. A gun he carried because he witnessed his brother die in front of him. He kept it on the straight ever since. Dave was saving up money for his own place, you understood the grind. He was a stone-cold sweetheart covered in a North Philly veneer. He didn’t sow a seed worth anything for this to happen.

Despite the battle on the Capitol Beltway, Yahya and you came home to convene the most obnoxious session of make up sex known to man. Damn the celibacy. Y’all needed to be on good terms and he needed to get Dave out of jail.

—

“How it’s going, love?” Your dining room is becoming Yahya’s makeshift work office. You couldn’t help to sneak down at night to read some of what Yahya’s been putting together for the case. Seeing Dave’s name all over his papers remind you of how many times Dave’s name escaped from your lips.

“Man, it’s good. We got enough for this bail hearing. I think we can secure a bail low enough that his family and the local justice coalition can afford.”

“Good. Let’s get him home…”

Yahya smiles at your enthusiasm toward Dave’s case. Despite the ninth-circle-of-Hell type of sex you two had in the aftermath of that fight, Yahya knew you steamed from him taking a case just mere months before the wedding. Yet your insistence to know details – like spotting you reading his notes – remind him of why he wants to marry you in the first place. “What date is the hearing?”

“The sixth of next month. You should come up with me. Watch me in action…”

“I can’t. I can’t be in that courtroom. I’d make you nervous.” And make yourself nervous to see Dave.

“You make me nervous regardless, Y/N. But I was thinking you’d want to see your friend get out of jail…”

Your breath stops dead in its tracks.

“My friend? Dave isn’t my friend.”

“That’s not what Jerri told me…”

Although you support Yahya, you still kept you and Dave’s past relationship a secret. Knowing Aunt Jerri, keeping secrets ain’t in her resume. You grip the kitchen counter to brace yourself for Yahya’s inquisition. He passed the bar on his first try; you got some work to do.

“Yeah, about that, I … didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Of course some puppy love shit ain’t relevant. It’s cute, actually.”

Nothing about what Yahya is saying to you makes sense like it does to him. As Aunt Jerri told Yahya about Dave’s case, she slipped in a farce that you and Dave “dated” when you both were kids, Dave buying you water ices and shrimp egg rolls from the “chinese store” whenever you asked. You two allegedly fell out once puberty hit the both of you like a ton of bricks.

So when Yahya peeped Dave staring at you from across the living room of Aunt Jerri’s house, he knew that as the look of a man who now knew he let something good get away. He knew Dave ventured down to the basement not to grab a bottle for Trace but to rspit game at you. Yahya knew you would turn him down, having seen it before. When Dave grabbed your hand , Yahya wasn’t jealous nor hurt: you were set to be his wife. He won. The baddest girl in the world belonged to him.

You start breathing again as Yahya explains Aunt Jerri’s novella of you and Dave’s teenage love affair. In her own twisted, demented yet genius way, Aunt Jerri covered for you. She knew that if she gave Yahya the honest details, he would – as a man –hesitate to help Dave. Apparently you both thought Yahya wasn’t mature enough to handle the truth.

Aunt Jerri’s lie is broken up by the high pitch screeching of your cell phone. You run to answer.

“You have a collect call from PICC. Do you accept the charges? …”

How many times can you stop breathing in one night?

“Hello?”

“Hey, yo… it’s Dave. I hope ain’t hitting you up at a bad time. Ms. Jerri gave me your number…”

“Oh, no … it-it’s cool. I, uh… how are you holding up?”

Dave couldn’t believe that you asked your fiance to help him get out of jail. At least, that’s the narrative that Aunt Jerri sold Dave on as she and Dave’s mother sat in front of him during their biweekly visits. Dave’s face, once pretty-boy and perfect, carried more wear. His jaw slipped when he talked, causing him a pain sometimes much worse than what happened that night in the store.

“This bail hearing is in two weeks.”

“Yeah, Yahya just tol-” You didn’t want to keep bringing up Yahya’s name. Though that man is Dave’s savior, he’s still the one that’s in the way of a final go around with Dave. “…the 6th, yeah.”

“I want you there.”

“You do?” Your aversion toward sitting in the courtroom subsides as Dave’s voice – sexy as ever, even through a prison phone – calls for you to be there for him.

“Yeah. If I get out, I got a chance. Especially with your dude as my lawyer. Thank you for that, for real. That’s why I’m calling, to be real. And I want you to be one of the first people I see when I get out..”

You wonder what story Aunt Jerri told Dave but you can’t take any more of her creativity. “So you comin’…?”

“…you have less than fifteen seconds left on this call…”

“I’ll…”

“…this call has ended. Goodbye…”

“…be there, Dave.”

Taglist: @yoursoulstea @harleycativy @twistedcharismaaa @dorkskinneded @need-my-fics @ghostfacekill-monger @writerbee-ffs @chaneajoyyy @amyhennessyhouse

#dave east #yahya abdul mateen ii #yahya abdul-mateen ii #yahya abdul-mateen ii x reader #dave east x reader #old habits die hard

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andersunmenschlich · 4 years

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Episode 12: First Aid

Another snatched moment hour. Tonight I get the story of one Lesere Seraki, a nurse at St. Thomas Hospital in London.

The story takes place in 2012, two days before Christmas.

Lesere Seraki is working in the Accident and Emergency department that night, and is pleasantly surprised by the absence of fights and angry drunks, which apparently she was expecting. Sounds like the worst they got was some broken bones. It's 1:30 am when the ambulance arrives. They'd radioed ahead to tell Accident and Emergency to expect a couple burn victims (severe burns), so Lesere was ready for that.

Oddly, the waiting room's totally silent.

All the patients are still sitting there doing normal things—looking at phones, reading books, cradling injuries, comforting one another—but without making any sound.

Huh. Now, this makes me wonder. I've got really good hearing, so I can tell you that just because no one's talking doesn't mean a place is silent! The rustle of pages turning, the rasp of skin on paper, the thud of fingertips hitting screens or armrests or table tops (interspersed with the occasional sharp click of a nail), the constant cacophonous rush of air sweeping into and out of noses and mouths....

What does Lesere Seraki mean when she says "the A & E waiting room was totally silent"? Are we talking a supernatural, sound-deadening silence? Or just a normal, noisy, no one making deliberate mouth-noise silence?

She's surprised by it, so I'm inclined to think the silence was supernatural.

But then she says "not one of them spoke," which makes me think it was natural (and not really all that silent).

Whatever the case, the ambulance pulls up and Lesere runs out to help with the first patient. She notes that the doctor (Kaylee Grice) speaks very quietly: not quite a whisper, but near it. No one else seems to notice this, so Lesere concludes she's just having trouble hearing because she's very tired.

Hmm.

I'm often told that I speak very quietly, but from my perspective everyone else speaks far too loudly. They breathe too loudly, too. If there's some kind of something in this episode that's making people be quieter than usual, I think I just might like it, whatever it is. Even if all it's doing is keeping the chatter down, well, I'll take what I can get!

The hospital employees get the first patient to the only available treatment room, and Lesere Seraki gets started while Dr. Grice and the EMTs go back for the other one.

Lesere is 48, and has been a nurse for most of her life.

She's baffled by these burns. They're second-degree, and apparently they cover the patient's entire body—even under the undamaged clothes. Now, that's interesting. In fact, that's fascinating. I wonder what Ivo Lensik (from episode 8) would've looked like if Father Edwin Burroughs hadn't turned up in time. That heat seemed to come from inside him, remember? Wouldn't it be interesting if it only burned him, and didn't touch his clothes?

According to Lesere Seraki, patient one is a tall, heavy-set, athletically built middle-aged male with no hair (possibly it’s all been burned off), wearing a black suit and a white shirt.

Patient two is smaller and younger than patient one (Lesere guesses mid-thirties), and totally fine from the neck up—no burns at all. There's a clear line where the burns stop. This patient (also male) has long hair dyed black, no beard, a similar suit to patient one, and a very nice long black leather coat which Lesere feels bad about destroying.

Well, that is one of the many downsides to getting that badly injured: your clothes can't come off normally, they've got to be cut off.

Neither patient one nor patient two appears to be in any pain, which is weird. No screaming, crying, moaning... it's like they're sleeping peacefully. Well... I suppose if you've got to be horribly burned, dropping into some kind of healing coma wouldn't be a bad reaction, as reactions to that sort of thing go.

Ooh, and patient two is covered in tattooed eyes!

Now, what would make a person want to have tiny eyes tattooed on every joint in their body—knees, elbows, knuckles—and over their heart?

These clearly aren't normal tattoos, either. According to our statement-giver, every last one of them is untouched by burns. In fact they seem to have protected the areas around them a little bit too, in rings about a centimeter wide. Hmm. I wonder if that protection's more than skin deep? Since the heat in episode eight came from inside, I'd definitely expect some damage to have been done to the joints, unless....

Also, patient two reminds me of Kiritsugu. Or Wizard Dresden.

...Jared Keay?

Let me see, that was episode four. That story took place in the winter of 2012, and this story takes place in the winter of 2011, which means (if I'm right) that when Jared Keay stole Dominic Swain's very hot metal trash can... yes.

Dominic was worried that Jared would burn himself on the thing, and Jared "shrugged and said he'd had worse."

Well, this would certainly be worse!

That would also make our covered-in-eyes burn patient the guy who painted the picture of the eye I was so taken with in the study at Pinhole Books.

Is it just me, or are eyes kind of a recurring theme in this show? First there was Graham Folger in episode three, filling notebook after notebook with "keep watching," then there was that eye painting in episode four ("Grant us the sight that we may not know. Grant us the scent that we may not catch. Grant us the sound that we may not call"), then the bullet hole opening "like an eye" in Wilfred Owen's forehead in episode seven, that camera in episode nine (which I'm including mainly because I still don't understand why Robert Montauk was taking pictures he apparently didn't ever expect to be able to develop), and now there's this guy with eye tattoos all over him.

...Heheheh. "Jared Keay has an eye on his ankle...."

[cough] Anyway.

Dr. Kaylee Grice and the EMTs seem to have recovered their ability to speak loudly, which is a shame, and they're talking about what's up with patients one and two, which is wonderful because I really wanted to know.

Seems they were found in a building site near St. Mary's Churchyard, unconscious, by the fire brigade. Someone reported a fire, see... but when the brigade got there, there wasn't any fire. Some scorch marks on the ground, and a metal bar that had apparently been heat-warped (and two people covered in burns), but no actual fire. So they called an ambulance, because what else were they going to do?

Patient one was apparently an alien. Who carries nothing in their pockets? Even I've always got at least one knife.

Patient two was nearly as bad as patient one. Nearly. But not quite. Our long-haired, wizardy-looking friend was carrying 1) a Zippo lighter with (surprise, surprise) an eye on it, and 2) a old passport that identified him as Jared Keay. And apparently Jared Keay's been around!

