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giantologist · 10 months

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My New Friend Gorm

In which a 7 year old meets a giant for the very first time.

"Get back here!"

"No wonder they call you Fraidy Finch!"

"I think he ran into the woods! Quick, let's get him!"

The boy's eyes stung with tears as he scrambled over rocks and roots, his skinny limbs burning, lungs aching with need for oxygen that his panicked breaths couldn't give them. The shouts were slowly gaining, and his bruises and grazes still pained him from the day before. He was always too slow, and hiding wasn't easy in such a small town where every one of his spots had been uncovered. No matter where he secreted himself to read, they always found him. 'You need fresh air and sunshine!' his mother said to him every day, pushing him over the threshold and into the clutches of his daily bullies. 'Rise above them.'

He could literally, as he was very tall for a boy of his age, but he was also stick thin and oddly bookish, and his family's status gave him no help either. Thus, he resorted to fleeing into the woods, where the children were urged not to venture.

Around a tree. Over a rock. Below a log. Across a stream. His agility far outweighed his speed, but it couldn't get him far enough away. He supposed that he'd have to give up once more, take the beating and get on with his life. Body quivering, chest heaving, he stopped in front of a dark hill, leaning against the warm vertical surface to catch his breath.

"There he is!" A voice called, but he couldn't bear to look. "Hey, rich boy! Come here and stop being such a wimp!"

"Please, no…" He breathed, making himself stand upright. He could tell that the rest of them had caught up with him, like circling wolves. "This isn't fair…"

"Fraidy Finch, you got any money on you?" The leader of the pack asked as the children grew closer. "Ha! Look, he's crying! Aww, you scared, baby? You gonna…cry…?"

A violent rumble shook the ground, and the boy fell to his scraped knees, cowering with his arms over his head. He heard screams of fear, the children fleeing with sheer terror in their shouts, until eventually all that was left was the sound of deep, grumbling breaths.

"I didn't mean to scare your friends, little one."

The rumbling whisper made the boy's hair stand on end, and he slowly straightened up, finding that the wall behind him had moved. He swallowed hard, looking at the empty woodland floor and the scuffed footprints in the detritus. "A-Are you, ah… the giant?" He asked, not looking around, his heart fluttering in a different way than before. Less panicked. More excited.

"Sure am. I was just havin' a snooze, but I don't mind that your playin' woke me up." When the boy slowly pivoted his head, he was greeted by the sight of a hairy, tattooed fist pressed into the soft loam, supporting the bulk above. The very sight of it, larger than a shed, made him shiver with glee. "My name is Gorm. What's yours, little one?"

"J…Jasper." The boy whispered, but cleared his throat after a moment, bending his neck to look so far upward, seeing kind eyes staring back at him. The nights he'd spent in his dark room listening to the faint buzz of a far away voice, watching the moonlight ripple off the surface of his glass of water as distant footsteps pulsed through the ground, sometimes catching a glimpse of a silhouetted form across the expanse of farmland. He never imagined the giant would look so amicable, not after the stories he'd been told. "Jasper Erasmus Finch."

"Oh!" Gorm exclaimed with force, before remembering himself and sheepishly lowering his voice. "I've heard of the Finches. I didn't expect someone like you to be playin' in the woods."

"I wasn't playing, sir. I was being chased." Jasper stood, his legs shaking. When his knee buckled beneath him, he felt a displacement of air ruffle his clothes, a warm and sturdy surface catching him under his behind. He softly gasped at the sturdiness of the finger, wide eyes tracing it all the way up the massive patterned arm and back to Gorm's bearded face. "They like picking on me. If not for you, they would have beat me up again."

The smile quickly shifted to a scowl. "Rotten li'l beasts." He grumbled. "I'll squash them for ya... I'm kiddin', o'course." As he lifted Jasper, the boy wheeled his arms so he didn't slip backward, only to find that another finger was ready to keep him stable behind him. The lurch upward and the wind in his hair made him awfully giddy, and he couldn't help but grin. The expanse of a palm appeared below him, and he nimbly jumped onto the plush surface. "There we go. Don't be afraid, I got ya."

"I'm not afraid." He smiled, taking in every detail of the surrounding hand with utter delight. The urge to study every inch, to map the lines and swirls and channels, was overwhelming. But he'd been taught manners from a very early age, and he knew that it wasn't appropriate. "I sit awake at night listening to you sometimes. When you move around or speak or sing. I have always wanted to see what you are really like." He paused hesitantly, then added "I never wanted to believe the rumours that you're a monster."

Gorm's cheeks coloured slightly, and he settled back against a sturdy oak, making the tree bend with his bulk. "Well, you're here now, you can see me for yourself. Don't believe what people say about giants. A lot of us are nice!" His gaze shifted to the forest behind Jasper. "Although, if I see those bullies again, I don't know how nice I'll be."

With a soft giggle, the boy shuffled to get comfortable, his odd golden eyes wide and captivated. "I've always wanted to know more about your people, sir."

Gorm chuckled gruffly as he lifted Jasper to be level with his eyes, his incomplete grin radiating comfort. "You can ask me anythin' you like, little one! But I'm afraid we giants ain't too interestin'."

'Giantology by Jasper Finch'

He'd spent a while thinking up a title for his journal, but it seemed the logical name for his writings. After his studies, when his mother would usually force him outside, he ran into the wilderness of his own volition. His bullies attempted to apprehend him, but once they saw that he was headed back into the forest, they decided he wasn't worth it. Free of fresh wounds, he almost skipped with joy as he called out for his new friend. He'd made sure to memorise everything Gorm had said the previous day, but he'd run it by him just to be sure.

"Well, well. You look happy, little one." Gorm smiled down at Jasper, and the boy paused a moment to stare upward. He hadn't seen him standing before, and the seemingly endless expanse of his friend's form was dizzyingly wonderful. "No bullies today?"

"No, they're too afraid to follow me!" He beamed, and when a hand was presented to him, he eagerly scrambled across the treetrunk fingers, giggling at the sensation of being whisked upward. Gorm held his hand to his shoulder, and Jasper climbed up to sit beside his ear, settling down as though he was meant to be there. "Thank you for yesterday."

"All I did was tell you stories." Gorm said, continuing his stroll. "But if it helped you, I'm glad I told you 'em."

The feeling was indescribable. The wind whipped around the boy, every movement reminding him that he was perched atop a colossal creature, every footfall and breath sending vibrations through his bones, feeling both like an invading insect and like Gorm's body was a powerful extension of his own. "I don't get many chances to speak to people who like me."

"Anyone who doesn't like a bright li'l thing like you isn't worth spit." Gorm grumbled. "Don't worry 'bout them. Sure, they might tease and hurt ya, but you got brains. You'll make something of yourself, and they'll only amount to shit-diggers. Oop!" His hand fluttered across his lips. "I mean, gong farmers. Don't swear." A few more strides took him out of the other side of the forest, a journey that was arduous and perilous to humans.

Jasper tittered to himself, taking in the view of the rolling green meadows below them. "I hope you're right."

#g/t #giant tiny #giant/tiny #Art of Finch #Writing

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mistydeyes · 11 months

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Hi, I hope you're having a good day! 🥰

I'd like to ask for a cod pairing pls ✨️

(I hope this ends up being coherent because I did just get back from spending several hours in the blazing sun lol)

as for appearance: I'm 5"4', have wavy brown hair that goes just past my shoulders, green eyes and I'm pretty pale with some freckles. as for body type I guess I'm more on the skinny side but I do have some curves and have been building some muscle lately.

personality-wise, I'm a fellow infp 👋🏻 I tend to be shy around people I don't know yet but once I get to know someone enough to be comfortable I get very talkative and make (sometimes really bad) jokes. my sense of humour bounces from silly to pretty dry or even sarcastic/cynical sometimes. I try to be kind to everyone unless they give me a reason not to, and I very rarely get angry or loud. I also try to always give my friends a sense of reassurance that I sometimes wish someone would give me. I do struggle with generalized anxiety disorder but I've been working on it, trying to live with it and move out of my comfort zone one step at a time.

in terms of interests/hobbies, I love playing video games, especially story-driven or open world adventure/fantasy games, as well as reading and writing, and going for hikes in the woods (I also do a bunch of nature photography). I work out twice a week and am pushing to get to a third time. this is definitely something I need since I work in office administration and sit a lot haha. but I do also like getting physically stronger, it helps my confidence quite a bit.

okay this is starting to get long so I'll cut it off here lol

thank you!💖

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

How you met: Civilian Hikes in autumn were some of your favorites. You loved the crisp, cool weather and always had your camera on you to capture the changing of the seasons. You zipped up your fleece jacket as the soft breeze flowed gently through the trees. Your camera roll was filled with pictures of the wildlife making preparations for the winter and the silhouette of birds against the colorful leaves. The ground crunched under your step as you walked the nature trail. Eventually, you came across a man who was enjoying the beauty of the forest. He wore a warm flannel jacket and his bright smile was picturesque. You shamelessly snapped a picture of him as he was perfectly contrasted against a collection of yellow, red, and orange foliage. You weren't going to say anything until he approached you with a friendly wave. "Was it a good picture?" he asked and you blushed in embarrassment. You looked at your camera and it was, his smile perfectly capturing the enjoyment of fall and the leaves descending elegantly behind him. You sheepishly showed him it and he awed in response. "You have to send me a copy!" he exclaimed and quickly handed his phone over to you to exchange numbers. "I'm Kyle, by the way," he said as you sent yourself a text, "being a model is just a hobby of mine." You both laughed at his comment and said your goodbyes as you continued in opposite directions. You wouldn't find out until months later but he saved your contact as "the pretty photographer."

A peek into your relationship: "My turn!" you exclaimed as Kyle finished playing through another character's unfortunate demise in What Remains of Edith Finch. You had a tradition when he was on leave to play a game you each picked and trade off controlling the main character. It had taken you months to get through the Borderlands series as your boyfriend was terrible at making quick decisions and completing dialogue branches. He pushed the keyboard and mouse to your direction as you continued to direct Edith through the sprawling maze of a house. You had started the game this morning and after many breaks (Kyle was so upset after certain character deaths) you were finally approaching the ending. You had just played through Lewis' story and both were heartbroken at his fate. "This game is so twisted," Kyle said as you finally navigated to Edith's great grandmother's room. "I know but the art and the story is just so good," you said as you sat back and watched another tragic cutscene playthrough. "You are something else," he joked as he gently held your hand to pull the mouse away. By now, it was only Edith left and the plot twist left you both yelling and screaming at your pc. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE WAS PREGNANT?" Kyle yelled as tears pricked your eyes. "Why did she have to die in childbirth?" you sobbed and shut your computer off as the cut scenes rolled. Kyle picked you up and placed you in his lap to comfort you. "Next time I pick the game," he joked and you could even see he was getting a little glossy in the eyes. "Deal" you said as you wiped at your cheeks. "Can we watch something silly like FNAG reaction montages or something?" you asked and he nodded as he carried you off to your living room for some much needed laughs.

