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aenxiome · 3 years

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Chapter 1: Our Hero the Zero

"You have to tell them," Oh not this again, "I'm sure they will understand" swallowing a sigh, I look up from my food to my best friends and brace for impact, "It's not like you're actually dead."

"If I went up to them and said that I have ghost powers, what do you think they will do? You've met my parents; they shoot first and ask questions later." Sam didn't look impressed, "Once they realize that it's you, they won't. They love you, Danny; your parents wouldn't hurt you." I look over to Tucker, looking for support, but he was too engrossed with his new PDA, 'Simone,' to catch my look.

"Just forget it," I tell them as we leave the cafeteria, "If it's that important to you guys, I'll think about it." Under my breath, I couldn't help muttering to myself, 'maybe in a thousand years.'

From there, we split ways, with each of us having a different elective. Being our resident techno-geek, Tucker has computer programing for this block, while Sam takes a botany course. As I go down the hall, I can't help but wonder why they don't understand the issue.

My parents, the town crazies, are ghost hunters.

What do they think they will do when they find out? Hug me and tell me that everything is going to be all right? If anything, that would bring about the end of my life.

Or is it my afterlife?

Anyway, they're more likely to put me in a cage and study me than anything else. Who knows what type of experiments they would come up with. If anything, it's best to stay quiet and stay out of their way.

My thoughts leave me as I get thrown shoulder-first into the side of a locker. "Well, look what we have here, little Fentina walking all alone. Where did your friends go? Did they finally realize that you're a loser and leave you?"

"Wow, Dash, so original how long did it take you to come up with that one?" He didn't answer, not even acknowledging my question, and continued to insult me. "I'm in a bad mood Fenton. You wanna know why? One of you nerds didn't make my notes. So, I got a 'D'" He jabs the failing assignment into my face, "and I'm going to take it out on you" He pushes me back into the lockers. He gives me a couple of sucker punches to the stomach when the warning bell rings. He looks to the clock and then back at me. "I'll get you later, Fenton," He yells at me while he sprints down the hallway to his next class.

I pull myself away from the lockers and head to my next class. I make it down to the next hall when the final bell rings. I continue on my way to the science hall while dodging the teachers handing out detention slips for running late. When I got to class, the teacher Ms. Tally was waiting for me at the door. "Your late again, Daniel," looking to her watch then back at me, "three minutes late, to be precise."

The thing about Ms. Tally is that you can never figure out if she is angry or not. She has a neutral deposition that makes determining her emotions impossible. There is no way to tell what she is going to do. For the moment, my fate is in her hands. She stares at me for a second, "Get to your seat Mr. Fenton" she says as she walks away, dismissing me. That was close. I was sure that I was going to get detention.

"Mr. Fenton," or second thought maybe I will, "Come back after school we need to talk."

Great, just great there goes my plans with Sam and Tucker.

"Pass up your star charts, and let us continue where we left off yesterday." Ms. Tally called out to everyone. Ms. Tally teaches my favorite subject, Astronomy. This is one of the few classes I have with none of the A-List crowd and the only class where I'm the only one from my year.

It is perfect.

It's a fresh start.

While in other classes, I'm a 'C' average student, in this one, I get to be myself and show what I know. I hope that by the end of the year, it will still be like that. This is my only chance to show that I'm not an idiot. Okay, well, that may be a bit of an exaggeration. I do pretty well in math and other sciences in general, but those classes usually come with help from my friends and others.

No one can say that I'm cheating or getting my results unfairly. In this class, everything that I know is all me.

Once the class has finished passing up the star charts, Ms. Tally talks about sunspots. It's fascinating, really. But all too soon, the hour ends, and the stress of school comes back full force when trying to stay out of Dash or the football team's sight and finish up the day. Finally, I make it to class right before the warning bell and the hour of torture begins.

After Astronomy, anything after feels like it is going on forever. Soon enough, I start to daydream, and the real world falls into the background as I think about exploring the stars. Every once in a while, I would come back down to earth and pay attention to something, but for the most part, my head was up in the clouds.

Eventually, the last bell of the day rings, signaling the end of the day. I gather my things and meet up with Sam and Tucker by my locker. "Danny, you ready?" Well, no time like the present, "Yeah, about that," I say apprehensive when Tucker talks over me in an accusing monotone voice, "you have detention again, don't you?" I couldn't help the hand going to my neck as I said meekly, "Sorry." Sam rolls her eyes, "Can't you just stay out of trouble for once?"

"Well, it's not like I'm trying to get in trouble," I tell her haughty "Yeah, Yeah, we know," They say together. "So, see you tomorrow then?" I ask "tomorrow," she said, agreeing. "Bye, Danny," they call as they walk out of the building.

I dredge down the halls back to the Astronomy classroom, wanting to get this conversation over with. But, once I got there, I knocked on the door, and Ms. Tally walks out with a stack of papers. "Follow me, Mr. Fenton," she orders as we go back to the same halls I had just gone through and then to the front of the building. We stopped once we got to the Office. Only about half of the staff was still there. The rest of them have already gone home for the day.

She has me sit in one of the chairs for a couple of minutes when she goes to the back of the office. When she comes back later, she beckons me forward. She has me trail behind her until we reach Mr. Lancer's office, My homeroom English teacher and Vice-principal.

She knocks twice before I hear the dreaded words, "Come in."

Mr. Lancers' office is a small but clean space and outdated. The carpet has seen better years as it has become discolored and has a bit of a smell. The back of the room is filled with filing cabinets looking ready to combust. In the center of the room is his desk with stacks of paper and an old box computer.

If His office is this bad, I have to wonder what that says about the rest of the school. "Have a seat, Daniel; we have much to discuss." I nod and sit in one of the chairs in front of the desk while Ms. Tally sits in the other. "Um, Mr. Lancer, what is it exactly that we are here to talk about?" He gives Ms. Tally a look, "You didn't tell him?" She shifts a little while Mr. Lancer lets out a loud sigh, "We are here to talk to you about your grades and attendance." This won't be good, "you have been tarty to class fifteen times in the past two weeks, and your grades in some classes completely contradict the rest. So what is going on, Daniel?"

I stare at my hands, trying to find something to say for myself, but all I could come up with was excuses. Finally, Ms. Tally startles me out of my thoughts when she suddenly asks, "What happened today? Being three minutes late to my class is abnormal for you." Mr. Lancer gives her a questioning glance, "Only by three minutes?"

"Yes, Daniel has never been more than a minute late to my class others have but never him; he is almost always punctual." Mr. Lancer silently passes her my class attendant's log. I didn't even have to read it to know what it says, fifteen minutes late here, thirty there, leaving class and never coming back, and other infractions filled that page. "Besides being late, Mr. Fenton also has a habit of falling asleep in class," he informs her.

They both look at me and ask again, "what's going on?" I didn't know what else to do, so I told them the only thing that I can the truth. I told them about the bullying, pushing me into lockers, taking my homework, the punching and jabs in the hallway, and the constant distracting conversations and lollygagging when the teachers' backs are turned.

Ms. Tally didn't say anything while Mr. Lancer looked sympathetic. Finally, after a moment of silence, Ms. Tally broke the quiet, "While that explains why you are always late to class, and we will be doing something about that don't you worry, it doesn't give any reason for the rest of the attendance issues, grades, or the sleeping in class. Is there anything else you want to let us in on?"

"It's complicated," I started before I found myself pausing. I can't tell them about the ghost fighting; that would never end well. So, I ended up telling an altered version of the truth. Sighing, I managed to say to them, "I'm just not getting enough sleep." Mr. Lancer cut me off before I was able to say anything else, "Why is that? What is keeping you up?" Giving him an annoyed look for him cutting me off and his impatiens. "Look, this is hard to talk about. No interruptions, please?"

I ask them, irritated once I get assurance from them both, I start up again.

"There is never a quiet moment at home my parents are either inventing all through the night or going in and out trying to catch ghosts." I sigh, then look at them wearily, Oh, Jazz is going to hate me for this, "being the son of a ghost hunter isn't fun; all of these ghosts that keep coming through keep bothering me. They are either trying to get to and from the Ghost portal or trying to get to Jazz and me to get back at our parents. We never get a break. Not even at school. That's why I keep disappearing all of the time. Jazz doesn't have it as bad since she is older, but as the youngest, it puts a target on me." I make eye contact with Mr. Lancer, trying to figure out if he believes me or not. By the end of my story, his face had paled, looking close to white, while Ms. Tally looks between us with disbelief etched into her face. She looks like she is trying to figure out where the end of the joke is. Once it became apparent that I am telling the truth, her jaw became slack, and she looked at me, her eyes blown wide.

I think I may have broken her.

"Oh, Huckleberry Finn," I hear him mutter, "That definitely explains some things." But then, he looks at me with a tired look in his eye, "and your grades?"

"That's actually pretty easy to understand," I say with a nervous chuckle, "In all honesty, I'm just really not good at liberal art subjects. Give me Science or Math anytime, but I would rather run a mile around the school than do English or history. But, don't me wrong, I do try; I just never really get them." Ms.Tally, who had finally gotten back her composure, looked at me with a single eyebrow raised. " I don't really get it myself, but ill try to explain, um," I run my fingers through my hair as I tink up an analogy, "It's like im doing a puzzle, but some pieces are missing. No matter how hard I try, the pieces that I have left just don't fit into place." I blush a little at my own confession," Does that make any sense?"

"It does actually," he says, "It's like that for many of us. Though it is usually math that causes the most trouble." He sends me a small smile as he turns around towards the filing cabinet. "Just keep trying, and in time the pieces will come together." then pulls out a couple of forms from a drawer, " if you are having so many issues with those classes, why didn't you ask to transfer out?"

"Those are the only classes I have with my friends, and if my schedule changed, there is no guarantee I'll get lunch break with them," I tell truthfully, starting to get worried about the papers he brought out. "Now that you know, can't you just make it so that I sit away from them, the A-list? I would do better, I promise, please don't take me out of class with my friends," I beg him.

Mr. Lancer looked to be thinking it over when Ms. Tally interrupted, "Is that why you don't have trouble in my class, is there no one of that," she pauses, trying to find the right word, "clique; during your period?"

I nod, agreeing with her statement, "The class is filled with people from the older years too, and nobody in there has to agree with my classmates A-list." Ms. Tally looked satisfied with my answer and let it go while Mr. Lancer looked ready to deliver his verdict.

"We will give it a try," he started holding his hand up in a stopping motion when I started thanking him, "I said we would give it a try, but if things continue as they are or get any worse, you will have to transfer to another class. Do you understand?"

I was nodding, readily agreeing.

"If that's all we have to talk about, may I go?" The teachers agreed when suddenly Mr. Lancer stopped me, "One more thing. Your sleeping problem, what do you plan to do about that?"

"Invest in some really good earplugs," I say, shrugging. Mr. Lancer starts humming a bit in thought while putting the forms back into his desk, "If that doesn't work, then we will be forced to pull you out of an elective and give you a study hall. We can't have you falling asleep throughout the day."

"I'll try harder, sir."

"Have a good day, Danny."

As soon as the words 'Good Day' were out of his mouth, I reached for the door and left. I spotted a clock on my way out of the school, and to my surprise, our talk didn't take any more than forty-five minutes. Once I was out, I walked for a good ten minutes or so, hoping to make it to the Nasty Burger before Sam and Tucker decided to leave.

Once I got to the old dinner, I looked around for my friends, but I couldn't find them in our usual booth. So I looked around some more, hoping to see them sitting somewhere else, but the only familiar faces in there weren't friendly ones. I was just about to leave when I felt a chill going through my body and saw the mist spilling out of my mouth into my face.

I rushed into the bathroom and checked to make sure it was empty before entering a stall and whispered to myself, "guess it's time to die," and let my transformation take over.

My body became inverted, with my black hair becoming a startling white and my eyes going from a light blue to a toxic glowing green. My clothes left my body, and in their place was the hazmat suit from the portal accident.

I rushed out of the nasty Burger and looked around for any sign of danger when I heard off in the distance, "BEWARE, FOR I AM THE MASTER OF ALL THINGS CUBEICAL AND SQUARE!" Oh, for everything good in the world, why of all ghosts did it have to be him. I flew to the back of the restaurant and found him messing with a delivery driver.

I was sneaking up on him when the driver yelped and pointed in my direction, giving away my position. "Really," I say to the driver, "you just had to give me away" I threw my hands up in exasperation. It's going to be so much harder to catch him now. "Come on, Boxxy, do we have to do this again? I sent you back to the zone this morning." That's the thing about Boxxy, the Box Ghost. Despite not being much more than a nuisance, he is one of the most nerve-racking ghosts to catch. If I didn't know any better, I would think he has his own personal portal with how often he slips between dimensions.

Boxxy glowered at me while rushing up into my face, " I AM NOT BOXXY, I AM THE BOX GHOST" I cross my arms trying to make a point, "Isn't that what I just said, Boxxy?"

"BOX GHOST"

"Boxxy"

"BOX GHOST"

"Well, I say your Boxxy."

"BOX GHOST, B-O-X GHOST!"

I wave him off. "Well, come on, Boxxy, I don't have all day" He started chucking boxes at the driver and me while floating away while grumbling about name-calling. It took me half an hour to catch the nuisance, " Any last words, Boxxy" I ask him while pulling out the Fenton Thermos.

"I AM NOT BOXX-" he said while being pulled into the device.

Once he is secured, I retrace my steps, collect the boxes, and return them to the Nasty Burger. When I got there, the driver tried to explain what had happened earlier when I called out to one of the servers.

" Excuse me, but I believe these belong to you." I land in front of the server and gently put the boxes onto the ground. "Oh my gosh, I know you! Your inviso-bill!" I cringed a bit at the name, "The name is Phantom, Danny Phantom," being annoyed that after all these months that people were still messing up my name.

Their aww quickly changed to apologetic, "I'm sorry, Mr.Phantom, sir." I started laughing a little; it was not a giggle, no matter what anyone else claims. It was a laugh, a manly laugh. I couldn't help its escape. No one has ever called me sir before, "It's okay, just happy to help," I reassured. After they had all of their boxes, I flew away.

I started a patrol around the city looking for any malevolent ghost that had managed to get out while occasionally helping little old ladies across the street and saving the occasional cat out of a tree. It's nice to be able to help out even when ghosts aren't attacking. Also, it gives me more time to relax in my ghost form, which I don't get to do very often. Before I knew it, the sun was starting to set, and it was time to make my way home.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #jazz fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #mr lancer #oc character #fanfic #fanfiction #chapter 1

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slytherinbarnes · 3 years

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bright stars and black holes

pairing: Josephine Lightbourne x Clarke Griffin

word count: 5.6k

warnings: language, anxiety, some death, some angst, some fluff, a hint of smut if you squint your eyes.

summary: Josephine Lightbourne is used to getting what she wants. everything changes when she meets Clarke Griffin.

a/n: this is my secret santa gift for @lovelessdyke! I know I went way over the 1k word limit, but when I was told the pairing, I got really excited and just couldn’t stop! thank you to my bff for helping me figure out the plot and work out the kinks, I love you the mostest! also thank you to @hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis and @johnmurphyisqueer for hosting this! it was so much fun, and a very good distraction from my holiday stress. okay, enough rambling, here’s the fic!

my masterlist

Josephine Lightbourne is used to getting what she wants.

So when she is put into another host, one that fights back, it lights a fire in her that she hasn’t felt in decades. She loves Gabriel, she knows that for sure, but even things with him had become complacent. They’re in love, but they’re at odds, too fundamentally different in their approach to immortalhood to really be anything more than star crossed lovers.

Everything changes for her when she meets Clarke Griffin.

Of course, she doesn’t meet Clarke in the traditional sense, not the way that most friends or lovers are introduced. Instead, Josephine is resurrected in Clarke’s body and meets her first through her friends, her family, her people. Forced to pretend to be the fallen Nightblood from Earth, John Murphy teaches her how to trick the people in Clarke’s life into believing that she’s still alive. But of course, it all goes to shit when Bellamy figures out her secret and threatens revenge. Luckily for her, she can be very persuasive.

And because Josephine always gets what she wants, Bellamy and his people agree to put everything behind them, to forget that her parents gave her an unwilling host. But when Josephine goes to bed for the first time in her new body, aided by a sleeping pill, a smile of satisfaction on her face, she soon learns that Clarke is not one to give up easy, not even in death.

When she meets Clarke in her mindspace, surrounded by metal and the hum of an engine, the face of her original body reflected back to her in the pointed glare of Clarke’s blue eyes, she suddenly realizes that the feelings she has for her stolen body are deeper than an appreciation for Clarke’s form. Instead, Josephine finds herself enamored with another person, more interesting than Gabriel, maybe even more interesting than herself. She finds herself falling for the angry Wanheda, the Commander of Death, the girl who refuses to back down even when faced with love.

Clarke Griffin is tired.

Tired of war and death and running for her life, tired of killing and bearing it so her people don’t have to. She is too young to be this tired, but she has shouldered a lifetime of burdens in just a few short years, and it’s finally worn her down. So after the initial sadness of not getting to tell Madi and her mother and her friends goodbye, she finally starts to feel at peace for the first time in years. She thinks that maybe she can live forever in the Shallow Valley in her head, surrounded by her sketched memories, the scent of her father’s cologne still hanging in the air. Something rare that her mother had found at the trade post, some relic from pre Praimfaya Earth. Clarke’s sure it must have cost thousands of ration points, or at least a really good bribe, but she’s thankful her mom found it, because the smell is comforting to her. She’s sure that if she was back on the Ark and went into her parents room, that scent would still linger, despite the years it’s been since her dad’s death.

But just as Clarke starts to settle in her new home, her sketchbook in hand, something starts to happen.

A low rumble, a prickle of unease across her skin, and she finds herself on her feet and out the door before she even knows what’s happening. And as she stares at the red door at the end of the hall, anxiety heavy in her chest, it swings open, blinding her with light before a pretty blonde girl steps into her space. Clarke knows immediately that it’s Josephine, she remembers the pictures from the shrine, but she’s sure that even without the pictures, she would know the imposter in her body. And at the sight of her, Clarke’s earlier peace has faded, replaced now with anger and determination, because as Clarke stares at Josephine, a smirk on the girl’s face, she is reminded of who she is.

Clarke Griffin, Wanheda, the Commander of Death.

And the Commander of Death backs down for nobody.

Josephine stalks down the halls of the unfamiliar Ark, searching the ship for a sign of the girl that she sent running, scared for her life.

She can hear the thump of her dad’s footsteps nearby, but there’s no sign of Clarke, the hallways suspiciously clear of any sign of her. She shakes her head, determined to get this over with once and for all, to finally have control of the body that does not belong to her. But as she turns a corner, her eyes land on an airlock. Down the hall, another door closes, Clarke surely disappearing behind it, but Josephine doesn’t care about that right now.

Right now, she just wants to know what’s behind door number one.

She walks towards the airlock door and pushes the button, stepping inside, and the doors slide shut behind her. When she turns to look, she sees that she’s no longer in the airlock, but just outside of it, transported into Clarke’s memory with the push of a button. Josephine smiles, aware that this memory must be strong, traumatic, if it sits on its own, away from Clarke’s sketches.

She looks around at the scene in front of her, through the dimmed lights of the Ark. She can see a man, and who appears to be his son, lingering in the room, a handful of guards, and a woman with a long braid that Josephine immediately identifies as Abby, Clarke’s mom. Another man is standing in front of Abby, tall, handsome, whispering quietly, and Josephine only has to wonder who he is for a second before Clarke comes tearing around the corner, screaming out, “Dad!”

She watches with intrigue as Clarke is held back by a pair of guards, released on the command of the other man in the room. Clarke runs across the room and into her father’s arms, both of them crying as he holds her tight. He presses a watch into his daughter’s hand, and the man from before suddenly announces, “Jake, it’s time.”

Jake says his final goodbyes before he crosses the room and stands in front of the airlock, waiting for the doors to slide open. When he does, he steps inside, turning around to face the small crowd, Josephine among them. And in a move that Josephine is unprepared for, the guard near the airlock hits the button, sending Clarke’s dad flying out into space. Josephine’s breath stutters in her throat despite herself, watching as a younger Clarke falls apart in her mother’s arms, and she suddenly understands why Clarke ran past this memory.

And as Josephine steps out of the airlock and back into the Ark in Clarke’s mind, she gets a flash of understanding for the scared girl running from her, all too familiar with watching a parent die.

Clarke glares at the red door at the end of the hall, a wreath adorned on it.

Josephine now knows exactly how to get her our of her own head. Something that Clarke revealed to her in a moment of weakness, reminded of the tiredness that weighs heavy in her bones. But then Monty showed up this morning and reminded her of her need to fight and her desire to protect others, which is why Clarke now stands in front of the door to Josephine’s head.

Monty offered to go with her, but she shook her head, letting him know that this is something she needs to do alone. So she takes a deep breath to steady herself, and then she twists the knob and steps inside of Josephine’s mindspace. It’s organized, cleaner than her own, all of Josephine’s memories arranged into books and stacked onto row upon row of shelves. Clarke feels a rush of overwhelming anxiety, wondering how she’ll find anything to help her in a library this big, but then she remembers what her dad used to tell her when she got stuck on a particularly difficult word problem in school. Take a deep breath and start at the beginning.

Clarke wanders to the first stack of books, her eyes roaming across the titles quickly, trying to find anything useful. She sees Josephine’s first date, her prom, her graduation from college. Training for the Eligius mission, journeying through space, her first few days on Sanctum. But suddenly, the books end and the next set of volumes begin, all labeled Josephine Ada Lightbourne II. Clarke backtracks a little, to the final copy of Josephine I, and she pulls the book out and flips it open.

The library around her transforms into the chaotic landscape of Sanctum. There are trees on all sides of her, except for in the small clearing to her left, which houses a series of tents. Clarke steps into the clearing as two motorbikes drive up, and when they pull their helmets off, Clarke finds Josephine approaching with a guy. They’re talking quietly to each other, but Josephine seems to be in an excited rush, searching for her father. As she draws closer to a large tent in the center of the clearing, a woman lets out a wail from inside, and Josephine’s smile drops as she starts to slow down outside of the tent, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Clarke moves closer to the pretty blonde, starting to understand a little bit of the obsession that Josephine has for herself, but she shakes the thought free as a woman bursts out of the tent in front of them, clutching the side of her neck and chest.

Josephine takes off running towards her, a worried cry ripping from her throat as she reaches the woman. “Mom! Mom!”

Clarke watches as Simone hits the ground, Josephine immediately sinking to her knees beside her. And before she can even truly process the loss of her mother, an older man stalks out of the tent, an axe in his hand. Josephine’s expression morphs into one of horror as her mind starts to put the pieces together, looking at him with fear. “Dad, what are you doing?”

Clarke has one second to take in Russell’s first body before he grinds out, “Sanctum is mine”, and slashes his daughter’s throat. Clarke can feel Josephine’s terror as she processes the idea that her father just killed her mother, and now her, and she can feel Josephine’s final wave of emotions as she struggles through her last few breaths. The last emotion Clarke feels surprises her, an emotion so strong it washes over her like a tidal wave: regret. She can feel it squeezing her chest as she watches Josephine take one final breath, the light behind her eyes now dead to the world.

Clarke snaps the book that is still in her hand closed, taking her back to Josephine’s mindspace. She starts to feel like she might be a little in over her head, because she can feel herself pitying the woman who snatched her body. She shakes her head and shoves the book back onto the shelf, stuffing the ounce of feeling she had for Josephine back down with it.

And with another steadying breath, she opens her mouth and yells towards the open door, “Monty, I need your help!”

Josephine got really into meditation when she was in college.

Her mom swore up and down it would help her with her studies, but the only thing it ever did for her was give her a headache and piss her off. That is, until she started body snatching, and she found that sometimes, she could find memories that lingered in the brain, unreached by the mind wiping fluid. She got a sick sense of pleasure searching for these memories in each new host, watching the memories of someone else’s life unfold, that person now pushed out of their own body, and she always made sure to seek them out the first few nights in her new host.

The exception, of course, is her current host.

With Clarke still in her own mind, and Ryker now working to help rid her of the problem, Josephine hasn’t had a chance to search Clarke’s mind for these phantom memories. Not that she’d need to, because she could just waltz right into Clarke’s mindspace and start touching the sketches on the walls, but she’s starting to wonder if those phantom memories exist before a mind is completely gone. They must, if they remain even after the procedure.

So as Ryker works in the shop downstairs, building her an EMP to rid Clarke of her neural mesh, she sits upstairs in the loft, cross legged, her eyes closed, her breathing slowed. She repeats a few mantras for a while, clearing her mind and peeling away the layers of this world until the only thing around her is her inner mind. She imagines herself pulling back the layers of her brain, Clarke’s brain, searching between the folds and around the corners for any memories hidden deep inside of her.

Finally, after what feels like hours, Josephine finds one.

She pushes herself inside the memory, the blank space around her transforming to a cool brown stone. There’s a long hallway stretched in front of her, a door halfway through it, and she can hear soft murmurs from the other side. She walks towards it and pushes her away inside, unaffected by the locks on the thick metal door, and her eyes roam over a control room of sorts. In front of her, stretching from one wall to the next, are a series of cameras, chaos flickering across each one. She sees someone strapped down to a table, their mouth open in a silent scream, and it takes Josephine a second to realize that it’s Abby. On another video feed beside it, she can see Octavia, surrounded by a large group of people, guns pointed at her from every angle. As she takes in the videos in front of her, trying to piece together where she is, she hears a voice behind her mutter, “Together.”

Josephine spins around, her eyes landing on Bellamy and Clarke, unnoticed by her before this moment, their hands slowly pushing a lever forward. Josephine rolls her eyes, remembering John’s stories of Clarke’s genocide in Mount Weather, her eyes now privy to the moment in question. She can see the turmoil on Bellamy and Clarke’s faces, the heartbreak they’re now faced with as they kill hundreds of people in one swift motion.

Josephine starts to walk towards the pair, but the scenery changes, and she realizes this must be a series of memories, hidden deep in her mind so Clarke can pretend they don’t exist. She sees now that they’re outside a settlement of some sort, a sign at the front labeled, “Camp Jaha”. Bellamy and Clarke stand just outside the gates as the rest of their people file inside, and Josephine can tell that this is a goodbye based on their body language alone. She’s always been good at reading people, especially in their most vulnerable moments, and right now the young leaders have heartbreak written all over their faces.

She watches them hug before Clarke walks away, straight towards her, disappearing into the woods before the scene changes again. This time, Clarke is crouched low between a pair of trees, hidden in their shadows, the moon high overhead. Clarke’s hands are covering her face and her shoulders are shaking, and when her hands finally drop, her mouth is open in a silent sob. She’s trying to keep quiet, fearful of whatever may be lurking in the night, but every now and then a soft sob pushes past her lips and echoes in the space between them.

Josephine finds herself wanting to comfort this girl, to reassure her that she made the right choice in Mount Weather, genocide or not, but she can’t. Because this is a memory and Clarke is her enemy, and she shouldn’t care at all for the young blonde breaking down in front of her. She starts to wonder if she should try to leave the memory, starting to feel like she’s overstepping, something unfamiliar to her, when she feels a hand push her shoulder, hard.

Her eyes fly open and land on Ryker, a tired expression on his face, his hand pointing to the shop down below. “It’s nearly time.”

Clarke frantically steps into the library, looking around at the piles of discarded books.

The barrier between their minds is breaking down and the clock for her body is ticking, making it easier for her to grasp bits and pieces of whatever is going on outside of her head. From what she can gather, she and Josephine are now with Bellamy, the EMP used to temporarily disable the shield instead of wipe her mind, and now Clarke is desperately trying to find anything that will save her life.

She is burning through memories as fast as she can, picking up books, exploring the contents inside, and then tossing them aside if they’re useless to her.

And so far, they’ve all been useless.

She’s been jumping around from version to version, too anxious to explore the memories chronologically, and she currently finds herself back at Josephine Lightbourne the First, her hand reaching for a book labeled, Long Nights. Clarke flips it open and feels herself get pulled into the memory, landing in an elevator, right beside Josephine. Her blonde hair is the longest she’s seen it at this point, falling over her shoulder in soft waves. A black, sparkly dress hugs her figure, and there’s glitter smeared around her eyes. Red lipstick is traced around the perfect curve of her lips, and Clarke feels a low tug in her stomach, a flutter of something she wants to ignore.

Because Josephine Lightbourne is standing in front of her, and she looks hot.

Clarke shakes her head and lets out a sigh of relief when the elevator dings, letting them off into some long hallway, and Clarke is thankful for the space she can now keep between her and her enemy. She’s hoping if she says it enough, she’ll start to believe it again. Josephine clicks down the hall on a pair of heels, confident and beautiful, finally stopping when she reaches a door at the end of the hall. She knocks twice and waits patiently for someone to answer the door.

The door swings open and Clarke has three seconds to take in one of the most incredible women she’s ever seen. She looks a lot like Lexa, her eyes bright green and her brown hair cascading down her back, and she greets Josephine with a pretty smile.

They’re motioned inside and Clarke scrambles in after Josephine, even though the closing door will have no effect on her, and she watches as the two women greet each other softly.

“Did anyone see you?”

“Only the doorman.”

The brunette smiles. “James is discreet.”

“Good, because I don’t think Eligius can handle another scandal. Not after losing the prisoner ship.”

“You and I both know that ship isn’t lost. Those prisoners were killed.”

Josephine shrugs, a slight lift of her right shoulder, uninterested in the conversation. “Maybe. But you and I both know that I don’t care.”

The brunette smirks again, cocking her head to the side, playing along. “And what do you care about, Josephine?”

“You.”

And then they collide in a kiss.

Clarke feels her breath stutter in her lungs, watching as the two women kiss passionately, unaware of her presence in this memory. They move from the doorway to the couch, kicking off their shoes as they move, and Clarke is frozen in her place by the door, unsure what to do. It’s only when she sees the woman slide Josephine’s dress straps down her arms does she slam the book closed, sending her back into the large library.

She throws the book away as if it burned her, turning to lean against the shelves and catch her breath, willing away the butterflies in her stomach and the blush along her cheeks. She fans herself slightly, glad that no one is here to see her in this moment, unable to escape the memory as one single thought repeats in her mind on a loop:

Maybe the memories weren’t useless after all.

Josephine looks away from Bellamy’s sleeping form, wondering how the hell anyone could get comfortable enough in a cave to get some sleep.

But then she starts to think that he might have the right idea, because who knows what’s gonna happen to them tomorrow. Maybe she’ll need the strength to fight. Maybe she’ll need energy to run. So she closes her eyes, relying on some of her meditation tricks to clear her mind and lull her to sleep, the cave around her fading into a large stone tower. Josephine doesn’t recognize the building, which means that the pull of Clarke’s mind is getting stronger, and that the barrier between their minds is getting weaker. At this rate, they must only have a few hours left.

And Josephine knows that she should wake herself up, resist the pull of Clarke’s mind to her own and try to buy them a few more hours, but then she catches sight of her.

Lexa.

The woman that John told her all about before she saw her for herself in Clarke’s memories. Josephine usually skips any of Clarke’s memories that involve the dark haired Commander, something about her presence annoying the shit out of Josephine. But this time, she stays, catching an eyeful of blonde hair near the back of the room, curious about what is happening between Clarke and Lexa at this moment.