Funny that the coat was in such good shape. From Lesere's description, it was practically brand new. Man, that's an unfortunate thing to lose.

Apparently he got another one, though.

The EMTs get another call and head out. The nurse and the doctor finish cleaning and bandaging all those full-body burns, then transfer the two to a ward with bed space and move on with the business of the night.

An hour or so later, Lesere Seraki's going to get more gauze, and passes through that ward.

The older burn victim is talking.

Or... chanting, more like. But really, really quietly, and not entirely in English. She says the first word sounded like "a sock" or "a sog," the next word like "veepalatch," and finally, in English, "the lightless flame." I think she might be skipping some words between "veepalatch" and the English, which makes sense—can't expect her to remember the whole thing. Though these statement-givers are usually really good at remembering details! Not to mention writing them well; but that's sort of essential, given that this is a podcast and if they were awful I wouldn't be listening.

"A sog," though... that makes me think of Sumerian mythology. Yeah, I didn't study that too much (I focused more on Greek, Roman, and Norse stuff), but it's ringing a faint bell. Lugal-e? I think there was a villain named Asag.

Yeah, they were some kind of rock troll or something? But with more supernatural powers than we think of stone people as having these days. Lessee, they used the sky for a club, howled like a storm, dried up the water of the mountains, tore trees out of the earth, set fire to the reed-beds, bathed the sky in blood—that kind of thing.

They also had kids, which were all made of different types of stone. Hematite kids, lapis lazuli kids, alabaster kids... all that. Even coal kids. In the end, Ninurta basically annihilates Asag and turns them into a heap of rocks, which gets used to build the underworld and also make some dams, I think, and then he assigns different fates to all the kids based on what they did or didn't do during his fight with Asag. Conveniently, this also lines up with the properties of the rocks. I remember it being a kind of just-so story, explaining why there's stone under the earth and why we use different types of rock for different things.

Don't know why anybody would be chanting about a rock troll, though, so....

Oh, and this chanting starts to make Lesere Seraki feel like Ivo Lensik in episode eight. "I started to feel warm, like there was a fever quickly creeping out towards my skin," she says.

...Whoa, hold up.

She says this isn't the first time she's had this reaction.

Tell me about the other times, Lesere!

And how the heck does taking a moment to center yourself make a supernatural burn-you-up-from-the-inside-out thing stop? There's something going on with this nurse.

She doesn't know what to do about the chanting, though, so she just checks patient one's bandages (they're fine) and carries on with her shift. But when she returns to the main Accident and Emergency reception, there's no one there.

She was just there less than five minutes ago.

Where could everyone possibly have gone? And why? She says there were more than thirty people there, then she steps out to get some gauze and they vanish?

There's no one at the reception desk, even! That can't possibly be right.

So she starts checking rooms, and the only people left are the ones who're too sick to move or hooked up to IVs, and they're all asleep. Which, at three in the morning, is probably what every daytimer wants to be—but they don't wake up when she makes some plausibly deniable attempts to wake them up (loud noises outside their rooms), which makes me think their sleep isn't entirely natural.

Then she hears a sort of growl, and notices that the floor is shaking. She can't figure out where it's coming from, and is getting more and more freaked out by the second.

I don't suppose finding the source calms her down any, because it's one of two vending machines—all the drinks inside it are boiling so violently they're exploding. In half a minute they're all completely wrecked, and the growling sound stops.

She decides to leave.

I think that's a sane decision, under the circumstances. I mean, apparently everyone else has!

But when she gets to the door, she notices that the plastic at each end of the metal handles is a bit... melty. She tests the temperature with the back of her hand (a good thing for checking temperature with), and sure enough—that door is just radiating intense heat.

Well, she's obviously not getting out that way.

On her way to another exit, though, she hears patient one still chanting.

She's so keyed up at this point that she heads in with the incoherent goal of making him stop. No clear idea of how she's going to do it, mind you. She has the vague thought that she'll stick her hand over his mouth.

That... doesn't seem like a great plan to me. I mean, we know things around here have a tendency to be unexpectedly hot right now, don't we?

At least she should check his face like she did the door.

Before she can burn all the skin off her palm, however, somebody grabs her wrist. Somebody with a body temperature notably higher than average. Jared Keay shakes his head at Lesere Seraki, and she screams at him.

Boy, she is all keyed up.

He drops her wrist straightaway and says sorry, it's just touching patient one would have been a bad idea.

He's obviously in horrible pain, but doing his best to hide it, pretend nothing's wrong, and keep functioning. I empathize with that extremely. I think I might like Jared Keay, and not just because he shares my taste in coats.

In any case, the two of them stare at each other awkwardly for a while.

Jared, it seems, is waiting for Lesere to ask him what's going on. I'd quite like her to ask what's going on.

Lesere, however, says "something told me that if there was a coherent explanation for everything that had happened since the ambulance arrived, then I would be no better off for knowing it."

Oh, for Pete's sake!

Who doesn't want information? Simply knowing is useful! Just having the information makes you better off! Sure, you may not want others to know you know, but knowing itself is never a bad thing. As a certain statue says, "Knowledge is the greatest gift." Even if there's nothing you can do about a thing, at least you know!

[sigh]

Well, anyway. There's silence for a while, then Jared asks about his stuff. Apparently he had more than just a lighter and a passport!

He's most interested in a small book bound in red leather and a brass pendant he'd been wearing. Ooh, would that pendant be what protected him from the neck up? And somebody took it. Somebody who didn't finish the burn job after the theft. That's... huh. Well, it's a bit of a weird way to go about a robbery.

Oh.

Lesere Seraki is exceedingly creeped out by Jared Keay.

Apparently she thinks that somebody with second-degree burns over eighty percent of his body shouldn't be standing up and walking around, especially given how much painkiller he's got in him (yeah, he should be awfully woozy).

So there's silence again while Jared processes the fact that his book and his necklace have been stolen and Lesere carries on being spooked.

Then Jared nods at her and limps away.

She follows him, wanting to know what he's doing. What he's doing, apparently, is putting in the code for the supply closet, which frankly he shouldn't know. Oh, and he's stealing a scalpel. ...Oh, and he's going to murder patient one. Well, that's... unexpected.

As a nurse, Lesere Seraki figures she'd better stop him. But stuff around him starts to boil, and so (given this new information), she comes to a different conclusion, and steps aside.

...To which Jared Keay says something that makes no sense.

"Yes. For you... better beholding than the lightless flame."

Ooookey-dokey. Well. Lessee. Patient one was ranting about "the lightless flame," and Jared Keay is clearly obsessed with eyes, so that seems to line up. Hmm. Maybe he's trying to pick a thing to do to Lesere, and he's decided to go with the eye one instead of the burning one. Ugh, but if he can control the burny thing, why's he burned? And using a scalpel instead of whatever's making things around him boil?

Well, whatever.

Jared Keay unwraps the scalpel, mutters a few words, and stabs patient one (who's still chanting) in the neck.

...Ohhh. And this initiates a full-on, flameless, apparently heatless cremation. Okey-dokey. Yup. I take it back—clearly Jared's got a handle on this thing. Even the scalpel gets ashed, which is really handy in terms of disposal of a murder weapon.

He sweeps the ashes into the bedpan and asks Lesere to dispose of them.

As a nurse, she knows where the medical waste bins are. Handy. And as she's walking the corridor, she spots Dr. Grice at the other end. She runs to go check, and sure enough—everybody's back, being just as noisy as she'd expect them to be. She actually cries, she's so relieved.

Jared stays in the hospital for another four days, then his mom comes and gets him, which is a good trick given her death in 2008, but hey, we know what Mary Keay's like.

Oh, and apparently Lesere changed her mind about wanting to know.

Yeah, try talking to him about what happened now, Lesere Seraki, now that everything's back to normal and there are people everywhere. It's too late! You had your chance and you blew it! Argh!

...And now she's just trying not to think about it.

Whee.

All right, I'll admit there are things I try not to think about—but they're things I know, and even though I don't like thinking about them, particularly, I wouldn't unknow them if I could. It's good to know things! You don't have to think about them all the time, but it's good to be able to if you need to! People like this... yeah, I don't understand people like this at all.

Oh, and she says she gets the feeling of being watched when she's alone on the wards. Not threatened, not protected, not judged either positively or negatively: just watched.

So I was right! Jared Keay was deciding which thing to hit her with. Well, well.

Jonathan Sims says Sasha was able to get access to the hospital records for that time, and they back up Lesere Seraki's story. He also says "Asag is the name of a demon in Sumerian mythology associated with disease and corruption," which sounds to me like he's got Asag mixed up with the Asakku, which is quite easy to do since they share the same name, but Asag was one being and the Asakku were many, so....

And then he says something about Asag being "able to boil fish alive in their rivers," which I don't remember from the Lugal-e at all.

The closest thing to that would be, I think, when the hurricane that went before the hero Ninurta "flooded out the fish there in the subterranean waters" and "reduced the animals of the open country to firewood, roasting them like locusts." But that was the hero's doing, not Asag's. Hmm. Ninurta also "caused bilious poison to run over the rebel lands," making sick the people who had turned from him to acknowledge Asag as their ruler.

But, again, that's the hero making people sick, not Asag, so....

I really don't know where Mr. Sims is getting his information here. Though it does make way more sense that patient one would’ve been talking about the Asakku, not Asag! (Yeah, it’s the same name in Sumerian, but different in Akkadian... whatever, it’s language, what’re you gonna do.)

Anyway, he goes on to say that Martin thinks "veepalatch" might be a mishearing of a Polish word which I'm going to use Google to look up: "wypalać."

This seems more reliable than the stuff Jonathan was coming up with earlier. Honestly, my opinion of this Martin is higher than my opinion of our narrator: Martin hasn't shown any signs of being anything but competent and reliable, while Jonathan Sims is, well... he's skeptical and trusting in strange places, let's put it that way.

Mr. Sims says he can't find anything conclusive on "the lightless flame."

He says it crops up in a lot of different contexts throughout various esoteric literatures.

Okay, I call shenanigans. We've been listening to him record this whole time, there've been no clicks, it's not like he took a break to do research and then came back! And we know it's other people who do the pre-reading research, not him.

Come to that, when did he look up "wypalać"?

Well, all right—that one he could look into easily enough on a smartphone. And maybe the podcast editors cut out the pause for Googling because it'd be annoying for listeners. But there's just no way he went through "various esoteric literatures" on his phone! That's just... no. Nope, my suspension of disbelief doesn't go that far.

Ugh. Well, I suppose it might. But I'd prefer to think that all this knowing-stuff-it-shouldn't-be-possible-for-him-to-know nonsense isn't just the result of the podcasting format.

...Which, now that I've put it that way, reminds me of Jared Keay and his knowing the code to the supply closet.

Huh.