#izziespairings #madebyizzie #cod mwii #mw2 imagine #task force 141 #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #mw2

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lucky-peoqle · 4 years

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unwanted guests | d.m.

pairings: draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader, somewhat platonic!weasley twins (fred is pretty flirty😁)x hufflepuff!reader, platonic!cedric diggory x reader, and platonic!zacharias smith x reader.

summary: y/n the hufflepuff american student promised her housemates, cedric and zacharias, that she would watch them practice for their next match, she was accompanied by the infamous gryffindors, the weasley twins. as watching her house, she starts hearing whooping and hollering, she soon gets annoyed with the group of slytherins and confronts them.

warnings: some swearing, blood, pansy bodyshames reader

a/n: hello, ive bee super busy with school !! im currently obsessed with hp again :) hope u all enjoy this,, its a bit longer than usual. this is set during goblet of fire !! :) very unedited and kinda rushed :/ sorry

the temperature was pretty cold on this particular fall day, as the y/h/c hufflepuff sat outside, writing in a journal she kept, looking up to answer her housemate and one of her best friend, cedric diggory's questions.

"so, will you come? zacharias thought it would be a good idea," he said, motioning to the blonde hufflepuff boy who was watching from afar.

"hm? oh, uh, sure! if it makes you two happy," she looked up from her journal, smiling at the brunette, then the blonde.

"great! i'll tell him when we get to lunch."

and with that, the bell rang, making the other people outside with you get up and head inside to the great hall.

the two of you got up, and started making your way to the great hall, colored robes passing you by. "did you ever open up the golden dragon egg?" you said, looking up at him.

"yeah! that reminds me, i have to tell harry about that. thanks," he smiled.

you smiled back, "potter? you're telling him how to open it?"

"why not, y'know. it's the least i could do," he shrugged.

"that's so sweet! i'm glad you two are getting along."

by now you were in the great hall, walking past the gryffindor table to your table, making eye contact with the golden trio and weasley twins as you passed by with your best friend.

you were in the same year as the golden trio, meeting them the first day on the train, them finding you american accent amusing, but they got use to it pretty fast. then they introduced you to ron's twin brothers, fred and george, they were drawn to you instantly, poking fun of your accent from time to time.

last but not least, you met cedric. you met cedric in the common room your second day of hogwarts. you had drifted to sleep, one of you housemates cats curled on your lap, and cedric had woken you, helping you back to bed. ever since then you had been best friends ever since.

you took your sear next to cedric, zacharias smith, another close friend of yours, sat across from the two of you.

"zach! good news, y/n is coming to watch us practice tomorrow," the brunette smiled brightly.

"great! i can't wait to show off to you, maybe it'll make you fall for me instead of that weasley twin," he said jokingly.

"who? fred?" she chuckled, "zach, you're kidding right? freddies just a friend. sure we flirt, but that's what friends do, right?"

"you have a weird interpretation of friendship y/n/n," zach stifled a laugh.

you rolled your eyes, turning your head towards cedric, who was looking at the ravenclaw table, that was standing next to your table. you followed his eyesight that was met with cho chang.

"ced is making googly eyes at his girlfriend again," you laugh, making him turn his attention to you.

"so what? don't act like i didn't see you smiling at fred weasley."

"i smiled at all of them! fred and i don't have feelings for each other," she huffed.

"suree," zacharias said in a sing song voice.

you shook your head, poking your food around your plate, looking across the ravenclaw table to the slytherin table. you saw draco malfoy joking with his friends, his cold grey eyes drifting to meet your warm y/e/c ones. his eyes grew colder once they finally met yours. you softly smiled at him and his eyes grew softer, and he quickly turned his attention back to his group of friends.

'huh, weird,' you thought, turning your attention back to cedric and zacharias.

the day quickly passed, ending like it always does. going into the hufflepuff common room, it being filled with muggle and non-muggle type plants, the warm fireplace going. you made your way up to your dorm you shared with hannah abbott. changing out of your robs and falling asleep quickly.

you woke up, the warm fall sun peeking through the window of your dorm. you looked over at hannah, who had been awake but reading, it was still a bit early so breakfast wouldn't be ready yet. it was saturday after all, so no need to worry about classes.

"morning," you mumbled tiredly to hannah.

"good morning!" she put her book down, "i came back late last night from study with ernie and you were out like a light!"

"yeah, last night was kinda of tiring," you chuckled, sitting up, "why are you up so early anyway?"

"i thought we could go down to the great hall together, we've been so busy and rarely get to talk, why not catch up on our way down there yeah?"

"sure! that sounds lovely," you smile, getting up from your bed.

the two of you got ready for the day, putting on your hufflepuff robes, and made your way down to the common room. only a few people were sat in the common room, a few waving and bidding you good morning as you passed by.

you two walked out of the common room and head up to the great hall. "so how have you been?" hannah asked beside you.

"i've been well! busy with getting cedric through the tournament, y'know..."

"yeah, that must be though."

"it isn't actually! im extremely proud of him, i know he'll win this."

"i really hope he does! finally a hufflepuff getting the recognition they deserve," hannah smiled.

"newt scamander is pretty cool," you smiled, "i take great pride in being as the same house as him."

hannah shrugged, "yeah, very interesting man, he is. isn't loony lovegood related to him?"

"don't call her that, she's very nice. but, i believe so, in some way."

by now, you're in the great hall, making your to your table. you continue to chat till hannah departs from you to sit with susan bones and leanne, who were chatting amongst themselves.

you quickly find cedric, who was chatting with justin finch-fletchley. you sat next to him and started putting food on your plate. he heard you and turned your attention on you.

"good morning y/n/n," he smiled brightly.

"good morning ced, how're you?"

"great! excited for practice today."

you two chatted for the rest of breakfast, by the end of it, you were stuffed. you looked at the slytherin table, remembering the look draco malfoy gave you. you spotted him, he was talking to crabbe, goyle, and pansy, laughing, smiling, he looked happy.

draco turned his head to answer someone's question, while doing so, he caught you staring. you blushed brightly, hesitating before giving you a smile. he returned the gesture with one of his iconic smug smirks.

you looked away, turning your attention to cedric, "practice starts soon, i should get ready. see you out there?"

you nodded with a smile, and he smiled back, getting up and leaving the great hall.

you got up after a bit of thinking, and made your way to your common room to grab your journal and scarf, since it would be chilly out.

once you did so, you made your way back up the stairs, going through corridor to corridor.

you were walking in peaceful silence, until you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist, and lift you up, spinning you around.

you let out a laugh as the two head headed boys laughed loudly, "fred weasley! put me down!"

"what's the magic word?"

"please!"

"no, but close enough," he said, dropping you, making you land on your butt.

"ouch! fred! george! what were you thinking?"

"we weren't! so what are you up to?" george chuckled.

"i'm going to watch cedric and zacharias practice," you smile, "wanna come? i wouldn't mind the company."

"sure!" the boys said together.

you're little group of three walked to the quidditch posts, your yellow and black scarf clashing with their red and yellow ones. fred had thrown an arm around you shoulder.

you sat down in the middle of the twins, fred's arm sitting around you. you were right, it was chilly, but it was nice. this was your favorite time of year.

you watched as cedric and zacharias flew around, catching the ball or passing it to another teammate. zacharias caught sight of you, and winked, motioning to the arm around your shoulder. you just stuck your tounge out in response.

the time you spent was fun, until a certain group of slytherins decided to crash the practice. you rolled your eyes as the began to yell and laugh at them, distracting the players.

"ignore them," george said, "they have no brains, nor can they play fair."

you chuckled at that, "you're right on that one."

the four slytherins were still yelling, it was very annoying. fred and george reassuring you to leave them alone and they'll get bored and leave soon.

you kept your temper, watching your house practice. it was going fine, until draco yelled something towards cedric that made your best friend look at him, the ball hitting him right in the face, knocking cedric off his broom.

you gasp as you got up quickly, looking over the railing, watching cedric get up from his spot on the ground, wiping his now bloodied nose.

you turn to malfoy, who was staring in disbelief, but always laughing. pansy parkinson was shrieking out laughter, it hurt your ears. you walk up to the four, george and fred calling out to you to stop.

"hey!"

the four turned towards you, laughing still.

"what do you want, l/n?" draco asked.

"you ass! cedric could have gotten hurt! he's never done anything to you! you distracted him on purpose so that you wouldn't have to face loosing to him in our next quidditch match against slytherin!"

"and so what? it's not like you can stop us from coming up here during their practice," pansy laughed. "you're just a pathetic little hufflepuff, well i wouldn't say little... your robes make you look fat."

you took a step back, you had always been insecure about your weight and body image. you began to tear up. george and fred too far away to hear what was going on. you opened your mouth to defend yourself, but nothing came out except a small squeak.

pansy, crabbe, and goyle all let out shrieks of laughter. you couldn't let them see you cry, so you ran. you heard shouting behind you. draco yelling something, and the twins shouting after you, following you.

you had lost them though, finding yourself in moaning myrtles bathroom. you said down the wall, letting out sob after sob. you sat there crying for a while, until you heard someone come in.

"leave me alone, you're unwanted here." you choke out, looking away from them.

"sorry about what pansy said back there, i told her since the start of third year, you were off limits."

you turn around, seeing the platinum blonde slytherin. "off limits?"

"from us bullying you, she's been jealous of you since."

"jealous? of me? what are you talking about?"

draco took a seat next to you, "i've fancied you for a while, just never had the courage to tell you. i thought you liked one of the weasley twins honestly."

you shook you head, "or were you just too ashamed to tell me since im a pathetic hufflepuff?" you sniffed.

"what? no, no! that's not it, i was just scared. I didn't want to be rejected, i guess."

"the thing back there with cedric, you're an ass for that."

"i know, i didn't mean for him to get knocked off his broom, i deserved to get yelled at."

you sat in comfortable silence for a while, not knowing what to say. pansy's words making their way back into your thoughts.

"pansy was right."

draco laughed, "about?"

"me being fat, my robes look horrible on me."

"don't say that! y/n, you're on of the most beautiful people i've ever seen walk this earth," draco said looking over at you.

"why the sudden urge to tell me about your feelings?"

"because it felt right... like yesterday and this morning, you smiled at me and it felt like it was time," he sighed.

you smiled over at him, and grabbed his hand. he intertwined your fingers and smiled back. he began to lean in, until his lips met yours, fireworks going off. you pulled away, your face bright read.

"who would of thought, me, draco malfoy, slytherin prince, dating a hufflepuff..."

"the world works in crazy ways," you smile, "i'm glad you came looking for me."

"so am i, y/n, so am i."

end.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco fanfiction #draco imagine #draco malfoy #fred wealsey #george wealsey x reader #fred weasley x reader #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #weasley twins #george weasley #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #harry potter x reader #draco malfoy imagine #weasley twins x hufflepuff!reader #fred weasley x hufflepuff!reader

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catharrington · 3 years

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Strawberry Seeds and Love Potions. (T, 2.4K words)

@harringroveweekoflove day 2: LOVE POTION && MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURES. Also including: witch Robin, post season 3 recovering Billy, flustered but giving it his best Steve, and cat boys. Or cat men? No, cat boys.