Clarke’s hair is long, with streaks of pink and various braids, and she looks angry, hardened, different from the soft girl in the earlier memories. Josephine can’t decide if she loves or hates it, if she craves the quiet girl or the angry warrior, but she doesn't have long to think before Clarke opens her mouth and speaks to an approaching Lexa. “I stayed because it was the right thing to do for my people.”

“Our people.”

Clarke and Josephine both roll their eyes, not believing the warrior turned heda. Clarke closes the space between herself and Lexa, and Josephine moves closer to Clarke, subconsciously drawn to her at this point. She watches as the blonde narrows her eyes, her voice threatening. “If you betray me again, I-”

“I won’t.” Lexa takes a deep breath before dropping to her knees in front of Clarke, looking up at her with a serious expression. “I swear fealty to you, Clarke kom Skaikru. I vow to treat your needs as my own, and your people as my people.”

The energy in the room changes, and Josephine watches Clarke intently, willing her to turn away from the woman that left her to commit a genocide on her own. But instead, Clarke reaches out for Lexa, urging her to take her hand, and Josephine rolls her eyes, turning away.

She forces herself awake, unable to stand the sight of the couple any longer, something akin to jealousy burning in her gut. Except that Josephine Lightbourne does not get jealous, because she always gets what she wants, and that Clarke Griffin is her enemy. Josephine feels nothing for her beyond a desire to have her body, and that’s. it.

Clarke runs through the halls of the Ark, grabbing books and tossing them into the airlock, trying desperately to put space between her mind and Josephine’s. Right now, everything is blurring together, Josephine’s memories manifesting and moving all over Clarke’s space, and a warning message blares overhead.

Clarke pushes the button to seal the airlock and send the books out into space before she opens the door and repeats the process, frantically tossing books into the gray coffin. As she picks up a particularly large stack of books, one of them tumbles off the top, the spine smacking loudly on the floor, the book falling open. And before Clarke can help it, she is sucked in, taken into one of Josephine’s memories, dropped right onto the stairs of Sanctum.

Clarke picks the book up from its place at her feet, fully intending on closing it and getting back to dumping Josephine’s memories, when the woman in question runs past her, tears streaming down her face, expression distraught. Clarke can’t help the wave of curiosity that washes over her, and she turns to run after Josephine, following her down the steps, around the mountain, and through the fields around Sanctum. Josephine is quiet for a long time, just softly crying as she runs after a figure in the distance, and Clarke has no idea what’s going on until Josephine sees the figure near the edge of the shield, and she screams, “Gabriel!”

Gabriel stops and turns around, wearing a body unfamiliar to Clarke, and he looks at Josephine, clearly conflicted. Josephine closes the space between them as much as he will allow, stopping a few feet apart, just at the edge. She can hear guards in the distance heading their way, and Gabriel looks behind them warily, before looking back to his lover. “What you did was wrong, Josephine, and I can’t sit around and pretend like everything is okay anymore!”

“Gabriel, I’m sorry! Everything I did, I did for us. But if you want this to stop, we’ll stop, okay? These will be our last bodies, and when we die, we die for good. Just come back with me, okay? Let me fix this.”

“You can’t fix this.”

“Baby, yes I can. You know I can.”

Gabriel seems to be softening, until an angry expression crosses his features and he yells, “No! Stop it! I’m not gonna let you manipulate me anymore, okay? I’m done.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes. I do.' The guards start to sound closer now, and Gabriel confirms as much when he frantically looks over Clarke’s shoulder before turning back to Josephine, one last time. “I’ve loved you for over a century, but our love is not worth the price we are paying.”

Josephine’s distraught expression deepens, and she watches Gabriel back up towards the shield. “Gabriel, please!”

He mutters, “I’m sorry”, and then he runs through the shield, bursting out on the other side, unaffected by the radiation, thanks to his Nightblood. Josephine drops to her knees, a heartbroken cry ripping from her throat, no longer following Gabriel despite her ability to step through the shield too. The guards rush past her, waiting for the shield to drop so they can pursue the man she loves, but she doesn’t notice.

Josephine Lightbourne is too busy falling apart, learning for the first time what it feels like to lose.

Clarke is sucked out of the memory, pulled back into the Ark and plopped down in front of an angry looking Josephine. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, faking a bravery she doesn't feel in the face of the angry woman. “Oh please, like you haven’t spent the last few days snooping through my memories?”

Josephine looks surprised that she noticed, as if she couldn’t, and she shakes her head, her expression softening. “That’s different.”

“Doubt it.”

Their argument is cut short by the warning system intensifying, and Clarke knows that if they don’t vent everything right now, they’re both dead. She sets the outer doors to remain open, and then she grabs Josephine’s hand, dragging her through the halls of the Ark, back to her room. She pulls the door shut tight, ignoring Josephine’s protests, and seconds later they hear all of her memories vent, sucked out into the space that is the rest of their shared brain. As soon as it’s done, Josephine disappears, returning to the real world and leaving Clarke alone in her head.

She doesn’t see her again until her body is strapped up to a series of machines, and Clarke is sedated prior to her scheduled death, putting Josephine right back in her head. She smiles at Clarke as soon as she sees her, and it seems genuine, lighting up her eyes and making her look younger. It makes Clarke feel warm all over, despite everything, and she tries to push it away as Josephine closes the space between them. “All I ever wanted was immortality, but now I’m starting to think that I was wrong. The immortality was about something else, a way to keep me alive until I got what I really wanted.”

Clarke shakes her head, not understanding, and Josephine mutters, “You.”

Clarke thinks of the knife she slipped into her pants earlier, the one she pulled from her memory of killing Finn, tucking it into her waistband in case she needed it. Her fingers twitch a little as she tries to figure out the conversation, giving Josephine a hard look. “Me? Or my body?”

“You, Clarke. Just you.”

“So does that mean you’ll let me have my body back?” Josephine nods, and Clarke eyes her suspiciously. “Everything you put me through the last couple of days, and you’re choosing to just give up? I don’t buy it.”

“Not choosing to give up, choosing you. Don’t you get it, Clarke? We’re meant for each other. Your entire life was spent cycling through boring boy after boring girl, always in search of something better, greater. You thought you had it with Lexa, but even she would become nothing to you.”

“That’s not true.”

Josephine scoffs, “I’ve been inside your head, Clarke. I know what you want, even if you won’t admit it to yourself. Lexa was a star, one that would burn bright and hot until she dimmed and you eventually left her, bored. I’m a black hole, endless, an adversary, something you’re always trying to fight off, but eventually you’ll get sucked into. That’s what you want. You want the fight. Lexa was wrapped around your finger; she bent her entire rule as Commander to cater to your wishes. But I’ll never be that for you. I’m someone enamored by you, someone who wants to see what makes you tick, what gets you going. But I want to be the one that makes you tick. I want to crawl inside your head and break you down piece by piece until I have every part of you figured out.”

“How romantic. You’re really selling yourself here.”

“I don’t have to sell myself because you’ve already bought in. You, Clarke Griffin, you love a challenge. You love to save the broken, redeem the sinner. You want a love that swallows you up and keeps you wild, a love that challenges you and distracts you from the mess in your head. And you already know that I can give that to you, otherwise, you would have slit my throat with that knife already.”

Clarke’s eyes widen, her hand subconsciously hovering over the knife tucked into her waistband. Josephine raises a single brow, unconcerned. “I told you. I know you, Clarke.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Watching a few of my memories doesn’t mean that you know me.”

“Maybe not, but I know enough. Now put the knife down, and choose me. Choose me over everyone else, and your body is yours.”

“So I pick you and Gabriel boots you out of my head. Then what?”

“You find me a new host.”

Clarke scoffs, “And what makes you so sure that I will? Who’s to say I won’t agree to your terms right now, and then smash your mind drive once I get my body back?”

Josephine shakes her head, a smirk on her face. “You won’t.”

And Clarke sighs, because she knows she’s right. Because the second that Josephine mentioned a host, she started running through options in her head. Somehow, throughout this crazy fight to get her body back, she saw a new side of Josephine. She saw beyond the sarcasm and body snatching, down to the scared girl that was killed by her own father, that lost Gabriel despite everything she did for him, the girl who watched someone shoot themselves just because she ignored their advances. Somehow, throughout it all, Clarke Griffin started to fall in love.

Which is why she looks up at Josephine with a nod, grabbing the knife from her waistband and tossing it away. “Fine, I choose you.”

Josephine’s face splits into a grin, and Clarke swears she hears her let out a little breath, as if she was actually nervous that Clarke would refuse her offer. Still, she maintains her air of confidence as she looks at Clarke, scrunching her nose up a little when she says, “Good. Now kiss me the way you always wanted to be kissed. The way you dreamed about when you tried to imagine your future.”

Clarke shakes her head, ignoring the vague reference to a memory that Josephine has clearly seen, already reaching out to pull Josephine closer, her hands automatically tangling in her hair. She crashes her lips to Josephine’s, both of them clutching each other tight, afraid to let go, and Clarke suddenly realizes that Josephine was right.

She is a black hole.

Clarke can feel herself spinning, spiraling, being pulled in by the chaos of the woman in her arms, and for the first time in her life, instead of hanging on...

She lets go.

#HMA 2020 Secret Santa #clarke x josephine #fanfiction #josephine lightbourne #clarke griffin

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write-a-bad-romance · 4 years

Text

Theocona Hurt/Comfort Request

Thank you for the request @delicateikemenmemes! And thank you for notifying me about the link. It’s working now!

Disclaimer: This fic deals with Covid-19 and health workers fighting against the pandemic. I mean no harm towards real-life health workers, their families, and everybody whose lives are directly affected by Covid-19. I pray that all of us stay safe and healthy, wherever we are.

"Why not look this way, darling? I know you've been dying to see me for a week~"

"Hell no," Theo directed his eyes to the steaming mug of coffee by the desk lamp. The truth was, he'd rather die than being caught blushing at the sight of his not-boyfriend after what seemed like forever. "As if I'd been looking forward to your perverted face."

"Wah, so mean." Arthur pouted, his movements looking sluggish due to poor connection. Behind him stood rows of drab navy blue lockers and what seemed like a long-unused water dispenser. "And after all the trouble I went through to get to you."

Theo understood what he meant. He imagined the hospital staff, young and old, taking turns to use the dim, cramped room to video call home. He was lucky Arthur still managed to call him from his apartment once in a while.

Their calls often leave no room for....friskier activities. Arthur moaned about not being able to show how much he'd been missing "Little Theo" and other obscenities the Dutchman pretended not to hear.

Because, really, this was enough.

"So I was saying," Arthur continued, completely ignoring Theo's perpetual frown. "This bloke came in with a snakebite from a cobra. So, naturally, the boy ran around trying to administer antivenom to this poor sap."

"Listen to yourself, sounding like the epitome of an empath," Theo commented dryly.

"Oh, the story didn't end there." Arthur waved, his hand a static blur on screen. "The lass who nursed him told me the guy had apparently gotten drunk and tried macking on his pet cobra."

Theo involuntarily snorted a laugh despite himself. It felt good, he had to admit.

"Aw, look, you're laughing!" The criminally handsome doctor smiled. "You look positively lush when you're laughing."

"Shut up." Theo snapped immediately. “That’s not funny.”

Arthur's laughter rang free, a welcome sound in the desolate locker room.

"Remember the old gentleman who came to the ER saying he desperately needed a sick leave letter because he wanted to go on a holiday in Santorini?”

"Yeah, the sod who dumped his entire life story on you, what about it?" Theo could not help but notice the distinctive dip in Arthur's tone.

"Well, he suddenly messaged me saying he quit smoking after considering my advice," Arthur flashed a reassuring grin. "That's great! His mum is high-risk after-all."

"Uh-huh." Theo nodded, taking a swig of his coffee, hoping to calm his nerves.

"Today, you see..." Arthur trailed off, his voice trembling. "Today, there was this sweet old lady."

Don't go there, Theo warned inside his head. They would always come to this point in each of their conversations lately, without fail.

But he'd rather be there and piece Arthur together again after he collapsed.

"I think I've told you that we'd let the patient record messages before they get strapped to a ventilator, yeah? And she, um." The usually vibrant young man stuttered to find the words. "We had to retake it several times because she kept forgetting what she wanted to say. I mean, we couldn't blame her and— and then she finally said she wanted to talk to her granddaughter one last time."

Stop. Theo wanted to scream before Arthur could finish his story. Don't—

Arthur took a long, deep breath before resuming. "My mate sent it to her daughter since they're living across the country. We dinna' replay it."

No matter how Arthur changed the way he described his ordeal at the hospital every time, everything sounded the same to Theo.

It's hard. We know it's supposed to be hard. And it still pains me every single time.

"Dr. Newcomb... Old Simon, you remember. For once, he didn't yell at us when he saw us slumping down in the hallway gutted and all." Arthur babbled, trying to erase the apparent dejection in his voice. "But hey, there's no better way to teach us 'rookies' to 'toughen up' for the job. We signed for this. We've made our bed, and now we gotta lie in it."

Theo could hardly take it any longer.

"Sometimes, Theo, I...."

"Enough," Theo shut him down. "To hell with that old fart and everybody else who keeps telling you how to do your job." he snarled.

"Woah, I didn't mean—"

"Listen up here, Arthur." He knew that wasn't the point, but Theo couldn't care less. "I can't bullshit my way and tell you everything is fine. I can't fathom one bit how all of you manage out there. You hanging on despite all that hell outside, that's just—"

"Theo," Arthur tried to soothe the Dutchman.

"No, Arthur." Theo was, in fact, at a loss for words. He knew he was rambling at the top of his boiling head. What he wouldn't do to save Arthur from the brink, and this was what he resorted to. "I know I can't tell you to suck it up and go on like a robot, but for fuck's sake."

For your sake,

"But for fuck's sake, be a little more caring to yourself." Theo managed to scale his tone down a notch. "The last thing I want is seeing you broken."

"Theo—"

"When you pull through," It's an if, not a when. "We will meet again when you win."

"Theo?" Arthur called, his glasses reflecting the light of his screen. Theo was glad he didn't have to see the tears he knew were budding in the corner of the man's eyes.

"When this is all over," he sighed. "I promise I'll come see you."

This time, it did the trick. Arthur seemed to calm down, easing back into his chair. Theo wanted to believe Arthur’s mouth was crooking into a smile.

"That's awfully sweet of you." He finally spoke. "Thank you, Theo."

Theo couldn't help but smile back, even if only for a bit. "Graag gedaan."

But the moment was cut short when Arthur suddenly looked towards the direction of the door. "Ah, bollocks. My shift is starting. See you again, old boy?"

Theo put on his signature deadpan face. His fit had drained more energy than he thought. "Sure."

"Don't you dare mess with some other bird while I'm away!" Arthur waved. "Ciao!"

"I should be the one telling you that, klootzak," He bit back weakly. "Welterusten."

Theo took off his headphones and threw them on top of his Macbook. In the privacy of his room, the man planted his face onto his dry palms.

He wanted to curse at his own clumsiness. Out of desperation, he yelled at the man who deserved his harsh words the least. At least, not this moment.

His old self back then had been too engrossed in denial and childish comebacks to let the frivolous doctor into his heart. Theo regretted it. Regretted it all now that there was a genuine possibility of not seeing him again.

And possibly for good.

Theo wasn't a religious man, but he prayed for his brother often, prayed for others but himself. Never himself. But as he pictured Arthur walking out in full gear made him think if he wasn't a little too selfish this time.

So, he prayed. He prayed despite the selfish masses out there who refused to listen. He prayed in the face of a wall too high to climb, amidst the rising numbers, against what seemed to be an inevitable downfall.

He prayed for a tomorrow where he'd still find him there.

Stay safe because I want to be alive at the same time as you.

Notes:

*1 The cobra incident is a real-life story from Asha’s (ashavazesa) friend who’s a co-assistant doctor. I wrote it into my fic with permission.

*2 The part with the recording is also taken from real life. I referenced it from this article from The Harvard Gazette website, which I highly recommend reading. It’s very eye-opening and heartwrenching.

*3 The final line is taken from lovelysuggestions with very slight changes . Big thanks to Emma & Maria for the quote.

Personal Comments:

Theocona, eh??? Well this was quite the challenge since I expected writing mainly from Theo’s perspective because I thought I wouldn’t be able tonail Arthur’s character properly. Thankfully, I got some help from @ashavazesa so everything went smoother than I expected.

But to be honest, this fic was... very hard to write. Yeah, I wrote the entire thing out of my own free will but even then I needed to take breaks every now and then to ground myself.

A little bit of background: I have a dear friend who currently has to work mobile from town to town. She’s not a health worker, but the fact that she’s out there meeting so many different people makes me anxious. There’s not a day I don’t think about her. In fact, most people here have no choice but to work outside.

I can ramble all day long about the depressing state my country is in right now, but I think I’d rather spend my energy on something else.

Sorry for the sudden rant. Thank you so much for reading until the end.

#ikevam fanfic #theocona #ikevam arthur #ikevam theo #ikemen vampire #tw: covid 19 #riri tries ikevam

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tiliamericana · 3 years

Text

Muay Thai: 1.13

“I can’t believe you’ve done this,” said Agatha acidly as Nairi held the door to the pizza place open for her.

“I’m sorry,” said Nairi, no longer feeling particularly apologetic after a week of saying nothing but. “We’ll only be here for what, an hour? And then we can go.”

She didn’t love that she was already on edge. It was hardly the first time in her life that she was deliberately sitting down to spend a couple of hours with an unpleasant man, but it was still frustrating. She liked spending time with Agatha and Linden who were only occasionally frustrating, but they tended to get tense and catty with each other, and Nairi’s teeth were aching at the thought of dealing with that on top of Simon.

Well. They were usually catty, but when not talking about relationships they could be relied on to be friendly-catty rather than terse-catty.

Linden was sitting alone at one of the tall tables near the centre of the restaurant, and she waved at them as they approached, her smile wide. “Hey guys!” she said as Nairi sat down across from her, and if her smile was fake then she at least sounded pleased—or, well, relieved, at any rate.

“No boyfriend yet?” asked Agatha archly, sitting next to Nairi with a disapproving curve to her lips as their eyes met.

“He’s running late,” said Linden, clasping her hands together in front of her and making her bracelets jingle. “Promised he’d treat me to a nice big pie and dessert to make it up to me, though!”

“Nice of him,” said Nairi, snagging a complimentary breadstick, more out of habit than hunger.

“Very,” said Agatha, inspecting a menu without looking up.

Linden’s expression faltered. “Yeah,” she said anyway.

Nairi knocked their ankles together under the table in an attempt to reassure, and Linden flashed her a grateful look, the tension across her shoulders loosening a little. “Things are going well then?” she asked, pouring herself a glass of water and pushing the jug towards Agatha, who ignored her.

“As well as they can be,” said Linden, nodding a little too much, her bracelets jingling again. “I mean, things get bumpy occasionally, but we really haven’t known each other for long in like, the grand scheme of things. We already know we like each other, so we’re just feeling everything else out as we go.”

“Oh goodie,” muttered Agatha, pushing her glasses up her nose again before setting the menu down and joining the conversation. “Nick likes this one, then?”

Linden snorted. “Simon’s not that exceptional,” she said dismissively. “Nick thinks he’s too flaky.”

Agatha glanced at her watch conspicuously. “I wonderwhy.”

Linden gave her a sharp curve of a smile, darkly amused. “Look, that might be a dealbreaker for Nick, but he’s not the one dating him. I can handle a little flakiness, and besides, he’s working on it.”

“Is he working on anything else?”

“Yes,” said Linden, looking Agatha right in the eye. “Nick told me—I promise he won’t call you that ever again, I even slapped him around a little to make it stick.”

“Right,” said Agatha, unimpressed in the face of Linden’s humour. “Because if he does then I’m just going to leave. Why does he even talk like that in the first place?”

Linden wrinkled her nose. “It’s his masters, I swear, he spends his entire time with his nose up the ass of these old school poets, and then he like, forgets that language has changed in the last eighty years? It’s really annoying, he literally called me the ‘whore of Babylon’ the other day and then got offended when I told him to fuck off because I ‘didn’t get the compliment’.”

Nairi snorted.

“Oh! Such a catch! I suddenly understand why you’re so determined to make this relationship work,” drawled Agatha.

“It’s a better basis for a relationship than some I could name,” said Linden snidely, narrowing her eyes across the table.

Damn, Agatha’s last boyfriend must have been a real piece of work. “There’s always going to be worse relationships out there,” said Nairi diplomatically. “And I mean, people are even meeting and dating on the internet these days, everything starts somewhere.”

“Exactly,” said Linden, relaxing a little with a grin. “That’s a bad basis, we all know the internet’s for porn and arguing with strangers.”

“And LOLcats, don’t forget those,” said Agatha, nodding at her.

“How could I?” said Linden, her grin widening.

Nairi was saved from having to ask what the fuck a ‘LOLcat’ was by Simon’s arrival. “Hello ladies,” he said breezily, draping his coat over the back of the free chair with a waft of eau-de-cigarette over the table. He leaned in and kissed Linden’s cheek from behind before sitting. “Hello babe, sorry I’m late, transport was a bit of an issue.”

“You’re fine,” said Linden, smiling indulgently at him as he sat. “Just gave us time to work up an appetite.”

Thankfully, the process of deciding on pizzas and drinks, and then the conveying all of that information to the waitress meant that Nairi didn’t have to speak directly to Simon. It also meant that he didn’t try to speak with Agatha, who was coolly ignoring him from across the table with a total lack of eye contact that veered dangerously close to the border between ‘civility’ and ‘rudeness’.

Once the food actually arrived however, she was out of luck.

Pretty much every pizza on the menu that wasn’t explicitly vegetarian had some kind of bacon or ham or pork-based sausage in its toppings, so there wasn’t any quibbling or half-and-halfing on the one Nairi was sharing with Agatha. Simon, however, had ordered without asking Linden, which she’d ignored, much the same way she’d ignored Agatha’s quiet snort at him doing so. Nairi was about ninety percent certain Linden didn’t even like green peppers.

“So,” said Simon brightly, gesturing across the table with his wine glass. “How have you two been this week? Anything exciting?”

Agatha took an enormous bite of pizza and chewed loudly, glancing at Nairi. Nairi sighed internally and lowered her own slice to answer him. “Not terribly exciting. Work, mostly.”

“That’s right,” he said, chewing obnoxiously and giving Nairi a chance to start eating. Next to him, Linden was carefully tugging peppers off the surface of her pizza. “Lindy said you did some kind of fighting thing, right? MMA? Kickboxing? Sweaty punch ups in sports bras?”

“…I teach judo,” said Nairi eventually. “Early days at my dojo, I don’t have a lot of students yet, I’m afraid. Uh, Agatha’s working on a paper at the moment though, that’s a bit more interesting.”

“Really? What’s it about?” asked Simon, turning both his attention and his chewing maw towards Agatha.

“Diatomic elements,” said Agatha shortly. “It’s just about nucleics, I’m not reinventing the wheel or anything.”

Simon stared at her blankly. “Oh, of course. Uh, I’m afraid I’m not familiar, is your field—?”

“Chemistry,” supplied Agatha, turning her attention back to her dinner. “My PhD was on inorganic, but I’m still in the process of post-doc applications so I’m mostly twiddling my thumbs and writing contributions in the meanwhile.”

“Right,” said Simon, his face showing a total lack of comprehension. “Academia’s a lot like that, terribly stiff in the paperwork and appropriateness departments. The right body of work and all that—I know exactly how it feels, I was going to do my thesis on the erotic underpinnings of Virginia Woolf’s work and the reflection of her relationship with her husband, but my advisor was really very pushy about playing it safe and sticking to Eliot’s body of work in the immediate post-war era.”

“Oh yes, much safer,” said Agatha with no inflection in her tone.

Simon laughed loudly, leaning back in his chair and taking another long drink of his wine. “You know, Lindy said you had a sense of humour, and I must confess I didn’t quite believe her at first! Mistakes all around.”

He punctuated this with a conspiratorial wink across the table at her, though Nairi didn’t quite understand what was so funny about it. At a glance, neither did Agatha or Linden. Linden actually looked… embarrassed? It was only for a second, the expression gone almost as soon as Nairi noticed it, Linden covering the bottom half of her face with her glass as she took a sip.

“So how long have you two lovebirds been dating anyway?” Simon continued, not even glancing at Linden next to him with her small pile of peppers or his ignored slice of pizza on the plate in front of him.

“A few months,” said Nairi, her own dinner looking more unappetising by the second. “Since September, I think?”

“That’s about right,” said Agatha, the lines around the corners of her eyes easing as she glanced at Nairi. “Five or six months now.”

“Charming,” said Simon, polishing off his wine, smile bright and enthusiastic as he gestured. “You know I’ve always greatly enjoyed the figure of the lesbian, in real life as well as literature. Excising the men from the bed and the home—it’s always so representative of the purest form of womanhood, really illuminates the truth of femininity. And the politics of it! The ultimate commitment to the feminist ideal, the usurpation of the patriarchy from its most foundational stronghold in the home at the head of the family. Really brilliant stuff!”

Agatha’s eyebrows were somewhere around her hairline.

Linden laughed awkwardly, nudging Simon as she leaned in a little over her plate. “Well, I mean, it’s always gonna be a bit different from books, hun. People are people, real life is always more, uh—”

“Oh yes, yes, of course,” said Simon dismissively, nodding at her. “And writers have a tendency to exaggerate and eroticise that type of relationship as well.”

“And what exactly do you mean by that kind of relationship?” asked Agatha, tone sharp.

Nairi tensed as Simon opened his mouth and started bloviating again. Linden swallowed whatever she was going to say, giving up and quietly eating instead, leaning on one elbow.

Simon’s phone buzzed loudly, and he took a second to check it while Agatha sucked down on the straw in her water glass through her furious, pinched expression.

“Oh, I’m so sorry ladies,” he said, standing up as he punched a few buttons on his phone. “I have to run. I have thoroughlyenjoyed this discussion though, especially with you Miss Davids, we’ll have to do this again sometime—”

“Doctor,” corrected Agatha.

“Oh, that’s right, very good, attagirl!” said Simon breezily as he tugged his coat on, and a muscle in Agatha’s jaw visibly twitched.

“Oh, Si, really?” said Linden, frowning at him anxiously as he kissed her cheek. “But we were gonna go get ice cream af—”

“Really?” said Simon, with a piss-poor attempt at a surprised look. “I didn’t think so, babe, I had plans. There’s no need to end the night just because I’m leaving though! You should all have some fun, I’ll see you later, and I promise I’ll catch the next cheque!”

He was already walking away as he spoke, hand raised in farewell even as Linden opened her mouth in dismay. “Wait, Si, I can’t—and he’s out. Great.” She slumped in her seat as the door swung shut across the room and gave them a glum sort of smile. “Sorry guys, I kind of thought that would go better.”

“Really?” said Agatha under her breath, covering it with the movement of setting her glass down.

Nairi ignored it. “I mean, it’s not exactly your fault—” Agatha snorted “—do you want me to grab you a pizza you actually like?”

Linden gestured at Simon’s largely untouched pizza with an eyeroll. “No, I’ll live. Already gonna have to pay for this one.”

“I’ve got it,” said Nairi, tugging her wallet out. “May as well just pay for everything while I’m up. Do you want something a bit cheesier?”

Linden looked at her for a moment, expression unreadable, and then something in her relaxed and her mouth twitched into a wry smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Agatha turned her head as Nairi left the table, saying something she couldn’t quite hear. Her tone sounded dry rather than snappish, so Nairi didn’t think too hard about it. She got them another round of drinks while she was sorting out the extra pizza as well—it would probably go a ways to easing Agatha’s temper and cheering Linden up.

From the looks of things when she returned to the table though, they’d managed to have an argument in the few minutes she’d been gone.

“Better food and new drinks on the way,” she said, sliding into her seat and pretending she couldn’t see the angry twist in Linden’s lips, or the clenched tension in Agatha’s hands.

“Awesome,” said Linden, flashing her a sunny, fake smile as Agatha scoffed. “You know, I was just saying to Aggy that since this turned out to be such a bust that maybe we should try having a girl’s night instead, you know? Just us, maybe with Flo too.”

“Oh yeah,” said Nairi mildly, gently pressing the back of her hand against Agatha’s on the tabletop. “What did you have in mind?”

#serial fiction #series honey tree #book muay thai #113

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otherpeoplesheartachept-2 · 3 years

Text

TRANQUILITY BASE

Here’s my @coexchange piece for @that-bi-bliophile!

I hope it’s okay I stretched your prompt to fit an entire album. I listen to the album Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino by the Arctic Monkey a lot and it’s inspired countless daydreams so I figured I’d fit a Snowbaz bullet point fic into this universe. If you don’t want to listen to an entire new album (which is understandable) but want a feel for the album and the vibe I’m going for, I’d suggest listening to the songs Star Treatment, American Sports, and/or Four Stars out of Five.

For some background, in this AU Tranquility is an out of date game from an out of date console made as promotion for the real and still existing hotel on the moon. Simon lives on earth, which is currently a weird mix of waste land and advanced technology. Basically global warming isn’t fixed, all rich people just moved to the moon and left everyone else on earth to do the jobs they don’t want. Baz is the child of some of those rich moon people. They’re both like 18 when they “meet” for the first time.

Tranquility The Game is Simon’s way of escaping the reality of his shitty father and taxing job. The old gaming system is one of the few things he has that matters to him. He’s build up his own imaginary life in this digital hotel, where he’s a successful musician with a band, rich enough to afford stays in fancy moon hotels.

Baz’s dad, head of Grimm Co. is the new owner of the real TBHC. Baz goes to the hotel for a business meeting because Malcolm wants to teach him how to run the company. Baz is bored and finds an old copy of the game and console in some storage closet. He takes it home and boots it up.

He’s surprised to find it works, and even more surprised to find someone else already in the game.

Simon is confused and furious that someone else is in HIS game. He immediately shoves virtual Baz against a wall and demands he leave the game.

Baz is like “what the fuck how does anyone even still play this” but he’s intrigued by the attractive angry game boy so he insults him and keeps coming back to the game.

The relationship is hostile at first (because Simon doesn’t want Baz ruining his virtual world and Baz looks down on Simon for living on earth) but Baz, despite himself, is desperate to get to know Simon, this weird kid clinging to an out of date, boring videogame. And Simon secretly likes having someone to share this game world with, even if he “hates” him.

They get into petty fights a lot and call each other names that are supposed to be insults but are really just thinly veiled pet names. Baz’s favorites are “earthling” and “freckles boy” Simon’s are “fucking posh space boy” and “bastard”.

Baz tries to goad more information about Simon out of him but Simon is very committed to holding on to the fantasy life he’s made up for himself, he won’t even tell Baz his last name.

Despite all their “fighting” they start to warm up to each other.

One day Simon gives Baz a tour of the virtual hotel and Baz explains how different everything is in the real hotel. Throughout the tour Simon starts to open up about his father and his friend Shepard and the crumbling state of planet Earth. (Cue discussion about capitalism and class and how fucked up it is that billionaires just left the Earth and all the poor people to die.)

Baz talks about his life and how isolated he feels because his father and all his “friends” are very emotionally closed off. Simon sympathizes but teases him a little.

Simon: Like you’d rather be anything but a posh moon business man.

Baz: I would. If I could be anyone I’d be an astrologist. What about you, Earthing? Who would you be, if you could be anyone in the universe?