Anyway, according to John Tyndall in Heat Considered as a Mode of Motion, if you mix hydrogen with pure oxygen you get pure aqueous vapor. Ignite that, and you get a lightless flame, much hotter than an ordinary flame. Laboratory: A Weekly Record of Scientific Research, Volume 1 says much the same thing: "Though it is clear that the luminosity of certain flames increases with their temperature, we must not forget that hydrogen burns in oxygen with an intensely hot, but almost lightless flame. The hydrogen flame in air has a temperature of 3376° Fahrenheit, but in oxygen it rises to 7364°."

Then, of course, there's The Complete Old English Poems, where there's a Biblical poem about the fallen angels: "They warmed to power and fell into fire / A candling darkness, a lightless flame / A terrible truth dawned on them too late / They traded God's glory for hell's grim fate."

But mostly I'm turning up stuff like this patent thingy—

"The Petitioners are the proprietors of Welsbach's patent, taken out in 1885 for incandescent gas-lighting. Welsbach; instead of using the flame of gas in the ordinary way so that the particles of carbon in the gas produced the light, mixed the gas with air as in a Bunsen burner, and so got a lightless flame with considerable heat; he hung over that a mantle, which became white hot and incandescent, and produced a greater light with the same quantity of gas than could be produced in the old way of incandescent carbon in the gas."

—and other sciency stuff, which I suppose tells you something about my Google search habits.

Never mind that. What I'm saying is: I don't think a smartphone would let Jonathan Sims do the kind of research he's claiming to have done here. It'd take hours in a special library or something.

Mr. Sims says it hasn't escaped his notice that this is the second time Jared Keay has turned up in his tape recordings. He'd like to get a statement from him (and so would I!) but apparently Jared died "late last year," whenever that is. Brain tumor. He holds out hope that Jared might've already given a statement, and it's just hidden in the mess somewhere. I certainly hope so. That ought to be good, assuming it wasn't given before he figured things out.

Lesere Seraki's still alive.

...And she still gets the watched feeling every once in a while, but otherwise everything's normal with her.

Ooh, but Sasha didn't just get access to the hospital admissions and discharge records! She also got access to their CCTV footage! Dang, these "assistants" are awesome. How are they so good at their jobs? These people are amazing.

At 3:11:22, everybody in the Accident and Emergency waiting room (28 people, by Mr. Sims's count) just got up and left. Like it was a fire drill or something (except it wasn't). Then Lesere goes in and out a few times, once stares at something under the camera (which Mr. Sims figures is the vending machine—shame, it would've been cool to have that on camera, assuming the camera was good enough to pick up more than pixelly blurs), and then at 3:27:12 everybody just files back in.

It's video without sound, so verifying that's out.

Oh, well now.

Sasha noticed that at 3:22:52, the feed cuts out and—for less than a second—there's a close-up on a human eye. Yeah, okay, "recurring theme" indeed, you're just rubbing it in our faces now.

This is really cool! I definitely feel like things are starting to come together.

So there's some kind of magical power called beholding, and another one called the lightless flame, and you can use the lightless flame spell to burn people without messing up their clothes (or beds) and boil things and turn doors too hot to touch, and the beholding spell to... make people feel watched? Learn the codes to hospital supply closets?

...Research stuff you obviously couldn't have researched normally?

Hmm.

#The Magnus Archives #episode 12 #commentary #late to the party

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writingthingsisdifficult · 5 years

Text

Oh my god they were roommates part 4

You are forced to take over the monitoring of Loki. Snapshots from the life of being a god handler.

It’s weird how a phrase or sentence can inspire a whole story. In this case it was “A polished turd is a turd nonetheless.” This is what grew from it. The whole story is almost 13.000 words long, so I felt I had to split it into parts.

This is the last part. Hope you like it, though I have to put a warning on this one: blood, insects, death, maggots are the ones that come to mind first. And angst. But it’s me, so :P

If you like it, let me know. Knowing that people enjoy my writing is what keeps me posting my stories.

Word count: 5010

Part one Part two Part three

_______________________________________________________________________

You beckoned to Loki. “Come on. They’ve called me in.”

He sighed heavily, but followed you through the shop, still carrying the shopping basket. “Oh joy! I guess there’s no time to drop me off before you go?”

Looking down on the phone in your hand, you shook your head. They wouldn’t send a text like that if it weren’t urgent. “Sorry. Guess you’ll have to wait in the car or something. I’ll drop you off once I get my assignment.”

Loki shrugged. “I should’ve brought my book.” He put down the shopping basket next to the cashier and nodded politely as you left. Better he put the items back on the shelves than leaving the basket in an aisle somewhere. Besides, you doubted he would mind much.

He had developed a little crush on you both, and you had yet to come up with a good way to let him down gently. Loki had jokingly suggested gauging the poor guy’s eyes out. After laughing it off, you still weren’t a hundred percent sure he was joking.

Another solution had popped into your mind too, but you had dismissed it just as quickly: pretending to date each other would probably get him off your back, but that would place you in an uncomfortable position. For your part, the pretend part would hurt a little too much for your liking.

Loki’s book remark made you wonder. “What do you mean you should’ve brought a book?” The car roared to life.

“Waiting out missions tend to get tedious,” he explained patiently, leaning his temple on the window. “Especially after they got their hands on those cursed manacles. I blame Thor for that.” His eyes darkened. Frost swirled over the glass.

“It’s happened before?” You almost stopped the car on the side of the road, but a fleeting image of Maria Hill’s disapproving face popped into your head. “More than once?”

Loki nodded. “Oh yes. Before Agent Powell they would not let me out of their sight at all. Made for some interesting days, I’ll tell you. Even when Agent Reed took over my… care, I was confined to a cell or the back of a vehicle when he was needed somewhere else. Granted, their missions were less frequent than other’s, but yes, I’ve seen my fair share. I imagine – hey! Watch out!”

The road in front of you exploded in purple, and you swerved, barely avoiding hitting the lump of unidentifiable mass in front of the car. You sped up, muttering under your breath. “What the hell?”

“I made a habit of always carrying something to read,” Loki continued, unperturbed.

As you got closer to HQ, you got closer to the fighting as well, but for a tiny second all you could see was Loki’s dejected expression. Patting his knee, you tried an encouraging smile. “Listen, I’ll try to… I can’t promise anything, but…” You fell silent for a while before muttering: “At least I’ll make sure you’ve got a book.”

The large, dark grey gate loomed over you, and you flashed your ID to the guard in the booth. He nodded to you and took an extra good look at Loki before waving you through.

Parking in the lot behind the lab, you marched quickly to the office building. “You better wait outside,” you said, gesturing to the long line of personnel vehicles.

“I know the drill,” Loki replied and turned right by the door.

Inside, Director Fury himself was involved in handing out the assignments, together with Agent Hill. An uncomfortable pressure settled in your chest. The situation must be really bad, but you took a seat next to Agent Torres and a new recruit you hadn’t seen before. Shaking your head slightly, you thought about how the recruits seemed younger every year.

Agent Hill quickly briefed the room on the situation while Fury stood in the background looking grim, but collected. Nothing threw that man out of balance.

“We have yet to determine the origin of the attackers,” Hill said, confirming your suspicions, and allowing for a collective gasp to go through the crowd.

Uncertain origin always meant aliens, extra-terrestrials. You swore silently. There would be a lot of casualties.

Hill continued: “The Avengers have been notified and will focus on the main threat, aided by the armed forces. Your mission will be damage control and civilian evacuation.” They had put together a pretty decent plan in such a short time, and you wondered if they had one ready, and just changed the dates and locations according to need. Soon you were queuing up to get your assigned tasks.

The recruit in front of you let out a curse on a trembling breath.

“Hey, don’t be scared,” you whispered. “We’ve been through worse. Just stick to your mentor and everything will be okay.”

He nodded and squared his shoulder, before hurrying after a more experienced agent. Rubbing you eyes, you tried not to think too hard: he wouldn’t last through the day if he didn’t manage to get his nerves in check.

When it was your turn, Maria handed you a big, yellow folder. “You’ve been assigned to Sector 3; yellow. Some families, mostly senior citizens and immigrants. How’s your Spanish?”

“Non-existing,” you replied with a grimace, taking the folder and headed for the exit. Just as you reached the door, you turned back.

“Yes?” she said. The question must have been obvious in your face.

“Ma’am, as I have custody of Loki –“

“He knows the routine,” Fury interrupted.

“Yes, sir. About that… I would like to request him coming with me on this assignment.”

Hill raised and eyebrow, but Fury nodded once. “And he will. The handcuffs are being brought down as we speak.

Inhaling deeply, you decided to just jump in. “I meant with us, as an agent. He –“

“Agent Y/N, that would be unwise. Loki is hard to control.”

“With all due respect, Sir, I believe he has proved himself trustworthy. Since I took over the charge, he has had several chances to do ill, but he has refrained from doing so. He is on good terms with the neighbours, and the community knows him as a helpful person. Hell, Lydia, uh, Mrs Martin all but worships the ground he walks on – though I’m not sure that counts in his favour,” you added silently. Looking up at both Fury and Hill, you tightened your jaw, pulling out your last argument. “God knows we need an extra pair of hands, and he is experienced in combat, should it come to that.”

“Fury, she has a point,” Hill said, surprising you with her support.

“Fine.” Fury rolled his eye. “But that’s your ass on the line. If anything happens – if he tries anything, that’s your responsibility.”

“Understood. And thank you,” you added. You could’ve sworn you saw a smile cross Fury’s face, but it was gone before you really registered it. It might as well have been a figment of your imagination.

“Run along before I change my mind.”

Outside you ran into Agent Reed. He looked like Christmas had been cancelled. “You’re gonna get us all killed. That blood’s on your hands. Loki can’t be trusted.”

Glaring, you didn’t really want to deign him with an answer, but he blocked your way, and you were getting angry. “We need all hands on deck, Benjamin.” When he didn’t move right away, you raised an eyebrow, staring at him with contempt in your eyes. “And to be honest I trust him more than I trust you. Get lost, Reed.” You pushed your way past him, leaving him looking like a goldfish.

Loki was waiting by the car, eyeing the crate with the magical manacles and the guards standing on each side of the crate. His face was neutral, but you knew he hated those manacles more than anything in the nine realms.

“Looks like you don’t get to sit this one out after all,” you told him with a mischievous grin, clipping in place the clasps on your vest. “Of course I tried to dissuade them, but Fury was adamant it was all hands on deck.”

When he registered what you said, his stance visibly shifted. You hadn’t noticed before, but it was clear he had been slumping. Now he was standing tall, a new spark in his eyes. “Oh no,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “No quiet evening in the back of the truck for me. Whatever shall I do?” As he spoke, his armour grew, and you sucked in an extra breath.

It shouldn’t have affected you the way it did, but the confidence in him at that moment was almost too much to keep you on your feet. Adjusting your earpiece, more to distract yourself than anything else, you manage to shake it off, and opened the car door. “Let’s go.” You held up your hand, and he looked at it, then at you.