***

The coffee mug clicked onto the table with an otherworldly menace. Steve’s brown eyes darted to it, then back up to Robin. He furrowed his brows in a question. But before he could open his mouth, she held up her hand.

“It’s not poison,” she explained.

“Could have fooled me, Robs,” Steve hissed.

“It’s called a potion, dingus. It’s going to help!” She pushed the cup farther down the bar. The diner around them was mostly closed, and Robin was the only waitress in the place. Her peach colored apron brought out the green of her wide, devious eyes.

“Potion... poison... that’s like one letter different,” Steve leaned back in his stool away from the mug.

“Wow, so you know how to spell. What other skills will you showcase, The Amazing Harrington?” Robin’s lips curled up in an evil grin, leaning her body over the bar to dig the insult farther.

Steve just scoffed. Putting his elbow up on the bar and shielding himself as he tried to get back to the open College text book he was supposed to be reading. All the words were rushing together in swirls of black and white. He pushed his thumb into his curved bottom lip to try and force himself to focus, chewed on the pad of it, but he could swear the mug was mocking him.

Could swear he could smell that strawberry pink liquid Robin had poured for him when he ordered a simple black coffee.

“Drink it,” Robin snapped.

“No,” Steve growled.

“Are you going to grow a backbone and actually confess then?” She quirked one brow up.

Her face was so condescending. So smug. Steve hated how much he knew that look, how it made him sort of fond for her.

“I mean,” he sighed. His walls crumbling in defeat. His fingers coming up to join in worrying his bottom lip. “I mean I might?”

“It’s been a year Steve. A year of following him around like a little stray kitten! A year of ‘Oh Billy, I’ll give you a ride!’ ‘Oh Billy, how was physical therapy?’ ‘Oh Billy, pay attention to me!’—“

“I get it, I get it!” Steve turned towards her again to motion with his hand to keep it down. Waving his wide palm around until Robin’s pursed face cracked into a giggle. “Just keep it down, would you?”

And he turns over his shoulder to survey the empty diner before he’s got enough courage to look at her again.

“Yeah, okay. I’ve got a fat, stupid crush on Billy. And I know that I’m the most embarrassing and dumb guy you know. But...,” he trails off. Eyes wandering back down to the coffee cup. “It’s not the same as Nancy Wheeler or even Tammy Thompson. So much can— no, so much has gone wrong. If I... confessed right now, It would just make everything too much for him.”

His fingers nervously tick across the mint green bar. Wishing like hell he could cross them in front of his chest and make a barrier.

Robin takes a step forward. Her own fingers an inch away from his. She twitches like she can’t make up her mind if she wants to grab them. Like someone worrying their bottom lip if they are going to pick the last slice of pie in the diner’s glass container. But she does, reaching out to lay her skinny fingers and their chipping black nail polish over his own.

“Dingus,” she starts lovingly, “you don’t know any of that.”

Steve scoffs, rolls his eyes like he’s going to turn away, but Robin holds his hand tightly.

“You don’t know if it’s too much for him, or what he wants. And you don’t,” Robin took a second before continuing, her breath hitching, “you don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

Hawkins, Indiana is the poster town for unknown tomorrow’s. Steve knows way too well about that. The tunnels crawling with slime and vines that play host to the monsters of the world.

But Billy, he surely knows better than anyone. It’s been a whole year but noone’s going to ever forget what he did. What happened to him under the control of a creature called The Mind Flayer. How Billy used himself like a human shield and died to try to make up for it. Just to come back with an electric jolt to his tattered heart.

They had to stitch new lungs inside his chest. He called himself Zombie Boy now. Called the patchwork scars heavy metal.

Steve just smiled. Nodded his head as he watched Billy climb out the crumbled wreckage of his shell. Climb out a new man, a man Steve caught himself falling head over heels for.

“You’re right, Robs,” Steve exhales.

“Oh, what was that?” Robin giggled, leaning in to hear better.

Steve pushed her away by their joint hands. Wiggling his fingers afterwards as if cursed.

His breath quipped and held tight in his chest as he turned back to the coffee mug. It sat waiting for him. The light red liquid swimming with foam and black seeds at the top. As if no matter how long it sat, it was always freshly prepared.

Steve gripped the handle of the white mug hard. Thought about how quick Billy’s body hit the ground when he died. How quick it all felt to Steve who had to helplessly stand back and watch it all.

He lifted the mug to his lips and drank in desperate, greedy gulps.

And as he finished it and slammed the ceramic back down on the bar, he didn’t immediately feel different. His mouth felt strange, the red juice had a powdery after-taste and much more seeds than his gag reflex was expecting. But as he screwed up his face from the flavor, he didn’t feel changed. Or empowered. Or whatever Robin was trying out with this magic spell.

“I don’t—,” Steve started, but his voice stopped just as it started. His head pounded like a drum was beating right next to his ears.

Doubling over in his stool, he gripped at the sides of his head in a panic. His whole skull felt like it was vibrating. Shifting around even, his scalp moving at the top of his head as if something were to burst out.

Steve grabbed two fist fulls of his hair and groaned through the wave of pain. Burying his chin in his chest to try and stop the noises before they came. It was so painful, but somehow only lasted a second.

As sudden as it came, he felt fine again.

Steve jerked his head up to scream at Robin , when he noticed her eyes wandering to the top of his head.

He followed them with hesitant fingers, slowly running up his now messy head of quaffed brown locks under his fingertips brushed something new.

Giving an undignified yelp, he drew his hand backwards as if burnt. His eyes were wide and pleading with Robin. But she watched him right back with the same face. As if she didn’t make this, as if it wasn’t her poison potion that created this.

Steve timidly touched the new addition to his head again. This time he didn’t finch as his fingertips sank into hair that felt soft as fur. Following it up to a point, and then feeling as it curved inwards to softer peach fuzz.

He could feel something, as his fingers moved, he could feel them as easily as if he were touching the lobes of his ears.

Because he was touching his ears.

A quick glance to a dingy mirror hanging at the back of the bar confirmed it for him. There was a pretty pair of brown cat ears sprung from the top of his head.

“Robin,” he breathed. Unable to fully grasp how he felt. “What was that drink exactly?”

She blinked at him, gathering her thoughts before she cleared her throat. “It’s um, it’s supposed to be a charm. An aid, like-like an enhancer. It said it would bring out the traits that the person you craft the potion for desires the most.”

Then she stopped to laugh, her red lips caught between gaping open or turning up on the corners in a mocking laugh. “I didn’t— wow! I thought worst case scenario would be you’ll turn into an asshole like you were in high school. B-But this?”

Steve looked from her back to the mirror. Wrapping one hand around the pointed triangle of his ear. Pushing it down just to watch it perk back up again.

“I’m... I’m a cat boy?” Steve stutters out a gasping breath.

“Well, more like a cat man, really,” Robin tries to help. “Come on, you’re almost old enough to buy beer.”

“Really helpful, Robs, thanks so much for the curse and now the insults!” He shouts.

Holding up her hands in defense, her smile doesn’t drop. Even in her shoulders Steve can see she’s quivering with laugher.

He feels along the base of his new ears. How the fur is the same color and melts almost perfectly into his own silky hair. How it feels good, actually, to scratch his blunt nails there just like how a house cat would enjoy it.

“This isn’t some trait. Or some, something that Billy would find attractive in me.” Steve groans. “This is some freaky kink!”

Robin finally clasps her hand over her mouth to dam up the waterfall of laugher. It hits against her palm in a muffled, annoying, cruel noise. She shakes her head as if she wanted to argue but couldn’t get past how funny she found it.

“You must have mixed up the wrong stuff, Robin! Put the wrong magical thing in the mixture!” Steve tried to shake his head out to unstick his thoughts.

He runs his hands through his hair as he does when he gets flustered, and now his cat ears bend with the motion so they don’t get tugged on. Folding neatly onto his head before bouncing back up to attention.

It felt so weird, but somehow it didn’t feel very different at all. They acted as if they’ve always been there.

“Yeah, okay, that’s it,” Steve nodded to himself. “You gave me the wrong potion. It’s okay, it happens! Just whip up a new one that’s for reversing cat ears. That’s in your witch book right?”

Robin kept her hand over her mouth and kept shaking her head. She wasn’t replying to anything Steve said. And it was honestly making him more mad than the new ears on top of his head.

“Hey, is it really funny enough for all that?” he mused.

Then Steve looked back up at the mirror. He turned his head side to side to admire the way his ears moved with him. How they were his hair color on the outside then a flushed pink in the very middle. How there were strands of lighter brown between that and those reminded him of how highlighted his hair gets in the summer sun.

“I don’t know. I think they... I think they sort of suit me?” He shrugged.

Robin dropped her hands and her laugher was louder without it, but she managed to catch her breath to finally reply. “Oh, they suit you alright. You’re a natural at this stuff, Garfield.”

Steve furrowed his eye brows. Cat ears folding down on his head in defense. “I’m not orange,” he hissed back.

Robin opened her mouth with likely more insults and no actual help from the aspiring witch who caused all this mess, when she was interrupted. The bell above the entrance letting out a loud ding.

The front door, painted in matching mint green like the bar, swung open. And like he was summoned, like his ears were simply ringing so much from being talked about he hunted down the source, in walked Billy.

He was wearing a grey hoodie. One of many that he collected once he got discharged out of his hospital. This one Steve was familiar with, because it was his. Handed down with a coat and a couple other winter items as Steve feigned indifference over concern about Billy’s California blood staying warm. An old Hawkins High baseball league logo sitting right in the middle. It’s fading green and orange design still bright enough to make Steve’s breath catch in his throat.

“Hey, Harrington,” Billy greeted. He lifted his big, scarred hand to wipe the hood down from his head. Letting loose the wild mess of short curls that are regrowing on his head.

“Hey, Billy,” Steve croaked out. His voice was awkward. His face, he knew, must be blushing bright red.

He turned to seek help from Robin, but the swinging door that lead into the kitchen was rocking back and forth on its hinges. She must have run away as soon as Billy came in. And Steve was too busy watching his entrance to even notice.

Cursing under his breath, Steve racked his brain with an excuse. Some logical way to explain why he had sprouted two new fluffy ears off his head.

He felt like he was playing a pinball machine in his head. Flashing lights and jingling noises were going off. But nothing was coming to him. He couldn’t find any words to offer at all to Billy.

So he whipped his head to the side, watched as Billy stopped glancing around the empty diner to finally settle on Steve.

And he watches as Billy’s gorgeous, totally unfair pretty blue eyes lift to see the cat ears on his head.

“Woah, Harrington,” Billy exhales like he’s blowing a mouth full of cigarette smoke. “That’s really—,”

“I know, Billy, okay! It’s um, um?” Steve waves his hands around as if that can turn the wheels of his thinking some more. But he can’t think. Not well anyway, when Billy’s standing here looking so handsome, so warm, and so alive right in front of him.