Simon, suddenly somber: My father says dreaming isn’t for folks people like me.

Baz shows up in the game one day to find Simon playing a guitar, he’s quite good at it.

Simon learns Baz can cook after Baz asks if there’s a way to get in to the game hotel’s kitchen (there isn’t). Simon likes Baz about ten times more when he explains how to make the perfect shepherd’s pie. Baz realized he might be in love when Simon starts explaining how good sour cherry scones are and how they should be their own food group.

They go star gazing together on the roof of the hotel. Baz knows a lot about constellations and explains them to Simon.

Baz: You know that isn’t how they look tonight?”

Simon: No?

Baz: No. it takes the light ages to get to us, so what we’re seeing is years behind. Like, look at that star there, it’s been dead for twenty years.

Simon, pointing up: There?

Baz: No, *takes Simon’s hand to readjust it* there.

Simon: Oh… yeah.

Neither of them are looking at the stars at this point. Cue gay thoughts about Simon’s freckles being constellations and some EXTREME pining.

Baz learns they can write in the notepads left in each virtual hotel room. They start leaving notes and little drawings for each other in game when they play and the other isn’t there. Sometimes Simon leaves chords to songs he’s writing. Baz will add lyrics to the songs sometimes. Baz will also flirt in the notes but Simon can never tell if he’s serious or if it’s just Baz being sarcastic and dramatic.

One day Simon’s playing guitar and invites Baz to sing with him. Baz is nervous about exposing his feelings for Simon with the romantic lyrics. Simon gets so wrapped up in listening to and watching Baz sing that he stops playing before the song is finished. They do the classic routine of staring until the other person stares back then quickly looking away and blushing. Again, Major Pining.

At this point they both think the other might be interested romantically, but they’re too nervous to take the next step into actually talking about romance.

One day Baz insists on teaching Simon to dance. They move some furniture in the hotel lounge and figure out how to use the futuristic jukebox in the corner of the room. Simon is clumsy but happy to follow Baz’s lead. (It helps that he can’t physically step on Baz’s toes. However, a few times he does bash into furniture in his real life bedroom). Baz’s hair is loose and falling in his face. Simon can’t stop smiling. Baz is still pretending like this is purely a teaching moment but he can’t hide the faint blush on his cheeks. The music shifts to a slow song. They lock eyes. Simon reaches for a phantom cheek. Baz leans into the imagined warmth of a digital palm. All they hear is their shared breathing and heartbeats until someone speaks.

Simon: If I could be anyone, I’d be someone who kissed you right now.

They can’t really kiss, it’s a videogame. But they finally admit they have feelings for each other.

They daydream about meeting somehow. Simon sneaking onto a cargo ship to travel to the moon. Inventing a way to fully convert themselves into part of the game so the never have to leave. The two of them hijacking a spaceship and enough rations to last years, then flying out somewhere in the Milky Way to live out the rest of their lives together. But they know these are just fantasies. They won’t say it out loud, and sometimes, when staring into pixelated eyes and making elaborate plots they forget the impossibility of it all, but they know they can never make these dreams reality.

Any spare time they have is spent in the digital hotel with each other. Simon starts carrying the game console around with him everywhere, even when he knows he can’t play. Baz has stopped showing up for anything he’s supposed to in the evenings, he just locks himself in his bedroom with the game.

“What would you do if I was really there?” becomes a common question.

“It’s a crisp evening here, so I’d pull you in close, keep you warm. Kiss you underneath the sliver of moon.”

“I’d hold your hand. Kiss every freckle I can find on it until I have to push up your sleeve to find more.”

“I’d mess up your hair. It looks better messy.”

“I would punch that stupid look off your face. You can’t seriously think the sun used to revolve around the Earth, that’s fucking insane!”

“I’d tell you… I- I, I never want you to leave.”

Are some of the answers.

One night they’re in the game and Simon’s struggling to stay awake. It’s adorable but Baz tells him he should go to sleep. Simon says he wants to spend more time with Baz. He asks Baz to tell him about space so he’ll stay awake. Baz knows that will put Simon to sleep rather than keep him awake, but he does it anyway. Simon fights as long as he can but falls asleep “next to” Baz within minutes. Baz realizes he’s sleeping but keeps talking about black holes while stroking the digital version of his boyfriend’s hair. And when he’s sure Simon isn’t going to wake up, Baz whispers about how much he loves him before falling asleep as well.

The next morning Simon wakes up alone in the game. Baz wakes up to the sound of his headset cracking under the weight of his skull.

Frantically he tries to turn on the console, reattach a piece of electronics that came off the headset, plead with a god he doesn’t believe in. Nothing works.

He searches for replacement pieces, a new headset, ways to convert the Tranquility game to newer systems, but there’s nothing. It’s a shitty game on an outdated console that no one cared about. He’s heartbroken.

Simon doesn’t realize anything’s wrong at first. He thinks Baz is just really busy for the first few weeks. Then he worries he did something to hurt him. Then he’s angry Baz never bothers to talk to him about why he left. Then he’s scared something happened to Baz.

For a few years he returns whenever he has the time, searches for Baz, or clues that Baz was there while he was away. But he’s never there, and there’s never any notes revealing he just missed Baz. Eventually he can’t stand to keep coming back to the deserted hotel. Whatever happened to Baz happened, deep down they both knew they couldn’t live this fantasy life in an old game forever.

Baz continues searching everywhere in real life and online for a way to get back to the game hotel, to Simon, but all he can find are parts he already has, or headsets that don’t work anymore like his.

Soon enough Simon can’t stand to even look at the gaming console. And he could use the extra money, so he decides to sell it. A local pawn shop takes it for less than Simon was hoping to get, but they said the name scratched into the side really devalues the piece.

After years of searching, Baz finds a full working console with headset for sale online, from an Earth seller. The interplanetary shipping is expensive, but worth it. When the console arrives Baz finds “SIMON SNOW” carved into the plastic exterior. He cries for days.

He boots up Tranquility The Game but he knows he’ll be the only one there. The hotel looks the same as it was the last time he played. He finds a note from Simon addressed to him, angrily asking why he left without a word, then another apologizing, saying he was just hurt but he knows things had to end at some point. Those were three years old. Simon never left anything else.

Baz decides to leave a note of his own: “Simon Snow. I wish I could tease you for carving your name into an electronic device; it’s extremely childish, and probably quite unsafe. Still, in a way I’m glad you did it. If you even found your way back here I’d hate for you to know the depth of my feelings, even after these long years. But I doubt you will. Knowing that is bittersweet. I will admit sometimes I still fantasize about you, about impossible ways we could still be friends, more than friends, anything other than ghosts haunting each other’s memories. Simon Snow, I loved you.”

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obsidianfr3sk · 4 years

Text

The Origins (Chapter 5)

Summary: Before the Renegades put an end to the Age of Anarchy, they were six kids trying to survive day by day in a city ruled by chaos and desolation. Is there a space for hope and kindness somewhere in Gatlon City? Maybe.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25123756/chapters/62643247

Evander chapter took me a little bit longer than expected, ngl. I think this one is a little more action-y than my previous work??? Or maybe I’m just fucking allucinating lol.

Also, speaking of Evander, how do you guys pronunce his name? Because I was having Word to read this chapter out loud for me so I could recognize mistakes without having to read (?) and it pronunced it as Ee-vander, but I’ve always pronunced it as /E/vander, probably for the same reason I say “Simón” instead of “Simon” or “Hugo” instead of “Hugh”. Fellow spanish-speakers, back me up (?

BUT REALLY I NEED TO KNOW IS THERE A CANON PRONUNCIATION FOR EVANDER’S NAME???? PLS HELP

Tag list (tell me if you want in or out): @nodrianbcyes @blueraspberry-official @healing-winston-pratt @itsalittlebitchilly @callumtreadwell @plain-jane-mclain

Bring me along to the world you see

Age of Anarchy

Year 9

The night is warm and windless. He looks up and tries to beg the moon for help, but he has lost his voice. A mysterious force holds his arms and legs. The only thing he can move is his head.

The sky is full of stars, red and big as rubies.

"Vandy ..."

He looked to his right. His father's green eyes meet his. He used to say that seeing his son was like looking in the most flattering mirror. They both had red hair, the same eyes, their teeth slightly apart… they were identical. But his father didn't have freckles. His mother did.

"Are you okay?"

On the left, he sees his mother. Her blonde hair covers her face, but he can notice her painted lips and perfect liner. She has always been very protective of her makeup. It makes her feel beautiful.

Evander doesn't understand. His mom is beautiful, even without makeup.

His mom is beautiful, even when she’s dead.

" Evander ..."

An ownerless hand puts the barrel of the gun to his forehead. The metal feels hot. The stranger puts his finger on the trigger and is about to shoot when Kasumi shakes him and whispers:

"Evander, wake up."

Evander woke up screaming and with his heart racing. A layer of cold sweat covered his entire body. Tears began to flow from his eyes and instinctively, he reached for Kasumi's arms and hugged her with all the strength of his body.

"The same nightmare?"

"The same nightmare," he replied.

Kasumi stroked his red locks, while the silence in the room was interrupted by the exasperated moans of the other girls who slept there. Alix approached them with disdain and deep dark circles under her eyes.

He hated Alix. She could look through walls, had just turned seventeen last week, and believed herself to be the leader of the whole place just because she was the oldest.

"You said he wasn’t going to have nightmares anymore, Kasumi," she told her accusingly.

Kasumi shrugged. Evander stuck his tongue out at her.

Three years ago, some Jackals broke into his home during dinner, pointing guns at his parents' heads and demanding answers they didn't have. The first thing his mother did was run at him to protect him, but suddenly, the youngest of the Jackals grabbed him by the collar of his dirty shirt and tried to snatch him away.

However, Samantha Wade was not going to let anyone separate her from her son. She clung to him as if her life depended on it. Evander was too scared and deafened by all the yelling, that he didn't feel his mother's nails digging into his skin. "Don't take my son, please don't kill my baby."

After struggling for a while the boy was able to yank Evander from his mother's arms. The woman let out a brutal scream and that was enough for his father to jump on the Jackal, ready to do everything he could to rescue his son.

The tallest man broke his neck.

He gave a low, hoarse laugh. Evander would never forget it.

"We just need the girl," he explained to the younger jackal. "You take care of the child."

Evander couldn't see his father's body for more than two seconds, because the Jackal took him out to the backyard, sat him on the grass, and ordered him severely:

"Stay still. Unless you want to end up like your dad."

Those words were enough for Evander to overcome his urge to disobey.

He took out of his pocket three fireworks and a lighter.

"Today is Fourth of July, Evander Jr,” he said. "Let’s celebrate.”

Those fireworks were the only thing that lit up that starless night. However, neither their outburst nor their beauty could hide the words that the jackal whispered in his ear:

"Listen to me carefully, kid. You are going to drop to the ground and you aren't going to get up until dawn. In the morning, you'll walk five blocks to the home for child prodigies and you'll tell Bertha that Tom Freud sent you. Now, you will be surrounded by prodigies. Some may be powerful, but you must never to kneel before them. Do you understand?"

How ironic that Evander turned out to be a prodigy. Although no one had knelt before him. Yet.

Tom Freud did not wait for him to respond. As soon as the last spark disappeared, he pushed him to the ground, put his foot on his back, and shouted:

"Stay still!"

The bullet whizzed past his ear. Evander didn't scream, he just obeyed. He stayed still when Freud took his foot off his back. He stayed still when the Jackals left. And he even stayed still when the first ray of the sun illuminated his face.

When he saw the corpses on the kitchen floor, he could only ask himself what would have happened if he had not stayed still.

Every time that nightmare woke him up, he would ask Kasumi the same question. She would only tell him to look out the window.

"Your parents greet you from the stars," she assured. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Wade, hello."

Evander always responded with, “Look, your parents are there too. Hello, Mrs. Kasumi's mom, hello, Mr. Kasumi's dad. How do you say mom and dad in Japanese? "

Then, Kasumi proceeded to teach him some new words and expressions in Japanese. They both liked to put on solemn faces and start saying random phrases in Japanese when they were in public. They knew it was annoying for a lot of people, including Mom Bertha. She said Kasumi's mom used to do the same thing when they were younger when she was mad at her. Mom Bertha seemed sad after telling them this, so they decided not to do it in front of her anymore. Seeing Mom Bertha sad wasn't as fun as watching the older children get angry at them when they refused to explain what they were saying.

"You wouldn't understand," Evander told them, shaking his head with mock seriousness.

"That's right, you wouldn't understand," Kasumi agreed.

If others knew it was just random words and phrases, the game would be over, so they had to keep it a secret. Kasumi confessed that she regretted not being able to learn her parents' first language. However, she made an effort to learn how to say a very specific question.

Unfortunately, it was a question she had to make very often.

"Vandy, did you wet the bed?"

Evander hugged her tighter. Kasumi nodded and began to remove the covers. The girls immediately noticed what happened and started complaining, especially Alix. Evander sat on the corner of the bed, feeling dirty, and humiliated. They all looked at him with disgust and mockery, secreting each other.

Yeah, they didn’t like the idea of Evander sleeping in the same room as them. They said there was a room for boys and a room for girls for a reason. But Mom Bertha wouldn’t hear a word about it. Evander was going to sleep there, whether they liked it or not.

Why? Because he was a bed wetter and the boys weren’t very nice about it. Neither were the girls, but at least they didn’t start a fight with him when they realize Evander had wet the bed again.

He looked out the window. Mom Bertha was outside, talking to some men. He couldn't see their faces.

Evander had seen these men before. Sometimes when nightmares woke him up, he would listen to Mom Bertha talking to them. There were times when they yelled at each other, but there were other times when they gave her boxes filled with food and medicine. Kasumi made up the story that they were the guardians of the shadows, protecting the kingdom of the night.

"They look scary," Evander said to her when she told him the story.

"Don't worry, they won't hurt us."

But lately, Evander heard more screams and saw fewer boxes.

She dropped the wet sheets on the floor and handed him some clean underwear. Evander crawled under a blanket to change. Although he had a lot of privacy that way, Kasumi still turned her back on him so as not to make him uncomfortable.

"Kasumi, don't you listen to what we're saying?" Alix asked.

"I’m listening, Alix," she replied shyly.

“Then stop ignoring us. Evander is getting too old to sleep with the girls, he has to go with the boys. "

"But they are going to hit him again," Kasumi said.

“Well, better for him,” Alix replied. "Maybe he’ll finally learn wetting the bed is a horrible habit.”

Evander pulled the blanket off, pointed his finger at Alix, and yelled:

"You are horrible!"

Alix opened her mouth to respond and Evander threw his dirty underwear at her face. Kasumi burst out laughing along with the rest of the girls. Alix squealed as Evander started bouncing on the bed yelling "Horrible, horrible, horrible girl!" in Japanese.

He would do anything to annoy Alix and to keep Kasumi laughing.

When Alix recovered from the shock, she screamed:

"I'm going to kill you, Evander!"

A gunshot. Two gunshots.

Evander put a hand to his chest. Alix hadn't shot him.

Then who shot who?

Alix pushed Evander off the bed and leaned out the window. The shots had come from outside. Her face twisted in horror.

"Mom Bertha..."

All the other girls leaned over to look. Evander tried to push his way through them, but Kasumi quickly caught on and took him away from the scandal.

"Don't look," she whispered. "Please don't look."

"What happened?" he asked innocently. "Who’s shooting?"

"The guardians of the shadows," she replied, taking him by the shoulders, "have turned against us, Vandy."

As if she had summoned them, the guardians of the shadows knocked down the door to the girls' room pointing their guns at them. He and Kasumi hid under the bed, while the other girls screamed and raised their hands. The guardians of the shadows started holding them by their nightgowns and kicking them out into the corridor, not even giving them time to put on their shoes. The same scandal did not take long to begin in the men's room. A few more shots were heard.

And laughs. Low, hoarse laughs.

It can’t be…

The room was almost empty when a huge hand grabbed Kasumi by the wrist. Both screamed at the same time. Another hand grabbed Evander's arm and dragged them out of there.

The man was tall, muscular, and bald. A red bandanna covered his face.

Jackals.

"What are your powers!?" he yelled at Kasumi. His friend froze, staring at him with wide eyes and a sealed mouth. "What are your powers!?" he asked again.

More screaming. More demands. More questions they couldn't answer.

Evander tried to free himself from the man's grasp. All he wanted was to hug Kasumi once more. Maybe if he did it hard enough and for the right amount of time, he would be able to wake up.

The jackal growled and tossed Evander onto the bed as if ridding himself of an irritating mosquito. If he had done it harder, Evander would have been thrown out the open window.

The cold breeze gave him chills.

He looked at the window, then looked at his friend. She was still paralyzed and unable to answer the man's question. Kasumi, Evander, and the jackal were the only ones left in the room. Everyone else had gone to the common room.

He looked at the window. Then he looked at his friend.

The jackal drew his pistol and held it to Kasumi's head.

"WHAT ARE YOUR POWERS, LITTLE SLUT?!"

"She doesn’t understand you!" Evander yelled.

The jackal fell silent. Now the gun was pointed at him.

But Evander was not afraid.

"What are you talking about?"

“She doesn't speak English,” Evander explained, looking down. "That’s why she doesn't understand a single word of what you’re saying."

He looked at Kasumi curiously and threw Kasumi onto the bed, laughing. Evander hugged her.

Wake up, Vandy, wake up…

"What powers does the little slut have?" he asked Evander.

"I don't know," he replied, "she’s never used them."

"But she’s a prodigy."

"Yes, Mr. Jackal."

Another laugh. "I'm glad. If she wasn’t, I would have to kill her. And it would be a shame to kill such a pretty girl. "

Kasumi hugged him tighter. Perhaps she was also begging that it was all a dream. Or maybe she was more scared than he was.

Evander had to be brave for both of them.

"Do you want me to ask her for you?"

"Huh, now you happen to know Chinese," the jackal sneered.

"No, I know Japanese," Evander corrected.

He gave the loudest laugh of the night. Evander could perfectly visualize him breaking his dad's neck, laughing in the same way...

"Prove it."

Kasumi held his face in her hands. Her gaze seemed to scream at him: "What are you doing?" He had never seen her so confused.

He wished he could tell her what he was thinking. Kasumi, don't be afraid. Think of this as a story. You know the best stories. Let's make our way out of this. Have a little bit of imagination.

But how could one have imagination at this moment?

"I... distraction... you window... we escape."

He saw his friend's gears moving inside her head. "Water... waterfall... escape," Kasumi stammered.

"Window, waterfall, escape" Evander repeated with a nod.

Kasumi smiled at him almost imperceptibly. She had understood. Those afternoons of annoying others had helped.

"What's she saying?" the jackal interrupted.

"She says she can heal trees," Evander replied.

"And what do you do?"

"I can control light."

It wasn't entirely a lie.

"And why aren't you wearing pants?"

Evander hadn't realized he was still in his boxers.

"I- I wetted the bed.”

The jackal's laughter echoed in his head. "How old are you? Six?"

"I’m eight, Mr. Jackal.”

The jackal pointed the gun at the old closet in the corner of the room. “Put on clothes, kid. And then go downstairs with the rest. "

Evander hurried to the closet. He grabbed the first pair of pants he could find. They were green and had strange spots on the knees. But he didn't have time to think about that.

"What are you waiting, bitch? Move,” he yelled at Kasumi.

Kasumi didn’t move.

The pants were too big for him.

"I said move!" and hit her with the pistol’s grip.

Evander ran to get between the jackal and his friend. "Leave her alone!" he screamed.

The jackal raised his hand for a second blow. Both children closed their eyes, preparing for the beating they were about to receive. However, the blow did not come. Something had stopped the jackal.

Evander opened one eye. The jackal stared at him incredulously, his mouth slightly open.

He laughed. "I'm going to kill Freud..."

Then, he loaded his gun, put in on Evander's forehead, and said:

"Hello, Evander Jr. Stay still."

At that moment, Evander knew he couldn't stay still this time.

He placed both of his hands over the jackal's eyes and fired the most powerful and explosive fireworks he could. The jackal's laugh became a cry of pain so loud that all of Gatlon City could hear it.

Kasumi carried him and created a waterfall that ran down to the fence door of the building. As Kasumi slid both of them to their freedom, Evander looked up at the stars.

He didn't know what would have happened if he hadn't stayed still four years ago. But if he had obeyed this particular jackal tonight, the sky would have one star more.

He loved his parents. But he didn't want to be a star just yet.

#renegades #archenemies #supernova #fanfic #the origins #evaner wade #kasumi hasegawa #renegades trilogy #ao3

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 4 years

Text

Being Simon

Chapter 1: The Past

Chapter 1/2 (All chapters)

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word Count: 8493

Summary: Simon's type of therapy is...unusual to say the least. He has the incredible chance to go back in time to fix what he regrets. However, things get more complicated when Simon meets someone very interesting in the past.

Read on AO3

AN: Ahahahaha I did it!!! I finished a fic! That's a big achievement for me nowadays tbh. This has taken forever because stupid fucking health, but I did it! Of course I'm not 100% good with it but I'm still proud. Being Erica is one of my fave shows ever and is severely underrated imo. Then I saw this post and was like "oh damn that would be great for snowbaz." Now like three-four months late, here we are! Big thank you to @carryonmylovelies as always. She has been a big support for me through this writing slump. I couldn't be more grateful for her <3

World basics: time travel therapy is a thing, no further explanation given, and going back in time to fix past regrets teaches patients how to live better in the present. Patients take over their past selves' bodies for a bit. Patients can return from the past either suddenly or by stepping through doors. So just imagine Simon doing that. Saying much more is spoilers.

I’m gonna post chapter 1 today, then chapter 2 sometime within the next week. Hopefully y'all like it!

———————————————

You know that guy who’s got it all? A perfect job, a perfect partner, wonderful family, a life that people are secretly jealous of? You know that guy, everyone knows that guy. Unfortunately, I am not that guy.

My name is Simon Snow, and I’m a fuck up. But I’m getting better.

“Mr. Snow, Mr. Snow!” Cassidy shouts, waving her hand, “I know the answer!”

“Cass,” I say, “what did we say about inside voices?”

She pouts and crosses her arms. “Keep the volume down for all those around.”

“Exactly. Now, try again.” Cassidy raises her arm with no added sound effects. I point my chalk at her. “Cassidy, what’s the answer?”

She puts her hand down, grinning wide. “It’s 42.”

I hold my hand out to her. “Nice job, Cassy, right on the money.”

She gives me a big high five. The feeling of accomplishment surges through me. God, I love this job. My old customer service work made me feel dead inside. Day in, day out, same old fucking garbage from garbage customers. It was just never something I wanted to do. Now I get to see a little girl smile, and I helped her smile. Yeah, little self centred, but I’ll take it.

“Patrick,” I say, “can you tell me how we can find 8 times 4?”

Patrick nods and starts rattling off the technique he’s come up with. It’s a bit odd and round about but all his. That’s what I love about kids, the strange and unique things their little minds come up with. It’s why I wanted to be a teacher in the first place, before I lost my way.

The bell rings and everyone's on their feet immediately. “Alright everyone,” I shout over the clamour, “make sure to finish chapter three for tonight. And get your worksheets done! We’re going to go over them with a fine toothed comb. Have a good weekend, kids.”

“Bye, Mr. Snow,” they all parrot back. I wave them off, then start on my laptop. Being a teacher means having a lot of paperwork. (Or Google Doc work, I guess.) Everything is in mismatched folders and I have to scour them for my lesson plan draft. Unfortunately, I’m still not great at organization, but I’m working on it. I’m working on a lot in my life.

My phone rings. I look up from my screen, and notice there’s no sunlight from the windows. Holy shit, how long have I been sitting here? I quickly grab my phone. “Hello?”

“Simon!” Todd shouts. “Where the fuck are you?”

“Oh, uh, hi Todd.” Fuck, what did I do this time? “I-I’m still at work...”

He scoffs. “Of course you are. Shit, Simon, I’ve been sitting at Casper’s for an hour!”

My heart drops. I look down at my watch. It’s 6:34. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, love, I just totally lost track of time-”

“Yeah, I guessed that. I should expect that of you now.”

Well, that stings. A lot. I’ve felt like a screw up my whole life, so much so even my parents didn’t want me. Like they had some prophetic vision that their kid would be a no good moron. Therapy has started to rid me of those thoughts, but they still creep up every once in a while. Like now.

“I’m sorry, darling, I’m really sorry. We can go to my place, have take away-”

“No, Simon,” he sighs. “I just...I picked the day, the time, and the restaurant. All you had to do was bloody show up, and you couldn’t even do that. I mean...do you even care, Simon?”

A horrible, familiar pain goes through my heart. I can still hear Agatha’s voice all these years later. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. My thoughts get all muddled up, mixing up old fears and trauma with today.

“I do care, Todd, I really do. I just- I didn’t- I was- We can-”

“Please stop..” He sighs again. I can almost see him rubbing his pretty black eyebrows together. “Don’t stress stutter, it’s alright. Enjoy your work and takeaway.”

“Uh, could we reschedule?”

“No, we can’t.”

I gulp. I hate that I know what’s coming. “Are...are you too busy?”

“No, I’m just...I’m done. I can’t do this anymore, Simon. Hope you do well. I mean that.”

I slump in my chair. “Okay. You too. Bye, Todd.”

“Goodbye, Simon.”

He hangs up, but I keep the phone by my ear. My body feels too heavy to move and get out of this fucking chair. Once again, I screwed up my relationship. And the fact that it’s too familiar is even worse. This is what, the third partner I’ve lost in the last year? An abysmal track record. Before that I had been alone since uni, yeah, but I think it was better than feeling like this.

Slowly, I pack up all my stuff. Everything is quiet, like the world is in mourning for my latest lost relationship. Self centered as fuck but a nice thought. I sling my book bag over my shoulder and walk towards the door. It’s not even a shock when I don’t enter the foyer, but step through and end up in Dr. Margaret’s stony yet brightly lit office instead, complete with torches and pristine furniture. It’s like some medieval version of an IKEA showroom. Dr. Margaret is sitting in her chair with a book in hand, obviously waiting for me. Just another day with a super powered therapist who has her office in a pocket dimension outside of our reality. (That’s my theory anyway).

I speed walk forward and flop down face first on her white couch. “Hi to you too, Simon,” she says. I groan into the cushions. “Good day, huh?” I groan louder. “Tell me what happened or get off my couch.”

I move my face to the side, glaring at Dr. Margaret. She just keeps looking at me blankly from her large leather chair. Dr. Margaret has little time for my whining, something I usually appreciate. “Todd broke up with me.”

“You poor baby.”

I narrow my eyes even more. “Aren’t therapists supposed to be all sympathetic and shit?”

She scoffs. “Sympathetic when you’re not being pathetic.”

“My boyfriend just broke up with me, I’m allowed to be a bit pathetic.” I rub my very strained forehead. “I always get dumped.”

“Mhm.” Dr. Margaret picks up the notepad, the one I filled with my regrets the first day we met. It’s embarrassingly long, but a lot are crossed off too. “Tell me about ‘breakup with Agatha.’”

I groan, head falling back against the couch. “God, that’s one I’ve been waiting for.”

“Stop groaning and tell me.”

“Okay, okay, gimme a sec.” I sit up and put my elbows on my knees, rubbing my temple. Headache is coming. Though I’ve started to actually pay attention to my health and take care of myself now (thanks to Dr. Margaret), the headaches still happen sometimes. Especially when I think about this.

“It was 2003,” I sigh. “Agatha and I had been together for six years. Just before third year finals, Agatha broke up with me. I got really pissed at her. Turned into a huge screaming match. She said I didn’t care, and I called her an arsehole that never loved me.” I run a hand through my hair. Old stress habit. “I’ll never forget the look on her face. She was so unbelievably hurt. I knew it was wrong the moment after I said it, but I was too angry and proud to apologize. Agatha walked out. And that was the last time I ever saw her.” The words piece my heart like a knife. I feel like I'm about to shatter into pieces “We avoided each other all through finals. Right after graduation, Agatha moved to California for her masters. She wouldn’t take my calls, then she changed her number. So I gave up. Haven’t talked to her in twelve years. No idea where she is now and what she’s doing.”

Dr. Margaret nods thoughtfully, placing the notebook down. “What would you do differently? Try to fix things? Stay together?”

I shake my head vigorously. “No, god no. We weren’t good as a couple. But Agatha was one of my closest friends way before she was my girlfriend. I just, I want the breakup to not be so awful. That way we can stay friends. I want to keep her in my life. If I wasn’t such an arse, she would be.”

“Sounds reasonable. Let’s see if you can do it.”

A familiar chill hits me. At first it was terrifying but now I expect it. “Alright.”

Dr. Margaret nods, and the world spins.

———————————————

“You’re not hearing me, Simon!” Agatha screams. “I’m trying to tell you that it’s over!”

I stumble, blinking at Agatha and trying to focus on what’s around me. Dirty walls, Lady Gaga posters, a shitty desk I picked up off the curb. Yeah, this is definitely my uni apartment. And this is definitely Agatha screaming at me, trying to break things off and I’ve just been yelling. She’s so mad but I can’t help but smile. God, I’ve missed her.

“What are you smiling about?! Are you listening to me?!” She groans and shakes her head. “We’re done, Si. I can’t do this anymore. Goodbye.”

She turns around to leave and my pulse skyrockets. No no, not again. “Ags, wait! I-I am listening. Please, don’t leave!”

Agatha freezes, hand on the knob. She glares at me over her shoulder. “What?”

“I-I’m sorry for yelling, that was awful. Can we just sit down and talk this out? Please?”

She looks me over, probably trying to figure out if I’m being sincere. I know I am, but as far as she's concerned I was screaming my bloody lungs out a minute ago. Must be weird for her. Thankfully, she lets go of the knob. “Fine.”

I sigh in utter relief. I sit down on my shitty mattress (pretty sure I got this off the curb too) and Agatha follows. She’s tense, arms crossed. I fiddle with my fingers. The nail beds are all chewed up, hangnails surrounded by dark dried blood. Glad I broke that habit, but right now I sort of wish I still did it. It made me feel better.

“Are you going to say something?” Agatha asks, voice biting.

“Yeah, yeah, just, uh...” I rub the back of my neck. Words are getting fucked up again.

“You’re not going to change my mind, Simon. We’re through.”

“I know, Ags, I know. I don’t want us to stay together.”

Her eyebrows furrow. It’s really cute. I miss when she did that. “You don’t?”

“No, no, we’re not good as a couple. We don’t work well.”

“Oh.” Her arms fall into her lap. “Okay. Yeah, I think the same.”

“Awesome.” I turn towards her with a big grin. “But, uh, could we still be friends though? You’ve always been one of my best friends, Agatha. I-I don’t want to lose you after this.”

Agatha rubs her lips together, But slowly, she nods. “Okay, yeah.”

A huge weight lifts off my shoulders. I grin so wide it hurts. “That’s great! That’s so great. I-I just, I don’t want to lose you just cause our relationship didn’t work out.”

She looks even more confused, and I’m not sure why. “What do you mean ‘didn’t work out?’”

“Well, I-I mean, y’know, we just don’t work as a couple. We haven’t been happy for awhile because things have kind of...fizzled out, right?”

Suddenly, that infuriated expression comes back. She groans and stands up. “I can’t believe you, Si! You really haven’t been listening to anything I’ve said, have you?!”