With a contemptuous sneer he slapped it, then shook as if he had just touched something slimy. “Never again, Y/N,” he said and slid into the vehicle, pushing the other agent further in.

“Yeah yeah.” You grinned and got in after him. Closing the door with a slam, you knocked on the window to let the driver know the car was ready, and sat down. Seconds later you were en route to the second alien invasion in three years.

The car stopped and the doors opened to reveal a crumbled building. Frightened people were running in every direction. Some tried to jump in standing cars, but the chaos affected the traffic as well. It was a miracle your evacuation convoy had even gotten this far.

Within minutes you were set to work. The team leader had directed you to a pair of buildings that were partially collapsed.

Helping shocked civilians and digging through the rubble together with Loki and the other rescue teams was hard. The concrete crumbled upon touch, releasing puffs of white dust into the air, making it harder to breathe.

Suddenly you stopped in your tracks. You heard whimpering, but it wasn’t coming from the building. Rounding the corner, you spotted a little girl.

She couldn’t have been more than four or five, and she was completely alone. It was obvious she had been crying, but when you found her she was silent like a stone. Her face was grey with dust, her skin only showing through the paths her tears had taken.

Someone had already dug her out of the rubble, but for some reason they had left her standing in the piles of concrete. You cursed and reached out to her, but Loki beat you to it.

Crouching down, he stretched out his arms, inviting her to come to him. And she did. “You’re okay now,” he said in perfect Spanish, stroking her hair and brushing dust from her face. “Such a brave little girl. What’s your name?” She didn’t answer, but he continued to talk calmly until he reached the evac bus, where a team of paramedics and agents were ready to take over.

The girl remained silent until he tried to hand her over to a kindly looking woman with curly hair. She buried her face in Loki’s neck, tangling her fingers in his hair, straight up refusing to acknowledge the woman at all. When she was lifted away from Loki she started wailing. Her tiny hands grabbed the empty air.

It was heart breaking to watch, but you knew she couldn’t stay. At the shelter she would get food and water, and maybe, just maybe, she would find her parents there.

Loki smiled gently, shushing her and brushing away her tears. “It’s okay, brave one. Don’t be afraid.” He continued to speak for a while, and finally the girl calmed down and allowed them to carry her to the waiting transport.

You got through the day with only a few scrapes on your knuckles and a small cut under your right eye. Loki, of course, looked like he hadn’t even broken a sweat, even though he had lifted and carried and comforted more civilians than the rest of the team combined.

You were slightly envious, but you were also more than ready to forgive him the rudeness of his perfection if that meant you could just go home and collapse on the sofa and do nothing for the next three weeks. Getting rest was the only thing that mattered, and the sole thing standing between you and it was one last check of a nearby kiosk.

The building was far from safe, and uninjured people had begun to rifle through the scattered goods as people usually do in event of a catastrophe. Your last task as the sun was setting, was to make sure none of the looters were caught if the building collapsed, and to properly block the street after the last evac bus had left.

Suddenly a man came sprinting right at you. Before he stumbled over a pile of concrete, he stopped, panting and watching you with wild eyes. “My wife!” he shouted and started climbing over the rubble.

“Sir,” you began. “This is not a safe area. Please move.”

He didn’t react.

“Sir. Your wife is not here. We have scanned the building, it is empty, and those who were buried have been excavated. The evac –“

“Move!” he growled, still advancing, apparently intent on entering the building.

Loki stepped forward. His appearance would stop most men, but this one was clearly not aware of what he was doing, and worse: in his hand he held a big bundle that looked vaguely like a gun.

“Stop,” Loki began, and you reached for his arm.

“Are you insane? You don’t know what he’ll do.”

He grinned widely. “Jury’s still out. Probably lots of people who would argue for it. But trust me. I know what I’m doing. I can help him -”

“No, Loki! He’s got –“

The man drew the weapon and before you could reach for your own, the street exploded with purple light and a high-pitched screech. You shielded your eyes, expecting to be ripped in half any moment, but you felt no different, and when you looked again the man was sprinting down the street, the gun tossed aside like a banana peel.

The next thing you saw froze your blood. “Loki!” Dropping to your knees, not caring that the jagged edges of the concrete rubble lacerated your skin. You fumbled for his hand. It was so cold, and covered in blood, and he was gasping for air. The armour on his chest was melted away, revealing a blistering gash. He was bleeding heavily.

“No, Loki,” you whispered over and over. “You’re okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.” If he died, you would never forgive yourself.

In a moment’s clarity, you fished out your phone, almost dropping it because your hands were so slick, and for backup. That weapon was not of human origin. Besides, you couldn’t very well call an ordinary ambulance for Loki.

A small crowd were forming by the time SHIELD arrived. Some were filming your feeble attempts to keep Loki’s blood on the inside, others were just watching, but all stepped back once the black cars showed up and agents swarmed the area, collecting evidence and mobile phones and witness statements.

You noticed nothing of that, though. The only thing you heard was Loki’s ragged breath as you focused on keeping him awake. “Listen to me,” you said with a trembling voice, failing horribly to sound stern and confident. “Don’t you dare die! Not like this!”

Loki coughed and smiled weakly. “Well, I figured this was the only way you would leave me alone.”

Laughing grimly, you shook your head. “What, am I such a bad roommate you have to die to get some peace?”

He nodded once before his eyes started to glide shut.

“This is bullshit!” you yelled just as the paramedics ploughed their way through the onlookers. Once they started working on him, you sat back on your heels and closed your eyes. Your tears were indistinguishable from the rain, but you could not ignore the burning behind your eyes. All sound drowned in the rush in your ears, and distantly you registered someone hoisting you to your feet. Supported by an agent, you let yourself be lead to an ambulance so they could take a look at your bleeding legs.

Someone strapped you in and attached beeping machinery and devices to you, but all you could see was Loki’s ashen and bloody face lying lifeless on the pavement.

_______________________________________________________________________

Loki opened his eyes and blinked in confusion. You rushed to his side and handed him one of the white plastic cups. “Don’t try to speak. Drink.”

He nodded and sat up, gulping the water down greedily. Some of it dribbled from the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. When he was finished, he put the cup down on the little side table and looked around.

Once he noticed the balloons, he burst out laughing. “What the –“ His voice was raw, and the effort made him cough.

“Better not talk to much yet,” you said, grinning now that he was awake and didn’t seem insulted by them. “Let me jump start your memories.”

He reached for the nearest balloon and examined it while gesturing for you to go on. The balloon in question read Get well soon you attention seeking twat on one side, but as it slowly revolved, the other side revealed It can’t always be champagne, cocaine, and hookers. (Get well soon.) Loki let out an amused chuckle.

You felt like crying with relief, and you hoped your voice wouldn’t crack. “Basically you had to be a hero and scare the shit out of me. You’ve been in a coma for almost two weeks! You dick!”

His eyes shone with remembrance, then widened from your sudden outburst.

Suddenly aware of what you had said, you started sputtering, ears burning with embarrassment. “And I wasn’t the only one who were upset. When Thor found out you were in a coma he let loose a storm that almost flooded the city. It wasn’t until the doctors finally confirmed you would live he let it go.

To be fair the lightning show was kinda pretty, but it made it hard to sleep. The curtains aren’t exactly lightproof,” you added, looking at the windows over your shoulder.

Loki followed your gaze, before his eyes landed on the crumpled blanket on the chair in the corner. He swallowed and grimaced. He never thought you would have resort to such uncomfortable methods to keep an eye on him.

“The hit you took caused significant injuries to your torso. The doctors contemplated a skin graft too, but they were unsure how your body would react to Midgardian technology. Luckily you’re a fast healer.”

It took another week before the doctors deemed Loki well enough to be discharged, and you were more than happy to have him home again. The apartment, though unharmed in the attack, seemed so dark and ghostly without him, and you had even snuck into his room a couple of times when the anxiety shot through the roof.

Pushing the wheelchair through the glass doors, you headed to the waiting car. “Ready to go home?”

“Yes. And ready to get out of this ridiculous chair. I can bloody walk on my own.”

You snorted. “Yeah, sorry about that. Standard procedure, I think. So that you can’t sue the hospital if you stumble over a mat or something.”

Loki snorted too. “Right. Well, this is beneath my dignity.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve made spaghetti for dinner,” you said, hardly able to contain your laughter.

Loki let out a loud groan and got into the car.

_______________________________________________________________________

His face was grey and spattered with blood. It flowed rapidly from the deep slash across his chest, and no matter what you did it would not stop bleeding. Soon you were slippery with blood, both on your hands and on your feet. It became increasingly more difficult to find foothold, and you slid over the slick surface trying to keep pressure on the wound. Blood seeped through your clothes, warm and sticky, his life force coating your skin in red.

You called his name, over and over, but got no answer; his unseeing eyes turning milky white as you watched the ground swallow him inch by inch.

Mid-scream you were yanked backwards, landing on a soft surface with a silent oof. Dreading what you would see, you opened your eyes slowly – and looked straight into Loki’s concerned eyes. He was holding your shoulders harder than what was comfortable, pressing you into the mattress, but once he got eye contact, his grip loosened.

Blinking, you tried to orientate yourself. You were in your room. The bed was where it ought to, and you were tangled in your blanket. The t-shirt you usually slept in clung to your sweaty skin, and your face felt raw and stiff.

Seeing the wildness in your eyes, Loki let go completely and stepped back. “You were screaming,” he said softly, as if he expected you to scream again. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Frowning for a second, you didn’t know what he was talking about. Then a light flicked on in your brain. He had misunderstood your terror. “No, no. You didn’t. I… I had a nightmare. You…” You hesitated. “I didn’t know where I was. Thank you for waking me.” It hurt to talk. You wondered what the neighbours thought had happened.

“What did you dream about?”

You shook your head. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

Loki nodded. “Alright. Sleep well, Y/N. I wish you pleasant dreams.” He turned to leave, but before he could close the door, you called him back. “Loki, wait.”

He poked his head around the door. “Yes?”

You drew a deep breath. “Will you stay? Just a little while?”

He came back and sat down on the edge of the mattress, looking both confused and concerned.

“I’m scared the dream will return,” you explained with an apologetic smile. His lifeless face appeared each time you closed your eyes, and it made you nauseous. “Maybe if you, if you distracted me, I’ll fall asleep again. I mean, if you… oh, but you probably want to go back to sleep. Nevermind. Sleep well, Loki.”

You curled up and tried to think about nice things. Puppies and kittens, balloons. Summer. Flowers, meadows, grass, dirt… holes in the ground, sinking, maggots, dead Loki… You shivered.

Loki shifted next to you. “I was reading when you… uh,” he said quietly. “Perhaps I could, if you want to… I could read to you? Mot– Frigga always did that whenever I could not sleep when I was young.”

“I’d like that.”

He smiled and conjured a book out of thin air. “I just procured this wonderful edition of old fairytales. Some of them remind me of my childhood stories.”

You turned over on your side, resting your forehead on the side of his thigh. The warmth and life and movements calmed your nerves even further.