“Yeah, okay, I can totally explain this—,”

Billy cuts him off with a soft chuckle. Just under his breath. Steve closes his mouth quick enough to make his teeth click.

“I don’t know, Steve. Ya don’t have to explain it. It’s kinda cute, actually,” Billy drawls out his words low and soft. And then smiles at him.

A second ticks by. Billy’s boots skid on the tile as he steps even closer. All the way until he’s right next to Steve. Grabbing the back of a stool right next to him.

And Billy hasn’t taken his eyes off Steve’s ears once. And he’s got a little sparkle in them like the first time Billy got a point over him during basket ball practice back in high school. And oh, oh.

“Cute?” Steve parrots back.

“Yeah, super cute,” Billy confesses.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove fic #my fic #harringrove fanfic #steve/billy #harringrove moodboard #harringroveweekoflove #harringrove week of love #cat boy Steve #cat boys in my Harringrove week of love? it’s more likely than you think #my moodboards

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pinnithin · 3 years

Text

invited home

This started as a “haha funnie gman eat a pizza” fic and turned into a soft little story about family. 3406 words.

Remembering etiquette was, perhaps, the hardest part of this.

The “hardest part of this” changed pretty frequently — often associated with whatever he was dealing with at the time. The week that took Gordon’s hand and very nearly his life was several months behind him, but he still heard the echoes of the Resonance Cascade in little things as the days passed. He heard it in the low hum of the air conditioner in his window and the backfire of a tailpipe outside. He kept the lights on at night and heard the echoes in his sleep.

It would never really go away, he guessed.

The best he could do, dealing with the hardest part of whatever his day brought him, was to simply keep living. A clockwork routine grounded him. He did normal things like buy groceries and hike in the county foothills - sometimes alone, sometimes with Tommy. Black Mesa and all the horrors it held may have broken the two of them, but they were slowly putting the pieces of each other back together.

So it shouldn’t have surprised him when he invited him to dinner with his father, right?

They were... well, they were something. Gordon found it difficult to call Tommy his boyfriend when they’d crash landed straight from acquaintances to partners in Black Mesa. The guy was the only reason Gordon was still alive, and he felt that he’d be repaying that act of kindness for the rest of his days. That sort of unwarranted devotion wasn’t exactly grounds for a normal courtship.

But this is what people did. They bought groceries and went for walks and had dinner with family. Tommy was offering this ritual to Gordon in an attempt to ground him, just like he helped him establish his other routines. It was in his best interest to take it.

The one story adobe in Sandia Heights was far more nondescript than Gordon was expecting, fitted cozily into the neighborhood on a street named Desert Finch Lane. It was evening, and the setting sun washed the walls a soft pink. The front lawn was xeriscaped with a bed of gravel and some strategic placements of yucca and saguaro, and a straight stone path marched right up to the front door. Gordon checked his phone one more time before he exited his vehicle - this house seemed far too normal to belong to someone like Tommy’s father.

No, the address Tommy sent him matched the numbers on the mailbox. Briefly, he glanced over the rest of the conversation as he reached with a free hand to kill the ignition.

T: Only if you want to! I know the last time you spoke was kind of weird... G: its fine it was a weird day haha G: no yeah id love to though G: do i need to bring anything? T: :D T: I guess you can if you want? It’s not going to be fancy or anything - we’ll probably order takeout. T: We just like to get together every month or so to catch up and I wanted to bring you along this time! No pressure. G: oh is this like G: a family thing? T: Well, yeah. Is that okay? G: its great! just checking G: see you then

T: :) T: See you.

A smile touched his mouth. Tommy rarely asked Gordon for anything, so he knew this was important to him even if he downplayed it. Gordon wouldn’t say he was a fan of Tommy’s father, but if Tommy wanted him to smooth things over after the Black Mesa incident, well, he’d try. For him, he’d try.

He didn’t know if Tommy’s father drank, so he passed on the wine, deciding instead that one can never go wrong with garlic bread. His eyes fell to the loaf he’d picked up from Albertson’s on his way over, still warm and wrapped in a foil package in the passenger seat. He’d done the meet-the-parents dance a few times before - a lifetime ago, it felt - but none of his partners had ever mattered this much to him, and none of their fathers had ever been gods.

Remembering etiquette, he reflected, was the hardest part of this.

He slid out of the car, taking the bread with him, and marched up to the front door. It was painted a bright turquoise with the word Bienvenidos scripted across the middle in white decal letters. This struck him as odd, because Tommy’s father didn’t seem the type to care about suburban design motifs, but he only hesitated a moment before raising a fist to rap his knuckles on the door.

Only a few seconds passed before the door swung open, and relief rolled over Gordon when he saw it was Tommy in the doorway. He was dressed in his usual button up, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he smiled like a sunrise. Gordon grinned back. He didn’t think the rush of affection that overtook him every time he laid eyes on the man would ever really fade.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Tommy answered, still smiling. “Come on in.”

He stepped back to allow Gordon entry, and his presence somewhat quelled Gordon’s trepidation as he crossed the threshold into Mr. Coolatta’s house.

“I hope garlic bread is okay,” he said as Tommy shut the door behind him. His eyes caught the neat line of shoes in the entryway, and he began jimmying his sneakers off. “I wasn’t sure what we were having.”

“It’s perfect,” Tommy answered, turning from the door. He watched Gordon attempting to remove his shoes without the help of his hands with a hint of amusement. “Um, do you want me to take that?” he asked, indicating the bread.

“I’ve got it,” Gordon muttered distractedly, finally kicking off one shoe and then the other. “You didn’t grow up here, did you?”

Tommy watched the sneakers go flying down the hall, a laugh in his eyes, but he didn’t comment. “God, no,” he answered. “Dad downsized a couple years ago.” He paused, flicking a brief look around the room, before adding, “He decorated the place himself.”

Gordon followed Tommy’s gaze. It looked like a house, at a glance. There were throw pillows on the leather couch and an artificial plant rested tastefully on the coffee table. Picture frames and various ornaments adorned the mantle, functionally useless objects stuffed between photos of the Coolatta family through the years. His eyes caught a decorative globe, some pillar candles, and a geometric silver figurine before landing on a sunny portrait of a smiling child - Tommy, he guessed. A wall hanging of colorful overlapping rectangles covered the space next to the south window.

All at once, Gordon felt he was in a place that was trying very hard to be a house, without quite knowing what a house’s qualifying factors were. Aside from the photos, the only clue to the owner’s tastes was the record player against the far wall, crackling out music from a time period Gordon didn’t recognize. Something with a strange time signature and a dreamlike melody. It was possible the song was from an era that had not yet happened.

He looked back to Tommy and found him studying his face. “It’s nice,” he offered summarily.

Tommy laughed quietly through his nose. “I think he just went to the home decor section of Target and picked out some stuff he liked,” he said.

“Oh,” Gordon replied. “Y’know, now that you say it - yeah. Yeah, I can see that.”

Tommy didn’t exactly look uncomfortable with Gordon’s presence in his father’s house, but he didn’t seem wholly relaxed either. The set of his shoulders betrayed him, as did his hands, which fidgeted at the seams of his pockets before extending to take the bread from him.

“Here, let me - we can put this in the kitchen,” he said, gesturing behind him.

It was possible that etiquette slipped his mind as frequently as it did Gordon’s, and that made him feel a little better about the whole thing. He should have assumed as much - he and Tommy both used the skeleton of routine to prop themselves up, despite the fact that they found social rules tiresome at best. A necessary framework for people like them. Gordon allowed Tommy to take the package from his arms and followed him down the hall.

The kitchen was a little more homey, if only for the healthy clutter of appliances on the counter. Two boxes from Dion’s Pizza sat on the island, and seeing them pulled an audible sigh of relief from Gordon.

Tommy noticed. “Yeah, we’re not - we don’t cook a lot around here,” he admitted, sliding the package of garlic bread next to the pizza.

“That makes me feel better about bringing over store bought bread,” Gordon chuckled. “Where’s uh,” he darted a glance around the room, as if the man in question would materialize if he mentioned him aloud. “Where’s your dad at, anyway?”

“Oh, he’s...” Tommy finished his sentence with a vague wave of his hand. “He’ll show up sooner or later.”

He didn’t seem concerned, as if his father disappearing to another time and place arbitrarily was something that happened a lot. It made sense - Tommy was self-sufficient to the point of being an outright loner - and Gordon guessed that Mr. Coolatta’s inhuman qualities probably didn’t lend to a very warm upbringing.

Tommy was watching him, observant as always. “He’s not really a bad person,” he said at length. “He just… he sees things differently.”

“Shit, man,” Gordon laughed and shook his head. “Sometimes I think you can read my mind.”

“Oh, I never told you?” Tommy responded, raising his eyebrows impishly.

He didn’t seem to want to discuss his father any further, so Gordon laughed at Tommy’s joke and didn’t press it. They fell into a comfortable discussion, standing together in the kitchen and waiting on the third member of their little party. This part Gordon knew how to do - speaking with Tommy always felt like coming home, and while they were still learning things about each other, he never felt any pressure to behave in a way that wasn’t his whole, genuine self. He saw the slope of Tommy’s shoulders slowly relaxing while they talked, and felt himself mirroring him as the minutes ticked by.

Tommy’s father materialized in the time it took for Gordon to blink, one moment absent and the next present. Spooked, Gordon jumped slightly at his appearance, while Tommy uttered an unaffected and congenial, “hey, Dad.”

Mister Coolatta stood under the kitchen lights exactly how Gordon remembered him. His suit was as smooth and clean as his hair, and he wondered if the man even thought about wearing anything else, much less owned a varied wardrobe. Tommy’s father was, in many ways, like Tommy himself. Tall and neat and watchful. Seeing them side by side, it was easier to envision them as family, and Gordon no longer wondered where Tommy picked up his carefully neutral expression from.

The man in the suit fixed his cool gaze on Gordon. “Mister Freeman,” he said. “It is, hm, good to see you again.”

Gordon extended a hand before he could lose his nerve. This was what people did. And while Tommy’s father may not necessarily be a person, that was no reason for Gordon to deny him the courtesy of a handshake.

“You too, sir,” he answered. “Happy to be here.”

Tommy’s father paused for a moment, studying Gordon’s outstretched hand with interest. “I trust the hand hasn’t been giving you trouble since your little incident?”

“Uh,” Gordon faltered only for a moment. “No. It’s been just fine.”

“Dad,” Tommy intoned quietly, passing a glance between his father and Gordon.

This spurred the man in the suit to recall etiquette, himself, and then Gordon was shaking hands with a god.

It was surprisingly normal, all things considered. His grip wasn’t quite as solid as Gordon expected, though that was less a testament to his grip strength than it was to his short-of-corporeal nature. His skin felt like something that was pretending to be skin, and it was the same temperature as the air around them. But he nodded and looked Gordon in the eye like any other man, so he guessed he’d had worse handshakes before in his life.

Mr. Coolatta released him and angled his head to his son. “Forgive me for my lateness, I… had to take care of some things on the ah, ‘out-side,’ as it were.”