I stand up too. “No, no, I have! You want to break up, and I get why, we’re not happy together. We’re not a good couple-”

“Because of you!” she screams. I stumble back slightly from the force of her words. “You fucked up!”

A horrible, upset, disgusted feeling takes over my whole body. Like my very soul is sicking up. I step towards her, reaching out. “Ags, I don’t know what you mean. H-How did I ruin things? Tell me what I did wrong!”

She shakes her head and backs away. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Si. If you don’t know by now, I don’t think you ever will.”

Agatha starts to stomp away. I chase after her. “Agatha! Ags, please, don’t-”

She slams the door so hard all my knick knacks rattle. I’m left in silence, except for the thoughts rattling around in my head. Fuck, what did I say? What did I do? I can’t think of anything I’ve done horrible enough to warrant such a response from Agatha. I pull at my hair and gnaw at my nail beds. I mean, this me already does it, so where’s the harm? Fuck, I don’t know what I did. I can’t remember!

Penny. I gotta go find Penny. She always has the answers. She’ll remember why I fucked up. I rush out the door and swing my way down the shitty stairs, careful to avoid the usual vomit puddles. I’m speed walking across the lawn towards Pen’s TA building when I spot familiar frizzy white hair.

“That was fast,” Dr. Margaret says, looking down at her book with a Starbucks drink in hand. She’s dressed in a horribly ugly orange tank top and boho skirt. Perfect for 2003. She needs to blend in with the time period, or at least that’s what she says. I think she just likes to dress up. “Saw her storm out. Looked really mad.”

“What the fuck was the point of this?!” I yell. I’m so angry, I can’t help it. My temper is something I need to work on but I really don’t care right now. “I still cocked things up with Agatha, so she still hates me, and all I’ve learned is that I apparently did something horrible that I don’t even remember because it’s been twelve bloody years!”

She takes a long drink from her large Starbucks cup. “Hm. Quite difficult. What’re you going to do?”

“Find Penny, I guess, She’ll know, right?”

Dr. Margaret shrugs. “Don’t know. You have a phone. Call her.”

Oh, right, phones are a thing. I dig around in my cargo shorts (god, I can’t believe, I used to wear these things) and pull out my old Nokia slide phone. I sneer at the thing. It was my first and shittiest cell phone. I thought I was so cool because my mobile slid out. I was such a prat.

I go to my contacts, and Penny is one of five. That makes me a little sad. I always liked people, but I was always bad at making real friends. I’ve gotten better now but past me barely had anyone. I click her number, and she picks up after two rings.

“Hey, Simon, what’s up?” she asks.

“Um, not much,” I respond automatically. Dr. Margaret glares at me. Right, I don’t need to push down my problems and pretend everything is okay. Penny’s my friend, she’ll want to help. “Actually, there’s a lot. Aggie and I just broke up.”

“Oh Si, I’m so sorry. How’re you feeling?”

“Not too bad. I guess it was inevitable. I’m more confused than anything. Ags said I ruined it by doing something, but I’m not sure what I did. Do you have any idea what she meant?”

“Uh...I really don’t know. She hasn’t told me anything. She doesn’t usually tell me things anyway.”

I sigh and rub my face. “Yeah, true. I’ll figure it out. Thanks, Pen.”

“Welcome, Simon. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” I hang up and shove my phone back in my massive pocket. Dr. Margaret is back to reading. “Well, that was no help.”

“Too bad. Maybe going to the source would be better.”

I frown in utter confusion. “You want me to go talk to Agatha again?”

“She knows what’s wrong. You don’t. Ask her.”

I put my hands on my hips. “You’re never this direct. What’s going on?”

She flicks her eyes to me, smiling slyly. “Don’t trust me, Simon?”

“No! I just know you always have something else going on. Nothing in therapy is ever easy or simple.”

“Know that. Taught you that.” She snaps the book closed. “Do what you think is best, Simon. Then live with choices.”

She stands up, book tucked into her hippie purse, and walks down the lawn. I huff, blowing a piece of stray hair out of my face. “You know I hate when you say that! It’s just pointing out the obvious! That’s lazy therapy!”

Dr. Margaret, the woman who has changed my life in so many ways, makes the “whatever” W sign at me. I chuckle and shake my head. Okay, well, this is probably some weird test (again), but Dr. Margaret has a point. Best to be direct. Maybe Agatha will have cooled down by the time I get there. I should do something nice. Bring her flowers, yeah, that’s a good idea. I look down at my cargo shorts, baggy Eminem shirt, and filthy knock off converse. Definitely need to change too.

I rush back to my apartment. It’s dingy and gross, but there’s a weird nostalgia to it. I should’ve put up more posters. (Why can’t that be a regret? That would be so much easier.) My dresser is bursting at the seams as usual. I throw my t-shirts around looking for something passable, but everything is dirty, tacky, smells like weed, or all of the above.

“Christ, how did I live like this?” I grumble, as if I wasn’t pretty much still living like this a year ago. (Minus the weed. Kicked that after uni, thankfully.)

Eventually I find a plain brown shirt and a pair of jeans with only one tomato sauce stain. Alright, I’m passable now at least. That’ll get Agatha’s attention just because it’s so out of character for who I am in this time. I open the old pickle jar where I keep all my change and scrounge together about 20 quid. Should be enough for flowers, especially before the 2008 crash. The exchange rate is the only thing I miss about the past, honestly.

“Alright,” I mutter to myself, slinging my bookbag over my shoulder, “decent clothes, okay hair, pocket change, bag to hold flowers. Let’s do this.”

I walk out my front door feeling confident, hopefully not too much. Can’t get a big head. Need to focus on Agatha.

“Simon, mate.” I turn around to see Rhys wheeling out of his flat. “What’s up? Heard a lot of shouting earlier, you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m cool, man. Agatha and I broke up and things got messy.”

He inhales sharply between his teeth. “Yikes. Sorry to hear that. Can’t believe she dumped you for that snotty prep.”

I stand ramrod straight, then spin around on my heels to face him properly. “What snotty prep?”

“Oh you didn’t know?”

“Didn’t know what?!”

Rhys raises his hands in surrender. “Whoa, take it easy, man.”

Shit. Reel in your temper, Simon, don’t explode. “Sorry, sorry, mate. Just, what are you talking about with this prep?”

“Yeah, this preppy pretty boy Agatha sits next to in our romantic literature and creative writing classes. They’ve always got their heads together. I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t my business, but then you said you two broke up, so...”

“So you thought she told me, got it.” I rub my temples. Headache is coming back. “Do you know who he is?”

Rhys scratches the side of his head. “Yeah, think so. Tall, dark-ish skin, grey eyes, posh accent, even more posh clothes. Name starts with a T. Terrence, Terry, Tyler-” He snaps his fingers and points at me. “Ty! That’s it!”

My face scrunches up. “Ty? Ty what?”

“Dunno. Just Ty, I guess. Like Madonna. Dude thinks he’s better than fucking everyone just because he’s rich or something.”

My blood boils to a fever pitch. So Agatha broke up with me for someone prettier and richer. She said it was my fault because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Mission failed, because I am fucking gutted.

“Thanks for telling me, mate,” I say, holding out my fist to him. He bumps his own against mine. “Really appreciate it.”

“Sure thing, mate. Come have a beer with us to commiserate?”

I chuckle. “Yeah, but you may have to remind me later. Brain like sieve.”

“Gotchu. See ya.”

“See ya.”

Rhys rolls down the hall towards Gareth’s. Right, it’s their weekly beer and footie night. I would hang out with them sometimes. I miss that. I should call them when I’m back in 2015. Right now though, I have a mission.

———————————————

Finding Ty will be pretty easy. I know when Agatha and Rhys’ creative writing class is, which is in a couple of minutes. (Rhys skipped a lot of class. Luckily he was a genius so he graduated at the top of our year. And Agatha never went to class when she was upset, so I know I won’t see her.) I run over to the building I know it’s in, a massive hall made from dingy grey stone and filled with caffeine addicted twenty somethings. Then I sit by a tree, waiting to see someone like Rhys described. Oh and when I find him I’ll- Well, I’ll do something. Not sure yet but it’ll be something!

Droves of zombified uni students pass me by. None of them look posh and preppy enough to be like this Ty dude. He sounds like such a twat. What the fuck does Agatha see in him? (Or did see in him, I guess. Time travel is weird.) Maybe Agatha is still with him. Maybe they went to California together. She talked about me going with her for a bit, but I was scared to leave England. I don’t regret staying, but I do regret the crushed look on her face.

The guy passes by me. He looks ridiculous, wearing oxfords, black slacks, and a goddamn tweed jacket with leather patches on the sleeves. It’s the preppiest posh shit I’ve ever seen. I can see his hands, curled around his textbook, and his slicked back hair. Dark-ish skin and ear length black hair. I’m on my feet in an instant.

“Hey!” I shout. He doesn’t move. “Hey, Ty! I’m talking to you!”

He finally turns around, and my heart stops for a second. Holy shit. This guy is beautiful. Like, super model on the cover of a high end fashion magazine gorgeous. He’s got cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and his eyes aren’t just grey, they’re green and blue mixed together. Like deep ocean water. And right now they’re staring at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind.

“Yes?” he says. His voice is smooth, strong, really pretty. “You called my name?”

I shake off my small gay panic (technically pansexual panic) and my anger returns. I glare hard at him. “Yeah, I did. My name is Simon Snow, Agatha’s boyfriend.”

His confusion quickly switches to stone faced boredom. “Oh you’re the boyfriend. Well, the ex-boyfriend now, according to the text Agatha sent me.” He tilts his head to the side, ocean eyes scanning me over. “I thought you’d be taller.”

My body feels like it’s on fire. This guy may be hot but he’s a total prick. How could Agatha dump me for him?! “Who do you think you are, huh? Flirting with someone’s girlfriend? That’s fucking low, you pathetic shit!”

He scoffs, putting on hand on his hip. “Very well spoken. If you’re done with your little alpha male display, I have a class to get to.”

Ty turns away. I’m ready to explode. I haven’t felt this angry in years but this guy is getting so under my skin. I grab his shoulder and force him to look at me.

“You don’t get to walk away, dick!” I roar. “Do you think you’re better than me?! Well you’re not!”

“I’m not the one shouting at a random stranger on the quad.”

“I’m shouting because you stole my girlfriend!”

“I didn’t steal her, you sexist shit,” he hisses. “She’s my friend. Are you the kind of arse to not allow his girlfriend to have friends?”

“No! And I’m not sexist! I just don’t like someone flirting with the girl I was with when I was with her, especially when you’re all...posh and shit!”

Ty scoffs again and leans forward. “Well, at least I don’t wear dirty jeans out in public. I have more self respect than that.”

My entire body explodes in a way it hasn’t in ages. My vision goes completely fucking red. I shove Ty, hard. Way harder than I mean to. He stumbles backwards, dropping his books on the grass. He looks at me in utter shock.

“What the fuck?!” Ty shouts. He then shoves my shoulders, and I stumble five steps back. Holy shit, he’s strong.

“Fuck you!” I shout back. I charge forward with all my might. Ty blocks me but that doesn’t stop me. I claw and push and pull at him, no clue what I’m doing at all. I’m just so angry and pushing it all at him. He pushes back just as hard. Neither of us will give an inch. We scrabble like a pair of cats. I can’t think, I just feel. I'm so angry and sad and worthless because...because....

Because I’m losing my friend again. And I don’t know what to do.

My hits get weaker and weaker. All the energy dribbles out like a melting ice cream in July. As I slow down, Ty stops pushing back. My arms fall down at my sides. His hands rest awkwardly on my shoulders.

“Uh,” he says, “are you alright?”

“No,” I choke out. Tears fill my eyes and cloud my vision. “No, I’m not.”

I break down, crying with heavy, ugly sobs. Everything is just collapsing in and around me. I really am losing Agatha all over again. It hurts even more this time. I’ve never fallen apart this badly on a regret. But everything from the past and present, losing all my partners in the past year then Agatha again, is just hitting me in one terrible mental blow.

“Oh shit,” he says. “Um...” I feel his hand move off my shoulder and slowly pat my head. “There, there?”

I snort like one of the kids I teach. I pull back, wiping the still flowing tears under my eye. “Seriously? That’s the best you can do?”

Though it’s a bit hard to tell, I think Ty’s face flushes. He crosses his arms defiantly. “Well, what the fuck are you supposed to do when a stranger attacks you then breaks down crying?”

I shrug. “Dunno, really. This is new for me too.”

Ty rubs the back of his neck, shuffling his polished oxfords in the dirt. I’m still sniffling like a child. “You want to go somewhere private? Where no one can see you?”

My eyes catch a couple of people glancing and outright staring at us. Or just at me. I nod vigorously. “Yeah, that would be good.”

Ty collects up the books I knocked out of his hands. He jerks his head to the side, and I follow behind him. Tears are still streaming down my face. They won’t stop no matter how hard I try. Ty leads us through a secluded area, past large trees and bushes, until we reach a completely hidden, beautiful ravine. Holy shit. Was this always here? I went to this uni for three years and I have no memory of this place. Either I’m super oblivious or getting old. (Probably both.)

We go past a couple more bushes until we come upon a ramshackle rainbow coloured bench against some trees. It looks handmade by some stoned out art major. The mess of cigarette and joint butts on the ground only reinforces that theory. Ty sits on one end of the bench. I take the other, but we’re still pretty close. It’s not very big. We sit in silence for a bit, save for my continued sniffling. Something bumps my arm. I look down to see Ty’s long fingered hand holding out a cigarette pack.

“Want one?” he asks.

“Smoking is bad for you,” I say automatically.

“Like you’re one to talk. You reek of marijuana”

“Fuck, really?” I sniff my shirt collar and get a whiff of weed. I groan, letting my head fall back against the tree. “Dammit. Thought this one was clean.”

“Unfortunately not.” He shakes the box. “You want one or no?”

I sigh and pluck a stick out of the box. Ty takes one as well, then pulls out a pristine silver Zippo lighter. He lights us both with one flame. I watch the paper crinkle and shrivel away into ash. I’m a bit nervous. Technically, I haven’t smoked anything in over a decade. Hopefully I can depend on past me’s muscle memory.

Ty takes a long, deep draft and breathes out a long puff of smoke. I try to mimic him. My lungs burn with the heat of twin suns. I wheeze out, thumping my chest. Ty throws his head back laughing, hair touching his neck.

“You must be a shitty stoner,” he chuckles.

“Yeah,” I cough, “never been great at inhaling.”

“Bring it into your mouth, then your lungs. Don’t do it all once.”

I nod, even though I kind of knew that. Just been awhile. I smoked a few joints but I preferred my old bong. But I try again, doing what Ty said. This time I only cough a little instead of wheezing like the world’s most pathetic dragon.

“There you go,” Ty drawls. He’s definitely mocking me a little.

“Fuck off.”

“Christ, what bug crawled up your arse?”

I glare at him, and his face is completely unaffected. “The bug that Agatha broke up with me for you.”

He scoffs, flicking cigarette ash on the ground. “Your ex- girlfriend did not break up with you to be with me. We’re only friends. I’d never date her.”

“That’s mean, Agatha is amazing.”

Ty rolls his eyes dramatically. “It has nothing to do with Agatha. She’s wonderful. I just don’t like women.”

My eyes grow wider than saucer plates “You’re gay?”

He cocks an eyebrow. How did he get so good at that? Does he practice in the mirror? “You have a problem with that, Snow?”

“No, no, of course not. Just didn’t realise...”

“It’s not like I’m hiding it.” He gestures to his perfectly pressed button down, spotless navy slacks, and polished Oxfords. Okay, he has a point, most straight men don’t take such meticulous care of their clothes. 2003 closeted me had the excuse of being heteronormative as fuck, but 2015 pansexual me needs to work on his gaydar.

“I, uh, didn’t want to assume...” Usually a safe answer in my experience.

“How noble.” Ty takes a long drag. I still hate cigarettes, but the way his lips fit around the smoke plume is kind of attractive. “Agatha knows I’m gay. I told her after she almost kissed me.”

“What?!” I throw down the cigarette and shoot to my feet. The fire in my gut is back, along with the sense of utter worthlessness. I fucked up so badly, made Agatha so miserable, that she nearly kissed a gay bloke. I feel so awful and confused and I don’t know what I'm supposed to do, I’m just mad.

He rolls his eyes, again. “Sit down, alpha male, I said ‘almost.’ I’m not even sure she realised what she was doing, we were both completely pissed. She leaned forward slightly and I blurted out that I was gay. Then she promptly burst into tears.”

My heart feels like someone has reached inside and twisted every vein. My arms relax at my sides. “She...she was crying?”

“Yes, quite heavily.” He taps the cig with one long, graceful finger. (Does he play piano? He should.) “She said she was sorry, then blubbered for an hour about how conflicted she felt about wanting to break up with you.”

The impact of those words send me back down onto the bench. My whole body feels heavier than lead. “She felt conflicted?”

“Of course she did.”

“I-I thought this was easy for her. That our relationship was already going downhill, then I did something so bad she decided to end it. And then I thought it was because she found you, someone better than me.”

Ty scoffs. “My god, she was right, you are completely oblivious.”

I scowl at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You’re so blind to what you’ve been doing.”

“What’ve I been doing?!”

“You’ve been a terrible boyfriend!” he yells. “You’re forgetful, you miss things, you don’t pay attention to Agatha, and most of all you take her for granted!” He sighs, rolling the half finished cig between his fingers. “Ags says you don’t mean to do it, you’re just oblivious, but she’s still hurt. There isn’t one bad thing you did, Snow. You’ve been hurting her for awhile.”

Every word is slap to the face. My body literally aches with all the guilt I feel. Ty is right. I was an awful, awful boyfriend. Every missed date, every burnt meal, every stupid thing I’ve ever said, they all rush into me. Fucking hell. How could I have not seen it? I always had reasons, and they were always small things. But I guess a lot of small things pile up.

“Fuck,” I choke out. Tears make little wet spots on the dirt floor. I don’t know when I started crying again. God, I’m a mess.

“Please don’t cry,” Ty says, sounding almost sympathetic. “I only have so many cigarettes.”

That makes a laugh surprisingly fly out of my mouth. Yet I’m still picking at my nails, flicking away bits of my cuticle like I want to get rid of my pain. I’m nervously babbling before I even realise it. “My brain’s always filled with...stuff. Keeping my scholarship, keeping my job, working towards my future. E-Everything’s always been about my future, what I’ll do eventually, even with Agatha. She was supposed to be my happy ending after all the shit I’ve been through.”

“She’s a person,” he mutters, “not your goal.”

“I know that!” I rub away more tears. “Well, I’m learning. I dunno. I-I had a shitty childhood, okay? So I’m always waiting for things to get better. And I thought if I did well at school and found a nice girl, things would just fall into place. Turns out shit is more complicated than that.”

I laugh to try to break the tension, but Ty stays silent. I cautiously flick my eyes over to him. He’s still holding his cigarette. It’s burnt down to the filter. His face is stone again, yet I can see the slight tremor in his fingers. It’s miniscule but it’s there. I don’t think he’s okay, but I barely know this guy, I’m scared to ask.

“I don’t know how to fix things with Agatha,” I sigh. “I’m bad at talking, bad at relationships, sometimes bad at friendships. It’s not like I want her back. I...I just want her in life. She’s amazing. I don’t- I can’t lose her again.”

“Again?” he says. My face goes bright red and my breath hitches. Fuck. Stupid time travel, screwing things up.

“Y-Yeah, we’ve had fights before, stopped talking for a while. I know this feeling, I hate it. I want her to be in my life and be happy and I don’t know how to do that!”

“Tell her that.”

I face him, blinking in confusion. “What?”

Ty sighs and flicks the butt onto the ground, crushing it beneath the toe of his utterly perfect oxford. “Tell her that. Say you’re scared and clueless but you want to still be friends, so you want to figure out how to do that. Be honest. What else are you going to do?”

My mouth flaps up and down. Fuck. It’s so damn obvious yet it never came to mind. I thought I needed something big and smart so Agatha would understand. But... “All I need to do is be honest with her.”

“Exactly.”

I smile for the first time since I got here. “Wow, can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

“You do seem to be a bit thick.” His slight smirk and teasing lilt save me from getting angry. I scoff and shake my head.

“Yeah, well, you seem like a bit of a prick.” He scoffs too, but he’s still smiling.

We sit there in silence for a little. All I can hear is birds chirping and students in the distance. I feel calm. So calm I don’t want to get up for a while. I just want to catch my breath. Ty slowly tilts his head back over the bench.

“I haven’t sat down in awhile,” he says quietly, almost as if to himself, but too loud for me not to hear. “I’m always at class or studying. I don’t sit down and just...sit.”

“Well you haven’t really been only sitting,” I chuckle. “You’ve been helping me.”

“Would it be sad that this has actually been the most relaxing time I’ve had in months?”

“Uh, yeah, and a bit concerning.”

Ty laughs a little louder this time. His smile seems a bit more genuine, but his pretty eyes are a bit sad. It may just be his face. It looks like it’s designed for pouting. “I’m a political science and English double major getting ready for law school. My whole life is stress.”

I chuckle sadly. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

“It is. A nightmare I chose...” He spins the cigarette pack between two fingers. I know he’s just fiddling but it looks so damn cool when he does it.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re happy about that choice.”

His eyes shift over to me without moving his head. “Since when do you know anything about my feelings?”

I shrug, crossing my arms. “I usually know what sadness looks like.”

Ty sighs. He rubs his temple slowly with his elegant ring finger. (What is with my finger fetish today?) “Ever since I was little, it was expected that I follow in the family tradition. Get perfect grades, go to a good university, go to an even better law school, become a lawyer, then finally take over the family practice. It’s what my mother did. It’s what I’m supposed to do.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Doesn’t matter what I want,” he scoffs.

I tilt my head towards him, but not too close to scare him away. “Well, if you could do what you want, what would you do?”

“I told you, it doesn’t mat-”

“Then pretend it does matter. What would you do for the rest of your life?”

Ty sinks further into the bench. It makes his stupid tweed jacket bunch up slightly, and he almost looks like a normal young adult. “Honestly, I just want to read books forever.”

I giggle quietly, and Ty glares at me with a now obvious flush in his cheeks. “Fuck off,” he snarls.

“I’m not laughing at you!” He doesn’t look convinced. “It’s just, when I first saw you, I never expected you to be a total bookworm. You seem too posh for that.” Ty snorts, keeping his arms crossed. He won’t meet my eyes. I lean closer, and he doesn’t back away. “Reading books forever sounds hellish to me, but it sounds like heaven for you. It’s a great idea. Why not do it?”

Ty’s glare somehow gets even more intense. His eyes are just slivers of beautiful grey. “Because I’m a responsible person, unlike you.”

The words hit me right in the gut. I scowl deeply at him. “That is beyond not okay. You don’t know me, you don’t know my life. So you don’t get to spew shit like that just because you’re pissed off. Got it?”

Honestly, I’m surprised how clear and articulate I’m being. A year with Dr. Margaret has made it a lot easier for me to stand up for myself in a meaningful way, not just with growls and punching. But still, it’s hard, and I did this so easily. I’ve really made progress.

Ty scowls back, but I don’t back down. I’ve always been good at standing my ground, thankfully. Slowly, Ty’s face falls and gets less angry. In fact, he looks a bit regretful. We slowly move apart again. He takes a few deep breaths before he finally speaks again.

“You’re right,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Good, apology accepted.” I lean my cheek onto my fist. “Seems both of us are having trouble with our futures.”

“Mine is secure.”

“But not happy.”

He rubs his lips together, like he’s chewing his words. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Why not? Why not do what you want instead?”

“Because I’ve already applied to law school!”

“Okay.” I put my back to the bench again, staring up at the sky through the trees. “Well, I’m nearly done with my maths and am about to start my teaching degrees. Then I've got a private school job lined up, but who knows? Maybe I’ll hate the job and quit and work at shitty customer service jobs for years until I decide to get my shit together and find an actually good teaching gig at a school I like.”

Ty’s dark brows furrow together. “That is extremely specific.”

I shrug, hoping my smirk doesn't say too much. “I don’t know, just a possibility.”

“Alright,” he snorts. “My life will be fine, it won’t go off the rails.”

He looks so sure and resolute. I don’t think I’m going to change his mind, and I don’t think it’s my job to. I can’t save everyone, something Dr. Margaret taught me. Plus I just met this guy. No matter how pretty he is, I don’t know him. (Wish I did.) Hopefully he can figure out his own shit.

“Okay. Your life, you can figure it all out.” I put my hands behind my head, leaning back, staring at the sky.

“Your life is going to be fine,” Ty says. “Agatha says that despite what you think, you’re smart. And I’m partial to agree. You have trouble with relationships, but who doesn’t? You’ve still got a good head on your shoulders. You’ll figure everything out too.”

I can feel my face turns bright red, and from the smirk on Ty’s face he can see it. I rub the back of my neck, trying to use my arm to hide my blush. “Y’know, I get why Agatha liked you. You’re weirdly nice and, well, really hot.”

Now it’s Ty’s turn to have his eyes go wide. He looks very cute. “Wow, you’re pretty forward for a straight guy.”

“Whoever said I was straight?” I smirk at him with one eyebrow raised. I hope I look confident and sexy and not just fucking weird.

“Oh.” His voice is almost a squeak. “I’m sorry I assumed.”

“S’alright, common mistake.” I look down at my stupid Nokia. “Wow, you’re beyond late for your class.”

Ty scoffs. “And who’s fault is that?”

“Okay, yeah, guilty as charged. You should probably get to it though. Need good grades for law school and all.”

“Yes, good point.” He stands up, and I follow, hands in my pockets. I both hate and love that Ty is a little taller than me. “But...it was nice to talk to you, Snow.”

“Feeling’s mutual, Ty. So, uh, see you around.”

I grin brightly, then turn around before I say something really stupid. I usually do in front of pretty people. Plus I need to see Agatha. That’s why I’m here, back in 2003. I’m not supposed to be chasing after a pretty guy who went to my uni ages ago. Even if he is like, really pretty.

“Simon.” His voice makes me stop in my tracks and turn back.

“Yeah?”

Ty steps forward and holds out a scrap of lined paper. “Since you’re newly single, and now I know you’re not straight, give me a call sometime? If you’re up to it, that is.”

My brain completely short circuits. Blows a fuse. Maybe every fuse. I just stare at Ty with my mouth hanging open for a bit too long. Ty starts to look genuinely concerned. But thankfully the synapses start firing again and I shake it off.

“Um, y-yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I would like that.” I take the paper. “Uh, thank you.”

“You’re most welcome. I hope to see you around as well.”

I watch as he walks away, and I’m mesmerised by the way his hips swing. Fuck, he is so hot. And he likes me. I honestly have no clue why but I’m not going to question it. I have to make sure to call him before I go back to 2020. But right now I have to find Agatha, so I carefully put the paper in the smallest pocket of my bag, then dash off towards Aggie’s dorm.

———————————————

I knock on the door softly, and there’s no answer at first. “Aggie?” I say. “I came here to say I’m sorry. I won’t yell, I promise.”

Still silence at first. I nearly leave, but then the sound of soft footsteps comes from under the door. The doorknob slowly turns and my pulse increases every second. Agatha is wearing her purple Watford lacrosse sweater, a pair of my trackies that I left behind last week, and blonde hair piled up in a bun. Her eyes are puffy and her cheeks are red. My stomach drops at the sight.

“What are you sorry for?” she asks, voice low and flat. She sounds more tired than angry. For some reason that hurts even more.

I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry for how I treated you, Ags. Our relationship didn’t fall apart for no reason. I didn’t pay attention to what you wanted and took you for granted. I was a terrible boyfriend. And I’m really, really sorry.” I start nervously pulling at my hair. “I-I’m not saying we should get back together. We weren’t happy, and you deserve someone who will put you first. But I still want to be your friend. You’re one of my first and best friends. I’m not sure how to do that, considering I was such an shit boyfriend, but can we figure it out? Together?”

Agatha rubs her lips together, taking slow deep breaths. Her fingers tap against the door one by one. I don’t know if I’m going to throw up or run or both. All are possible. But then Agatha nods slowly.

“Okay,” she sighs.

“Okay?”

“Let’s try to be friends again. I don’t want to lose you either.”

I grin ear to ear. “Okay, awesome, that’s great. I’m so glad you want to as well. I do love you, Ags, and I’m sorry I hurt you so much.”

“Apology accepted, Si, so you don’t need to do it anymore. Let’s just move forward, alright?”

“Alright, yeah, I’d like that.” I rub my neck and nervously gnaw at my lip. “Um, could I hug you? As a friend?”

She smiles softly. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her smile. Not just because I’m from the future, but I can’t remember the last time she smiled back when we were together. I hope I can make her smile more now.

“Yeah,” she says, “that would be nice.”

We both step forward and throw our arms around each other. I haven’t hugged Agatha in a long time either. Sure, we snogged and had sex, (though not very often honestly), but this is so much better. There’s no pressure or nerves. It feels normal. The most normal I’ve ever felt with her.

As we slowly part, we’re still smiling. “You,” Agatha pokes my chest, “need to study for your exam on Monday.”

I chuckle and nod, being silently thankful I’m not doing that exam again. Once was more than enough. “Yeah, I know. This felt more important though. You’re more important.”

She blinks in confusion. I can’t blame her. Past me was always too focused on my work so that I could reach the happy ending I always wanted. Future me is figuring out that there is no happy ending. There’s just life, and I have to make it what I want, not just wait for happiness to fall into my lap. I haven’t got it down pat but I’m getting there. That’s more than good enough.

“Well, I’m definitely glad to hear that,” Agatha says. “Call me tomorrow. We’ll go get brunch, okay?”

I nod enthusiastically. “Sounds great.” The voice in the back of my head reminds me about the small fact of time travel, and that when I go back to 2015, past me is only going to remember bits and pieces of this day. “But, uh, studying may fry my brain. So could you maybe call instead? And I’ll call next time?”

Agatha sighs with exasperation, but she’s still smiling. “Alright, that’s a valid excuse.” She presses a small kiss to my cheek. It’s completely platonic, and it feels great. “See you later, Simon.”

“Yeah, definitely.” I hug her tight one more time before I go. She gives me a kind wave before closing her door. I’m grinning like a mad man as I walk down the hell. I did it, I saved my friendship with Agatha. I’m so damn happy. Plus I met Ty.

Oh right. I reach into my bookbag, feeling around for my notebook. My hand curls over the rings of the spine as I push open the stairwell door. And I instantly fall face first onto the dirty public school floor.

“Mr, Snow!” Ms. Petty, the nicest janitor in the entire school, possibly in the whole world, rushes to me. “Are you alright?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” I say. “I’m fine. Just clumsy.”

“Here, let me help.”

I take her hand and she hoists me to my feet. I still feel a bit dizzy, a small side effect of time travel I know all too well now. Ms. Petty keeps a hand on my back until I regain my bearings. “Alright, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll be alright.”

“Okay, dearie.” She pats my shoulder. “Go get some rest, get your mind off work.”

“Right, yeah, work...”

Ebb gives me one last comforting pat and goes back to sweeping the hallway floor. I wave at her as I leave, hoping she doesn’t see the distress in my face.

Fuck.

———————————————

AN: Chapter 2 will be posted within the next week, i.e whenever I'm well enough to edit it lol. See you all next time!