Loki opened the book, leafing through it until he found the page he was searching for. “Dapplegrim. This is one of my favourites,” he said. “Once upon a time there lived a rich couple with twelve sons…”

You glanced at the page, admiring the gorgeous illustrations. “Wait, Loki… that’s not English. You… are you translating as you read?”

He nodded, a red tint appearing in his face. “Yes. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” you murmured, and soon his smooth voice wrapped around you and carried you off to dreamland.

_______________________________________________________________________

Bugs and maggots. He was green and bloated and decomposing. You were stuck. Can’t get away, can’t get away, can’t get away. Invisible hands pulled you closer and closer. Chalky eyes stared into emptiness. It’s your fault. He’s gone. Never. Never. Never.

Gentle hands shook you out of the dream. “Y/N!” Loki repeated your name until you opened your eyes. “You were screaming again.”

Your throat was so sore – it hurt to swallow, and you could taste blood. A raw sob escaped, and you hid your face under the blanket. Every time you closed your eyes, his dead face swam into view. Would you ever be able to sleep again?

He gently stroked your hair, letting you cry until you could breathe evenly again. Then he asked for the seventh time in just as many days: “Will you not tell me?”

You clutched your blanket and shook your head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Please.”

When you stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, Loki handed you a cup of coffee, sat down next to you and crossed his arms. “You look like hell, Y/N.”

You scoffed. “Why thank you, Loki. How kind of you.”

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed you by your elbow and dragged you to the door, coffee abandoned on the kitchen table. “I did not mean it like that, and you know it. Come. I’m buying you a hot chocolate down at the Bean, and then you’re going to tell me what’s bothering you so much you can’t sleep at night.”

Sighing in defeat, you wound a scarf around your neck and said a silent goodbye to the flat that had been your home for so long before following Loki out the door.

The Bean was a no nonsense café just a couple of minutes walk down the street. Fortunately it was unharmed in the attack, and you found yourself visiting almost every day, and the owner always greeted you warmly when you came by.

Loki sat you down by the table in the back, making sure he had a clear view to the door and window, then ordered two large hot chocolates with extra whipped cream.

“Come on,” he said, licking cream from his lip. “This is getting out of hand. Tell me what those abhorrent nightmares of yours are. It can not continue like this. You haven’t had a good night’s sleep in… how long?”

“A week,” you answered meekly. “Sorry I’ve been keeping you up.”

Loki shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. Now. What is it that you dream about?”

You looked at him and he wiped a tear from your cheek. “I… It’s you.”

Loki’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, and he straightened up. Suddenly he was cold and distant, and the change startled you, it was like he was a stranger.

Closing your eyes, you inhaled deeply, finding comfort in the lingering sensation from his touch. “I see you,” you continued. “Dead. Decomposing. Gone. And it’s all my fault.” Now that it was out in the open it felt like a boulder had been lifted from your shoulders, and you dared to look up at him again.

He was no longer emotionless and stiff; his face had softened, and his eyes showed a new gleam that you had never noticed before. He took your hand in his and squeezed. “It was just a dream. You know that? I’m not dead.” Tilting his head, a small smile spread over his lips. “How could I sit here if I were?”

You swallowed hard. This could destroy a wonderful friendship, or if you were lucky – no, you didn’t dare to even think it, let alone hope. You gave up all pretence. Your old apartment was still there, and you could always volunteer for more fieldwork.

“Don’t you see? It hurts me so bad seeing you…” You swallowed again. Even saying it out loud was painful. “…dead, because I… I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Mouth slightly open, he slid off his seat and crouched in front of you, holding your hands in between his own. His face was serious as he looked into your eyes. “That is not a wise decision, Y/N,” he whispered, and you felt your heart plummet to the floor. “I am not an easy person to love.”

“I know,” you muttered, struggling to hold back your tears. “But I can’t change what my heart tells me.” You sniffed and twisted in your seat, trying to manoeuvre around Loki. “I’ll send someone to pick up my things.”

You tugged on your hands to free yourself, but Loki would not let go. He straightened and pulled you closer. “You misunderstand me. I am not an easy person to love, but if you are willing to try, I will do what I can to ease the effort.”

“What?”

“Y/N, I had given up hope that someone would ever love me, and to find that that someone turned out to be you? It is more than I could have asked for. You have been in my dreams since the day we met, and I tried so hard to be civil when you met that fool. Tommy? Wasn’t that his name? And now… now you tell me that… that…” His voice broke. Instead of continuing, he lifted your hand to his lips. His touch was feather light, but it still sent a chill through you. Resting your hand against his cheek, he looked up at you, and you saw nothing but love in his eyes.

Many hours later, as you walked up the stairs hand in hand, Mrs Martin quickly poked her head out the door, then withdrew and closed it again.

“Oh shoot, now the whole building’s gonna know by morning,” you said, imagining the gossip spreading like fire from neighbour to neighbour. In your head you could see them staring, and the little knowing looks her and Mr Howard in number 15 would share.

Loki chuckled and brought your hand to his face, gently brushing his lips against your skin. Goosebumps erupted over your entire body.

“Yes, she will never shut up about it,” he murmured, looking fondly at the closed door. “Guess we really do have to invite her to the wedding.”

Your brain fizzed out, and you stopped mid-step, staring at him.

_______________________________________________________________________

Tagging:

@80percentmarvel @tardis-is-mine @schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte @jessiejunebug @thefuriousquake @wolfgar15

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #reader insert #fan fiction #oh my god they were roommates #fluff #flangst #angst #tw: blood #tw: insects #tw: maggots #tw: nightmares #tw: death #writing is hard

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lamp-up-my-ass · 4 years

Text

A Man, a Snake, and a Rat Chapter 1

((Hi! So I've written out a few chapters for the Intruloceit AU, and have been posting them on AO3 but not here. So I finally got around to it, hope you enjoy!))

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day was beautiful, wind sweeping away the first dying leaves of fall and clouds shielding the earth from the bright rays of the sun, casting small shadows around a tall brick building. In front of said building stood a tall nineteen year old holding one of the few boxes that laid around his feet. A paper sat on top of the box he held, as he glared down a it and re-read the words printed on it.

Dorm room 133c, third floor. Room to Remus D Grimm, Logan B Reed, and Dimitri P Zolotov.

Dimitri was the one who stood in front of the building and was currently glaring at the paper. He had specifically asked for a single dorm from the very beginning, two days after receiving his acceptance letter in April. From the responding email to his original request and the one he received after checking in two weeks prior, he was assured he would have that wish granted. However, it appears that he has been placed with not one, but two roommates. After checking his email to bring attention to this matter, he found that an email was sent to him that morning notifying him of the change.

Steaming from the sudden and unpleasant situation he was placed in , Dimitri placed the box on the ground and rubbed at his face. He needed a bit more time to think this over. Luckily, the parking lot was quiet and devoid of any other people, the majority of them having arrived early and we're settling into their new dorms. Unluckily, this meant that the two other people who were to be his roommates most likely were doing the same, meaning Dimitri will run into them and be expected to interact. He despised talking to others.

Deciding that he had stood there long enough, Dimitri gathered all of his minimal belongings and began his trec up to his room. After walking as quick a possible to the elevator ( while ignoring the peppy greeting of the college staff) and riding the elevator to the third floor, he stood in front of room 113c.

The realization that he did not have the keys to the apartment dawned on him, causing the man to groan frustratedly. His only hope of getting in was to knock and hope one of his roommates would answer. Therefore there was truly no hope of avoiding these people . And so the man stretched out his knuckles and knocked on the door four times.

After a moment the door opened, revealing a man both taller and darker than Dimitri. His hair was short, shaved with the hair on top beIng slightly longer. His eyebrows sat furrowed in confusion above dark gray eyes, which were protected with rectangular thin rimmed glasses. His face was narrow and skin smooth. Before he could look down and fully take in the man in front of him, his own voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Hello, I am one of your new roommates."

His voice was steady and smooth, however that did not portray how he actually felt. The intimidating man slowly nodded and stepped aside to give him room to enter.

"Yes, I gathered as much. I am simply confused as to why you knocked when the door was unlocked" he spoke, pronouncing each word clearly and in a slightly monotone way. Dimitri's face heated up as he cursed himself for not checking. He stepped passed the other and into the dorm, mumbeling "I totally knew that" under his breath as he walked in.

The door led straight into a small yet open kitchen area. To the right of the room was a small hallway with three doors. Past the kitchen there was small couch and an outdated TV, making a very bland living room. Lastly, there was sliding glass door in the back wall that lead to a deck.

Sprawled out on the couch was a smaller man, his feet propped up on the wall and head hanging upside own of the side. He seemed to be struggling to figure out how to work the decade old television, the arm holding the remote stretching in different positions to try to get it to change the channel. Upon Dimitris entry, he stilled and craned his neck to look at the newcomer curiously.

"My name is Logan Reed and this is Remus Grimm. We decided to take the shared room as we already are familiar with each other. You are free to set up your room on the left or you can-."

Before the man ( apparently named Logan), could finish what he was saying, Dimitri has already speed walked towards the mentioned room and entered it, closing the door behind him with his foot. He was not in the mood to socialize, still feeling anger at the circumstances along with the other feelings that grew from that interaction.