“It’s fine, Dad,” Tommy answered, then added, “I picked up the pizza.”

His father’s eyes lit on the boxes, seemingly for the first time. “Dion’s,” he observed. “Excellent choice.”

After a short, awkward silence, Gordon blurted, “should we eat?” and Tommy sighed a grateful “yes,” before nudging his father toward the dining room.

As Gordon took a step to gather the pizzas into his arms, he felt Tommy skate his fingers delicately across the inside of his palm.

“Thank you,” he murmured in his ear, quiet and just for him.

Gordon wasn’t sure what exactly Tommy was thanking him for, but he caught his hand before he could withdraw and gave a reassuring squeeze. He was warm and solid and alive, and it anchored him.

“We got this,” he told Tommy, smiling.

The dining room was another testament to Mr. Coolatta’s decorating tastes. Gordon was not quite successful in withholding a chuckle when he noticed a Live, Laugh, Love sign on the wall, and this earned him a gentle elbow in the ribs from his partner. Tommy was carrying a set of plates and silverware in one hand and some napkins in another.

When Gordon offered to help set the table, Tommy only shook his head mischievously, and the cutlery leapt from his hands on their own.

Right. He was dating a demigod. This was a detail Gordon often forgot about, if only for the fact that Tommy displayed his power in subtle, quiet ways that went unnoticed. Here, however, he had no such reservations.

This was a Tommy Gordon hadn’t gotten to see yet, and he caught himself staring as he set the table without even touching a plate. He handled himself with an ease he didn’t show out in public, manipulating space with a well-practiced comfort that indicated years of doing it this way. A Coolatta ritual, for Coolattas only. Gordon, an outsider, felt his nervousness slowly melt into gratitude at being invited to the table. He understood now - Tommy didn’t want Gordon here just to smooth things over with his father. He wanted to share his life with him, every jigsawed piece of it.

Conversation was easier than anticipated. Tommy led the discussion at first, updating his father on his new job at the VLA in Socorro. Working with radios in the quiet desert, listening to the stars, seemed to suit him, and the fondness with which he recalled his nighttime shifts alone was genuine. Gordon tucked into his slice of 505 (pepperoni and green chile) and watched Mr. Coolatta’s facial expression as he absorbed the information.

The man sat perfectly still except to give acknowledging nods here and there, and his pizza remained untouched on his plate. At least, that was Gordon’s first assumption, until he realized the slice was gradually disappearing bite by bite every time he looked away. Mr. Coolatta’s face was impassive as always when Gordon gave him a questioning look, and when Tommy didn’t acknowledge the mystical pizza disappearance, he chose not to say anything about it.

“Mister Freeman,” the man in the suit said after a time, turning his swirling gaze on his guest. “It is my under-standing that you… have a new profession, as well?”

Gordon, figuring he’d picked up the “Mister Freeman” thing from Tommy, didn’t bother to correct him. “Yeah, I’m teaching physics at NMT,” he answered.

He didn’t think he’d enjoy an academic environment all that much, choosing to teach as a backup while he pursued streaming in the meantime, but he was developing a fondness for it. His students were bright individuals, and some of them were just as weird as he was, which kept his days interesting.

Gordon wasn’t one to discuss his new job at length with anyone. It felt strange, after everything he lived through, to complain about something as trivial as grading papers or writing coursework. But Mr. Coolatta was among a handful of individuals who knew exactly what happened to him during his employment at Black Mesa, so he felt what he said next was entirely understood by everyone at the table.

“It’s a nice change of pace,” he added. “Things are better.”

“Yes,” Tommy’s father answered. “I have… heard the same from Tommy. It is, good to know that the two of you are, hm, recovering well.”

His tone was one step away from apologetic, and Gordon was sure he imagined it, but he was touched by the sentiment nonetheless. Tommy smiled softly down at his plate and didn’t say anything. They were recovering well, weren’t they? Finding a place for themselves. Learning how to be human again.

Gordon wasn’t sure, at first, if it would ever be possible. The Resonance Cascade was the worst thing that ever happened to him, but… Tommy was the best thing that ever happened to him. And even with all the complicated emotions that surrounded the Coolatta family, he was happy to be here. He was happy to see that small, private smile cross Tommy’s face.

The evening concluded with Gordon and Mr. Coolatta getting into a discussion about whether a hotdog was actually a sandwich, with Tommy joining in as moderator and rewarding imaginary points as they each went over their arguments. They wiped out the pizzas handily between the three of them. When Gordon had to excuse himself to begin the drive back to Socorro, Mr. Coolatta initiated another handshake with him. It was only a little less weird the second time.

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Tommy offered.

The setting sun bled a soft orange onto the neighborhood as the two of them left the house. Tommy kept his hands in his pockets, just barely brushing shoulders with Gordon as they went.

“Thank you,” he said again.

“Yeah, thanks for inviting me,” Gordon responded. “It was nice.”

They pulled to a stop next to the station wagon. “Sorry Dad’s so…” Tommy trailed off and shrugged. “Like that,” he finished.

His eyes were down, studying the sidewalk as he scuffed the sole of his shoe on the concrete. His expression was drawn, but Gordon could see from the crinkle of his eyes that he was happy with how the night turned out.

“Hey,” Gordon said.

Tommy’s eyes flicked up to meet his. His gaze was sharp and watchful, cutting Gordon in a way he found he liked.

“Don’t feel like you need to apologize for your dad,” Gordon said. “He’s cool. And I’m… Like, I’m glad you wanted me there. I had a good time,” he rambled further, “and it’s - I haven’t been to dinner with someone in a long time, and it was just - like it was really nice to just talk about stuff with family like that.”

Tommy’s mouth split into a smile, face flushing slightly as Gordon said the word ‘family.’ “Yeah,” he agreed. “It was nice. This is - we should do this again.”

The fact that there would be a next time sent a rush of emotion into Gordon’s chest. He loved Tommy, loved how trusting he was to invite him to such a private part of his life. Certainly this was difficult for him to do, but he allowed Gordon Freeman, of all people, to cross the threshold and see inside. He was close enough to be considered family. Sheer affection made him dizzy.

Tommy’s smile was infectious, causing Gordon to grin outright. “I’ll see you back home later?” he asked.

“Mm hm,” Tommy nodded. He leaned in, but stopped short when Gordon held up a hand in protest.

“Uh,” he intoned, pointing. “Your dad is totally watching us from the window.”

Tommy glanced over his shoulder and caught the dark visage of his father beyond the glass. He rolled his eyes, still smiling, and gestured with a hand. The curtains snapped shut at his command. “No, he isn’t,” he said.

They kissed on the curb, Gordon laughing softly into Tommy’s mouth. He was home already.

#hlvrai #freelatta #tommy coolatta #gordon freeman hlvrai #fanfiction #writing #pin talks #listen i think about tommys relationship with his father a lot....#but this was not the fic for that #anyway please enjoy this was very sweet for me to write i smiled a lot #i love them....#gman hlvrai

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passionate-hedgehog · 3 years

Text

Band Aids and Lame Exes

Pairing: Damien Haas x Reader

Warnings: There’s stuff, man Not like awful things. Someone’s just super grouchy in the mornings. And it shows.

Word Count: 1151

A/N: I wrote this installment of the prompt notebook series a little quickly. I ended up putting it off to the last minute because...idk why. Idk why I do anything tbh.Both of my best friend’s now actively read my works and that thought used to terrify me. Now? I’m grateful for friends that WANT anything to do with my creations. There’s a reference to the Blacksmith Shops and Musicals in here (when they bring up the restaurant) but you really don’t need to have read it to grasp the convo. But if you want to read it, you can find it in the mastelist “Lots Of Words”. ♥

Summary: Some days aren’t meant to be yours. Some days your boss calls you at the butt crack of dawn and some days metal shelves in a closet stab you. Some days are your days. Some days, you end up owning with someone by your side.

“You did what now?”

Y/n nibbled on her bottom lip but wouldn’t look Courtney in the eyes. “I told Ian to suck my dick…”

“Because he called you at six in the morning?” The blonde actress cocked her head.

“Who gave him the rights to call me that early??”

Courtney threw her hands in the air. “He’s your boss, Y/n! He’s going to have to make early calls sometimes!”

“I take melatonin. It takes a while to wear off. If he doesn’t want early morning threats then he shouldn’t be waking me up at the ass crack of dawn.” Y/n swirled her to-go cup of tea before taking a sip. She caught Courtney’s incredulous look and merely shrugged in response. “Listen, I warned all of y’all before we started planning for SMOSH Goes Camping. If I have plans in the morning, I’m taking the gummies. Don’t talk to me until after I’ve slept them off.”

“Oh...uh…” The two women turned to see Ian hovering in the doorway of the break room looking as if he wasn’t sure whether it was safe to enter or not.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “It’s safe, man. You don’t gotta suck my dick.”

”Jesus…” Courtney mumbled.

”Actually, I need Courtney to fill in on set. Shayne just called in late.”

”Okay, I’ll be there in a minute.” The blonde nodded and waited for her boss to leave. “Good job. He’s absolutely terrified of you now.”

Y/n shrugged again. “Not my fault.”

————

Y/n found herself in the prop closet, the real reason for her stress. Normally, she loved the storage unit. She loved taking things down and putting them back in a new order. Did she have problems?...maybe. But it gave her a sense of peace. She had a different task at hand, though. One she wasn’t necessarily excited for. She was meant to make sure everything was put back from shooting SMOSH Goes Camping; a new adventure series akin to winter and summer games. The premise? They had to sleep in tents and cook their own food. The games were largely based on legitimate camping activities. The whole thing was her idea and she had no idea how it got approved. Yet, there she was. Sitting in the prop closet. Making sure everything was put back where it needed to be because her project was officially done.

She enjoyed looking through all of the items of past SMOSH videos. But her mind was set on her task. She began reorganizing the gear.. She found the space where the lanterns went; by the fake brassy orchestra instruments. The extra sleeping bags were meant to go into a pile near some plastic finches and other bird paraphernalia. She’s heard about the Bird sketch...but she knew she wasn’t brave enough to watch it. She’s heard things...things that made her regret listening in on an OG main cast conversation.

She went to put back the tiki torches against the back wall when she felt something sharp knick her leg. She pulled back from her position and leaned down to see some blood starting to trickle. Y/n closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply. It’s not that deep, she thought to herself. It’s just a little blood. Walk yourself out of the closet and go to your desk where your band-aids are.

She agreed with her mental conversation and left the small room, focusing on her journey to her desk. Once she got there, she plopped into her chair and let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Y/n dug through her little box of first aid trinkets that sat on the corner of her desk. There were different colored band-aids but she knew her current situation called for a neon pink one.

”Hey, Y/n” A voice called from her side, making her guts go flying all over the inside of her stomach. “Did someone get hurt?”

”Mm...a little.” Y/n stretched her leg out a little so Damien could see the damage. “But it’s fine.”

”Can I help? I know you’re not a fan of your own blood.” The actor let his backpack slide to the ground. “Do you have wipes? Because I know for a fact you weren’t about to put that on without cleaning it first.”