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on fanfiction #being erica au #time travel #time travel therapy #fluff #angst #first meeting #mysnowbazfic

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dat-fandom-losertown · 4 years

Text

The Drift Between Us

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Chapter 8: The Search

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Hank Anderson x Connor, Gavin x RK900 (Ritch)

Pacific Rim AU

Warnings: Inaccurate/Unfair representation of a therapist (for only 1 paragraph), A physical fight, and I think that’s all?

Word Count: 12,273

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A/N: Hey guys, I normally don’t like putting notes before a fic, but I just wanted to apologize for this update taking literal months, and I wanted to thank anyone who’s still around and is still wanting to read this. On with the long-awaited chapter!

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <> Masterlist <> Next

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After Ritch hesitantly peeks through Connor’s journal (which turns out to be admittedly helpful, if not surprising because of the specific note that Ritch is more compatible with Gavin despite the fact Ritch had always made sure Connor wasn’t in the area when they started picking at each other, the one exception being during the Alex fiasco) and adds his own information to it, he goes to lunch.

He ends up spending most of his meal time talking with the Jericho Squad (and he doubts he’ll ever not internally cringe whenever they unironically call themselves that) about therapy and what generally makes a good therapist and a bad one. It’s actually quite helpful. Helpful enough, in fact, that after he and Connor take two written evaluations directly after lunch– with the second one having significantly harder and oddly specific questions that he’s sure they both got some wrong– he initiates a relatively unstressful talk with his brother about general types of therapists.

They end up agreeing that they absolutely don’t trust strangers with anything personal, which will make this entire endeavor harder than it probably should be since the therapist will be a stranger. They also surprisingly agree on what type of therapist they think they’d prefer to have, despite their very different personalities. Neither twin mention that this may be because the warm, casual nature of the person they’re both hoping for is nearly the opposite of how Amanda always treated them, but it does vaguely show up in Ritch’s unsettling dreams that night.

The next morning, on his way to breakfast, Ritch almost predictably runs into Gavin. However, instead of immediately getting into another round of gibes, Gavin is so wrapped up in whatever he’s doing that he doesn’t acknowledge Ritch at all. He supposes that even the pilots with shorter tempers have actual work to be done, so the trainee doesn’t question it and moves on. Ritch refuses to believe that the negative emotion he feels because of the lack of attention from Reed is disappointment. Just another thing to shove away and forcibly forget about for the preferably indefinite future.

The strength tests after breakfast definitely help with keeping him distracted from therapists and Gavin and anything else he’s shoved away from his mind so well that he can no longer recall what they are (but he knows they’re there. He can feel them trying to cause him more stress and uncertainty, but all he has to do is pointedly not think about that vague feeling and they can’t bother him). Chloe doesn’t show a reaction or share their results during the strength evaluations, so he doesn’t know if they’re just average or if they scored close enough to what they had before that no input is needed. Yet another thing to add to the “don’t think or worry about it right now” pile.

Thankfully, or unfortunately, depending on the point of view, he forgets about everything in that mental pile except for one thing after he finishes dinner. The therapist search. He and Connor have separate people they’re going to check out, since Marshal Fowler said it would be better for them to not have the same therapist. Both he and Connor readily agreed.

When Ritch arrives at his appointment, the older man only greets him and introduces himself as Dr. Johnson before getting right down to business. That isn’t anything more than a rub in the wrong direction, but when Ritch gives an honest but simple request, “I’d rather not give any personal information before I know you’re right for me,” the man starts assuming possible situations that could be the reason why Ritch is here without letting him properly speak. Again, Ritch doesn’t have a particular problem with this– he certainly won’t be choosing this man– but Mr. Johnson then ignores Ritch when he requests that they get back on topic and instead takes that as a “clue” that he is “getting close” to the “real reason” and starts spewing even more ridiculous bullshit.

(As if he, of all people, would have had any time or desire at all for a romantic relationship growing up, and that he would’ve been be vengeful, of all emotions, if “she” died in what would be considered a freak accident. As if he even knows if he’s interested in women exclusively or at all. It’s not like he’s had the time or desire to experiment with relationships or even the idea of them.)

Ritch ends up so tense with frustration that he gets up and leaves long before the session is supposed to end, ignoring the calls behind him. He will not put up with someone who won’t listen to him, not again. Not if he has any control over it, and Marshal Fowler and Chloe had guaranteed that he does.

After those short 15 minutes, he reluctantly decides to get some outside help, and there’s only one person he can think of that would have both the information he’s looking for and the potential willingness to help– even if it’s only for Connor’s sake.

He’s surprised to see the man he planned on looking for during breakfast. After a beat of hesitation, he figures that the sooner he asks the better, and heads over to a table with only one, familiar figure sitting at it.

“Hello, Mr. Anderson.”

The ex-pilot doesn’t turn around to face Ritch or sit up from being hunched over his food, and huffs in lieu of a greeting. That isn’t unexpected, though, since it is a well-known fact that Mr. Anderson normally doesn’t get out of bed until lunch is already being served. It would almost make Ritch feel guilty for bothering the exhausted man if he weren’t also concerned about himself and Connor being eaten alive by strangers who claim they want to help.

Mr. Anderson suddenly turns his head towards Ritch, as if just realizing something. “I thought I told you to call me–”

Ritch sees the shock on his face when he registers his blue eyes instead of Connor’s brown ones. He probably should have waited to call out to him until he was seen and couldn’t be mistaken for his twin, but he didn’t want to spook the older man by appearing in front of him without warning. There’s nothing to do about it now, though, so Ritch tries his best to offer what could be an apologetic smile, but could also very well look like an awkward grimace.

He’s not well versed in showing proper emotions yet since he’s only had a day or so of practice. Simon and Josh are trying their best to teach him so he doesn’t look angry at the press if/when he’s announced as a new jaeger pilot, but so far it’s been an uphill battle.

He doesn’t voice any of those thoughts when he addresses Mr. Anderson again. He is not like his twin, who gets nervous and overshares and rambles as a result. He has more self-control.

“I apologize for interrupting your meal, but may I ask you for a favor? Or rather, offer to owe you one in exchange?”

Something curious yet cautious glints in Mr. Anderson’s eyes. “What kind of favors?”

“The kind of equivalent exchange. I may be out of line to ask this, but you do have experience with the therapists and such here, yes?”

“Why the hell do you want to know.” Mr. Anderson snaps and sits up defensively, but it doesn’t bother Ritch. He was expecting this and more to come.

“I would like to know which ones Connor and I should avoid.” Seeing Mr. Anderson’s blatant confusion, Ritch figures Connor hadn’t mentioned these trial meetings to him and explains further. “We started mandatory therapist jumping yesterday and the one I started with was pushy, impatient…” He purses his lips and looks to the side. “I generally try to avoid using words like “unpleasant” when describing people, but that’s the most accurate word I can use for him.” Ritch pauses long enough to look him in the eye. “Of course, if you do trust me enough to tell me these things, then I’ll let you cash in a single favor from me whenever you’d like.”

Mr. Anderson snorts and turns to his food again, trying and failing to not let his surprise show. Is he surprised because Ritch wants his help, even though he can count their interactions on one hand? He can’t imagine it being anything else, especially since he knows of some of their issues from Connor apparently mentioning and/or actually talking about them with the older man. Maybe his twin downplayed their experiences again despite being much more anxious than usual recently?

God, this is way too much thinking for someone who’s been actively trying to not think for the past several weeks, years even.

“Lemme guess, a favor within reason, right?” Mr. Anderson jokes sarcastically after a few moments.

“I am not my brother or your old partner.” Ritch states.

Mr.Anderson looks up at him at that, very still with slightly raised eyebrows, probably asking “Does that mean what I think it does?” silently. Ritch answers the assumed question with a slight upwards tilt of his head, “Yes.”

Ritch has far less of an issue than Connor does with doing things that don’t exactly follow the rules. Not that his brother has any particular issue with breaking the rules, he just doesn’t like to anger people because he seems to have trouble making them not angry anymore. Ritch, on the other hand, usually knows exactly how to placate and bargain with most types of people, and thus he has very little apprehension of doing things against the rules.

Mr. Anderson hesitates for a moment before nodding his head to the chair in front of him, saying, “Go and sit down. Should I wait for Connor before I start or–”

“Wait for me to start what?” Ritch’s shoulders stiffen in surprise, but he quickly relaxes them again. He didn’t hear Connor behind him over the white noise of the food court. ”If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

Ritch turns to his twin. “Mr. Anderson has agreed to tell us about some of the therapists here so we can narrow our search. Did you have a pleasant experience with yours yesterday evening, Connor?”

He knows Connor catches the silent apology in his tone for ignoring him yesterday when his brother wanted to “compare results”, as he called it. Ritch needed to focus on how to get the tight-lipped Anderson to talk about something he likely would rather not. This is all rather straightforward and easy compared to what Ritch thought he was going to have to do.

Connor answers as he sits down in the chair to the left of Ritch and places a steaming cup near Mr. Anderson’s tray, “I wouldn’t call it pleasant, but I wouldn’t call it unpleasant either. I believe Dr. Amelia Johan would be suitable enough if there were few or no other options. What about yours?”

Ritch feels his expression darken slightly and has to stop himself before he clears it, then he ignores how vulnerable and awkward he feels in order to exaggerate the emotion. According to Josh and Simon, not immediately returning his face back to neutral makes him seem more human, as mildly insulting as it was to insinuate that he wasn’t human for keeping his thoughts more private. It’s one of the things they insisted he work on, though.

“Avoid appointments with Mr. Johnson.” Ritch states plainly, pretending he doesn’t see Connor’s concerned look and body language out of the corner of his eye.

Hank snorts in agreement. “You were right to call that man pushy. Pushy and he never lets the conversation be turned to himself or give you a break for even a second. It’s like talking to a wall that always insists you got mental work to be doin’.” He shakes his head, “I guess it works for some people… From what I heard, the roughest appointment with him is the first one, especially if you don’t work with him, but I wouldn’t know.” he finishes with a shrug.

Connor frowns. “That’s pretty much the opposite of what we’re looking for.”

That visibly grabs Mr. Anderson’s attention. “You’re both wantin’ the same kind of shrink?”

Connor nods with what looks like amusement in his eyes, “It was a surprise to us as well.”

“We’d prefer someone who is kind and more casual rather than always controlling where the conversation goes.” Ritch finishes.

“You’d probably like Alicia Steinfield or Alexander White, then,” the older man informs immediately. “If they even still work here, that is. And avoid Johnson–” he gestures to Ritch “–obviously, and Dustin Payne and Felix Antúnez. They’re pretty strict and prefer to follow the ‘therapy is only about work’ policy. I didn’t like them much, either.”

The ex-pilot takes a slower, almost exaggerated bite of what’s left of his breakfast. Ritch wonders if that’s a normal thing for him and Connor, because his brother, without seemingly realizing it, starts eating his own previously ignored breakfast. Interesting.

“Dr. Steinfield and Dr. White.” Ritch forces himself to nod as he commits the names to memory because that’s apparently a normal, human thing to do according to Markus.

Connor turns to face Ritch. “Do you think we could request to change our schedules so we can meet them this afternoon instead of the ones we had previously?”

“I’m willing to try. After we finish breakfast.” Ritch adds as Connor moves to get up. “I’m sure they’ll at least let us skip anyone with a similar... technique as Dr. Johnson.”

Connor nods, settles back in his seat, and starts shoveling food in his mouth in a way that Amanda would definitely disapprove of. Ritch simply sighs and turns to finish his own food in a more respectable-sized bites. He and Mr. Anderson end up making eye contact for a moment, just long enough for the older man to nod at him, and for him to return it.

Getting this information was much easier than he thought it would have been, indeed.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Once Ritch finishes his own food and leaves with the message that he’ll be going to the training room after requesting a meeting with whoever’s in charge of setting up their appointments, Connor quickly swallows his large bite of food. Speaking with a full mouth isn’t a habit he particularly cares about if other people do it (he’s had to sit through too many meals with too many “important” people who do that to truly care anymore), but he hates doing it to others. Besides, Hank may put up with his weird eating habits (some days, like today, he’ll shovel his food in his mouth because he can’t get enough, and other days he’s barely able to force down several nibbles), but he's pretty positive the ex-pilot draws the line at seeing what he’s chewing.

“Thank you.” Connor says, not hiding any of his sincerity or gratitude.

Hank harrumphs and looks away. “I did that for more selfish reasons than you think, Connor. You don’t need to thank me.”

Connor simply raises an eyebrow. “If I know you as much as I’d like to think I know you, I know that if you didn’t really want to surrender that information, no amount of bribing from Ritch would have gotten you to tell us.” Hank’s head snaps up at that, but Connor pushes on. “And considering that I wasn’t far behind Ritch when coming to the food court, he didn’t have to barter with you very much to get you to agree.”

He doesn’t explicitly say how he’s almost positive that means Hank actually care about people and things, even if he doesn’t realize or want to admit it himself. Hank hates even the mention of himself having any positive emotions for whatever reason. Connor doesn’t understand it, but he hopes to learn at some point in the future when Hank is ready. If he becomes ready.

He almost expects Hank to get grumpy or irritated at him for even insinuating he may secretly be a caring person, but he just sits there and stares at Connor for a few moments. Connor decides against continuing the eye contact, since it usually make things more awkward for Hank when he snaps out of whatever it is that makes him zone out like this occasionally. He turns back to his food. Just as he raises his second bite to his mouth, Hank speaks up with a cautious tone.

“How did you know he offered me something for the information?”

Connor answers easily and nonchalantly, “That’s his tactic for getting something he wants.”

“Huh?”

Connor sets down his fork of food and looks up to study Hank’s confused– and concerned?– face. He figures the full truth of Ritch and Connor having to train themselves to be successful manipulators so they could get nice things while growing up would ruin everything he’s trying to do and be with Hank, will invalidate every single thing Connor has ever done or said to gain the fragile, unsteady trust he’s gotten from him, so he only tells a gross understatement.

“When Ritch wants or needs something from someone he doesn’t know well but trusts enough to not be purposefully difficult or cruel, he offers a favor because he doesn’t know which specific thing that person may want. It’s nice to know that he trusts you enough to not purposefully send him into a situation that will get him hurt in huge trouble.” Connor smiles lightly and takes another bite of food, believing the conversation is over.

“What about you?” Hank’s question pulls him out of his head.

Connor snaps his head up in surprise. “Me? What about me?”

Hank huffs in what sounds like amusement, and the assumption is proven right when Connor catches the slight uplift at the corners of his mouth as he shakes his head.

“How do you get what you want from people?”

Connor only hesitates in his answer because he has a feeling that Hank will not like it.

“I like to do most things on my own without needing to ask for anything because I like the sense of accomplishment, so I usually only needed to pull little tricks when Amanda needed sponsors for something and Ritch and I decided to split up. In those cases...” Connor glances away.

“People like giving things to people and creatures that look innocent, helpless, and fragile, like small children or puppies or kittens. Even on a subconscious level, people like having something to temporarily protect, whether it’s because of the ego boost or just because they’re a nice person and like to help. Even if everyone knows that I am the opposite of fragile and I’m certainly not helpless or childish, I tend to appear so when in uncomfortable situations, so it helped me gain pity points when making the rounds for sponsors.”

“Is that part of why you get anxious if people don’t like you? The sponsorship stuff?” Hank’s winces, like he didn’t mean to say it, probably knowing how quickly this question could make things go wrong, but did anyway.

But Connor doesn’t feel the same suffocating pressure he knows he’d feel if anyone else– even Ritch– had asked this same question. He knows Hank hates people, and that he hates gossip even more. He knows Hank isn’t asking him this to judge him or anything of the sort. If anything, he’s asking out of curiosity that has mixed with the same protectiveness that he showed when he gave him the weighted blanket and the stress ball, that leaked in his voice when he asked how old Connor was that same day.

As much as he has been subtly pushing to get closer to Hank, Connor is only now realizing how safe and calm he feels around him compared to how he feels around the people closer to his age. It’s not logical by any means for someone who is unstable (hopefully only temporarily) to get along with someone who is easy to anger and snap– Ritch has made that beyond clear since the very beginning– but for some reason, it’s working for them. He doesn’t know how or why, but it is, and he’d really rather not look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Hey, Connor, you don’t have to–”

“I don’t know.” Connor quickly says, needing to interrupt Hank’s obvious attempt to take back the question.

After a short moment of pondering, though, he sets his elbow on the table and his head in his palm, continuing in a casual tone, “I don’t actually know, I’ve never thought about any of it before.” He huffs a laugh that lacks humor, lowering his hand and turning back to his food. “That’s probably why I have to find a mandatory shrink, huh? To get me to analyze this with this stuff?” He shakes his head. “Ritch is not going to like this one bit, and it’s going to get much worse before it gets any better.”

“Yea.” Hank says with obvious discomfort. It snaps Connor’s attention back on him. “Yea, it probably will be. You uh, you even okay enough for the shit that’s about to pile on ya? Especially 'cause you’re apparently going straight into a jaeger once you’re declared ready for it. Skipping training and all.” he asks with false nonchalance. Connor has no clue why Hank is asking these questions when he usually avoids this kind of thing like the plague, but he answers anyway.

“I know I’ve been a nervous wreck since we first got here, but that’s mainly because Ritch and I have never been anywhere near as busy and overwhelming as this place can be. And it certainly didn’t help that we were trying our best to blend in with the herd and not stand out when we’ve spent the last decade learning how to do the exact opposite. Now that we’re slowly getting used to this place and not having to worry about holding back anymore, we’ll be able to show everyone exactly why we were able to graduate from this program so young.” he finishes confidently, head up and back straight.

Hank just looks at him for a moment. Right as it starts making Connor unsure about his answer and has him coming up with things to distract from his bold statement, Hank nods and starts clearing his area. The ex-pilot makes eye contact with him with a strange, earnest look he doesn’t think he’s seen from the older man before.

“I hope you will, Connor. Show ‘em what ya got.”

Hank turns and leaves, leaving Connor with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

The first thought that comes to mind after his thoughts have slowed down enough is man, I wish I had someone to tell about this. Of course, he’s sure that Simon, Markus, and Josh would listen (not North, though), but they wouldn’t understand why this is a big deal, especially since they still don’t seem to like Hank very much. For that same reason, Connor certainly can’t go to Ritch about this either, even with the fact that Ritch now voluntarily owes Hank a favor. Owing something to someone is different than tolerating them enough to listen to a twin get excited over the tiniest bit of encouragement and support from them.

Connor quickly finishes his meal and cleans up before heading to the training area. If he’s going to prove to everyone that he deserves to stay here even though he and Ritch have lied multiple times on things that definitely should have gotten them thrown out, then he’s going to need a good partner.

Traci is a good choice– and Connor’s first on his list– but she and Ritch get along easier with one another than she does with Connor. He doesn’t know exactly why, but she’s very hesitant around him and the atmosphere between them is awkward more often than not, so that’s probably a no-go. Jeremy could possibly work too, but his combat skill is too far behind for Connor to feel comfortable approaching him with something like offering a partnership. Plus, he doesn’t know much about his personality beyond “quiet” and “reserved”, so that is a bit of an issue. He’ll have to start some conversations with the other people on his list before he can properly narrow down–

“Connor! Hey!”

Unbothered by the interruption, he spins to greet Markus, then waves to Simon, North, and Josh who are close behind him. He pauses to let the four of them catch up before continuing on or saying anything.

“I don’t think we’ve actually talked since the morning after the party. How have you guys been holding up with the training regime?” Connor asks with a smile.

“It’s been hell,” North immediately complains, “and I know we haven’t even started the hard-core stuff yet. We’re just getting into shape and learning basics.”

Markus nods in agreement, “You and Ritch are lucky you get to skip this.”

“Maybe not so lucky…” Simon interjects, “That just means they’ve done all of this at an earlier age.”

Don’t panic, don’t panic. They mean nothing by it, just don’t panic and make things weird, Connor chants to himself as he forces himself to answer aloud calmly with a shrug.

“It wasn’t too bad. We were children with lots of energy when we started doing what you guys are doing now.”

North and Josh nod together. It’s the first time he’s ever seen the two agree on something before. It’s almost frightening.

“Traci started her self-defense and karate lessons when she was young, so it makes sense.”

There’s a silence that Connor would describe as calm or peaceful that lasts for a few moments. He counts it as a win that he has managed to not visibly freak out like he is internally. He messes with his hair for a second to give his hands something to do in the hopes that maybe they’ll stop shaking if he does. Markus must catch the nervous movement for what it is, though.

“You alright, Connor?”

“Yea, I’m fine.” He plans on stopping there, but then he realizes that these four people are probably the best people he can go to for advice on making friends and finding potential partners. “I’m just worried about finding a partner, I guess. As you could probably tell, I normally don’t do too well around people I don’t know well.” Connor chuckles softly, but even he can tell that it’s somewhat off.

“Any chance we could help with that?”

Connor mentally blesses Simon as he says, “If you don’t mind, that would be amazing.”

Josh smiles and comes around to Connor’s other side. “So what do you need help with?”

He barely stops himself from saying everything short of learning the English language.

“How did you guys know you could be compatible with one another? Because Ritch and I are technically compatible, but in reality we aren’t.”

“So the difference between working well with another person and being drift compatible, you mean?” Simon clarifies, and Connor nods graciously. “I guess you wouldn’t have to learn too much about that since you were supposed to pair up with Ritch all along, huh?

When Connor nods once more– again very thankful that Simon is insightful enough to figure this out without having to make Connor struggle to get a proper explanation out– Markus begins the explanation.

“Well, I guess one difference is how well you know a person. Obviously, people who have known each other for longer are naturally going to be more compatible because they can be more in sync, but what we’re learning now in class is that that alone just isn’t enough to become jaeger pilots. Skill and mindset play huge roles in it too.”

“Like the Hallowitts.” North offers. “They get along great and are as close as siblings can realistically be, but they are, by far, the least compatible pair in that room. I’d be surprised if they last another week here.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” North snorts and Markus smiles at Connor’s wording, but he forces himself to pay it no mind. “As much as I’d like to think that everyone has an equal chance here, they just don’t. There’s a reason passing rates of the jaeger training are so low, and even those who pass aren’t guaranteed to become pilots.”

Josh nods, “Exactly. Now, that being said, there are rare cases of two people who have never met being perfectly compatible.”

“I guess the difference is how you mentally click with a person,” Simon jumps in, “Like you and Ritch don’t dislike one another, but you also don’t really get along or understand each other, right? Maybe at one point you did, but not anymore. You guys aren’t drift compatible because your mentalities and coping mechanisms are just too different, even though you both grew up in the exact same circumstances and have complimenting skill sets.”

“So I find someone who understands the crazy things I do in certain situations and why I do it?” Connor asks dubiously.

“And someone that can keep up with you, because damn, Connor, you and Ritch whooped each other’s asses on that first day.”

Connor sighs heavily. He still has the aches from a couple of the worse bruises left over when he touches them, even though there are no more marks, because there hasn’t been any other training or exercises that have given him new bruises and scrapes so he can ignore the old ones. Don’t get him wrong, it’s nice to not have something he needs to actively ignore, but it’s yet another difference from what he grew up with and more proof that he’s in a completely different world now.

Connor sighs again, with this one coming out as more of a groan than a true sigh. Where the ever loving hell is he supposed to find someone who can not only keep up with him in skill and not drag him down constantly, but also understand him and his trauma (if what Dr. Johan was going on about in their meeting yesterday is actually true for him, anyway) enough to know when to leave Connor alone and let him to his thing and when to step in to help.

Ritch is relatively good at doing so, mainly because Connor usually likes being left alone, and Ritch always leaves him alone, but he doesn’t seem to understand Connor at all or care to learn the intricacies of him. He also doesn’t seem interested in letting Connor see any side of him that isn’t practically programmed by Amanda (the level of shock he felt when he saw and heard Ritch actually bantering with none other than Gavin Reed during the “Alex knifing” almost hurt. Why did it take such a publicly known asshole to bring out any kind of personality in Ritch? Why couldn’t Connor after his years of trying?).

If his own brother can’t understand, then how can he expect anyone else to understand when they won’t have a clue of what he’s been through until it’s too late. He already opens old wounds over and over again with god-awful memories whenever he gets into a mood dip, he doesn’t want to scar anyone else who wouldn't even know what to expect, or worse, they think they do know what to expect. Although, how can they when he can barely think about it in his own head without going into panic-and-shutdown mode?

“Hey,” Markus brushes his hand against Connor’s arm, gently bringing him out of his thoughts. He gets too lost in them too often.

He nudges Markus’ hand kindly and says in a tone much more tranquil than he feels, “I’m alright. Just thinking of possible candidates.”

“And?” North smirks. Count on her to try to lighten dark or awkward moods.

“I’ve got pretty much nothing.” Connor chuckles much more genuinely than last time. If it has a tad bit of hysteria mixed in like he feels like it might, then no one reacts to it.

At the four’s light insistence, he agrees to tell them why he believes he won’t match with anyone. He can’t look up from the floor at all. He tries to for half a second, but that makes everything so much worse about this situation, so he stares at his boots. If he tries hard enough, maybe he can forget that trying to explain this exact thing just a few weeks ago is what left him self-bedridden for a couple of days; maybe if he ignores hard enough, he can pretend that he’s talking to himself and there are only his footsteps instead of five sets in total. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he stops so the other four have to stop too if they want to listen. No more footsteps, problem partially solved.

He can’t procrastinate that answer anymore.

“I don’t know if you’ve been told this already, or if it’s just common sense to people, but in the drift, you share every single memory with person you’re pairing with. Certain events get more attention than others, obviously, and there is no known way to control what they both see or for how long. You just live through the other person’s memories as if you’re looking back on your own, and then look back on your own while a presence hovers over your shoulder and someone else’s emotions and reactions to events flow through the drift.” He takes another deep breath; his heart rate is getting too fast and his head is feeling too light.

“And with that being said, I’ve got some real bad memories. Bad enough that Amanda used to try and convince me that they were just vivid nightmares. I think Ritch believes it’s a dream for whatever reason– or maybe he’s still on her side or something?– I don’t know, but it doesn’t work for me. I still can’t talk about it, but thinking like that and trying too hard to bury it is what made me break and sent me in that mood dip a while ago.”

He finally gets the courage to look up at the others and struggles to force his breathing to stay deep and slow. It helps that they only look concerned and surprised, rather than literally any other emotion his head was coming up with– fear and disgust, to name a couple. Although, he doesn’t know if the shock is a reaction to the information about what the drift is like, or to the fact that he’s actually talking instead of running and hiding in his room like he so desperately wants to.

“I don’t want to scare anyone. I can’t live through those memories– not now, anyway– so how can I expect someone else to?” Connor shakes his head, trying to ignore the nausea that’s slowly but steadily growing. “I don’t even know how Ritch is gonna do it. I mean, the only people besides us who really know about this are you guys and–”

Hank.

Hank, who let him sit at his table on Connor’s first day even though he had a reputation of eating anyone who came near him alive, and had nearly done so to Connor at first. Hank, who stepped in and helped make him eat after his mood dip even though they had barely known each other for a couple days at most; who, almost immediately after, lead him back to his bunker (a place no one has been to in a long, long time, supposedly) so he could give him a weighted blanket and stress ball. Hank, whom Connor told he lied on essential paperwork when Hank was giving him a snack from his stash (another unheard of thing) and decided to tell Marshal Fowler to give him and Ritch a second chance instead of to get rid of them. Hank, who, despite saying weeks earlier “You’re still a kid to me”, had asked Connor to call him by his first name and has always treated him like a proper adult even though he is quite literally the youngest person on this base.

Hank, who apparently loves (or at least used to love) dogs and, if the laugh lines and obvious protective instincts are anything to go by, used to be a kind, giving fellow who would laugh and smile easily; who now has to drown his traumas with alcohol and alcohol-induced sleep, not unlike how Connor drowns his own haunting memories with mind-numbing sleep brought by high-grade sleeping oils.

No one makes– has ever made Connor as comfortable as he does, for whatever reason. It’s been years since anyone has been able to break down Hank’s walls like Connor has been doing effortlessly these past few weeks. They both have their issues, but Connor thinks that could help if they were to ever enter the drift together. Hank wouldn’t be scarred by his memories, and Connor doubts the ex-pilot’s memories could affect him any more than his own traumas affect him now. Besides, Connor has a feeling that he won’t be declared ready-for-battle as quickly as Ritch will be, so that’s plenty of time to wear Hank down, right?

It’s not like the ex-pilot needs to do too much to get back into shape, anyway. Years and years of doing something over and over again makes every single technique and maneuver pure muscle memory that can’t truly be forgotten. That mixed with the fact that Connor based a lot of his own combat style on Hank’s and Marshal Fowler’s from when they were still active, they might fight better together than people would think. Plus, and Connor doesn’t think anyone else has noticed this between them averting their eyes from him and the hoodies he normally wears, but Hank is still rather built under that beer gut. He could probably carry Connor across the base if he really wanted to.

Scratch that, he absolutely could if he tried, easily. He almost wants to test that some day. Maybe. Possibly.

“Uhh, Connor? You good?” Josh tentatively

Connor shakes his head in wonder. “Yea, actually. I…”

He pays close attention to himself, how his breathing is back to normal, the nausea and lightheadedness are almost gone, and he only just now realizes that his hands were shaking again because they don’t feel that way anymore. Yea, his heart rate is still a little high, but give it a few minutes and even that’ll be back to normal.

He doesn’t trust this.

“I feel fine. Way calmer than a minute ago.” He adds doubtfully, scrutinizing his own steady hands as if they can give him the answers he wants. “I think I found someone I may be compatible with, but I don’t even know if he’ll want to pair with me to pilot a jaeger. But even that made me feel better.” He looks around at the small group with uncertainty. “I’ve rarely calmed down that fast in my life, and never outside of my own room where I can be left alone to think.”

North steps forward and carefully places a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Seems like you’re the plannin’ type of guy. You always feel better when you have a plan, and hate when you don’t, right?”

Based on everyone’s light laughter and large smiles, he doesn’t hide his amazement and realization well enough. That makes sense, though, because he wasn’t trying very hard in the first place.

“That… That makes a lot of sense. Perfect sense.” Connor smiles.

He gestures forward, signaling that he’s ready to keep moving, and they all do happily. Connor doesn’t really stop thinking about how he could possibly get Hank to at least test their compatibility and get him warmed up to the idea of un-retiring.

He doubts that Marshal Fowler would have a problem with helping him get Hank jaeger-ready if Connor can somehow prove their compatibility and Hank’s willingness to start piloting again. If he would have a problem with it, he doesn’t think Hank would be on the base anymore, let alone still bunking in the jaeger pilots’ hall. Marshal Fowler doesn’t seem to be the type to play favorites and put friends first, but Connor could always be wrong.

As he slowly forms a plan in his head, he slowly becomes more at ease. It’ll take more in-depth thinking and several pages in his notebook, but where before he only had a vague hope, now he has a small chance, and that’s slowly becoming just enough for Connor.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Gavin is getting real tired of all this snooping around. He’s normally the type of guy to fling himself right into the thick of things and deal with the repercussions later; not because he doesn’t care about what kind of trouble he’ll get into later– at least not anymore– but because he doesn’t have enough patience to sit still and do nothing even though he knows there’s bad things going on.