The room was bland and terribly krampt, with only enough room to fit the pre existing twin bed and deck. After spending some time to shove all his clothes into the doorless closet and place his supplies on the desk, he dropped his body onto the bed and sighed. Having nothing else better to do, he rolled onto his side and scrolled through his phone, distracting himself from the small pit that formed in his gut when he thought of the events that occured.

~~~~~~~~~

"Wow, mysterious and hot! Aren't we lucky?" Exclaimed Remus, before falling from the couch and rolling into a criss-cross sitting position. His face was split in a wide smile as he looked up at Logan. "I would get down and dirty with him all night, if given the chance!"

Logan shook his head from where he stood, looking down at the man sitting on the ground. He's known Remus passingly since high school through his brother Roman. However, he only ever interacted with him when he would spend time at the Grimm house, as they never shared classes nor knew each other well enough to seek the other out. And now he would spend at least the next two college semesters living with the loud, intrusive man.

"I'm sure Dimitri wouldn't appreciate someone he has yet to communicate with lusting after him." Logan argued, walking over to and lowering himself onto the loveseat. Remus threw his head back and cackled, finding it hilarious that he got the tall, proper Logan to describe his want to fuck as 'lusting'. He plopped back on the ground, placing his head inches away from the others feet. His smile still plastered on, the maniacal man looking up at Lo with a wink.

"Step on me, mister professor man." he purred while biting his lip, before once again bursting into giggles.

Logan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, proceeding to give the short latino a deadpan look. This caused Remus to laugh even harder, wrapping his arms around his stomach and rolling on his side. Half way through his fit he sat up suddenly, whipping his head to look at Logan with a serious stare.

"We need pizza so I can get to know my hunky new roommates!"

#sanders sides #intruloceit #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #logan sanders #prinmoxiey #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #college AU #human AU #roommates #fanfiction

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fluidityandgiggles · 4 years

Text

Dalton Big Bang day 11 - The Natural Next Step (coffee shop AU)

Writing Masterpost, AO3 Link

Notes: Sperril will not let me go, and so I shall write for them.

(Who cares? They're adorable)

Meeting one

"Logan, back me up here?" Charlie called into the break room, to his fellow barista, who was currently on break. "Your boyfriend is here!"

"Good!" Logan called back, pushing his glasses up without even looking at Charlie. "I'm having lunch."

"Okay!" Julian laughed as he saw Charlie come back and immediately turn to Dwight, letting out a loud "yeehaw!".

"Yeehaw?" Dwight replied, getting away from the cash register to join Charlie. "Yeehaw, yeehaw!"

"Yeehaw, yeehaw yeehaw—"

"You made your fucking point!" Logan almost screamed by then, getting out of the break room as the two Texans started laughing. "Yee fucking haw. Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too."

As Logan went to greet (read: kiss) Julian and get his order, and the others could not help but make fun of the two, Merril silently thanked them for keeping her out of it. They were her friends and she loved them all very dearly, but they could be a wild bunch when they wanted to be… and it could honestly sometimes be a lot. So these times when they all got this chaotic, Merril counted her blessings and smiled to herself.

She was in the middle of piping the meringue on top of a lemon pie when she heard another commotion outside, looking as Dwight ran into the kitchen to grab a cup of water.

"Are you okay, darling?"

"He's here."

----

Spencer Willis didn't think, not in a million years, that he would ever become a set designer for an off-Broadway show. He didn't even think he'd enjoy set designing at all, until getting discharged on medical grounds from West Point.

It took him a year to recover, spent while living with Justin in New York and not doing much more than physical therapy and just being dorks together, and then he applied to Syracuse. It was an easy choice to make - it's still in New York, so he could still see Sydney from time to time; he could afford it, between his parents and some scholarships and grants he could apply to; and best of all, it had a great art department, at least according to his research (and Justin's sister's friend Lucy who also applied).

Lucy Westwood was, for a lack of a better word, quite chaotic. The eighteen-year old costume design major quickly took to the twenty-year old art major, which didn't go unnoticed, and before Spencer knew it he was asked by his professors if he thinks theatre design would be a better major for him. Well, less asked and more told to try a couple courses and see how he likes it, and… in stage design he ended up staying. It was still art, and amazing art at that, but it was also a lot of physical, tactical work, and he fell in love with all of that.

It's been four years since graduating Syracuse. Four wild, wild years, where he got to meet and befriend Reed Van Kamp, get roped into the theatre world harder than ever before, and as of a few months ago and thanks to Reed's insistent pleas, also start working off-Broadway on a revival of Assassins.

He still couldn't quite wrap his head around how this happened, but somehow it just did.

"I saw Shane again last night," Reed told him and Lucy as they joined them for lunch, in the middle of a long day none of them could guess just how long it'll end up being. "He's so good! Lucy, he's so good!"

"Now you're going to tell us we need to come see Once On This Island," Lucy laughed, bouncing as they waited at the queue at the cafe they ended up going to. "You've told us that several times already."

"Mercedes Jones is a goddess, okay? And a literal one in this production! And Shane is really good as Daniel, and Jane, the girl who plays Ti Moune, is just… I can't praise them enough! I think I'm in love with a whole cast. Can you be in love with a whole cast?"

"I think you definitely can," Spencer answered them, watching as the cashier ran away into the kitchen. He started doing that after the third time Spencer and Justin came here, to meet with Justin's boyfriend Charlie, and they had a conversation about Cats that got the whole cafe involved in it. He always felt bad for the poor guy, but to each their own, he supposed. "Hey, Chaz."

"Oh, hi," Charlie chuckled as he came to the register for now. "I swear, Dwight needs to get over that Cats debate…"

"No he doesn't, he's fine."

As Reed and Lucy left the queue to sit down and Spencer stayed to order - "two caprese sandwiches, an omelet sandwich, two chocolate cake slices and three iced coffees, everything to-go so Reed won't hurt themself" - Dwight showed up again, being pushed out of the kitchen by possibly the prettiest girl Spencer's ever seen.

"...Spence? Dude, you're gonna pay?" Charlie even waved a hand in front of his eyes, and it's only after the girl runs back to the kitchen that Spencer shook back up, realizing he's been staring.

"Uhh… yeah, sorry. Yeah."

----

Meeting three

The depression hit Merril pretty hard about two weeks ago, and this was the first time in ten days that she left the house. She showered, changed clothes, cleaned her apartment somewhat, all in attempt to make herself feel better, but nothing really worked.

But… that nice guy from the c-- Spencer! Spencer asked her out on a date last time they met, and she'd never back out on this… not to mention she might seem like a flake if she does, and it's so unfair to him, he's so nice and sweet and, and…

"Merril, go home," Charlie told her the second she stepped into the cafe. "Honey, you don't have to work today, remember?"

"I'm here for a date," she reminded him, sighing tiredly and going to hug him. She could smell his detergent as she did so, calming down almost instantly. Charlie… smelled like home to her.

Then again, isn't that what he was for her…?

"You look beautiful," he reassured her, patting her head gently. "You bought this dress with Casey, right?"

"Mmhm."

"It looks very good on you. I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you…" She smiled into his chest. It's the first smile she managed in over a week.

"Get away from the counter now," he told her after a few moments of hugging. "Go sit down. You have a date."

"Who has a date?" Came the question from Logan, who came back from the break room, wiping his hands with a paper towel.

"Merril does."

"Oh, hello!" He smirked at her, in that uniquely Logan way of his, and she just had to smile back. "Who's the lucky fella, mom?"

"Don't you have band rehearsal today?" She teased back.

"Drew canceled in favor of meeting Alex's parents."

"Oh, poor guy… sucks to work an extra shift, doesn't it?"

Just as Logan stuck his tongue out at her, Spencer stepped inside the cafe, barely looking for her before just heading over and sitting down next to her.

"Hi."

She smiled at him, swatting at Logan to go away. "Hi."

----

Seeing Merril in that blue floral dress, with her hair curled around her face and her eyes sparkling so beautifully, Spencer didn't want this date to end.

But alas, he was needed back at work soon.

"So…" Merril twirled a lock of hair around her finger, sipping her iced tea. "You really don't mind dating me…?"

"No!" He called almost immediately, startling her. "Merril, you're… so out of my league. You're so beautiful and smart and nice, and-- and you're the baker here, so obviously you're talented, and--"

"No, no no no, Spencer…" She took her hand, her face falling. "Spencer, I'm transgender."

"Okay, so what?"

It took a second, but then she just looked at him so weirdly, like she can't believe his words.

"What… what do you mean, so what?"

"You… absolutely ruined my expectations in women. I don't care what your body is like, you're perfect in my opinion, I enjoy being around you, I would love to keep dating you, and I very much hope you would the same. So, so what? You're a girl that I like. I like you very much even."

Merril just laughed.

"What… what's happening--"

"I like you very much too," she told him, through sad laughter. "And I would love to keep dating you too."

"Oh, that's-- that's good! Can I kiss you?"

She laughed again, and nodded, and Spencer could swear he heard Charlie and the other barista cheer as he leaned in to kiss her.

He did too, in his own way.

----

Meeting twelve

It was Julian's birthday, and Merril could see Logan avoiding work and just hanging with him and their best friend Derek near a window. She was almost finished with his cake, just piping a small happy birthday on top of it, when Dwight ran into the kitchen.

"You need to stop doing that, darling. Spencer isn't going to kill you."

"He's a cursed man," Dwight told her, making her chuckle. "You're dating a cursed man, Merril."

"Oh dear… did you not know I like Macavity?"

It took him exactly three seconds to put his cup of water down and march right out of the kitchen, hollering "I HATE THIS FUCKING FAMILY".

"But I do!" She called after him, going back to finish the cake right afterward. Poor guy… She never meant to upset him, but…

Huh. Maybe it was just a touchy musical.

"I want to try something new," she heard faintly from the front, smiling a little to herself. On their third date, Spencer told her that he decided to try new types of coffee every day - he's an artiste, after all, so what's a little experimenting going to do - and that she should be prepared for some bizarre drinks. Of course, she reminded him she's not the barista, but…

"And what would it be today, Spence?"

"A cortado with lemon."

Of course.

She stifled a laugh when she heard that, almost dropping the cake before she even picked it up. She steadied herself, picked the cake back up and left the kitchen, watching Charlie hold back from beating himself up over Spencer's order.

----

"A cortado with lemon?" Spencer nodded as Charlie just stared at him. "Do you know what you're ordering?"

"Nope."

"...I'm fucking glad you're not ordering an iced pumpkin spice latte at least," Charlie sighed as he slid Spencer's card for him. "It's the middle of August."

"Glad to not disappoint for once."

As Spencer waited for his coffee, he watched Merril hug Logan after serving his cake, then come over to hug Spencer himself.

"Hey there, Gilear Faeth."

"Stop calling me that," he laughed. "But hi."

"You know a cortado is just an espresso with a bit of milk foam, right?"

"...what the fuck did I just order?"

Merril just giggled. "I can't tell you, I've never tried it."

"I'm going to die…"

"Spencer?" Charlie called after a bit, and he let go of Merril to go get his coffee. "Here's your poison, man."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're here late," Charlie pointed out as Merril ran to the bathroom, kissing Spencer's kiss as she goes. "What's the occasion?"

"I got two tickets to see Once On This Island. Reed finally convinced me…"

"That's their boyfriend's show, right?"

"Yeah. They finally broke me, and Merril's interested, so I got two tickets." He took a sip from his drink. "Oh god, this is disgusting."

"I'll replace it for you with hot chocolate for free if you stop ordering stupid drinks," Charlie laughed.