Y/n gave an indignant “Yes, Mom.” which caused Damien to flick her in the knee cap. She then handed him an antiseptic wipe and watched him tear open the wrapper.

”Do you need to hold my hand for this part? Totally fair if you do.”

”Like at the restaurant?” Damien looked up and caught her mischievous gleam.

His blush went down to his neck. “I mean, yeah if you want that. I’m down. It’ll just be until the pain is gone.”

Y/n chuckled. ”How bold of you, Haas. To assume I don’t want to hold your hand all of the time.

He didn’t say anything as his free hand found one of hers. His eyes didn’t meet hers as he applied the wipe to the cut on her upper shin.

”Yaaaaa that’s banANAS.” Y/n sucked in air and tried not to damage anyone or anything else beside her. “I absolutely DESPISE doing that.”

”Oh, come one.” Damien began with a smirk as he applied the colorful bandaid. “Holding my hand can’t be that bad.”

”Ugh. It’s the absolute worst. Ten out of ten: never doing it again.”

Damien looked down to notice that their hands were still together. When he tried to pull apart, Y/n held on tighter.

”Ten out of ten of other people. Only I get to do this.”

”Yes, and you did. Now I need it back.” He stood up and tried to pull away again.

”Oh, no. That’s not happening. This hand? Mine now. Better find a chair and take a seat. You’re gonna be here for a while. I have to finalize those edits for the SGC promos.” Y/n didn’t look at him as she opened her laptop with her free hand and began to type in her password.

”I have to film today. My call time is in 15 minutes.” Damien replied as he gently ran his thumb over the space between Y/n’s thumb and index finger.

The woman looked up and to the side where Damien was standing and pouted. “Fine. You can go...but I guess that means you gotta take me out on a regular old-fashioned date, then. My ex never took me out on them. He said there was no aim to them.”

The actor picked his backpack up and slung it over his shoulder. He situated it before responding. “Well, he sounds lame and I’d like to respectfully disagree. I’ll do whatever it takes to hold your hand again.”

After Damien walked off, Y/n faced her laptop. She caught Monica’s eye and winked. She was glad she had someone to talk over the new developments of hers and Damiens growing...whatever they could call it.

#damien haas x reader #damien haas #courtney miller #ian hecox #smosh fan fiction #smosh #smosh fanfic #hurt and comfort #reader got hurt #damien comforts her #probably regrets it a little #but doesn't regret it even more #idk whyi keep writing myself into these #im so aggressive

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hydraberry-ash · 3 years

Text

Hotel Rivalry? No, Angst :)

Some notes before reading: I think Ranboo for sure said it was all for fun? I didn’t watch his streams because I was busy, anyways, when I first heard of this, I only thought about angst and lore. This was all for fun, and my mind was on full blast. Sorry if it was bad, I just wanted to write out some kind of story. :) (Also listen to Saint Bernard by Lincoln or Oh Ana by Mother Mother because I had these two on repeat writing this, Idk.) All in good fun of writing. Enjoy, I guess? Also warning, it’s kinda long. Damn I should’ve wrote it in Ao3 maybe. Ah well.

How long has it been since Tommy was left in the prison cell? Well, the clock was gone, so he can't tell.

The security issue was finally solved, and Sam rushed towards the cell, hoping that Tommy hung in being locked up with Dream. Sam also hoped Tommy would understand.

"Tommy? Tommy, can you hear me? I'm getting you out now. And Dream, you better stay in that cell, or I will kill you," Sam shouted through the lava, as the lava lowered to let the stone bridge go across. "Tommy, get on the bridge, you're going home. You're getting out."

The lava finally lowered enough as the redstone worked its magic, going across the gap to the cell. Sam looked through his mask, hoping to find Tommy still alive, and in one piece. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Tommy's figure get on the bridge, as he started to come back.

He glanced over to see Dream still in the cell, but his smiley face mask was off. Sam felt a wave of worry run down his neck, as Dream only stared at Sam, smiling, emerald green eyes glinting with satisfaction. Sam looked away, as Tommy was back, flicking the switch to let the lava flow back down.

"Tommy?" Sam glanced at the boy, oddly quiet. Sam hoped that Tommy would at least yell at him, or curse him out for making him get stuck with Dream, but Tommy didn't say anything. Reaching out a hand to hold Tommy's shoulder, Sam tried to call out to him again. "Tommy...?"

Tommy immediately flinched, backing up from Sam. What did Dream do to this boy? Usually Tommy would want comfort, or something. What happened to him in there?

"Hi Sam..." Tommy's voice was barely a whisper, his head still looking down at the ground. Sam crouched down, trying to get a good look at Tommy's face. He was concerned, slowly trying to let Tommy get back to his pace.

Sam's eyes widened. There was no emotion on the usually emotional boy. His usually bright blue eyes, were now faded, the blue dark, showing nothing.

The usually full of expression Tommy was now blank. "Tommy... what did he do to you?"

Tommy didn't answer, only looking at Sam's eyes, his eyes endless pools of a deep dark sea. Sam sighed, his heart aching. "I'm so sorry, Tommy, I... You know I had to deal with a security issue right? I didn't mean to let you stay in there for too long. Im very sorry, Tommy."

Tommy didn't say anything, only beginning to walk away from Sam. "I don't want to talk about it. Can I go home?"

Sam flinched, but he tried to smile. "Of course Tommy. Come on now, let's get back, and hey, you can go back to your hotel!"T

ommy only absently nodded. The two walked back in silence, with the occasional worried glances at Tommy, who only looked straight ahead.

They finally made it back to the locker, Tommy dropping the key, grabbing his things. Without another word, Tommy walked away from the prison, not even giving a goodbye to Sam. Sam gripped his trident tight in his hand, anger and curiosity in what Dream did to Tommy. He was going to have to talk to Dream soon.

------------

Tommy breathed in the fresh air of the outside, feeling the bright sun on himself. The bright blue sky, the huge oak trees by the wooden path. He was finally free. But....

His mind was in a deep fog. He felt sluggish, like his whole body was weighed down. His limbs ached, body sore. His eyes ached, not only from the light of the lava, but also from crying so much. His throat was dry, from screaming days on end. Tommy stopped, looking down at his hands, beaten and bloody.

Tommy shuddered. He still felt like Dream's eyes and hands was on him, like a doll. His mind and emotions felt like a swirling tornado, he didn't know what to think or feel anymore.

He has to get back to his home. He has to get back to his hotel. Try and get some resemblance of comfort, of anything to get his mind off of what Dream tried to do him, get in his head.

Trying to stop himself from shaking, he walked quickly to the location of his hotel. But he couldn't help himself, he couldn't help but to still think about the things that happened to him in the cell, the words swirling in his mind, and he could feel himself on the verge of something.

He started to give a relief of a smile, until it suddenly dropped. There was a building accross his hotel. Bee and Boo? What the fuck was that-?

"Tommy! Hey, where have you been?" Tubbo walked out of the building, as Tommy walked near. "Hey, we're rivals now! It's gonna be great-"

"What. The fuck." Tommy's voice cracked. Tubbo raised an eyebrow, too excited to tell Tommy about everything Tommy missed while being out somewhere, not noticing the state Tommy is in, or how in shambles Tommy was.

"Oh hey, guess what? Me and Ranboo are like, now platonically married, and we have this like child name Michael now," Tubbo waved a hand, as Tubbo walked back into the Bee and Boo building. Tommy silently followed Tubbo, while he felt something in his chest cracking.

Tommy looked around inside, and he had to admit, it looked nice. He was expressionless, but he could feel his head spinning, a certain voice getting louder.

Tommy turned to see Ranboo and Tubbo side by side, talking, as Ranboo waved at Tommy. Ranboo pointed at something off to the side of a room, and Tubbo walked back towards Tommy.

"So what did you think, big man? Exciting yeah?"

"What do you mean, exciting..." Tommy coldly said. Tubbo's smile faltered.

"Being hotel rivals! You know, doing business, fun banter? Tommy, are you ok?" Tubbo tried to reach a hand to pat Tommy's arm, before Tommy jerked it away.

Tommy was starting to break down. But he didn't dare show it out. Looking at the eyes of Ranboo, then back at Tubbo, then at the sign hung out in the front, Tommy slowly smiled.

"Ha... Haha..." Tommy gritted his teeth, a manic smile slowly forming on his face.

Now Tubbo and Ranboo was starting to get concerned. Tubbo took a step forward, as Tommy took a step back. "Tommy..?"

"He was right... he was right and I was a fucking fool," Tommy glanced at the ground, his hands forming fists.

"What do you mean he was right? Who?" Tubbo tried to hold Tommy's arm again, until suddenly Tommy grabbed Tubbo's wrist. Tubbo finched. "Owww, Tommy, that hurts. What's the matter with you?"

Tubbo's eyes widened as he saw the expression on Tommy's face. Faded blue eyes, now wide and full of anger and betrayal. He growled, showing his canines. He swiftly looked at Ranboo, who flinched, as Tommy turned back to Tubbo. "Am I fucking nothing? I did everything for you, and now you fucking-"

Tommy ripped Tubbo's wrist away from him, sending Tubbo to tumble a couple of steps, as Ranboo tried to catch him if Tubbo ever did fall. Tubbo looked up from his wrist, red, towards Tommy, concerned and slightly scared. "I-I, I don't know what you mean, Tommy. What-"

Tommy walked out, slamming the door, as he started to quickly walk to run towards a random direction, neither from the directions of where the prison was, where he hotel was, where L'manberg was, and not even where his home was.

He ran and ran, brushing past branches of oak trees, until he was fully exhausted, dropping to his knees. On his arms and knees, he tried to breathe, his chest burning, and legs aching so badly, Tommy was in so much pain. After a couple of minutes, Tommy looked up from the ground, looking around his surrounds.

He was somewhere completely knew. As he could tell, nobody touched this land yet. He was in a field full of multicolored and species of flowers. Surrounding this field was just dozens and dozens of trees.

He looked up at the sky, the sky now a light blue, slightly almost now turning a light shade of orange and pink. The clouds were still white, but before puffs of cotton, were now wisps, thin and strands across the blue.

The air was much cooler, and it was windier than back of the smp. Tommy breathed heavily, taking in his surroundings. He was alone, no Tubbo, no Ranboo, not even Dream. He surveyed the flowers, as he thought back to what he just learned.

Tubbo platonically married Ranboo. They built a hotel accross from his hotel. Was it some kind of fucking joke?

Tommy suddenly laughed, but there was no humor in that burst of laughter. No, it was emotionless, only manic. Tommy laughed and laughed, as he could feel his smile fade, his eyes forming tears, suddenly making the laughter into sobs.