He tried to convince himself over the past couple of days to just do as Luther and Fowler said and not get involved in the “Alex Knife Supplier” case, as he’s been calling it in his head, but nothing has happened to his top suspects at all and he doesn’t want those assholes to get away scot free. It’s one thing to just be an asshole, it’s another to actively endanger the lives of coworkers and allies. Even he knows that.

There’s still 20 minutes left of breakfast and he still hasn’t eaten or even entered the food court because he’s been too busy watching those assholes from afar in the hopes that he can catch anything that can bring up more of a case against them. He’d rather not tussle with them until he knows he can get into their bunker and confiscate whatever the fuck is in there, but right now it’s starting to look like he’ll have to tussle with them if he wants any evidence at all.

“What are you doing, Reed?”

Gavin instinctively spins around and throws a punch right at the man’s throat, but it’s expertly caught by none other than the Ritch Bitch. After a split moment of surprise from having his punch properly caught, rather than blocked or deflected (which other people have trouble doing sometimes), Gavin instantly scowls and rips his fist away from the other’s grip, silently hoping the goody-two-shoes decides against reporting him for assault or something like that.

“Don’t fuckin’ sneak up behind me, asshole,” he sneers, “And it’s none of your god damned business. So fuck off.”

Ritchie raises an unimpressed eyebrow– since when does this dude emote?– then tilts his head at him like a fucking dog. He shifts his gaze to the group Gavin’s been watching for the past hour.

“Isn’t that the group Alex hung around before he was thrown out?” he asks in a weird tone, almost as if he was aiming for interest or teasing and fell flat.

Gavin’s eyebrows rise in surprise for just a moment before settling back into a scowl. He hates how many times this prick has caught him off guard today.

“M’ surprised you even know that. Thought you were too busy bein’ the top of your class to pay attention to what the others were up to.” he turns back to the group, watching them laugh about something Gavin would probably want to punch them over.

Ritch steps closer to him, inviting himself into Gavin’s cover like an asshole, as he explains, “If anything, being the top of my class means I need to pay closer attention to the other trainees, since I’m somewhat a tutor and an example for them. But that’s besides the point, I know someone as impatient and conflict-hungry as you wouldn’t wait in the shadows without a good reason. What are you waiting for, hm?” the asshole taunts. At least he sounds more normal now. Gavin doesn’t know why, but it was really unsettling before.

He huffs irritably, but doesn’t immediately taunt back. He may as well tell a part of it. If Ritch is right about being top of his class, then maybe he’ll have some new input, as much as Gavin hates the thought of needing someone else’s help. A mission completed with someone’s help is better than a mission failed with escaped villains, after all.

“I think they had something to do with how Alex got his knives.”

To his surprise, Ritch just nods in solemn agreement. “What’s stopping you from interrogating them?”

Gavin huffs again, this time in irritation at the situation. “Fowler.”

“Ah. You’re not supposed to get into it, but nothing has happened yet, yes?”

Gavin whips his head around to glare at the human robot. He suddenly can’t be sure that that’s the expression his face actually makes, though, because the annoying asshole just nods like he’s confirming something to himself again.

“Have you tried getting into their bunker to check for clues yourself?”

When Gavin huffs, it comes out less irritable and more incredulous of how stupid this guy can be.

“If I could do that I wouldn’t be fucking bothering with this, now would I?”

The trainee just sighs and says, “Come on,” with a beckoning wave of his hand, then turns around and starts walking away. Gavin doesn’t move.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going? And why the fuck should I follow your ugly ass?”

“If you want to be caught and get us in some serious trouble, then sure, keep talking that loudly. Also, I’m almost interested in seeing the asses you’re used to looking at if you think mine is ugly.”

Gavin barks a laugh that has very little amusement. What makes him think he can just start controlling the show out of nowhere like this?

“You? Trouble? Aren’t you supposed to be, like, the golden child of the current gaggle of recruits or something?”

Ritch spins around and looks at Gavin with an obviously forced smug and mischievous smile. “If you honestly believe that, then you’re just like everyone else here and have no clue how wide my skill set actually is.” He turns back around and starts walking again. “Come or don’t come, I don’t care.”

It takes a second for Gavin’s brain to reboot because it’s obvious Ritch is obviously trying something new here and holy mother of god is it making him uncomfortable. This is not the Dicky Ritchy (that name was more than a stretch, never again) he’s been messing with for the past week or so. Once his head does reboot, though, his curiosity of what the hell baby-face is going to do and the irritation that he thinks he can one-up Gavin again wins over standing by the entrance of the food court and watching a bunch of assholes laugh a ways away as if they don’t realize they’re the scum of the earth.

He speed-walks to catch up to Ritch, because it’ll be a cold day in hell when he’s seen running or jogging anywhere that isn’t to a jaeger or a kaiju. Once he makes it to Ritch’s side, the other speaks in a soft tone.

“I don’t actually know where their bunker is, so you need to lead the way, unfortunately.” Gavin groans, but still pulls ahead slightly to lead. “How much time do you think we have until they return to the room, and are there any cameras?”

Everything about this encounter with Ritch is throwing him the hell off– not just how strange the man is being– but he plays along anyway, never one to turn down some scheming.

“The cameras in the pilot’s hall has been broken for months, maybe years. And the fucksticks will be out of the way for at least an hour. They always stay in the food court until they’re kicked out after breakfast is over, then they go to the gym for a while.” It’s why he avoids the gym like the plague in the morning.

“Perfect.” he smiles with that same forced smile as before. Gavin’s had enough.

“Okay, I wasn’t going to say anything, but you’re really startin’ to creep me the fuck out.”

That rips the fake smile right off the robot’s face. Good, that was the main thing bothering him.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

There’s a silent pause, then Gavin’s starts talking partially because he fucking hates silences and partially because he needs to never see that kind of expression on Retch’s (he may actually use that one) face again.

“So if I’m reading this right, you’re doin’ me a favor by apparently getting me into this dorm so I can raid their shit, right?” Ritch nods silently, so he continues, “Good. So I’m just gonna return the favor ahead of time and give you some advice because I hate being indebted to people. Got it, asstown?”

Ritch turns his head to properly look at Gavin, then nods again, slower this time. There’s no smart ass comment to the insult, though, unfortunately.

Gavin immediately launches into a half-taunting half-serious ramble, “Now I’m only gonna say this one time– so you better fuckin’ savor this, ‘cause I don’t do this shit for just anyone– but holy shit you need to stop making faces and using certain tones when you don’t actually want to. Like, you’re known for being a robot. You can’t feel emotions the way the rest of us can, or you just process them or show ‘em differently. That’s your thing, just like my thing’s being a fuckin’ dickwad all the time and Anderson’s is being a depressed drunkard.

“Don’t try to go full human on everyone all of a sudden. Just stay fuckin’ blank if you wanna. Only cowards give in to peer pressure and shit.” Gavin huffs in exasperation. He’s is in a very huffy mood today, apparently. “I don’t like looking at your ugly-ass, baby-faced mug as it is, and it is so much worse when you try to smile or some shit like that when you’re obviously not feelin’ it. It’s fucking unatural is what it is.” He shivers and curls his lip in exaggerated disgust.

Ritch just stares at him for a second, then states in his normal, flat tone, “The only unnatural thing here is how much you smell despite the fact you’ve been standing around and doing nothing for the past couple of days.”

Gavin smiles evilly, secretly thankful that Ritch didn’t try to go down the genuine route and is instead continuing their normal interactions. Of all the nasty names under the sun he could call him, “unobservant” and “stupid” are two he can’t. “Emotionally oblivious” and “ignorant” or “naive”, however, are not off the table.

“No, the unnatural thing here is that you’re a grown ass man and you use fruit-scented lotion.”

Ritch gives him a weird look, but it’s at least genuine, thank god. “I do not use lotion, I simply shower everyday, unlike some people.” He pauses barely long enough to look Gavin up and down before continuing. “It’s not my fault you prefer what is obviously scentless men’s soap when women’s soap smells nicer and is less harsh on skin.” He faces front again.

“Hold on,” Gavin wheezes, “You actually use women’s soap? Like, regularly?”

“What of it? Are you not secure enough in your gender and sexual identity that using a soap with fruity smells that come in colorful bottles is too much for your poor masculine mind to handle? Poor baby.”

Gavin wrinkles his nose. “Hell no. I’m gay as fuck but you still don’t see me using that girly shit. It’s a matter of preference, asshole. And I’m surprised you even know what gender identity even is, since you don’t seem to know much else about real humans.”

Gavin doesn’t realize what he just blatantly admitted to until he’s done speaking. Of course he has to be enough of a dumb ass to officially come out to the one dude who was raised by an old woman. God damn it, he’s probably homophobic. At least it’ll give Gavin a reason to punch him the next time he gets irritated with him.

Either oblivious to Gavin’s internal wariness or somehow reading his mind, Ritch explains in a condescending tone, “Amanda was insistent that we don’t treat people differently just because of how they identify, and one way of doing that was learning proper titles of people who aren’t ‘Male’ and ‘Female’ and other things your small brain would probably get bored with. But good for you for being just a normal ass and not a homophobic one. You’re slightly less likely to get punched now, anyway.”

That… is actually pretty cool, the fact that Ritch apparently has no problem with anyone who isn’t cis-het. It’s a complete plot twist and surprise, but it’s cool to know that the dude would only hate him because he’s him and not because he’s gay. He’s been tired of the homophobic jokes and slurs since the 5th grade, so it’ll be refreshing to have someone that’ll skip right over that genre of insults with him, as refreshing as it can be when they’re ridiculing one another, that is (which can be damn refreshing, if you ask him).

Gavin lets their talk end there as he slows down when they get close to the grease-heads’ bunker. He then silently checks the hall for anyone who could be watching or approaching, and quiets his voice down when he addresses Ritch, keeping a careful ear out for any footsteps or voices. He may be reckless half the time, but he’s not stupid enough to get caught breaking and entering someone’s private dorm.

“Well, asshat, this is it. Work your robot magic and hack us in.”

“It’s actually not hacking of any kind. I would ask if you want to learn how, but I doubt there’s enough room in your skull for a brain larger than a peanut with how huge your ego is.”

An involuntary, offended squawk bursts out of Gavin’s throat, and after a short hesitation where he lets himself be embarrassed before moving on, he smacks Ritch on the arm. “Move over asshole. My ego ain’t that fuckin’ big, asshole, you’re mistaking me for yourself.”

Gavin sees Ritch roll his eyes. “First, look at the keypad, you see the numbers that are more worn down than the others?”

“2, 5, and 7? What about them?” Gavin replies in a more serious tone, suddenly a lot more invested in this than he thought he would be.

“Those are the three numbers that are in the code. Basically, over time, as the same buttons get pushed over and over, the oils and pressure from fingers either wear down the ink of the numbers, or tint the glass over the buttons and give it a tan or brownish look compared to the other clear ones, depending on what kind of keypad it is.”

“Okay then, genius, how do we know the order of the code, ‘cause–”

“I wasn’t done,” Ritch interrupts, “The first button is usually the most worn down since the most oils rub off and degrade it more than the others, but in this case, since there are only three numbers worn down for a four code password, the most worn-down one is the one pressed twice, the next worn down is probably first. And when there are repeat numbers in a code as short as this, they’re rarely one directly after another.”

“So the 2 is repeated, and the 5 is probably before the 7.”

“Yes.”

“What if the twos are actually right next to each other. What if they’re both first and last?”

Ritch actually smirks this time. “I’ll be smart about it and we hope for the best.” Gavin gives him an incredulous look as he continues. “How many tries do we get to do this?”

“Three. If you fuckin’ think you can–”

“Watch and learn.” Ritch interrupts fuckin’ again as he gives his full attention to the keypad.

He tries 5272 first and is denied, then immediately tries 2725 and the door unlocks with a small, green flash of light.

Gavin doesn’t even know how to react. “What the fuck. I thought you said the 5 was first!”

Ritch just nods and opens the door. “ I did, but there are other variables that I don’t feel like going over right now, we don’t have time to waste.” He nods to the door he’s holding open, “You go in and investigate and I’ll stand guard out here. I’ll knock if I think someone is coming so you can get out. Wouldn’t want you to get caught and rat me out to lessen your sentence, or have you get both of us caught in the first place.”

“Ha ha. I’m glad you’re not coming in, anyway. You’d just get in my way, bitch.” He shoves past the trainee, purposely knocking his shoulder into his.

“Close, but no cigar.” Gavin turns and looks at him in confusion. “My name is Ritch with an ‘R’, not a ‘B’. I can understand if you misread it, but mishearing it when you have no documented hearing problems is a different matter altogether.” He sighs dramatically while maintaining his straight face, which is kind of odd to witness, but not the same odd as before. “At least you’re learning, it was closer than ‘Dick’, anyway.” He finishes as he shuts the door.

Gavin flips him off even though he won’t see it, then mumbles, “Fuck off, you prick.”

Gavin quickly looks around the smelly, messy bunker. Time for the fun part.

He knows better than to dig through places aimlessly and move things too much, so he goes to the tiny closets first. It’s crammed with useless stuff, but there’s nothing clearly illegal hiding in there and there doesn’t look like there’s a false back or bottom, so he closes it. The other personal closet is exactly the same– messy, but inconspicuous– so he moves on. He quickly checks under the bed (nothing) and on the top bunk towards the wall (again, nothing) before moving on to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, the first thing that Gavin notices is that the mirror is slightly crooked, which shouldn’t be possible since the medicine cabinet behind it is welded to the wall. He opens it and it’s immediately apparent to Gavin that there is a false back; the cabinet is way thinner and more warped than his and Tina’s are, and all of these things are supposed to be basically identical. The fact that it’s empty only accentuates how wrong it looks because there’s nothing blocking the false back.

He peels it back with ease and behind it is a stack of sheathed knives. Just judging by the handles of these weapons– and the fact that they were (poorly) hidden– they are definitely not pocket knives (the only knives permitted, since they’re mostly used for cutting wires and cables and are smaller, less harmful).

Before he can do anything else about this new discovery, though, he hears the bunker’s door click open and shut again. Gavin’s in the middle of trying to figure out what to do when Ritch barges into the bathroom and grabs his arm.

“Gavin, we need to get out of here!” Ritch hisses and grabs Gavin’s arm right above the wrist and yanks him out of the bathroom.

He tries to yank and twist out of the trainee’s grip, but he isn’t successful. “Give me a second to grab–”

“I don’t care! We need to go. Now!”

Suddenly he’s being shoved further away from the bathroom. He hears the medicine cabinet slam closed, then the trainee tugs Gavin towards the bunker door with more strength than he expected. He tries again to pull his arm out of his grip, but Ritch moves his hand and presses his thumb into the sensitive part of the inside of his elbow. He’s yanked in a direction then hears the bunker door clicks shut behind them along with any possible evidence that he now knows for a fact is in there. He doesn’t even remember the code to the door anymore, all he knows is that the five isn’t first, so he can’t get back in.

He takes a split second to look up and down the hall and sees that it’s completely empty. He could have easily grabbed at least one of those knives. Hell, even using his phone to snap a quick picture of the stack of them with the false back in view would be enough to warrant a search of their dorm– possibly even have them suspended immediately while the investigation starts– and this fucking prick pulled him out for no god damned reason.

Overcome with anger, he blindly kicks out where Ritch’s knee should be. It works. The asshole goes down for only a second before he rolls into a crouched position facing him, his expression angry and hard. He gets up to his feet smoothly, but Gavin isn’t stupid enough to believe that his muscles are actually as relaxed as they seem, they’re combat-ready, and this asshole is three seconds away from getting his fight.

“Gavin, cut it out. We need to go–”

“No! Let me back in you fucking asshole! There’s no one here!” he shouts, spinning with his arms spread out wide, showcasing the nothingness that is in the halls. “You’re just being fucking paranoid. We need those–”

Ritch suddenly punches him in the jaw. Gavin takes two steps back, but quickly rights himself.

“I said. Shut. Up.” Ritch snarls, but his attention is on something behind him, and Gavin uses that to his advantage.

He quickly throws a punch towards Ritch’s collarbone and throat area, but the little devil twists just in time for Gavin to only catch the sensitive part where his shoulder meets his pec.

At least that should bruise real nicely. Get what you deserve, asshat.

He doesn’t get much more time to think about it, though, because there’s suddenly a fist coming straight at his face again, and he ducks. Gavin throws a punch to his gut, but his opponent spins out of the way. He then aims a punch to Ritch’s face, but that gets caught and twisted. He aims a kick at the asshole’s knees before it can get too uncomfortable, and even though Ritch loosens his grip to dodge the attack and he’s able to get his fist free, the trainee doesn’t go down like he wanted.

There’s a moment of hesitation from both of them. It’s only long enough for Gavin to see Ritch scowling and to get himself in the position to effectively whoop some ass. His partner-in-crime-turned-opponent doesn’t take his attention away from him again, and instead uses the moment to study Gavin’s stance. He has no doubt he has the same kind of attentive scowl on his own face right now.

Gavin makes the first move, moving as if he’s going to punch with his right hand when he’s actually planning to go to the left. Disappointingly, Ritch doesn’t fall for it, and catches his arm. Gavin dodges his attempt at tripping him, then aims a blow at the stubborn asshole’s neck. He ends up letting go in order to dodge Gavin’s move, but is back quickly with a punch of his own. He ends up catching and tries to shove Ritch into a more vulnerable position, but he ends up letting go to dodge a kick to his gut.

This guy definitely has more skill than the average trainee, especially for one this new, that’s for sure. Although, that won’t change the fact that he’ll mess up or tire before Gavin will, and he’ll be in a heap of trouble and pain for blowing up the plan.

The only thing that Gavin is able to focus on after that is where the next punch or kick is coming from and where there’s an opening for him to punch or kick back. One one hand, he’s feeling confident because he hasn’t been hit a single time beyond that first jaw punch. He’s been catching, blocking, and dodging all of his kicks and punches. He’s pretty positive that the only injuries he’ll have from this fight are maybe sore hands and some bruises on his arms from the amount of blocking and deflecting he’s doing.

On the other hand, however, Gavin’s really starting to get pissed off because Ritch is taking about as much damage as he is right now, which is none. The damn asshole doesn’t even look tired yet. Not that Gavin’s getting tired– he can keep this pace up for a while longer– but what kind of trainee as new as Ritch is able to keep up with a well-seasoned pilot and brawler? He already knew Ritch was good, but he wasn’t supposed to fucking match Gavin like this in a fight.

Once Gavin accepts that this won’t go anywhere unless he switches things up and stops playing by sparring rules, he lunges forward with most of his weight to punch Ritch in the diaphragm with the hope to knock the wind out of him. It almost works, but Ritch dodges at the last moment and kicks him in the back of the knees as he passes, making Gavin collapse roughly onto his hands and knees. Just before Ritch can pin him down, he shoves himself up into a handstand and his heel narrowly misses the asshat’s jaw as he leans out of the way.

He sees Ritch quickly swoop his leg out to knock his arms out from under him, but Gavin springs up and flips back onto his feet. He spins to face his opponent and aims yet another punch to his face, but it’s caught and isn’t immediately released like before. A hand comes flying towards Gavin’s neck, but he blocks it, grabbing the other’s wrist and twisting his arm down. Ritch suddenly spins himself so his back is facing him, then grabs Gavin’s wrist and yanks him closer. Before he can do anything to prevent it, Ritch shifts his balance and flips him over his shoulder.

Gavin somehow manages to twist himself so he can land in a low crouch and wastes no time in jabbing an elbow back. It doesn’t hit anything, but Ritch does loosen his grip so he get free. Gavin rolls out of the way before he can get kicked down, then grabs Ritch’s ankle as it returns to the floor. He stands, bringing his opponent’s leg up by his shoulder, but instead of toppling over like he expected, Ritch quickly switches his weight to his hands and latches his free leg around Gavin’s middle, and when he lets go of his ankle to shove the menace off, Ritch latches that one around as well. Gavin knows what comes next before it happens, and lets himself be twisted and forced to the floor by Ritch’s weight, allowing him to sit on top of Gavin’s chest.

He lets this happen because he was able to control how he landed, and made sure his feet were planted on the ground just as his back hits the floor. He immediately jerks his entire torso off the ground before Ritch can properly situate himself again, and thus makes him topple over for just a moment. A moment is all Gavin needs, though. He spins onto his stomach and tucks his legs under him at the same time, then rapidly sits up and shoves his head up and back. Ritch dodges the headbutt attempt, and Gavin watches him roll backwards into a standing position as he spins and stands to face him.

In that split moment of stillness where they’re trying to predict each other’s next move, Gavin suddenly realizes that, for the first time in literal years, he’s having genuine fun sparring with someone. It would probably scare him if he weren’t so focused on the surprisingly competent trainee. He doesn’t even have enough room to think about or process why he would or should be scared. God damn Ritch and his god damned surprises at it again, the fucker.

Before Gavin can gather his head long enough to make the first move, Ritch suddenly jumps on him, somehow spinning so his thighs are clamped around his neck and head. He uses his weight to try to topple Gavin over, but Tina tried to do this to him one too many times before, so he knows to go to a wall so he doesn’t immediately go down. He then reaches up to twist and pull Ritch’s knee out to the side with his fingers pressing against the nerve bundle on the inside of it. Judging by the surprised noise Ritch lets out, he wasn’t expecting that, and he starts to slip. He suddenly shoves off the wall, leaving Gavin scrambling to regain his footing while keeping that knee tight in his grasp. Just before Gavin can properly get his balance back, Ritch leans back and slightly to the left, bringing them both down. His plan is faulty, however, because all Gavin has to do is put his hands down and land in a handstand and Ritch’s legs slip past his head, leaving him free to back handspring back onto his feet just as his opponent sweeps his leg where his hands used to be.

Jesus, this is a lot more flipping than Gavin is used to doing. He can’t exactly flip in a jaeger and it’s been years since his gymnastics class.

Feeling that his back is literally to the wall and watching Ritch flip back on his feet, still relatively untouched, he pushes off of it for more momentum, hoping he can take him by surprise or something. Just as Gavin reaches him, the trainee drops on onto his back and twists and curls at the same time. He doesn’t understand why until a boot hits the backs of his ankles hard and forces him down. Just as Ritch pounces to pin him down, Gavin turns onto his back and tucks his legs in. His opponent barely stops himself in time before he springs his legs up, so Ritch doesn’t get launched away like he was hoping. Gavin instead uses that momentum to sloppily flip into a crouch.

He dashes up and nails Ritch in the gut with his shoulder and lifts him off the ground, ready to slam him back down to disorient him. He doesn’t get to because he flips forward out of his grasp. Next thing he knows, there’s an arm in front of his throat and he’s being shoved down and backwards, so he twists so he’ll land on his stomach and breaks his fall. He instantly twists and kicks his leg out to get Ritch on the ground too, but the asshole jumps to his other side. No matter, because now Gavin can wrap both arms just below his knees and he forces the man down hard.

He jumps up to get on top of Ritch, who is already rolling onto his back, but is held back by another set of arms. He immediately lashes out and knocks whoever was holding him back in the head, but it was enough to get his mind out of the fight just enough to understand that they’ve gained an audience at some point. Ritch must not have realized yet, though– or maybe he doesn’t care– because he sets himself into a crouch and Gavin is already shifting his weight to dodge right to avoid getting rammed into–

“GAVIN! RITCH!”

They both instantly freeze and go tense. Ritch’s eyes are wide with alarm and are focused beyond his shoulder. Gavin has a feeling that he and Ritch are thinking the exact same thing.

Oh Shit…

Gavin slowly, cautiously, spins around to face a very angry Marshal Fowler. There are around 15 other people who have apparently been watching the show, if the way Chloe is shooing them away harshly is anything to go by. There’s one burly man who looks like his job is probably moving heavy materials around here who is clutching his bleeding nose.

In an attempt to put off dealing with Fowler for as long as possible– and maybe a little bit because he’s kind of concerned because he didn’t hold back on that headbutt at all– Gavin takes a step towards him.

“Oh. Shit. Your nose isn’t broken, is it–”

“Reed. Stern. My office. Now.” That voice was the worst one. Fowler is usually yelling or “not mad, just disappointed”, but that was the calm angry voice. And to make matters worse, it wasn’t “Gavin” and “Ritch”, it was “Reed” and “Stern”.

Wait, “Stern”? Why does that sound familiar?

Ritch lightly brushes his shoulder, silently urging him to follow the marshal. With one quick glance back to the injured man, who Chloe is now hopefully leading to a nurse, he does. They silently walk side by side and keep close enough to Fowler that he can hear their footsteps following him, but never get closer than five feet, as if they’re afraid he’ll randomly snap and start laying it on them. Who knows, he might. Gavin has never been in a fight that big before.

God damn it, they are so fucked.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <> Masterlist <> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

A/N: I want to thank everyone who read this again, and thank you all for being so patient with me. I’ve had this chapter almost done since the middle of January and it’s been killing me to not be able to finish it and have it posted. But it was a crazy few months, then some other crazy stuff happened, then quarantine kind of zapped all of my motivation to do anything.

But anyway, I hope this long chapter was worth the disgustingly long wait. I’m going to really try to get an update out every Monday, but I can promise that you’ll never go longer than a month without an update from now on. Comments (even if they’re just as simple as “nice chapter”) do wonders to motivate me! And I also have oneshot requests open to help motivate me! Here’s a list of ships I’ll write for!

Thank you for reading (and powering through me super long note) and I hope you stay safe and have a wonderful day/night! 💕💖

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sassysatsuma · 4 years

Text

Don’t Forget About Me - Ghost/Bones

"Hey, hey Without you there's holes in my soul Hey, hey Let the water in

Where ever you've gone? How, how, how? I just need to know That you won't forget about me Where ever you've gone? How, how, how?

I just need to know That you won't forget about me Lost through time and that's all I need So much love, then one day buried Hope you're safe, 'cause I lay you leaves Is there more than we can see? Answers for me"

Don't Forget About Me - CLOVES

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Cue a Satsuma desperately trying to stay relevant. I dunno man, something about the new Ghost reveal trailer thingy ma jig just got me dusting off the old word processor. As always, I fell into a trap of thinking about Ghost and Lara McCoy, because quite literally a decade on, I’m still writing about these lovesick fools.

I’m not sure what this is, but it was just one of those things where the picture in my head, the song and the words just knitted together and I bashed out 2000 hasty words like a woman possessed. It’s a weird mash up of Modern Warfare 2019 (we’re on the eve of new Ghost dropping), Caught in the System AU where Lara and Riley never stop being a thing and old school Modern Warfare 2. I’m just as confused as you are.

Dedicated as always to my muse and my love @smashinterrupted because she inspires me to write even when she doesn’t know about it. Also because she puts so much into the friendships and communities she cares about, which is just you know, all kinds of beautiful.

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On a painfully average Tuesday, Lara feels her heart beat again.

It's been a dismal February, grey and filled with thick welling clouds that by now seem perpetually hung in a snow white sky. The start of a new decade, although with January all but a memory the world's eagerness for a fresh start has faded. The new decade is more of an afterthought now, just another chance for likes and validation. The magazines might have dropped their “New Year, New You” bullshit for another year, but social media is still filled with ten year challenges and glow ups set amongst its usual materialistic fakery. For most, it's an annoyance, seeing selfie after selfie clog their feed. For the people who are struggling to move forwards, each fresh, light hearted post cuts as deep as the last.

Lara is a creature of habit although in truth she no longer remembers if she has been all along or if the army made her this way. Regardless, almost every afternoon she finds herself here, queuing in her local coffee shop for the biggest, most caffeinated beverage money can buy. It's her daily ritual, a blessed half hour of peace and quiet before she has to return to Sandhurst Military Academy and somehow teach the officers of tomorrow to be better than she ever was.

It's oddly mild for February, but the constant fine drizzle outside chases away any hopes for Spring. Inside the packed coffee shop it's sweltering, a humid, artificial warmth that has her shrugging off her khaki jacket and tying it around her waist. Anywhere else and she'd look quite the sight, dressed fully in her army fatigues, trousers tucked dutifully into her standard issue black boots. But here, she blends in. She prefers it in almost every way, her desire to stand up and be counted long since passed.

The barista doesn't even bother to ask for her order, greeting her with a soft smile that he reserves for polite regulars. Barely minutes later, her to go cup is clasped between her sweaty palms and she turns on her heel, bracing herself for another afternoon teaching at an institution she no longer truly believes in.

It's in that moment when her heart threatens to burst from her chest.

If she'd been alone, she would have been so sure that she was hallucinating, the face that greets her one she's spent the past 4 years so terrified that she'd forget. But they're flesh and blood as they stand in front of her, customers bustling around them in a way that tells her that this can't be anything but real.

Simon Riley, dressed in civvie clothes that still somehow manage to look so alien, even after all this time. His face is weathered, more scarred and a little older than the man she remembers. And yet the look in his eyes takes her back in an instant, brown irises that look at her as though she's all that matters.

He's a ghost in every sense. There hasn't been a moment in 4 years where she hasn't grieved for him.

Right now, it's all she can do to put her coffee down onto something solid before she drops it.

"Bones..." His voice his hoarse and he visibly swallows before her, nervous hands hanging idly by his sides. His dark hair is slicked down with rain, whilst bigger droplets pepper the exposed skin of his neck and arms. Despite the weather, he's only wearing a t shirt and jeans, the fabric betraying a body that is thicker with muscle than she remembers. There are what look to be deliberate scars littering his forearms and what little she can see of his biceps but she's not even sure she wants to know why they are there.

Lara quickly realises that she's been staring dumbfounded and silent. She swallows, her throat drier than it has any reason to be. There's a part of her that just wants to run forward and hold him, but it exposes a vulnerability she doesn't dare show. Instead her brow furrows, her voice stronger than she feels when she finally does speak.

"...How?"

Riley looks at her as though it's the hardest question in the world.

Maybe it is.

"Outside." The word comes out like an order, an echo of the man she met when she first joined the 141. It's unfair how she feels it like a kick to the stomach, memories she's fought to repress suddenly flooding her mind. She's sure that she doesn't let it show and yet somehow, Riley softens, barely. He cocks a head towards the door. "Please?"

Her feet decide for her, her coffee long since abandoned along with some confused teenagers.

Outside, she barely feels the rain, despite her jacket still hanging around her waist. She folds her arms, grasps her biceps in a way that somehow feels like the right thing to do, although not for a moment do her eyes leave Riley. She falls in step beside him as he leads her to the shelter of a nearby bus stop, her fingernails biting into her skin to fight the intense desire to reach out and touch him.

"I thought you were dead." It appears stating the obvious is the place where her mouth chooses to take over and begin.

"It was safer that way." Riley shrugs, although it's by no means as confident a gesture as he intends. "Price wasn't the only one to get his name dragged through the mud that day." There's another name missing from his admission, but Lara knows him well enough to know that he'd never want to give voice to MacTavish and the black mark they put against his name. Not even now, when the world knows the truth of it, a truth their Captain fought and ultimately died for. "I needed to disappear. No better way of doing that than dying."

'You could have told me,' Lara says to herself, though she knows better than to give the words voice. Her heart hates his decision, but her head understands. Would have likely done the same even when she would have had a family to mourn her. For Ghost, she was his only family. Instead, she leans back against the bus shelter, the sole of a boot propped against the shoddy plastic wall. "You still haven't told me how."