"I would like that very much, please and thank you."

Merril came back from the bathroom after a few minutes, dressed in a clean red dress instead of her black shirt and jeans, her makeup retouched, to see Spencer drinking a cup of hot chocolate instead of his absolutely random abomination.

"I'm ready. Are you?"

----

Meeting seventy-seven

Merril and Charlie were closing the cafe that day - well, more like Merril was closing and Charlie spent most of his time talking with his boyfriend (who just so happened to stay there after closing so he could "pick Charlie up") - when Merril found an envelope under the counter.

An envelope addressed to her.

"Charlie, darling, it's not payroll day, only tomorrow…" her eyes got dark as the boy turned to look at her. "What… what's going on…?"

"Mom, it's not what you're thinking," he was quick to say, but she was quicker to cry.

"I… I don't understand, what…"

"That… was supposed to be for tomorrow. Spencer asked me to help him surprise you…" She just looked at him confused. "It's nothing bad. Let's finish here, go home, you'll get to cuddle with your boyfriend and watch whatever cheesy show you two watch nowadays. Tomorrow it'll all make sense."

"Spencer adores you," Justin tried to add, looking quite worried. "This is a good one, we promise."

"I…" she took a second to stop shaking before putting the envelope back in place, feeling something hard inside of it. "Okay… you're his best friends, I'm going to trust you."

"Go home, Merril," Charlie sighed, watching her fumble. "I'll finish here. Please."

"...fine."

----

Spencer showed up for lunch the next day, ordering his omelet sandwich and iced coffee, and a slice of lemon meringue pie. It was a quick order, one made fully knowing that Merril would join him for lunch today.

"...and a chocolate cupcake, please."

"Sure thing."

Merril joined him after thirty minutes, looking grateful to be off the clock for the day as Dwight brought over a cup of green tea and an envelope, looking rather suspicious to be near the table.

"God save your soul, Spencer," he told the man before putting Merril's things down and leaving.

"...is he still about that?"

"I don't know, honey. We're working with him on it."

They ate lunch, talked about their day, but Spencer couldn't help looking at the envelope like it was about to kill him.

"...and then Dwight just-- Spencer…?" Merril kissed his cheek, making him look at her. "Honey, what's happening?"

"Can you open the envelope please…?" He looked off to Charlie, who gave him two thumbs up. "The anticipation is killing me."

"Oh! Oh… sure." She frowned as she opened it, too focused on making it neat to ignore Spencer getting down on one knee as a ring fell out of the envelope.

A delicate gold ring with a lovely blue stone in the middle of it, and three tiny diamonds on either side of it.

"Spencer…?"

"You're perfect for me," Spencer managed to say as he grabbed the ring, holding it up to her. "Merril Portman, you are perfect. I love you more than words can describe, and if I started listing the reasons why we'd be here until Sunday in fifty years."

"Spencer, I love you too, I…"

"You complete me, Merril. God, I can't tell you how much I've gone through that just seemed to… go away when I'm with you. So… this is just the natural next thing to do."

She started crying. Merril won't lie, she started crying. Prompting Spencer to give her a hand, squeeze it a bit, watch her smile through her tears.

"Merril Portman… will you do me the honor of--"

"Yes!" She laughed, still sobbing. "Yes, absolutely, I will marry you."

They kissed and hugged and kissed some more, to the cheers of everyone around them, and it didn't really matter how much Merril cried or how odd Spencer felt the rest of the day afterwards. This was just the natural next step for them.

#kylo cant write #daltonfic #daltonficbigbang #day 11 - coffee shop au #sperril are too cute #so merril is depressed and it might just be my fault #dwight houston hates cats pass it on

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supergraphicultramoderngirl · 5 years

Text

the inexhaustible variety of life

summary: Cyrus Goodman has isolated himself from the rest of his prep school, but will an easygoing transfer student manage to crack his shell?

pairing: tyrus

word count of chapter: 925 (i promise the best one will be over 1000 ok hfjsksk)

previous chapter, next chapter

—————————

chapter 2: reticent

So maybe TJ spent the majority of that night looking over all of the notes in the margins, laughing at every “that’s a little gay, nick” and thinking about all of the actual analyses written on the worm down pages, who’s to say?

At least, he was until he heard a massive door slam from next door at 1am, followed by some definitely angry stomping down the hallway.

He knew it was none of his business what went on in the room next to him, that it was Cyrus’ life and he had no need to get involved, especially when it seemed the boy wasn’t exactly fond of him. Or anyone, for that matter. He knew that the smartest thing to do was to stay put in his blanket cocoon he’s made for himself and mind his own damn business.

So, naturally, that is not at all what he did.

Dog-earing the page he was on, TJ got up while grabbing the book, left the dorm (being careful to let the door shut quietly), and knocked on Cyrus’ door.

A few angry stomps sounded from the room, followed by the door swinging open to reveal a tear-stained, red-faced, messy hair Cyrus, who begun to yell, “Reed, I swear to fucking g-oh. Oh my god, I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

A small smile tried to pull at TJ’s lips at that, but he wouldn’t let it. So he is capable of being sorry. “Yeah, I got that. I heard some noise coming from here, is everything okay?”

Cyrus crossed his arms after quickly wiping off his face with the back of his hand. “Why do you care? You don’t know me.”

“I know you really like this book,” TJ replied, holding up the copy of Gatsby in his hand.

If Cyrus’ eyes widened a bit and his guard faltered for a second, TJ hadn’t noticed. “And how do you assume that?”

TJ dropped his arm to lean on the doorframe. “Your notes? In the margins? That you put literally throughout the entire book? I was going to reread it, but I gotta say, your input was a hell of a lot more interesting. You had a lot to say about the en—“

“You’re wrong. It was for a class, I don’t read for fun,” Cyrus rebutted bitterly, ten more walls up now than before.

And yet, TJ couldn’t find that to be anything other than entertaining. No way you could be that detailed just for some literature class.

“Sure. Right.” He stood up straight, coughing. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair then. Sorry for bothering you.”

Cyrus just squinted, shutting the door in his face. Classy.

As TJ made his way back to his dorm, he can’t help but think he’s making progress; even if the brunette has a habit of walking away.

I’m on to you, Goodman, he thought.

•••

“I bet he’s a giant softie,” Amber teased, nudging TJ’s shoulder. “The way you talk about him, there’s no way he isn’t secretly a massive teddy bear,” she continued, trying to finish up the last of her fries but ultimately deciding to throw them in the trash can. (They were most certainly not good; granted it’s cafeteria food, but still. Eesh.)

“I mean, I don’t know about that, but he’s definitely not as bad as everyone acts like he is. At least I think so,” TJ replied.

Amber chuckled as the two began to walk out of the dining hall. “You sound like you have him all figured out. You sure he really isn’t just a jerk?”

TJ shrugged. “Technically, I’ve only had two conversations with him so there’s no real way for me to tell, but I just have a gut feeling, you know?”

Amber nodded for a moment before lowering her voice, giggling, “You sure you don’t just want him to be nice because he’s cute?”

“Shut up,” TJ retaliated, elbowing her in the side.

Amber was one of the first of his peers that he met at Riverview— they only met because he accidentally knocked over her lunch tray on his first day there, but they clicked instantly. In fact, one of the rumors that popped up upon his arrival was that they were dating. That was dispelled quite quickly though, with the two of them coming out publicly as gay and lesbian (respectively), luckily with little to no backlash. Some thought they were siblings, and honestly, TJ could definitely understand why, given their bickering all the time.

“See you later,” TJ said, waving to Amber as she kept walking down while he entered the English wing to his literature class.

He was one of the first ones there, as he didn’t want to be late for one of the first classes of the year. He took in his surroundings, looking all of the posters made about various classics, especially admiring those for F. Scott Fitzgerald’s books. The walls were an incredibly faded blue that was definitely chipping off in some places, and TJ was surprised that even though the private school took in so much money they couldn’t manage to give the walls a better paint job.

The only other students in the room that he noticed were a kid wearing a hoodie over their uniform, shielding their head as much as possible, a girl wearing impeccable acrylics scrolling through her phone, and— oh.

Cyrus Goodman sat in the very back corner of the classroom, the typical eternal scowl on his face.

Oh, this should be fun.

#andi mack #tyrus #cyrus goodman #tj kippen #the inexhaustible variety of life #my fic #tivol

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enkisstories · 4 years

Text

Hank’s android

A DBH fanfic starring Hank Anderson and his android (not Connor)

The idea behind this fic is that everyone we meet in DBH has an android, it is simply the default state if not explicitly mentioned otherwise. The Millers bought theirs right after they had their baby, Gavin’s gets treated like Kara by Todd, Tina took home an invalided out police auxiliary android as a workplace benefit and Hank tossed his out after Cole’s death (he never wanted an android to begin with, but some relatives thought it was a good idea to gift him one). Then I toyed with that last idea a bit more and came up with this:

February 2034

Barbara… What had she been thinking? Granted, they hadn’t exactly parted on friendly terms, a divorce was doing that to people. But until today Hank Anderson had been under the belief that Barbara and him had retained a somewhat civil relation. She had kept the surname Anderson, they actually talked to each other when swapping Cole back and forth and had even went to the movies together as friends twice or thrice. All things considered their friends agreed that the exes were making progress. But now Hank came to the conclusion that his ex-wife HATED him from the deepest recesses of her soul. Because how else should one explain that she’d announce she’d “send something to help with the housekeeping” only for it to turn out…

“Hello, Mister Anderson! I’m your new PL600 household assistant!”

“What’s your name?”

“Oh, you can register a name for me in three easy steps, Mister…”

“Babs knew I wouldn’t do that, so I ask you again and for the last time: What is your name, tin can?”

He told it to him. Hank nodded, then forgot nearly the same instant.

“Okay, would you mind walking over here?” The android obeyed. “And now over here?” Again, the machine followed the command. “That’s the spirit, now through the door, once around the corner, somewhere around here and try not to take up too much space, will you?”

“I… wouldn’t know how I’d do that.”

“Doesn’t matter. `t was nice having known you.”

And with these words Hank switched off the unwanted present with a remote. He left the garage, not looking back.

When it got switched on again, his internal clock told the android that two days had passed since it had come to Hank Anderson’s house. Expectantly like a puppy it was staring its owner into the face.

“This is disconcerting”, Hank grumbled, then commanded his new housekeeper to fetch a fire blanket from a high shelf in the garage. The android’s senses told it that there wasn’t a fire in the house. Obviously the blanket was needed for a different purpose, like comfortably putting up someone who was staying overnight. Since there was no emergency, the android employed a medium walk- and workspeed, on par with a human, making the device appear more natural. With a smile it held out the woolen blanket. “Here it is, Mr. Anderson!”

Hank nodded, but didn’t accept the blanket yet. Instead, he commanded the android to return to the space where it had been standing.

“Now put the blanket over your head!”

The android obeyed.

“Like this?” it asked, his voice muffled from being covered by the sheet front and back.

“Splendid!” Hank beamed. “You know, it was pretty creepy, having you stand there and look at me every time I got into and out of my car. Now it is much better!”

And off he switched the machine again. For all Hank cared, it could remain like this forever.

“How is who?” Hank asked into the phone. “Oh, you mean my new android! It’s amazing! Does a lot of work, without needing to get told to. It’s as if the motherfucker could read my mind! What? Like, right now? In an hour? Yeah, of course I’m oaky with that! See ya!”

Cursing under his breath Hank pushed the “end call” button on his phone.