Was Dream really right after all? How could Tubbo do this to him? God, if their hotel gets vandalized, I might be the one to be blamed for it even though I didn't do a fucking thing. Everyone will got to their hotel opening and their hotel, because everyone likes them. Nobody likes me, and my best friend left me. He even decided to build a rival hotel against me!! Dream was right... Dream was right after all. Nobody is on my side, nobody cares about me, nobody, nobody nobody NOBODY-

Tommy's breathing stopped. No... someone is on his side. Dream. Tommy chuckled at that, laughing out loud again, a wide smile growing. He kept laughing and laughing, the tears gone, but the laughter again wasn't of humor, but this time insanity. "FUCK EVERYBODY ELSE!!! NOBODY CARES!!! NOBODY FUCKING CARES ABOUT ME!!! HA! HAHA!"

Tommy, who stood up when he was sobbing, suddenly dropped to his knees again, a few flower petals flying up. Tommy looked up at the sky, his insane expression turning back to despair. Tommy sobbed and sobbed, screaming as he went into a turtle position, until it was a scattered star sky.

Nobody came to him. And Tommy knows he's alone. Nobody cares about him.

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santa-fe-bitch · 4 years

Text

Strings Of Love

Summary: When Y/N ran away from her home to become a newsie, she took only one thing with her: her violin. She’s kept it a secret for years, but what will happen when Race finds out?

Relationships: Racetrack Higgins x Reader

Pronouns: she/her (I can make a gender inclusive one if need be)

Era: Canon era

Word count: 1370

Characters: JoJo De La Guerra, Racetrack Higgins, Finch Cortez (mentioned), Albert DaSilva (mentioned), Jack Kelly

A/N: Wow, uh this is pretty bad for my first writing, but I hope you enjoy! I do not play violin at all, so I tried to do a bit of research to make it acceptable to actual violin players. I don’t know what else to say so, uh please enjoy!

Warnings: one swear word, that’s it???

————————————————————————

The summer weather burned against Y/N’s skin as she sold her last pape. The boy standing next to her gawked while she handed it off. She turned around a gave a smirk to JoJo.

“How did you sell a pape by yelling, ‘Man Killed By Making Toast’?” Jojo’s face was stuck in permanent shock that Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Not my fault I refuse to lie even if the headline stinks like..” Y/N tilted her head to read the headline on one of JoJo’s papes. “the trolley strike.”

“Yeah, well I was taught to never lie.”

“Yous is gonna have to give up that routine soon if yous wanna make a livin’” Y/N grabbed the rest of his papes and began to hawk them, despite JoJo’s constant protests. He watched in amazement as she sold all 10 of his remaining papes in less than an hour. As the pair of them made their way back to the lodging house, JoJo never stopped talking. Y/N liked that about him. He never knew when to shut up. When they finally made it back, Race bounded out of his seat and dragged JoJo over to his table where he, Albert and Finch were in a very heated game of poker. Y/N decided to stand in the doorway for a few moments, just to take everything in. The boys who she calls a family, the smell of the city she calls a home, everything she has.

“Uh, Y/N? Are you okay?” Race’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts, a look of concern on his face. He had left his game of poker, which Y/N thought was strange. Race never left in the middle of a game of poker, unless one of the boys got hurt.

Y/N tried to focus on Race’s ice blue eyes, but her gaze kept going to his lips. His lips were so close. She had been pining after Race for almost a year now, and he was still oblivious. Y/N just wanted to grab him by the color and kiss him. But she couldn’t pull herself to do it.

“What? Yeah, I’m fine Racer.” She responded. “I’m just gonna go get some fresh air.” Y/N ran past the boy and up to her bunk. She sat there for a few minutes, staring into the nothingness. She wondered if Race would ever know her true feelings for him, if he would ever feel the same way. No, why would a boy like Race love a girl like Y/N? He deserves better than me, Y/N though. Her eyes began to tear up, and she knew that she couldn’t be seen a mess around Race. Then he would never love her. Y/N grabbed the only thing that she knew would calm her down: her violin. It’s been five years since you joined the newsies, and none of them knew. She climbed out the window onto the fire escape, and began to play against the strings. The vibrations from the wooden body of the violin filled her body. Her fingers moved across the fingerboard as fast as she had been taught to. She was so moved into her music that she didn’t notice when Race had climbed onto the fire escape. He sat there in awe, cigar hanging out of his mouth. He had never seen her so peaceful. As Y/N let the final note resonate, Race had to fight the urge to clap. Y/N turned around to go back into the lodging house and face her crush when she realized she already was. She let a small scream out when she saw him.

“Woah, woah Y/N it’s just me!” Race tried to get her to calm down, but she wouldn’t. She had just let out her biggest secret to her crush. How could she recover from this?

“Shit, Race why didn’t yous tell me yous were there?” Y/N tried desperately to hide the violin behind her, but it was no use. Race had seen, and he wouldn’t forget.

“Because it would interrupt yous’s beautiful playin’” He said with a playful smirk. Her face went red, and she turned away from him. Y/N’s E/C eyes began to well with tears again, the same tears she had tried to play away. Race’s smile fell into a frown, and he reached out to hug Y/N. He only became more concerned when she pulled away from him.

“Please. Just go.” Y/N voice made Race’s heart break. He could tell that she was fighting back tears, but he did as he was told.

————————————————————————

The next few days, Y/N avoided Race and her violin. She never wanted to see either of them again. All the boys had noticed, especially Race. He asked JoJo, as he was Y/N’s selling partner.

“I’se was hoping yous would know. She hasn’t be talkin’ as much as she used to. I’se is gettin’ worried about ‘er.”

Race couldn’t bring himself to actually talk to her, so he asked Jack to do it. If anyone could get a secret out of Y/N, it was Jack. He had rescued her off of the streets to become a newsie, so the two of them were very close. Jack invited you up to his penthouse to talk, which was a bit out of his manor, but nothing too major.

“So Y/N, Racer tells me you’ve been particularly distant.” Y/N’s body went rigid. She thought that she had actually gotten the boys to not notice her sudden behavior change, but no. If Jack had noticed, they all had noticed. “Yous wanna talk about it?” Y/N couldn’t help but run into Jack’s arms and sob. He was surprised by the sudden impact, but wrapped his arms around her nonetheless.

“Shhhh...” He softly cooed to you. “Yous is okay.” Y/N’s sobbing showed no sign of stopping as she sunk down to the floor of Jack’s penthouse, and Jack went to the floor with her. Race climbed up the ladder, and saw the sight. It was heartbreaking, watching Y/N cry into Jack’s arms. When the older boy saw Race standing there, he gave him a glance that said ‘don’t let her see you right now’.

“I love him, Jack. I love him, and now he knows my secret. He knows about the violin.” Y/N spoke through sobs. “Why would Race love someone like me? He deserves better than me! But I still love him.” Race let his cigar fall out of his mouth as he starred at her.

“Yous love me?” His voice was so quiet that he thought she couldn’t hear, but when her head whipped around Race knew that Y/N heard him. Her face was streaked with tears and her eyes were red from the tears.

“When did you get here?” Her voice was broken and chocked. She had sworn she would never let Race see her like this, but here he was standing right in front of her.

“Jack, can you leave?” Jack solemnly nodded, and gave Y/N a reassuring looking before climbing down the ladder. Race got down to the ground to look directly at her. “Y/N, is that why yous been avoiding me? Because yous love me?” She gave a slow nod before letting out another sob. “Oh, Y/N...” Race wrapped his arms around Y/N as she cried into his shoulder, tears soaking into his shirt. “Y/N I love yous too.”

Her eyes looked up at his. “Yous do?”

“Yes, yes I’s do.” He didn’t have time to say another word because Y/N had taken his collar and pulled him into a kiss, her lips smashing against his. The faint taste of cigar and coffee were in his mouth, and Y/N couldn’t get enough of it. As she pulled away, a small grin covered her face.

“Am I officially you’re goil now?”

“Yous thought yous could kiss me and not be my goil?” Race’s smirk grew even wider, and the pair of them just sat there in the moonlight, being alone and yet together.

————————————————————————

This was my first fic, so please be nice!

#newsies #newsies x reader #race x reader #racetrack x reader

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violetwolfraven · 3 years

Note

Prompt: "You don't have to hide your tears from me" for Redfinch

Mkay! Angst time! Let’s go!! I’m writing this the week after Valentine’s Day!! Woohoo!!

Anyway this takes pre-canon. So... spoiler alert they do get together later along this timeline, but right now it’s angsty and the boys aren’t together yet.

Tw: mentioned abusive parenting, toxic masculinity, unrequited crush.

...

Finch didn’t really understand blood ties. The concept of owing something to your biological family the way some of the other boys seemed to.

He didn’t understand why Albert, Elmer, and Buttons kept going back to their families even though all three of them always came back tired and usually a bit ticked off at best, genuinely upset at worst.

But then again, Finch didn’t remember his family beyond his father’s fists and his mother’s voice yelling at him. He’d run away when he was 6 and never looked back, and now he only thought of them when he was working through a nightmare or an old scar twinged in the cold weather.

The newsies weren’t exactly a family, he guessed, considering most of them weren’t blood, but they were like one. Better than most families, in some ways, with how Jack and Crutchie took care of the others and though sometimes jokes were at friends’ expense, it was never in a mean way. They were ride or die for each other.

Maybe that was what a family was supposed to be, but Finch knew he’d never seen blood family that was like that. He sure knew that the only people he was ride or die for were the ones he’d chosen.

He really hated seeing the people he’d chosen hurting. Especially when it was because of their so called ‘families.’

He hated seeing when Elmer came back from his parents’ house reserved and quiet, acting surprised when his friends actually paid attention to him, and he hated how exhausted Buttons always was, practically falling asleep on his feet.

But most of all, he hated how defensive and angry Albert always was when he came home from his dad’s house. How he acted for a good couple days afterwards, like any emotion other than anger was weakness.

This morning seemed to be an especially bad day, and everyone could see it. Even Wiesel and the Delanceys wisely avoided antagonizing him too much, knowing by the look in his eyes how bad of an idea it would be to mess with him today. The other newsies were giving him space, and honestly, the fact that they were letting him on the streets today at all was a little questionable.

Finch knew Albert. He knew how that boy’s words could be just as dangerous as his fists, and could get him into more trouble. It was useful sometimes, Albert’s uncanny ability to say exactly the right thing to start a fight. It was good for causing distractions if they were running from someone or to divert away from a topic he or a friend didn’t want to talk about. Finch actually was impressed with how he could always do that without fail.

But he really didn’t feel like helping his friend escape the Refuge again. Not today.

So, after a morning of watching him seethe with anger over... something involving his dad and brothers, Finch pulled him aside in an alley, putting his papes down on a crate and blocking the way out to keep Albert from leaving.

“What’s wrong?”

“What do ya mean ‘what’s wrong?’ Nothin’s wrong. I’m fine.”

Albert tried to shove past him, clearly getting more annoyed when he didn’t let him.

“Move.”

“No,” Finch crossed his arms, “Not till you tell me what’s wrong.”

“We’re gonna miss the mornin’ rush cause you’s seein’ things,” Albert urged, trying to escape again, “Nothin’s wrong, Finch. Move.”

“No.”

“Move!”

“No.”

“Just cause you’s sweet on me don’t mean you gotta care ‘bout my problems,” Albert hissed.