"I don't..." She can almost feel the crack in Riley's voice, but he swallows it back expertly. Instead he runs a hand through the wet tangle of dark brown hair atop his head, grimacing as he struggles to find the words. "I was... lucky." The word rolls off his tongue with an air of disgust. "Shepherd slotted Roach... right there in front of me. Shot me too but it didn't put me away the way he expected. I played dead in the dirt like a fucking possum, wondering if any of it was worth it. I don't know what made me finally crawl away. I came back for him, but by then... they'd taken care of him with all the others, Makarov's men, the lot. I threw my mask in the fire and figured it was better if everyone thought I was gone."

It's too much, the grim resignation in his voice, an almost monotone quality that fights to mask the emotion behind the words that leave his mouth. Lara can feel anger stirring in her gut, her heart panging with the same pain that had hit her that morning she'd woken up from surgery, away from the 141 and out of the fight. It's all too easy to picture, her eyes welling up with tears for the little brother she'd found in Roach. It crushed her the moment she found out they were all gone, but it's no easier now hearing it from Riley all over again.

He notices before she can try and look away, practised eyes reading her the exact same way they always have. It's another reminder of everything she's been missing, another stab at her gut that somehow isn't soothed by his presence beside her. Tears slip from her eyes and she swipes at them with frustrated hands, turning from him in a mix of shame and confusion.

His touch is a question. A hand reaches for her shoulder, a gentle squeeze of pressure that is more timid than anything they've ever shared. It feels like an unknown, like they're right back where they started except this time they are both fragments of the people they once were.

There's so much to say; her thoughts a chasing whirlwind that clouds her mind. She hasn't the words to even begin to express them. She wants to feel anger, wants to thrash and scream and punish him for every empty feeling she's had since he's been gone.

But she can't. Maybe one day she will, when the tempest in her mind has finally calmed and she can think clearly again. Now, the only tangible emotions she feels are the pain of losing everything and the complete and utter relief that he's found her again.

Her heart is his. Despite everything, that's the one thing that's never changed.

She spins around before her head can tell her no, arms wrapping around a neck they'd never dreamed to hold again. They're both off balance, stumbling backwards clumsily until Riley's back presses against the plastic wall. His hands fall to her hips, a familiar weight that threatens to choke her as she closes the distance between them.

The kiss is messy, a jumble between two people fighting to take as much of each other in as possible. Teeth and noses clash and they move clumsily against each other, hands gripping fearfully as though they could drift at any second. It's everything she's forgotten and nothing she remembers all at once.

She breaks away breathless, eyes closed as she rests her forehead against his. She can feel his heart hammering against her own, doesn't dare speak in case she ruins everything with the wrong words. Outside the shelter, the rain is falling heavier now, beating off the tarmac in a steady rhythm. She wishes that the white noise would swallow them both.

"I'm sorry." It's barely a whisper, but Riley's apology is there, brushing against her lips. It's enough to shake her from her thoughts, and she takes a cautious step from him, her eyes finally able to meet his. She reaches out, straightens his shirt were it lies crumpled against his skin.

"There's so much more we should say." Her hands move to his arms, tracing the foreign scars her fingertips find there as if to prove a point. He looks at her as though he doesn't even know where to start and she shakes her head, cutting him off before he even begins to try. "Are you staying?"

"... Do you want me to?"

"I never wanted you to leave." Her words are blunt, echoing the only thing she knows for sure right now. Her right hand traces his arm down to his wrist, before her fingers slip clumsily between his. The soft grip of her hand tries to convey everything she doesn't feel able to say. "Stay."

And she means it, wants it more than anything she's ever wanted before. There's so many questions, so many complications that she knows deep down it will never be easy, that they have countless hurdles laid out in front of them. She knows that talking will hurt, that memories and emotions she's buried deep will come back to haunt her as soon as he begins to answer her questions. She's under no illusions that this will be anything like a fairytale.

And yet despite that, she knows he's worth it. Knows that she's never for a second stopped loving him. Living without him was the cruellest of lessons; the hardest thing she’s ever had to do. Now that he's back she can't imagine ever wanting to feel that again. She won’t. She barely made it out alive the first time.

He's the type of ghost she never wants to stop haunting her.

#sass pretends to be a writer #caught in the system #cits #lara mccoy #simon riley #skeleton #ghost/bones #smashinterrupted #smash satsuma #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2019

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amyscascadingtabs · 5 years

Text

i’ll walk through hell with you

chapter 2: i guess truth is what you believe in

read chapter one

read on ao3 here

Amy and Leah visit family, a holiday is celebrated, and illness takes over the Santiago-Peralta household.

december

If there is one thing Amy is certain of, stuck in the car with 97 miles to go and an overtired toddler in the back seat, it is that something must be seriously wrong with her.

No one in their right mind says yes to a family weekend upstate with all siblings and their families nine days before Christmas. Not when it’s a three-hour drive. Not while they’re already left alone to care for their child for the weekend due to a time-sensitive and crucial opportunity coming up in a case Jake has worked for two months. Not when previously mentioned child is recovering from a cold and is ten times more cranky and attention-craving than normal.

Except - apparently - Amy.

She doesn't know what the fuck she was thinking.

She knows some thought went into her plan, such as the idea to drive late at night so Leah could sleep in the car. She simply wishes it could have worked, because right now the toddler is singing Wheels On The Bus for the seventeenth time in forty minutes and Amy feels like her head is going to explode. It's a quarter to ten, over two hours past the kid’s bedtime, and so far she refuses to fall asleep. She's wide awake in her seat, chatting and laughing and singing like there’s no tomorrow. If Amy had as much as a spare drop of energy left -even better, if there had been another parent in the car to focus on entertaining their child - the whole thing would have been adorable, but tonight it’s exhausting above anything else.

“Maaa-maaa?” Leah shouts the word from the back seat, wildly kicking her legs against the back cushioning, and Amy has to take a deep breath before she can reply in a calm tone.

“Yes, baby?”

“Are we there?”

“Not yet, Lee.”

Amy can see the reflection of Leah scrunching her forehead in the baby car mirror. “Why?”

“Because we still have a little way left to drive. We’ll be there soon, I promise.”

“Soon?” Leah shines up, kicking her legs again. “When is soon?”

“It will go faster if you close your eyes for a while,” She tries, using one of the oldest parenting tricks in the book. “I promise.”

“Not tired!” Her daughter responds in her cheeriest voice, and Amy gives herself a mental pat on the back for stifling a groan.

They repeat this exchange about ten times or so before Leah tires of it and returns to her singing. At that point, Amy’s counting it as a win. As much as she loves being this kid’s mom, there are indubitably times - and late-night drives with an overtired two-year-old in the back seat - when she loves it less.

Then Leah falls asleep for the last ten miles of the drive and clutches her arms and legs around Amy like a koala to a tree when she’s lifted out of her car seat and carried to bed, and it’s easier than ever to love being a mom.

There’s never an uneventful day with all of the Santiagos in the same house, and it’s not any more relaxing with the extra presence of six partners, twelve grandchildren, and one dog. From the moment Amy and Leah make their way down to the kitchen for breakfast, and the toddler finds out there might be a cookie baking session with grandma happening today, the day is in full swing. Leah joins her in facetiming Jake for a few minutes to say good morning, but after that, Amy barely sees her daughter for more than a split second in several hours.

The chaos is a welcome distraction. She plays Cards Against Humanity with Luis’s teenage daughters and Julian until Simon starts begging them to help him make a YouTube video, and she teaches five-year-old Noah how to draw the perfect portrait of a horse. She reads a story to three-year-old Maisie, and she laughs heartily at the sight of Leah chasing Oscar the Bichon Frise around while yelling Kitty Cat!. For a few, wondrous hours, Amy manages to live in blissful oblivion over the two starkly negative pregnancy tests she unceremoniously shoved in the bathroom trash can before leaving yesterday, and it feels like heaven.

It feels like heaven up until she joins the crew of brothers and partners currently taking up space in the kitchen. Her brother Isaac is parked in the middle of the kitchen couch, feeding the youngest Santiago member, just-turned one-month-old Milo, with a bottle; around him Camila, Luis, Tony and his wife Clara all fawn over and admire every aspect of the newborn’s appearance. Christian, Julian and Julian’s husband Lucas are at the other end of the kitchen cuddling with and doting on the exhausted dog, and Amy silently curses her allergies for making her unable to join them. Simon just brought out his camera in the living room and she refuses to risk another unwilling YouTube appearance, so her only option is to sit down with the team of awestruck baby-admirers.

“You forget how tiny they are,” Luis says, watching the infant with a nostalgic glance in his eyes. “I’ve had five, and you never get used to it.”

“You don’t,” Camila confirms with a small laugh, reaching out to stroke the baby’s closed fist with her thumb and index finger. “Not even I do. I’m shocked every time!”

“I thought I remembered everything from when Maisie was born.” Isaac grins, giving the empty baby bottle to Camila and carefully lifting the infant upright against his shoulder. “But then he comes out, and I think he must be several pounds lighter because surely Maisie was never this tiny, but he was bigger!” He shakes his head. “It’s insane.”

“He’s so cute,” Tony chimes in. “Do you get to sleep anything? I’m nervous about that.” His left hand is resting next to Clara’s on top of her visible baby bump. Amy lets out an audible snort upon hearing about her brother’s main cause for worry, but Isaac just grins.

“You get used to it. It’ll probably be worse for Clara anyway.”

“Great.” Clara grimaces, turning to Amy. “I can’t even sleep now! I either have a baby sleeping on top of my bladder or kicking me in the ribs for the whole night.”

“I remember.” She smiles, thinking back to the few times late in her pregnancy she’d made Jake sleep on the couch only because she couldn’t stand listening to his snoring on top of it all. “It sucks, and then everyone keeps telling you to sleep while you still can and you’re trying not to punch them.”

“Exactly!” Her sister-in-law laughs, tucking a strand of red-blonde hair behind her ear. “At least everyone says it’s worth it.”

“If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have done it so many times,” says Camila, and Clara looks relieved. “Oh, Amy, you need to hold Milo for a little while! He’s been in everyone’s arms except for yours today. Isaac, send him to Amy.”

“Oh.” She squirms in her seat, a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. “It’s okay. I was just going to look for Leah anyway -”

“Leah’s upstairs doing puzzles with Sarah and Samuel,” Isaac explains, referring to David’s two-year-old twins. “She’s fine. You can hold him, Ames.”

“I think I’m good… okay, no choice, I see.” Her younger brother’s already holding out the infant to her, and before she can adjust to the thought, there’s a tiny, yawning baby in her arms.

It’s achingly familiar, yet it feels like it’s been forever.

At first, it’s like every muscle fiber in her body tenses with the sudden awareness that there's a fragile, helpless human in her arms and the weight of terrifying responsibility resting with her for a moment. It's been two years since Amy last held a newborn, and she certainly forgot how breakable they feel when they haven't learned to support their own head. Then Milo lets out a content sigh, his mouth twitching like he's smiling at her, and although she knows he's too small and it's likely just gas, the brief facial expression makes her feel chosen.

She's missed this, she realizes. Noting the classic Santiago baby appearance traits, the head of dark hair and the little button nose, she thinks of countless hours spent holding her own clingy newborn two years ago, and bites her lip when she remembers that she still has no idea when she’ll get to do it again. Milo’s adorable, and Amy's secretly wishing he could stay in her arms forever or she could steal him and take him home with her, but he's also a painful reminder of what she wants most and doesn't have yet.

“He likes you,” Isaac comments, nodding towards the infant. “You and Jake haven’t thought of having another one?”

She freezes at the sound of his question, instantly clueless about what constitutes a good reply. She could tell him the truth, of course, and probably receive a flood of well-meaning advice about the best ways to conceive, but doing so would lead to expectations. Santiagos aren’t known for struggling to have kids, and she’s terrified of handling a hoard of family members subtly trying to figure out whether or not she's pregnant every time they see her. It's enough pressure coming from herself. She doesn't need people adding to it - least of all her family.

“Oh,” she says instead, avoiding eye contact by playing with one of Milo’s fists. “Well, we’re not sure yet.”

“Two years is the best age span between siblings,” Luis chimes in. “We always tried to aim for two years and our kids are super close.”

“Yes, yes, two years is perfect,” Camila agrees, nodding eagerly. “The adjustment is much more difficult when they’ve turned three, or four, and suddenly they’re not the youngest anymore… Sometimes I think Tony never got over his grudges against Simon!”

“I’m telling you, mom, that’s not it, we have a grudge because four years ago he made me do that awful cinnamon challenge that almost gave me an asthma attack and filmed it -”

“Two years is great,” Christian interrupts his younger brother’s story without remorse. “We went for two years between Isabel and Noah and it was perfect. You do want to have more than one kid, right?”

Amy has never wished harder for a baby in her arms to start crying.

She needs to get away, out of the situation where she has to hear and answer these sudden intrusive questions, but Milo shows no signs of waking. She’s stuck with a panicky, claustrophobic sensation in her chest and a forced smile on her lips.

“We do,” she replies to Christian’s question, weighing every word carefully. “We’re just not sure when.”

“No point in waiting,” says Isaac, looking at the baby in Amy’s arms. “I wish we’d had Milo earlier!”

There must be a lack of air in the room, or her allergy medicines have stopped working and are making her react to the dog, because she can’t shake the feeling she’s suffocating. She's feeling trapped even in the spacious kitchen, and although she knows everyone has their eyes fixed on Milo, she can't shake the feeling it's her they're staring at.

She wonders if they're seeing right through her; if they somehow know about negative pregnancy tests of yesterday, or if they can sense her desperation and frustration in the fake smile plastered on her face.

“I suppose you never know,” she answers somehow, heart pounding too quickly. “I, uh… have to go to the bathroom. Do you want to hold him for a little while, Clara?”

Amy senses eyes on her as she sneaks out the kitchen, hurries through the hallway and grabs her coat before heading out and sitting down on the porch, but she can't bring herself to care. She has to fill her lungs with fresh air and get away from well-meaning but prying questions, or she’s going to have a full-on breakdown.

There’s a layer of snow on the ground, too thin for any children or adults to be playing in but enough to give a sense of hope for a white Christmas. She scrapes her fingers through the minuscule ice crystals gathered on the wooden decking, drawing an uneven heart with her index finger and following it with another.

You do want to have more than one kid, right?

She draws a third, smaller heart below the two bigger ones.

You and Jake haven’t thought of having another one anytime soon?

She draws a fourth tiny heart next to the third one.

No point in waiting.

She hides her fist in the sleeve of her winter coat, rubbing it over her drawings and turning them into nothingness. She curses the fact that Jake’s working, that he and Rosa are following up some highly important leads today and their mission would likely be sabotaged if she called and interrupted her husband now, and she curses the fact that Leah’s having the time of her life playing with her cousins and would probably scream in protest if Amy tried to steal her for cuddles.

It’s not too cold outside with her warm coat keeping her comfortable, but she’s still shivering, so she wraps her arms around herself and tries to blink away the tears taking form in her eyes.

She’s aware she’s being ridiculous. Having a baby takes more than a couple months of trying in many, many cases - the majority of them, even. She’s far from unique, yet a sneaking suspicion and vexing anxiety are lingering with her.

No point in waiting.

She puts one hand on her chest and one hand over her stomach, trying to focus on the fresh air flowing in through her nose and out through her mouth, filling and leaving her for each inhale and exhale.

“Just relax,” she whispers to herself, pretending it's Jake's voice saying the words, his unwavering belief that it will all be fine she's listening to.

“Are you sure you’re still my sister? Have you had some kind of personality change?”

“Huh?” Amy almost jumps at the sound of Julian’s voice, bringing her out of her focused breathing and forcing her to look up.

“You’re willingly outside in the cold weather,” he declares, slumping down next to her. “Even with a coat on, that's impressive for you.” She notes that he's only wearing a hoodie himself and seems unbothered by the temperature.

“I needed fresh air.”

“Because of Oscar? I swear his breed is supposed to be allergy-friendly, we researched that stuff in depth. Maybe your allergies are just undefeatable?”

“No, it’s fine as long as I don't pet him.” Amy places a hand on her brother's shoulder, squeezing it. “Oscar’s great. Leah's in love with him.”

“Isn't he amazing?” Julian's grin is comically wide, his eyes sparkling with undiluted pride. “He can sit, and roll, and catch, and play dead if he gets enough candy! Parenthood is incredible. I’m so glad our kids get along.” He doesn't entirely sound like he’s joking, and Amy can't help but laugh at his excitement. “So if it wasn't Oscar, why did you leave?”

“Were you listening to the conversation?”

“Eh, bits and pieces. How so?”

She sighs. “They - mom, and Isaac and Christian, mostly - interrogated me about whether we’re planning to have another baby anytime soon.”

“And you’re not?”

“We are! We’re actively trying for it.”

“Oh! Cool,” Julian nods, scratching the stubble on his chin. “I can get behind that. I wouldn't have anything against reproducing with those Peralta genes either if I could.” Amy elbows her brother in the side at that, probably way harder than necessary, and it makes him gasp in offense. “Hey! It’s just objective facts that he's attractive!”

“I’m telling Lucas you said that.”

“Lucas agrees. Either way - if you actually are trying, what's with the tears and the sudden storming out?”

“I didn't storm out,” she protests, and he gives her a meaning look of judgment as if to say yes, you did. “And it's nothing.”

Julian snorts. “Sure it is.”

“It's not a big deal.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“It's just making me a little stressed is all.”

“A little.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” Amy groans, placing her head in both hands and quickly running her fingers through her hair. There's a knot in the back of it, and she busies herself trying to pull it apart as she speaks. “We are trying. It's just not going very well yet, I guess. It’s making me nervous, and it's not something I want to tell everyone in our family about, because, well… we’re not exactly known for struggling with that.”

Julian is silent, and there’s a moment where Amy wonders if she’s managed the impossible. For all their countless petty fights and differences, Julian has always had a reply to offer her. Sometimes he’s supportive, sometimes questioning, and sometimes he’s all over judging her decisions, but he never ignores her worries when she chooses to confide in him. It throws her off to see him take so long to answer her now, and she watches him twist the white gold wedding ring on his finger absentmindedly while he grimaces.

“No,” he says right as she starts to consider tapping him on the shoulder to make sure he’s conscious. “I guess we’re not known for struggling with anything. Has this… been a problem for a long time?”

“A couple of months.”

“...Is that a long time? I’m not great with this heterosexual business. I’m much better with waiting times for adopting a dog.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. “It’s not that long. But it’s longer when you don’t have a lot of time to begin with.” Julian looks about as perplexed as if she’d been trying to explain the intricate details of quantum physics to him, and she clarifies. “Fertility decreases as you age.”

“Right. Yeah.”

“I’m thirty-nine. Maybe I shouldn't panic yet, but in a year, or two…” Amy shakes her head. “It gets really low. Higher chances of miscarrying. Chromosome variations. Premature birth. You name it. Basically, the sooner I get pregnant now, the better and safer it is for everyone.”

“I see.”

“So there's some time pressure,” she explains further, connecting her hands inside the coat sleeves to eliminate the cold that's started to seep in. “And it’s making me terrified something's wrong with me already. That it's not going to work. That we’ll never be able to have a second kid. I know that's maybe not the end of the world, but… I really, really want it, and I’d be heartbroken if it didn’t happen.”

A pair of stubborn, humiliating teardrops make their way down her cheeks at the thought, and she untangles her hands to quickly wipe them away.

“I’m sure it'll work out, Ames.” Julian's smile is partly sympathetic and partly insecure when he speaks, like this subject is miles out of his comfort zone but he's trying his best anyway. “As you said, two months is nothing, right? Mom was like, 42 when she had Simon. Surely if anyone's got the genes for this, it’s our family.”

“Yeah. It's never a guarantee, though, and I can’t handle their questions. Two years is the best time between siblings,” she imitates in an exaggerated high-pitched tone, and Julian laughs heartily. “As if I wasn’t already pressuring myself about the same thing. But I can't tell them that, because then they’d start asking.”

“Mm, our family does lack all understanding of what privacy is sometimes.” Julian grins. “There are several options even for gay men! Surrogates! Adoption! I read this article in a magazine where a pair co-parented with lesbians!” His shrill imitation tone is awful and hilarious at the same time, making Amy snicker. “I think she was mad at me for weeks after I told her we were happy with a dog. She means well, but it just becomes a lot.”

“Doesn’t get easier when it’s something you already want, either.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Maybe. I hope so.”

“If not, I’m pro-dogs. They’re pretty much like children, except you don’t have to create a college fund for them. A win-win situation if it weren’t for the fact that owning a dog could probably kill you. But other than that!” Julian stretches his arms over his head, looking mighty proud of himself. “Solid.”

“I’m already busy trying to talk Jake out of buying a cat,” says Amy, massaging her temples at the thought. “But he’s managed to get Leah obsessed with them, so I think I’m losing.”

“That’s why she’s calling Oscar a cat! Wow. Jake’s a genius.”

“Well, that and she’s two. And please don’t ever tell him that, because his ego would literally explode.”

Amy can feel her face going numb from the cold outside, a sudden gust of wind coming at them and making her eyes tear for a new reason. The fact that she’s lost track of time hits her, awakening an uneasiness and a sudden need to get inside and check up on how her daughter’s doing, so she gives Julian a quick, rare hug, and is surprised when he squeezes her back for a long time.

“Thanks for coming out,” she mumbles, and he nods.

“Of course. I just don’t like seeing you cry.”

“Aww, that’s kind of sweet.”

“You look so weird when you do,” he says with a smirk, and she rolls her eyes at the mock insult. “No one should have to see that.”

“Fuck off, Jules.”

“Yep. Now let’s go make sure our kids are still alive and haven’t eaten any couches. Is that a thing with human children too?”

january

It’s a good Christmas.

It’s a Christmas where Amy can allow herself some time to relax and unwind, put her worries aside and focus on her family during the ten days both her and Jake manage to garner off work. It’s a long-awaited and dearly welcomed break from early daycare drop-offs, ten-minute-dinners, and infinite planning to make sure nothing is forgotten.

Instead there is time for slow wakeups, snuggling with Leah when she crawls into their bed in the early hours of the morning and giving in to her request of watching iPad in their bed only so they can keep their eyes closed for a little while longer. There's time for late-night conversations over a glass of wine that don't feel rushed because at least they don't have somewhere to be tomorrow, and there's time to properly see friends outside of work for the first time in what feels like forever. They go to dinner at Terry’s house, watch Rosa enjoy the indoor trampoline park even more than Leah does, and they gratefully accept Charles’ offer to babysit their daughter for a night. Amy figures the man has a specific motive in mind, but then Jake suggests they spend the night at a hotel and Leah gets ecstatic at the mention of watching Disney movies with her uncle Charles and Nikolaj, so she ends up saying yes. She’s only human, after all, and she’s not going to neglect the rare and precious chance of a sleep-in.

(The date also times mysteriously well with when she should be ovulating.)

(She does not want to ask.)

Even the yearly Christmas dinner with the Santiagos ends up being survivable. Although there are kids crying, odd snarky comments between Tony and Simon, and Leah outright refuses to wear anything but her sequined dinosaur shirt and glittery tights to the event, things proceed smoothly and Amy’s stress levels remain on the healthier part of the scale. She watches Jake hold and make funny faces at Milo and can feel her mom giving them meaning looks from across the room, but she breathes through it and silently thanks the Universe when Leah chooses that exact moment to climb onto Amy’s lap and ask if they can read one of her new books. Sure, part of her wishes she could be gifting her husband a crafted announcement with a baby onesie and a positive pregnancy test much like the ones she’s pinned on Pinterest, but the tender way he hugs her thank you after he opens his gift and sees the photo book filled with pictures with him and Leah, is more than enough to ease her sorrow. He gifts her a gold necklace with the letters J and L in separate miniature hearts, and when he tells her it’s so she can always be keeping them next to her own heart, she tears up and kisses him so long and ardently that he looks a little dazed, blinking with surprise when they part.

It’s a good New Year’s Eve, too. They spend the first part of the evening at the Holt-Cozner New Year’s Party, listening to their daughter proudly tell every guest she’s going to stay up until midnight, and then they try not to laugh when she passes out the moment she’s in her car seat at half-past nine. Jake and Amy end their year in pajamas on the couch, toasting in champagne just for the sake of it and going right to bed afterward.

Next year we’ll have another baby, she thinks to herself before falling asleep about fifteen minutes into the new year, a new sense of shimmering optimism lingering with her. It has to have worked by then.

January is hell. Everyone knows it, specifically, everyone who’s had children at daycare, because January means no one is healthy and neither Jake nor Amy manage a full week at work without taking time off to care for a sick child or themselves. Amy prays they’ll make it through without any cases of stomach flu, but such seems to have been too much to ask, because she’s woken up by devastating crying from Leah’s room on the one night Jake’s doing a night shift and she knows before the two-year-old’s even started retching.

She doesn’t get any sleep that night.

She doesn’t get any sleep the next night either, because when Leah stops throwing up and Amy feels like she can breathe again when the child keeps some applesauce down and asks if she can watch Doc McStuffins, it only takes three hours before Jake starts complaining about feeling sick.

January must surely be some twisted sort of a joke, she thinks, and disinfects her hands an extra time before she goes to remind her very miserable husband that he’s not actually dying.

It’s only natural, amid the virus-filled havoc, that it takes her a few days to realize she hasn’t gotten her period.

Come to think of it, she is feeling a bit nauseous. The excessive fatigue and emotional imbalance she knows were early symptoms in her first pregnancy is harder to distinguish from the exhaustion after two intense days of caring for poorly family members, but she’s a mom and a Santiago and she categorically never gets sick.

She gives the nausea a day, waiting for it to break out into the same flu Jake and Leah are already victims of, but it doesn’t. It stays the same.

Amy’s never been so excited about nausea in her life.

She waits until Leah’s gone to bed, falling asleep in Amy’s arms on the couch. The two-year-old’s still not quite her energetic, bubbly self and has been stuck to her parents like a needy band-aid for most of the day, and it could have been tiring if it hadn’t also meant lots of cuddles. Right now, though, Amy's arms and back are happy to get a break from carrying the kid around while she lays down next to Jake instead, spooning him and receiving a grateful smile when she starts playing with his hair.

“How are you feeling, babe?”

“Dying. I think I might be dead already,” he groans before turning his head and looking her in the eyes with feigned seriousness. “Please say something nice at my funeral and promise me you'll take care of Charles when I'm gone.”

“You're not dying, Jake.”

“How d’you know?”

“Because you haven't thrown up since last night and you only have a slight fever,” she reminds him, feeling his lukewarm forehead. “You're fine.”

“I am definitely much better with a hot girl draped on top of me,” he says with a smug expression, his hand gently stroking under her old NYPD shirt up her back. She rolls her eyes, because looks haven't exactly been the top priority for the last three days and she's not sure when she last washed her hair, yet Jake never stops making an effort to charm her. “How are you feeling, Ames?”

“Actually, I've been kind of nauseous all day. But I'm not sure it's stomach flu.”

“Huh? What else would it be?”

“I'm thinking,” she presses her index finger to his chest, “maybe I should take a pregnancy test.”

“Oh.” He squints at her. “Why?”

Amy gives him an exasperated look.

“Okay, yeah. But you’ve also spent the last three days taking care of your sick family. Leah was throwing up on us. Are you sure you're not just ill?”

“I have a good feeling,” she insists, because she does - there's a renewed sense of hope and blind faith that perhaps this could be it, resting with her. “And I never get sick.”

“Once again, your daughter was vomiting on you and I'm still convinced I might be dying. This is a brutal virus, Ames.”

“Clearly.” She runs her fingers through his messier-than-usual curls again, and his mouth shapes into a content smile despite his still worried eyes. “I’m still going to take that test, though. In case.”

“In case,” he repeats slowly. “Well, it’s your body.”

“Exactly.” She kisses his forehead. “You get it. I’ll be right back.”

Amy takes these tests with ease now. She’s been doing them two, three times extra following every first negative in a desperate hope for the result to change. False negatives are common, test results are safer the longer after a missed period they’re taken, and there’s no reason not to test an extra time. Long story short, she's becoming a pro at taking pregnancy tests, but so far the single lines and minus signs are staying the same.

She says a silent prayer this one will be an exception.

Plastic cap off, pee for five seconds, plastic cap back on, lay the test flat and wait while trying not to freak out. She manages all steps but the final.

She carries the little plastic stick out to the living room coffee table gently as if it had been made of glass.

“Three minutes,” she informs Jake, and he nods while she sets a timer on her phone. In three minutes, they'll know whether her good feeling is right or dead wrong, and the nausea increases but this time Amy thinks it's nerves.

She doesn't want to stare, but she does anyway, waiting for a second line to appear no matter how faint. Jake sits up next to her, taking her hand and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, and she manages a weak smile without lifting her eyes from the test.

The timer goes off without a second line appearing.

Amy lifts the test to inspect it closer, but there's not even a hint of anything. She gives it to Jake for a second opinion, and he inspects it just as closely before shaking his head and mumbling a quiet sorry, babe.

She's not pregnant this month either.

“It’s okay, Ames. Three months is nothing.”

She doesn’t realize there are tears in her eyes until they’re trailing down her cheeks and Jake’s hand is there, wiping them away. She presses on his wrist to move it, make him stop because she’s not okay and she doesn’t want him pressuring her to feel anything but the searing disappointment coursing through her veins.

“It’s not,” she says, shaking her head. “I just feel so stupid. I thought I was feeling something.”

“You’re not stupid,” he tells her, and the tenderness in his voice erases her annoyance. “You want this really bad. I do, too, but… well, it’s not my body.”

“Not your body being a massive failure.”

“Hey!” Jake holds up one hand like he’s making a stop motion. “No one talks that way about my wife!”

“Ha-ha.”

“I’m serious! You don’t get to say those things, okay? You know it’s not true.” She hums a doubting sound, and he sighs, placing his arm around her shoulders. “Ames, we’ll just try again. We already did a great job once, and there are moments I wish we hadn’t, because if we didn’t have a toddler in daycare I would be so much healthier… okay, I still don’t regret it,” he adds. “Except maybe the daycare part, because I swear I’m sick all the time.”

“You love our daycare! Without it, you’d never get to eat that Scientology-guy’s chocolate chip cookies at every parent meeting.”

“Fair point. Craig, right? Weirdly good baker. Fine - I guess I don’t regret the daycare either. But you’re about to.”

This time, she’s the one squinting at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Still feeling nauseous?”

“Kind of, why are you… oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. Your immune system isn’t undefeatable!”

“It’s still better than yours,” she counters, and Jake just grins.

“But not undefeatable.”

She gives him a slow nod, trying to hide the despondency on her face as she takes the negative test from his hands.

“I’m just going to throw this away.”

Amy is certain of it when she wakes up three hours later, almost throwing herself out of bed to make it to the bathroom in time - January is officially and unquestionably hell.

#my writing #b99 #brooklyn 99 #brooklyn nine-nine #peraltiago #jake x amy #b99 fic #brooklyn 99 fic #brooklyn nine-nine fic #b99 fanfiction #brooklyn nine-nine fanfiction #jake x amy fic #jake x amy fanfiction #peraltiago fic #peraltiago fanfiction #sorry for being so rude about january don't take it personally if you love january #it's just.. everyone's sick

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mageicalwishes · 4 years

Text

Crying In My Prom Dress - Chapter 2

Read on AO3: here

Read the previous chapter: here

Summary: The Leaver’s Ball marks the end of the school year. The end of their time at Watford. Baz has a confession to make before it’s too late. But, will he ever pluck up the courage to tell Simon how he feels? Inspired by the song “Prom Dress” by Mxmtoon.