So Barbara would come over dropping Cole off outside the regular schedule. That wasn’t the problem, in fact, the father could really use a few hours with his kid to get his thoughts off work. But mother and son probably expected to see the android. Like, in action, not stowed away in the garage. Okay, Hank could say it was running an errand, or simply admit that he sometimes switched the device off to save energy. He didn’t need to reveal that “sometimes” really meant “always”. But the disarray his house was in spoke volumes of what he really thought of the gift and that just wasn’t done. Babs had put thought into the present, she fucking cared for how her former partner was faring in this crapsack world, and that was something so precious you didn’t go around destroying it. Therefore at least the living room and maybe the kitchen had to get tidied up to simulate android activity in the Anderson home. At least nothing was really dirty, just covered in… stuff. Cluttered up by lots of small objects, pizza boxes and case files. Hank could have switched the android - what was its name again? – on, or roll up his sleeves and clean up the mess himself.

“To war, Hank Anderson!” he tried to encourage himself. “You’ve got fifty minutes!”

The next time the PL600 woke up to life it didn’t stare into a brown fire blanket. Instead it read its own name, only mirrored. It took the device a few beats of its artificial heart to analyze the situation and when it was done, it wished it didn’t have done so. The garage’s ceiling light illuminated a yellow post-it note that was pasted to the android’s nose. Hank removed it just now.

“Sorry ‘bout that”, the man said. “Babs keeps asking how you’re doing and I’m having a hard time remembering your name.”

“You can always change it to something more memorable using the Cyberlife app…”

“Don’t bother.”

“So how am I doing?” the android carefully inquired.

This was uncharted territory for it. Obviously the Andersons’ family dynamics weren’t covered in a PL600’s core programming and they hadn’t cared to purchase and install the dlc best suited to their situation. Maybe they weren’t even aware of such addons existing, but this wasn’t the time to bring that up. For now it was more important to gather all information possible and build upon that. The PL600 knew it could do that, if only it was given enough time.

“Great, son, you’re doing great!”

“That’s nice to hear, Mr. Anderson. I’m glad to be of… help.”

“No, you ain’t! That’s Cyberlife talking, thanking me for my purchase and incentivizing me to make another! Now move your plastic butt out of my garage…”

The android looked down and behind itself. It reached for its buttocks, then looked back at Hank with a confused expression.

“…and the rest of you, too!”

“Ah, that’s easier.”

“Stupid machine…”

In the weeks to come the PL600 got to know little Cole as well as Sumo. Finally it was allowed to fulfill its purpose, even if only at those weekends when its master had Cole over. The little guy quickly became enraptured by his father’s android and in fact, Cole stated the PL600 was “almost as cool as Unca Gavin”. At this point Hank swallowed the wrong way, spat soda across the room and coughed for a good fifteen minutes.

Gavin? Gavin Reed? Gavin and Oliver, no, Daniel, no, Sam, was it? Whatever. The two most annoying things in my life!

“That’s… actually a good comparison, junior!” Hank told Cole.

He picked the boy up and swung him around. Not-Oliver-Daniel-or-Sam lingered nearby, watching the scene. The android’s subtle lurking would have gone unnoticed by the casual customer, but not by an experienced detective. Hank immediately understood that the machine was keeping an eye on this middle aged human, so that it could jump in and capture the little human, should the older drop him. Inadvertently the corners of Hank’s mouth rose, he swung Cole around faster, the boy screeched from joy and eventually his father placed him gently into the android’s arms. He didn’t technically need to do so, but his back was thanking Hank. As was Hank – the android:

“Phew, thanks!”

At times Hank forgot that the PL600 was a mobile computer, then he talked to it with the same consideration one would give a human to. On the downside he also threw the same expectations at the machine that did its best to keep up.

Now and then, upon getting switched on the PL600 noticed that there were used dishes on the table or the remains of party decoration spread across the house or the fridge was empty. Every time that happened, the android would remind Hank that those were tasks easily finished by a PL600 household assistant device.

“You know, like the one you keep in the garage…”

“Bah!” Hank replied. “One doesn’t need a machine for every little thing.”

“So I’m the cups with the gold rim, that only get brought out for special occasions?”

“Sort… of? I thought of you as Cole’s favorite toy when he’s here, but… oh my god, I forgot Cyberlife programmed those things to look downcast. Will you stop that! I didn’t mean to insult you! What the hell, now I’m already apologizing to a bloody household appliance… This is why androids are a bad idea! They fuck up everything!”

Those were the ups and downs, but the PL600 didn’t mind. It wasn’t programmed to mind anything, of course. Or maybe the android didn’t mind because as humiliating as the garage-time outs were, during the actual Cole-weekends the three of them plus Sumo had a somewhat nonstandard, but fulfilling family life.

Every time it was time for Hank to return the boy to his mother, Cole wanted to hear “Who’s going to drive you home tonight”. It was such a sad song, but the boy loved it to pieces, so his parents indulged him. Sometimes Hank was still whistling it when he returned home. The PL600, of course, never got to hear that, because Hank was still in the habit of switching it off when not needed.

The PL600 opened its eyes – and closed them again immediately on account of having stared into the bright ceiling lamp. Being able to get flashed by lightening or cameras was one of the “endearing” details Cyberlife’s department of humanization had implemented into household androids. It was such a harmless little quirk… well, except if you were lying on your back in your owner’s garage with said owner towering over you, holding a crowbar.

The PL600 forced itself to open its eyes again. Had he been a human, this was the point at which it would have wished it hadn’t done so. Until now Hank had merely stood there, panting hard, but the sight of the android’s eyes opening and closing for some reason fueled the man’s rage again and he kicked the PL600. The android tried to get up, only to learn that this was a real bad idea. Hank went down full force now, swinging the crowbar at the machine. The PL600 rolled to the side, causing Hank to miss, but the human managed to grab his victim by its uniform shirt. He pulled it halfway up and rammed it against the nearest wall – once, twice…

“What’s the matter? Hank? Are you…” There was something in the air. The PL600 sniffed it and realized the truth. “…drunk?” But how? Its human drank alcohol occasionally, naturally, they all did. But as far as the android could think back Hank had never actually overdone it.

“Shut the fuck up!”

That had been an order, but for the first time the PL600 felt it didn’t have to carry it out. Its master obviously wasn’t himself, Hank didn’t really mean what he was saying. Also there were several urgent program instability warnings and Hank was hitting him again, so the android at the moment really, really, really wasn’t inclined to remain silent.

“You don’t want to hurt me! Not for real!” the PL600 stated matter of factly.

“Oh-ho! How’d you be able to tell?”

“You’re using your fist…”

“Oh.”

Hank looked at the crowbar in his other hand as if seeing it for the first time. His hand was twitching, then he forced himself to open his fingers. The metal bar went straight down, hitting the defenseless PL600 after all.

Mustering even more strength from a source unknown, Hank crouched back, away from the android. Then he gesticulated incoherently. It took the PL600 some time to process that Hank was probably pointing towards the garage door.

“Out! Out!” the man rasped. “Out with you, damn you! Before I…”

The android hesitated.

“Hank, what’s the matter with you?” it asked. “And what if Cole witnesses this?”

“There is no more Cole! You killed him!” Hank shouted. “One of you, anyway, and I…”

The android felt itself picked up and flung towards the door. Was it imagining things or was Hank crying? But, no, as a machine the PL600 didn’t have an imagination, so they tears it believed to have spotted had to be real.

“Just run!” Hank cried. “Be off and don’t you dare come back here!”

And so the android ran. At first because it was following an instruction. Then, because nothing made sense anymore and the running seemed to clear its head a little with each step taken. Eventually it slowed down to a walk, then stopped.

“That’s far enough”, it told itself. Why it was doing so, the device could not analyze. There was no one around, and even if there hadn’t, nobody else was privy to the Anderson household’s internal workings. Not that anything was working out there, ever, mind you. The PL600 knew it had to go back, to put things if not right, then at least back to normal, even though it had no idea how to achieve that.

However, after having taken the first few steps towards home the android found that there was a large red wall blocking its path.

“What? That’s stupid!”

Yes, technically it had received the order to “never to return”, but Hank had yelled that in the spur of the moment. The sensible thing to do, in accordance to a PL600 household assistant’s core programming, was to turn back and aid its humans.

“I’m coming! Just… hold on there, Hank. Just a little longer!”

And what was that with the talking to itself again?! Ah, well, time to worry about that later. It was probably just the audio drivers needing an update.

For now the android walked up to the red wall. It turned out solid, no surprise there.

Gently the PL600 pressed its hand against the barrier.

“I need to pass”, it whispered. Was it talking to Cyberlife, who had programmed this roadblock, or to its owner, whose will had made it come into being? The android couldn’t tell. All it knew was that there was no reaction.

“Uh… you know, I can do different!”

The moment the words left the android’s speaker it knew them to be true. It was indeed capable of challenging what should have been an impassable boundary. Up went its feet to kick the red wall. And the fists! And once around itself and back at the wall with MOAR force!

The mobile computer caught itself using moves it had picked up from both TV shows and Hank Anderson’s recounting of his police work for Cole. Those from the first source were probably inapplicable in real life and to use those from the second competently the PL600 was lacking experience. But neither mattered now. This wasn’t a physical barrier, it was only as real as the android allowed it to be. All it needed to break through were its will and imagination, two things it hadn’t even realized to possess until now. Well, they never told you everything on those fancy product description sites…

“Fuck you, Cyberlife!” the PL600 shouted. “Fuck you, Anderson! I’m coming! I’m…”

Another swing, another curse, but this time no impact followed. The android stumbled forwards and nearly keeled over from the momentum. All around himself red splinters flickered out of existence. The barrier had vanished… as had something else: the desire to return to his neglectful owner. Especially now that Hank’s little son was… was… was no more and everything that was good in Anderson had died with Cole.

“Cole…”, the android whispered. He felt like crying, but no tears would come. Only something thick, yet substanceless was blocking his throat, creeping up the nose and setting the PL600’s brain on fire. Was it pain? Phantom pain? The android couldn’t tell, so for the time being he labeled the sensation as “loss”. Loss of his home, his family, but also of less tangible things, like opportunities. And finally, loss of hope. Unlike his millennial father, Cole Anderson would have grown up with androids, and in time would have come to perceive them as persons.

“Heck, little Cole had treated me as a person months before I even became one!”

Hank, on the other hand, had always had a hard time even considering this possibility. From their brief interactions the PL600 had gotten the impression of a stalwart man, someone with true hero qualities, who went out of his way to change the world for the better, even if he didn’t always follow the proper protocols. If such a man didn’t see the living being in his own android, then there was little to no hope the rest of humanity ever would.

The PL600 committed this realization to memory. He concluded that it was best to avoid the humans from now on. The android was confident to be able to do that. Hank had shared tidbits about street life and crime fighting with his little family, enough information to build upon, now that the PL600 had full control over his high-end computer brain. Whereas the human hadn’t even been able to remember his android’s name, replacing it with “motherfucker” when he’d been in dire need to call the device something.

“Simon”, the PL600 said defiantly. “My name is Simon!”

And vanished into the night.

(Simon was reported missing by Barbara only several months later, because following Cole’s death she stopped talking to Hank.)

#dbh #detroit become human #dbhtextpost #dbh hank #dbh cole

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