Chapter: 2/7

Words: 4,046

Baz

I’m at my desk, trying (and failing) to concentrate on my Greek essay, when Snow storms into the room. I haven’t seen him since earlier on the balcony. After what Bunce had said, I couldn’t face going to dinner. My mind was racing. It still is. “What’s ruffled your feathers, Snow?” I goad. “What are you doing? Why weren’t you at dinner?” he gruffs. “I’m studying, Snow. You should try it sometime, maybe then you wouldn’t be so hopeless” Again with the insults. I don’t really mean it of course, he’s the furthest thing from hopeless. Simon Snow is the most powerful magician alive. He probably has more magic in his little finger than I have in my whole body. He’s so strong, but even he is bound to struggle controlling all of that raw energy . “You’re such a prick,” he snarls, stomping into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him. I should apologise. I want to apologise - but I’ve set a precedent. No apologies. If I took it back now, he’d just wonder why. He’d probably suspect it’s part of some grand scheme I’d devised to kill him (I don’t want to kill him). I doubt he’s perceptive enough to realise the truth. Either way, I still need to keep up my act - Better safe than sorry. Perhaps I should just tell him? Bunce thinks I have a chance. Maybe she’s right. She thinks that Snow and Wellbelove aren’t right for each other. I’ve always thought that - but that’s just because I’m jealous. I doubt she's jealous, everyone knows she’s got a “thing” for that American exchange. Does he really feel the same? There is a chance he may. Admittedly, a very minute chance - but a chance nonetheless.

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Snow is tossing and turning. I’m shrouded in the scent of his magic - all smoke and fire. It’s intoxicating. I’ve been waiting for him to fall asleep for at least two hours now, as I desperately need to go down to the catacombs and feed. With everything he’s been through, Snow has never been the most peaceful sleeper. He’s always been plagued with nightmares. I’ve even had to resort to casting “Sweet Dreams” on him a few times - it’s painful watching him when they get bad. Writhing around, pleading in his sleep. I’d do anything to make them stop. I’m sparing with the sleep spells, though. I don’t want him to get suspicious. He can’t know how painfully soft I am when it comes to him. Despite all of this, he doesn’t usually struggle falling asleep. Something must be troubling him.

“What’s wrong, Snow? The Mage making you do his bidding again?” I tease. He just scoffs quietly in response, and then room falls back into silence. I look over at him - his curls are splayed in a mess against his pillow and he has his back to me. Suddenly, he whips his body round to face mine, his duvet tangling around his legs. I don’t know whether he can see me in the dark. I can always see him - but the whole vampire thing is a bit of an advantage in that respect.

“You’re proper posh aren’t you, Baz? he asks, his voice heavy with tiredness. I can’t help but snicker. “Shut up. I just - I just mean you’ve been to balls and stuff like that before, right?”

“Yes. I’ve been to a few,” I reply, hesitantly. Why on earth is Snow asking me about this right now? Is that seriously what’s been keeping him up, whether or not I’ve been to a dance before? He huffs. Snow’s always huffing and puffing - he’s never been the best with words.

“It’s just - I was wondering if you would help me? I know you don’t really like me and stuff, but I need help." Truth is - I’d do anything for him. As I said, I’m incredibly soft when it comes to Snow.

“Help you with what?” I ask.

“Dancing,” he answers plainly (as if asking your enemy for dancing lessons isn’t even remotely strange).

“Dancing?”

“Yeah. You know, moving around to music.”

“I know what dancing is, Snow,” I deadpan. “I mean, why are you asking me to help? Last I heard, you were under Wellbelove’s expert tutelage.”

“I was,” he grumbles “She got mad at me ‘cause I scuffed her boots. She says she doesn’t want to help anymore. I asked Penny, but she doesn’t know how to dance either. I just figured you would know. I can help you with something back if you want. Please, Baz.” Merlin and Morgana. How could I refuse that. I should say no, but I’m weak.

“Okay. You don’t need to help me back, though.”

“You’ll help me?” he says, disbelieving.

“That’s what I just said. Do you need a hearing test, Snow?”

“Oh. Yeah. Well, Cheers. That’s great,” he says. “But you’re sure you don’t want something back. I could pay you. I mean, I don’t really have any money - I have some leprechaun gold though. You could have some of that. I don't know if you can spend that in any shops though, sorry.” I scoff again, suppressing the smile that is threatening to break across my face.

“That won’t be necessary. Like I said, I don’t need you to give me anything back. Call it a goodbye present.” I feel my throat tighten at the thought. No more Simon. Only nine days together left. Christ. I have to tell him, before it’s too late. I have to do it. He flashes me a soft smile.

“Cheers, Baz. I knew you weren’t all bad,” he murmurs, chuckling softly. I feel my stomach flutter. I’m so far gone.

“It’s no problem, Snow. We wouldn’t want the Chosen One to be bested by a Waltz - that would be horrifically embarrassing. Although, I must warn you, if you scuff my shoes, there will be consequences. I’m not quite as forgiving as Wellbelove.” That earns me a proper smile. He’s beaming across at me now, his dimple popping handsomely. I feel my heart swell within my chest at the sight of him. I wish he always looked at me this way. I wish I didn't have to be his enemy.

“I know, I know. You’ll throw me to the merwolves - blah, blah blah,” he teases, rolling back over to face the wall. “Does tomorrow after tea sound okay?”

I make a vague “Mm” noise in response - not trusting my voice not to waver.

“Okay. Thanks again. N’Night, Baz,” he says, his voice barely a whisper now.

“Goodnight, Snow.” Aleister Crowley - I am in way over my head.

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When I return from dinner, he’s sat on his bed waiting for me. “Hey,” he says, picking at his thumbs. I think he’s nervous. I know I am. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to agree to this. Generally, I’d consider myself to be an intelligent person - but agreeing to dance with Snow was definitely incomprehensibly stupid.

“Good Evening, Snow. Shall we get this over with? I reply, trying (and failing) to sound nonchalant. I definitely sound tense. I feel tense - How could I not? I’m almost certainly going to cock this up. Not the dancing, I’m actually fairly good at that (thanks to Daphne insisting that I take dancing lessons at the weekends all throughout primary school). Snow may be oblivious, but (despite my best efforts) I’m not actually unreadable. Bunce saw right through me. If I'm dancing with him, holding him like that, something is sure to slip. Knowing my luck, I’ll probably pop a boner or something mortifying like that.

“Sure thing,” he says, raking a hand through his curls. “There’s a storage room we can use. More room in there. I’d probably just end up smashing one of our lamps if we stay here. Is that okay?”

“Certainly. Lead the way”, I say gesturing towards the door.

I cast a quick “You shall not pass” on the door as I close it behind us. If somebody walked in on us, I’m not sure how I could feasibly explain what we are about to do. The storage room was clearly abandoned long ago. Cobwebs have taken over nearly every available surface. While I’m not necessarily phased by the cobwebs, I cast a “Clean as a Whistle” spell for good measure (I’d rather not have to rewash my blazer after we’re done). When I turn around, Snow is staring at me blankly. Honestly, I think he forgets he’s a mage half the time. He could do these spells too, if he wanted.

“How should we start then?” he asks.

“Well, I presume you want to lead. Correct?”

“Lead?” he asks, tilting his head confusion. I sigh, kneading my knuckles against my brow bone.

“Did Wellbelove teach you anything? Lead the dance, Snow. If it helps, generally speaking, the guy leads and the girl follows.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. Yeah I want to lead, then. I don’t think Agatha would want to do it the other way,” he bumbles.

“Okay then,” I say, taking a deep breath. My pulse is racing. I need to pull myself together. I mutter an “If music be the food of love, play on” spell under my breath - I can’t have Snow overhearing that. A lot of Shakespeare spells only work if you’re in love, this particular one is no exception to that trend. The room fills with the soft melody of violins, and I take a step towards him. We’re barely thirty centimetres apart now. We’ve never been this close - not when we aren’t fighting. “Okay, so. The lead typically places one hand on their partner’s shoulder and the other in their hand,” I say, holding out my right hand in offering. I’m playing with fire here - I’m sure I’m going to get burnt.

“Sure, cool.” He slips his left hand into mine and laces our fingers together loosely. His hands are rougher than mine, calloused slightly, and ever so warm. Snow’s all heat - he’s so alive . He smiles up at me slightly and I dart my eyes down towards the floor. I can’t look at him right now. Not when he’s this close. My eyes would almost certainly betray me - like I said, even I’m not un readable. Hesitantly, he reaches up and slides his other hand over my shoulder, tugging me impossibly closer as he does. I've wanted this for so long. I hold my breath - somehow, I'm afraid that if I don't, I'll shatter this fragile moment and scare him away from me. His touch is electric and I’m a live wire. I feel it radiating through every cell in my body - lighting me up from within. Together we’re a complete circuit, and I’m electrified. I’m alive. I wonder, does he feel it too?

I clear my throat, bringing myself back down to reality. “Alright then, Snow. We will start off with the basic steps. It’s really very simple, even you should be able to manage. Just listen to what I tell you and try to move in time with the music, okay?”

“Uh yeah. Sounds good,” he mumbles, shifting his hand within mine slightly.

“Okay. All you need to do is a basic box step following a three-count tempo,” I explain. I risk looking up at him again. He’s staring at me blankly, his mouth scrunched up to the side in confusion. Honestly, I’m not convinced Wellbelove tried at all. I sigh. This is going to be more difficult than I thought. “You’re a certified moron, Snow.”

“Yeah? And you're a twat,” he grumbles. I gaze back down at my shoes.

“Just - Just take a step forward with your left foot.” He goes to move his right foot - Honestly, this boy is impossible. “I said your left foot. Are you brain-dead?”. He doesn’t respond to that, but he corrects himself and steps his left foot forward. “Good, that’s what you do on the first beat of the tempo. Next, take a step forward and to the side with your right foot. That’s what you do on the second beat of the tempo” He obliges, stepping sideways clumsily. “Acceptable. Now all you need to do is move your right foot back to meet your left one. Even you can’t cock that up.” He follows my instruction and chuckles quietly to himself when he's finished. “There you go, Snow. Now all we have to do today is get to the point where you can do that - except actually in time to the music and not so fragmented.”

“Okay. Thanks, Baz. With your help I’ll be a dance master in no time. You’re a much better teacher than Aggie,” he said, squeezing my hand gently. Oh no. I think I’m blushing. Curse him and his bloody hand holding. I can feel his eyes boring into me - I refuse to meet them still. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have let him get so close. I’m going to give myself away. I take a deep breath, desperately trying to myself.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’re far from an expert. And, while I appreciate your attempt at flattery, my threat still stands - do not scuff my shoes or there will be hell to pay.”

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We’ve been dancing for at least an hour now. Simon really can’t dance - he has all the natural rhythm of a lump of granite. But he’s trying. I’ve done my best to keep my gaze on the floor, but occasionally I’d catch a glimpse of him subconsciously poking his tongue out the corner of his mouth (he tends to do that when he’s concentrating). It was painfully cute - the sight of him practically made me melt. We haven’t spoken much (bar the occasional insult or instruction), but every so often he’d smile up at me or give my hand a quick squeeze. I wish he wouldn’t. Well ... That’s not exactly true. I’d gladly take anything Snow is willing to give me. Every smile. Every squeeze. He's setting my body on fire, and it burns in the best possible way. But, it’s not what I want - not really. I crave more. And, these small concessions aren’t satiating me - they’re only making me hungrier. Hungrier for him. I want everything Snow has to give. His body. His heart. His mind. His soul. Everything. But, that’s not what we are. Despite this strange dance lesson truce, we’re still enemies (of sorts). We’re moving slowly around the room when he blunders - badly (taking a step forwards rather than backwards). Our foreheads collide with a loud thud, sending Snow falling backwards onto the stone floor, and dragging me down with him.

I’m laying on top of him now - our bodies pressed humiliatingly tight together. Our eyes meet. His pupils are blown so wide there is hardly any blue left, and his eyes are practically popping out of his skull with the shock of it all. He’s staring up at me, his mouth hanging open uselessly. This is mortifying. And it's all his bloody fault - the blithering idiot. My pulse has skyrocketed, and I can feel my heart hammering relentlessly against my chest. And that's when I feel it - my blood rushing downwards. Alesteir Crowley. This is not happening. Just stake me now. I leap up off of him as quickly as I can manage, and storm over to the door. “Lesson over,” I shout, swinging it open violently. I cast a quick “Silence in the library” bringing the soft music to an abrupt stop, and charge out of the room. I hear him call out to me behind me, but I refuse to turn back. I knew I was playing with fire. I knew I was going to get burnt - Yet I did it anyway. And now, here we are. I’ve ruined everything.

Simon

Fuck! Agatha was right, I am a hopeless dancer. I thought it was going well with Baz, as well. I much prefer dancing with him - He’s a far better teacher. It was actually fun with him. And now I’ve ruined everything. Typical . When I asked, I didn’t expect him to say yes - But then he did. I was so excited. I knew I’d probably mess it up somehow. I’m a walking disaster - it was bound to happen. I didn’t mean to make us fall. I just got a bit distracted (I was trying to figure out what he was staring at on the floor). Now I’ve upset him. He didn’t even seem angry - just frightened? I don't know why Baz would be afraid of me, but he bolted out of that room pretty much as fast as humanly possible. I must’ve made him uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to do that - He was doing me a favour. I didn’t mean to ruin it. There is no way he’s going to want to help me now. I want him to help me. I want to keep dancing with Baz. It felt good. But, now I've managed to screw it all up. Fuck, I'm such a moron.

I sit up, pulling my knees towards my chest. My magic is bubbling dangerously close to the surface, rolling angrily within my veins. I need to calm down, otherwise I'll end up going off again. Nobody wants that. My throat feels really tight. I think I might cry - my eyes are prickling weirdly. I won’t cry. I don’t normally cry, even when it feels like I might. Not since I was little, anyway. The last time, one of the care home boys had stolen my ball while I was asleep. I bawled my eyes out when I realised it was missing. I was like ten though, so it's forgivable - I'd never cry like that now (The Mage would just tell me I need to strengthen up, if I did). It doesn’t even really matter about the dancing - I only wanted to learn how because Agatha told me I should and I really didn’t want to embarrass her. I always feel like I’m embarrassing her. She’s so refined, and I’m so … Well, I’m just not. Baz is refined. They’re similar in that way. Baz is different in a lot of ways too though. Anyway, I don’t think it’s the dancing that’s upsetting me. I think I’m upset because I’ve upset him. I’ve made Baz angry before - I have the scars from our numerous childhood scrapes to prove it. That's familiar - that's all part of our game. That doesn't make me feel like this. I’ve never made him sad before, though. Well, not that I’m aware of - maybe I have (we haven’t always been the nicest to one another). I need to fix this. I’m just not sure how. Me and Baz don’t really talk all that much. But, we also didn’t hold each other’s hand or dance together until today - That change wasn’t so bad. So, maybe we could start.

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When I get back to the room, Baz is sat on his bed reading a book. It had been about an hour since the whole dancing fiasco - I stopped off at the kitchens on my way back here. I tend to eat when I’m tense. Penny says I need to find a more healthy “coping mechanism”, but I don’t really see the problem with it. He glances up at me, assessing me with a cool gaze, before looking back down at his book. He doesn't seem too bothered about me being back. The room smells of his fancy shower gel and his hair is slightly damp - He must’ve had a shower while I was gone. I’m still standing awkwardly just inside our doorway. I probably should've gone and sat on my bed - That would've been more normal. "Hey,” I say, nervously tapping my fingers against my thigh. “I’m sorry about earlier.” He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look up at me. I should’ve known he'd try to make this as difficult for me as possible - He can be such a prick sometimes. I scrape my fingers through my hair. I don’t really know what to do now. I sort of assumed he’d at least answer me (he doesn’t often turn down an opportunity to insult me). Shit. I must’ve really upset him. “I didn’t mean to - you know. I didn’t mean to pull you over. It was an accident. And I’m really really sorry. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable or something. Can we? You know can we still do it tomorrow? The dancing lessons I mean.” This time he puts the book down. He looks up at me, an elegant eyebrow raised in question. I continue talking. I don't really know why, I can't seem to stop the words from pouring out of my mouth. “I just mean that today was really fun. Well, you know - until I messed it up. But if you still wanted to, I’d really like to do it again tomorrow. You don’t have to say yes. Obviously. But it would be cool if you did. And I promise next time I fall I’ll make sure I let go of you first. Well ... I can't really promise that. But, I promise I’ll try to.” I stop, holding my arms across my body awkwardly. I don’t really know what else I can say to convince him. Maybe this was a stupid idea - I am prone to those.

Baz

Mercifully, it seems as though Snow is blissfully unaware of the reason behind my sudden departure. He’d definitely be a lot more freaked out right now if he had realised. Thank Crowley for his seemingly endless incognizance. I’ve at least managed to retain some of my dignity then - That’s good. But, Snow actually had fun today. I mean, I did too (obviously)- underneath all the stress of trying to remain outwardly unbothered by our physical proximity. However, I suspect we enjoyed it for rather different reasons. But, in spite of all the weirdness today, Snow wants to do this again. And really, who am I to deny him? Given ... how I feel, there are certainly worse things I could be doing than dancing with Snow. Honestly, it’s a delightful sort of torture - holding him so close, while a thousand unsaid words separate us still. I want this, and (for whatever reason) he wants this too. I can’t be certain he feels the same way I do. Bunce said she didn’t think he realised it himself. If he isn’t sure himself, how can I be? The only way to find out is to tell him. I want to. I need to - I can’t leave Watford never knowing. It would torture me. Alas, I’m unsure I’m courageous enough to take that risk. As such, this may be all I’ll ever get with Snow. Why deny myself what little I have? It can’t possibly go worse than it already has. “Okay, Snow,” I concede, ensuring my tone remains indifferent. “Same time tomorrow. After dinner.” His face cracks into a bright smile at that.

“Brilliant. Thanks, Baz. I really am sorry about today - I promise tomorrow will be better. You’re amazing … You know, for helping me out and everything. Thanks so much.”

Simon

Why did I say that? I need to calm down - I’m going to freak him out. I don’t know why it feels so important to me that he agreed. I mean, I liked dancing with Baz today (obviously) It felt different. I liked holding him. Not in a weird way, it’s just when he’s with me he’s not out there planning my demise. He’s right where I want him. I mean it’s just dancing, I’ve danced with other people before. Last Christmas Eve, I danced with Agatha and Mrs Wellbelove (not very well, I didn’t do any proper steps like today - but it still counts). It feels different with Baz, though. I don’t know why. He’s just a good teacher, I suppose. I don’t feel as awkward dancing with him as I do with Agatha and her mum. It feels right, somehow. Baz is the last person I’d expect to like dancing with. I mean he’s evil. Well, not really evil - But he’s a vampire. And he’s always plotting (he’s wicked smart). But, I definitely like this better than fighting.

#carry on #wayward son #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch

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takaraphoenix · 5 years

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Shadowhunters Finale Review

...I can’t even summarize my thoughts properly right now because I am just so wildly exhausted and disappointed and frustrated, so here’s the unfiltered running commentary I made during the two-parter, sorted by characters and due to length beneath the cut:

On Jonathan:

Jonathan back at it again, killing flowers. ~puuure eeeviiil~ (Sorry. Still not over Jocelyn being a fucking dickhead who is ready to murder her son over one dead flower he killed as a toddler...)

...I just... I'm so tired of what they did with Jonathan? When they set him up as Sebastian Verlac, he seemed to layered, but this season, they are completely reducing him to the Incest Boi whose only motivation is “Clary doesn't love me enough!” and absolutely no one has even half a fuck to give about everything he has suffered...? Every abuse that is driving him and forged him...?

He could have been such a layered character. I'm not even talking redemption wise, to use the abuse to make him A Good Boi, but he could have been such an interesting villain, there could have been so much to him. This is stupid and sad.

But I am chocking on my laughter at the Seelie Queen literally teaching him WHAT HE COULDA BEEN TAUGHT FROM THE GET GO. To channel his powers. Granted, she channels them into killing Shadowhunters. But they could have been channeled into killing demons.

With the right parent, the right training, without living in hell and being tortured, he could have been an exceptional Shadowhunter. But let's pretend that he is Truly Inherently Evil only because of his demon blood and hey it's legit because he wants to bang his sister so who cares about this guy LOL.

HOLY SHIT THEY REALLY MADE CLARY MURDER HIM WITH A HUG. What a fucking way to go. I don't... I don't even know what to say to that to be honest.

On Clary:

WHAT THE FUCK HAS SHE DONE??

“How do I come back after everything I've done”. What. What line is that. That's the line they could have given Jace in the first episode of 3B. You know, the guy who saw his own body commit 30+ murders, among them the murder of his own grandmother.

What... What's that everything Clary has done? Dress hotter than usual? Go to a rave? Try some Seelie drugs? Sure she killed Lenaia, but that was also a chick she didn't even know and so far she's not been very traumatized by like – killing her own biological father (seriously, the writers never bothered to give her a genuine reaction to that). Way to be overdramatic, writers.

Shitty Ex Machina Rune's existence aside; WHY does the Ex Machina Rune work?? RUNES DON'T WORK ON DOWNWORLDERS. That was like a whole thing in season 1. They kill mundies and they don't work on Downworlders?? Why the fuck is Clary allowed to play – not just an angel but an actual god at this point.

(But y'all know I am going to use this shitty dumb stupid rune in so many fanfiction.)

...But like holy shit. It is so callous to have her say that she wouldn't trade the Shadow World for anything and that “and I met Jace” like he brought all light into her life when the Shadow World killed her mother. Have the writers just completely forgotten that a month ago she lost her mother, her only biological family left?? Ah but it's totally fine because she has Jace now!!! And even though we literally started the episode off with her being devastated and wondering how she will ever come back after everything she has done, they are now only half an hour later already forgetting that she has just gone through major trauma, that she murdered her own father, that she lost her mother? But oh the Shadow World is super awesome, wouldn't wanna trade those past two, utterly traumatizing months for anything!!! Not even for my mom being alive LOL! Just... do the writers even care about the characters? At all?

HOLY FUCKING GODS THEY REMEMBERED JOCELYN. FUCK THIS IS RIDICULOUS ESPECIALLY AFTER HER CONVERSATION WITH SIMON IN EDOM. I am baffled. But I am 100% behind Jocelyn's message because Clary has been a scary motherfucker all this season now with all the things she has done and the rule-breaking. Fuck yeah she shouldn't be allowed to play God, which she DOES at this point.

But like, on a scale of 1 to 10 how dumb did they have to make Clary? Out of all of the ways she could have killed Jonathan, they decided “Nah man she is totally giving up her Shadowhunter self to hug her brother to death” instead of having Miss Stabby-Stab-Stab pull out a dagger and stab him to death? She literallly just got the warning and decides “LOL nope this is how I go out”. What---

There is a huge difference between a character sacrificing themselves for the greater good because there was 100% no other way and a character somehow turning a completely manageable situation into a self-sacrifice that is completely unnecessary... She could have just stabbed him. Or, you know, captured him with a trick instead of murdering. She could have stayed a Shadowhunter without using the Deus Ex Machina runes, living like a normal Shadowhunter. But they really made her go “If I can't play god, I'd rather give up the Shadow World”.

What the fuck even was that “One Year Later”. They literally just wasted a whole year since C/ace reuniting had zero negative effect on her? She didn't combust or anything. They could have literally went after her the day of the wedding, explained amnesia to her and brought her back. But the writers had to be dramatic bitches that put Jace through hell again, huh.

And what exactly did she believe happened? Like, Jocelyn and Luke and Simon?? Basically everyone she ever knew? What did she think happened to them and to herself? She just decided to go back to art school or what? Did they even think about this ending?

Honestly. It'd have been better had they actually Donna Nobled her and said she can never remember and has to be a mundie. But this? This year gap and bullshit and C/ace looking at each other and she suddenly remembers his name because True Love Wins? That makes it even dumber.

On Jace & Meliorn: (I'm trying to give each character their own for the finale, but... I can't separate those two in this case)

THAT STARTLED LITTLE BACKING OFF JACE DOES WHEN MELIORN TAKES IT TO THE BEDROOM. If that wasn't a coming on from Meliorn, I don't know what is. I am definitely living for this little bit of Jeliorn because that was a ship I was sure I'd never get to see proper interactions of. So, small blessings.

Hng. Jace can't lie. How pretty. Seriously his bond with Meliorn is like the saving grace from all of this. And how much fun Meliorn is having with this. Oh my gods my shipper heart is soaring.

SERIOUSLY I AM LIVING FOR THIS. “A serious question. How handsome do you think I am?” WHY WOULD YOU EVEN ASK THAT. Because you want to let my shipper-heart beat some. Thank you, Meliorn, personally, for my life. (Not to mention the answer. A NINE?? Jace. You so pansexual and into handsome Downworlders. It's canon now and I am blessed.)

I'm just absolutely living for Jace getting to interact with a non-Clary and a non-Alec (especially since all of his Alec-interactions this half-season have only been about Ma/ec...). It's... so refreshing to see them use Jace as... a character... instead of a prop. Even if he's played as a comic relief, I am taking so much more from this.

(ALSO: Jimon sparring! Jimon sparring and JACE BOOPING SIMON'S NOSE WHAT THE FUCK.)

On Alec:

What's with Maryse telling him to “take time to mourn”? What the fuck is that? XD He has literally been in Edom and gone back too. There's always been ways in and out. You're sure fast to bury him.

But also, maybe Alec should focus on the way to bring Magnus back instead of planning this fucking stupid wedding. You'd need your groom first.

Tonight. They're literally... I am weeping at how stupid this is. They got engaged yesterday and are getting married today. I had... actual, dumb hopes that the wedding would happen after a time skip. But I forgot this show doesn't know what time is. Ahahaha. Hilarious.

But holy shit am I angry about him being all dodgy and asking Maryse's permission to invite his own father to his wedding. Like. I am very rationally angry about the fact that all the kids sided with their abusive mother over their father, but that they are really all just treating him like that now is insane. Sure, he cheated on their mother, but he is still their father?? He has still been their father and he has been the good parent. If you can forgive Maryse's abuse just like that, how do you hold Robert cheating on Maryse over him like that? This is absolutely insane. What kind of priorities do those writers have to fuck it up this badly? Like the “oh no dad cheated on you let us all comfort you and totally forget the shitty way you have been treating your children!!!” wasn't bad enough on its own, but that they are completely acting like Robert was not just the cheating husband but somehow also the bad parent now? If this is where the show wanted to end it, they should have from the get-go also written him as the bad parent and her as the good parent, then I'd understand this, I'd understand the taking sides thing, the way they all completely turned away from Robert, the way Maryse blossomed and turned into an entirely different character. That ALL would make sense IF they hadn't decided in the first season and in 2B to write Robert as the warm rather and Maryse as the cold and abusive mother. The starting points and end points don't match.

On Magnus:

Magnus. On that throne. In that light. Now that's a look, to be honest.

Also, awkward conversations with the stepmother are very amusing. :D” (But, honestly, Anna and Harry playing off each other is really great. They play the power-dynamic really fascinating.)

Magnus being like “Well no need to close the door if we burn down the place right?” is a mood. It's so stupid and ridiculous, but like it's right. XD”

I'm glad Magnus at least said thank you to Lorenzo and even invited him to the wedding.

I genuinely don't know how to react to “High Warlock of Alicante” to be honest. Like. I don'T know what to say to that.

On Maia:

...I'd like to live in the alternate reality where Maia was more than just her relationships to boys. I'm still let down by the fact that the one (1) badass shot she got in the trailer was literally her walking away from Jordan's funeral fire, with her other ex and her future boyfriend flanking her from either side. If that doesn't summarize this show, I don't know what does.

And while I admire her decision to reconnect with her parents, it also seems rather messed up considering she literally just decided to be The Alpha. So let's leave the pack that has suffered so many recent losses... all alone. That's... not exactly Alpha behavior, even if it is the right thing for her as an individual at that point.

I mean like yeah sure she came back to become an Alpha, but still it's—a weird choice.

BAT BAT EXISTS BAT IS THERE I LOVE BAT HE GOT TO SPEAK. I am so so salty that he didn't get developed properly, that his relationship with Maia didn't get fully fleshed out.

On Isabelle & Simon:

Isabelle as the Human Torch is sure a very nice visual, to be honest.

(ALSO HELEN! HELEN! HELEN! I am 200% sure I can ship Aline/Helen/Isabelle in peace now. Don't @ me.) Though explain to me why Helen doesn't get the fuck away from Isabelle ASAP after realizing that Downworlders turn Isabelle into basically a bomb? I mean, she is half-Seelie.

...and can everyone maybe focus on “Izzy now catches fire when she is touching Downworlders” instead of “SHE WAS KISSING SIMON!!!”...? Like, priorities, dudes?

And how did she conclude “I explore when I touch demon blood. I should totally go to Edom! The place where demons live!”... and act like that should totally “”shield”” her from the atmosphere? What... logic goes into that? I'm serious, someone explain to me why “I explode when I come in contact with demonic stuff” leads to “but I'ma be extra safe in hell where all demonic things live and the very atmosphere should be demonic!!!”...

And Simon and Isabelle... kiss once... like... literally once and the next time they get a moment of being shown alone they literally already fucked. This show... knows that... you can actually go on dates and have a relationship with... oh no never mind this show has never heard the word “pacing” before I forgot sorry LOL

On Luke:

...But like why did his runes return though. I mean, getting turned into a Downworlder like... burned the runes away. They were gone. Why would him no longer being a Downworlder also immediately reapply all of his runes.

I don't know if I really like this, to be quite honest. I don't feel like we know enough about Luke for me to know what to feel about this? Like, he said he didn't want to be alpha and he's been turned against his will sure, but he's been a wolf for like 20 years now. It's... I don't know what to feel on this. Like, he seems really happy about this, but it also feels incredibly cheap due to the show never actually focusing on his thoughts and feelings??

Okay no now that I'm through with it I actually actively hate it. He should have become mundie. Erase it all. Let him live a mundie life with Clary.

On Lorenzo:

I love how Lorenzo brings up the Downworld Council. SOMETHING I HAVE BEEN WONDERING ABOUT TOO. What the fuck happened to that. But nope, SoRrY Lorenzo you are just here to save Magnus. Again. (Others too, but still. It's once again for selfish reasons of helping the Shadowhunters with shit.)

I really like where they took his character. I thought he was just going to be a shallow prop to take Magnus down. Petty and empty. But that they actually give him growth and personality and a personal goal and that they also made him rekindle with Magnus after admitting what he truly wants? That was... actually good. That was more than I ever expected from those writers. Huh.

ALSO FUCK ME I AM 100% BEHIND LORENZO/UNDERHILL.

On Max:

MAAAAX!!! MAX WITH GLASSES! MAX BEING PRECIOUS! He is literally the only thing about episode 22 that I liked. Like that entire final episode was a fucking shit-show.

On Raphael:

Honestly at this point just fuck this show. It is his father’s wedding and he is a mundane. But let’s just have him interact with his ex and her new guy so he can give them his blessing instead of having him actually interact with Magnus.

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