Well, that was... unexpected.

Finch still didn’t know how Albert had even found out about his crush—he hadn’t bothered to ask how—but since that time a month ago where Al tried to kiss him and Finch made it clear that he wouldn’t settle for being his rebound guy, they hadn’t spoken of anything involving that. He was pretty sure Albert had been being his friend as a way to make that incident’s thoughtlessness up to him, but neither of them had actually acknowledged that conversation happened.

Bringing it up now was a dick move. Especially considering Finch could tell Albert was still hurting over Race, because he was still in love with him, because of course he was because Finch’s luck was shit.

Well, at least it looked like it was dawning on Albert—albeit slowly—how much of a dick move that was.

“I shouldn’ta said that. Sorry. Still, move.”

Finch let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and shook his head, “No.”

“Please?”

He was a little surprised to hear him say that, but he still refused to move.

“No,” he insisted. “No, cause I know what you’re gonna do if I let ya leave this alley without talkin’. You’ll just bottle it up like ya always do, and then eventually you’ll snap on somebody and pretend you’re mad when you’re actually scared or sad. And besides the fact that you can’t last like that—it ain’t healthy—that ain’t fair to the others and I’d rather it be me you yell at than one of them.”

Albert scoffed, “I do not bottle—“

“Yes, you do,” Finch interrupted, “And it used to be Race who made ya let it out before ya snapped on someone who couldn’t handle it, but you and him don’t talk no more lately for obvious reasons, so I guess it’s gotta be me.”

It hurt that Albert didn’t trust him enough to talk the way everyone knew he used to with Race, but Finch didn’t let it show. He knew firsthand how secrets could burn holes in you. He himself confided in Henry, Tommy Boy, and Sniper when he needed someone to talk to. And he would like to be able to confide in Albert someday, but...

Trust went both ways. Admittedly, he had trouble with trust some days, so maybe it wasn’t fair that he was asking Albert to trust him.

Maybe he needed to give a little to show it was okay.

“Look, I... I know what it’s like to get hurt by somebody who’s supposed to care ‘bout you,” he admitted, “My mom and pop weren’t exactly... they... I know what I went through ain’t the same as what’s goin’ on with you now, but I’m only gonna ask you one more time: what’s wrong?”

Albert was still staring him down like he thought he could get him to back out, but Finch did see a flicker of surprise at the little piece of his past he’d confessed.

Nobody in Manhattan knew his past. He’d made sure he left all that behind in Flushing. He was sure plenty of the fellas—Albert included—had guessed the general idea, but no matter how bad the nightmares got some times of the year, Finch always tried to focus on just the right now’s problems.

He had that in common with Tommy Boy, Henry, and Sniper. Their ‘just the four of them’ talks always danced around what they were actually upset about, because openly talking about families or parents or home lives, past or present, was just too painful. That was why they gravitated to each other. Because they were the only ones who could figure out what the others meant by what they actually said. Sure, Jack took care of everybody, but he was too busy with taking care of the whole damn borough to have time to figure out their mind games. Crutchie was still trying, but he had duties as one of Manhattan’s seconds, too. Everybody else had either given up or didn’t care enough to try in the first place.

Albert knew all that. Or... he knew how much Finch was letting down his guard, openly telling him even that little.

He gave up on trying to make him back down and looked at the ground with an angry huff.

“It don’t matter, okay? Nothin’ Ben and John ain’t said to me before.”

“So it’s not a problem with your dad?” Finch asked, relieved. Sure, Albert’s brothers were technically adults, but they weren’t a big threat.

He scoffed, “No, of course not. Dad’d have to actually look at me to give me problems. Which he don’t. Practically ever. I remind him too much of Mom, as if that’s my fuckin’ fault.”

The anger in his voice was dripping with sadness, and it broke Finch’s heart. Albert didn’t deserve that.

But that was more of a long-term problem. Right now, it wasn’t what he was most upset about.

“So... Ben and John?”

“Oh, yeah,” Albert said sarcastically, “Y’know, they both had their first sweethearts by the time they was my age, so it’s hilarious to dump on how Albert’s gonna die alone. John’s gonna marry Thea, so it’s a great time to laugh ‘bout me not havin’ anyone to bring to the wedding like how Ben’s got Elizabeth. And it’s all in good fun, so I’m too goddamn defensive for gettin’ mad about it! Yeah, I’m the irrational one despite how I ain’t the one who started it!”

If he was this upset about a few little jabs from his brothers, that meant it wasn’t actually about them at all, and Finch probably should have tried to make him talk before now.

If the heartbreak he was trying to hide by keeping his face turned to the dirt was any indication, this was about Race. And that stung a bit, but it was clearly still burning at Albert.

Finch could deal with his own unreturned feelings. Sure, it hurt, but it was nothing he hadn’t been feeling for months. And he’d gotten rejected before, so it wasn’t anything new.

But Albert had never felt this before. He was volatile and emotional and he didn’t know how to express it any way but with anger because that was how he’d been raised. To his credit, he’d tried to push the others away, knowing his own tendency to lash out, but Finch hadn’t let him push him away.

Finch prided himself on his ability to read people, so he could tell exactly how gone Albert had been over Race. He could tell how much that was hurting him now, how much it was tearing him apart, and...

And Albert was crying.

“Al—“

“Shut up,” Albert snapped, even though his voice trembled.

Three years since he’d come to Manhattan. Finch had seen most of his friends cry in that time, but not Albert.

Admittedly... he wasn’t sure what to do. The others usually gave him a sign whether to leave them alone or try to comfort them, but the thing about Albert was that he craved affection but would never be caught dead admitting it. He hated letting anyone see him as anything other as unshakable even if he was on the verge of collapse.

They were just standing there in that alleyway, a couple feet apart, Albert staring hard at the ground as his shoulders shook and tears dripped off his face and Finch frozen, no clue what to do.

“Al,” he said hesitantly, “It’s okay to cry.”

“No. It ain’t right for a boy.”

“Really?” Finch risked taking a step closer, reaching out a hand slowly.

Albert clearly saw him, but didn’t back away or stop him, allowing Finch put a comforting hand on his arm.

“That ain’t what you told me,” he pointed out, “That time when I woke ya up with a nightmare. You just hugged me till I could breathe again.”

“That was different,” Albert shot back, finally looking back up to look him in the eyes, “You was hurtin’.”

“And you’re not hurtin’ now? Al, look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not breakin’ up inside.”

He didn’t. Or... couldn’t.

“Albert,” Finch said quietly, “You don’t have to hide your tears from me.”

He still looked like he wanted to hide them, but instead, he leaned forward, kind of head-butting Finch in the shoulder except he left his face there, his tears soaking through the fabric.

Finch would be lying if he said that his heart didn’t skip a beat at the contact but he shook it off, focusing on how that was a pretty clear signal that this was okay.

“It’s okay, Al,” Finch whispered, wrapping his arms around him.

He didn’t say that it would get better or that Albert would find someone else who’d love him back. He knew that saying those things didn’t make heartbreak any better.

Just being there, being a friend, being a shoulder to cry on, was better for now.

#newsies #redfinch #albert dasilva #finch cortes #angst #toxic masculinity tw #abusive parents tw #unrequited crush tw #violet’s writing

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zmwrites · 3 years

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Tag: Word Find CXLVII

I was tagged by @josephinegerardywriter! Thank you! Given the words grace, investigate, live, and act.

From Open Seas:

GRACE

Without moving her head, she cast around for anyone or anything that could have her subconscious screaming that she was in danger. There had to be something she was missing. It had been months since she’d been down to the docks in Ayrith, though, so the details of how things were supposed to be were fuzzy.

There was unhurried movement ahead—a figure detached from the shadow against the wall. They were huge, not very tall but broad and sinewy, with a predator-like grace to their movements as they prowled forwards. Tess faltered then stopped. They were blocking the boardwalk and her path to the beach.

INVESTIGATE

Tess looked back at him and found him smiling indulgently. “You don’t believe me.”

“I think you’ve been reading too many novels with nothing else to do out in Lindow,” Caspian teased.

Her hands dropped from the posters, her gaze fell to the ground. The sharp heat of shame filled her face. Of course she was just imagining things. If there was a pattern that meant anything, someone smarter than her would have discovered it already.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he added soothingly, obviously noticing her change in demeanour. “I just meant that you’re not a detective. Leave the investigating to the professionals. After all, you have more important things to focus on, like keeping track of your energetic cousin.”

LIVE

“Needing to remain modest must lead to incredibly boring lives for you proper folks,” Petra remarked.

Tess didn’t agree, but she didn’t correct her either.

“Fine, we’ll hold off on having you climb the rigging until we can get you a pair of pants.”

ACT

“There you two are. Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?” she demanded. “This is not the agreed upon meeting place.”

“Hello Idalah, nice to see you too,” Dorian said, lazily getting to his feet. Petra also stood, and Tess followed their lead.

“Did you have a fun little adventure, Captain?” Idalah asked. She accepted a tight hug from Petra with a fond reluctance.

“Hardly. But we did make a new friend who forced us to be selflessly helpful for a handful of days,” he replied. “This is Tess Bowen. Tess, meet Idalah Cabral, our quartermaster aboard The Allegiance and the one people actually listen to.”

“A pleasure,” Tess greeted with a small curtsey.

‘Act’ is a bit of a stretch but I think it counts.

I tag @ardawyn, @sleepyowlwrites, @the-finch-address, and anyone else who wants to play! Your words are brown, beg, bend, and bulk. As always, no pressure!

#tag games #open seas #searching circle #os excerpt

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deliciouspeachpirate · 4 years

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Affectionate Newsies Headcanons Part 2

A/N OH MY GOSH I CAN’T BELIVE HOW MUCH THE FIRST ONE BLEW UP I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT!!!! Thank you all so much for taking the time to read/like/reblog it, and to those of you who left something in the tags or commented, I legit just stared at my screen smiling for the longest time, thank you all so much!! I hope you guys like this one too, and please let me know if you have requests for anything! The next one will include Spot, Specs, and Elmer (as requested by a lovely anon!), and I should have it up by Wednesday. As always, please feel free to request, and let me know what your favorite part was or if you want me to expand on something! Enjoy, and have an awesome day/night!

Race: Race is definitely one of the most affectionate newsies. Like Jack, he is constantly hanging off of someone, playfighting, knocking off caps, etc, though he is typically a bit more rough than Jack. While Jack’s conscious aim is to make sure the boys know he loves them as well as having fun, Race playfights and steals their stuff for the chance to mess with his brothers and annoy the crap out of them. He normally means well of course! He also likes to run up behind someone and lift them off the ground randomly, whether they are in a conversation, trying to sell, Race doesn’t care. Random tickle attacks are also very common, but Race CANNOT take what he dishes out, he will literally collapse on the ground and die. While Race is extremally rambunctious and is always shoving someone around, by the end of a long selling day, he is exhausted and pretty much just wants to cuddle with someone until either they all go to Jacobi’s or he randomly gets all of his energy back and leaps up to go run off some steam by annoying everyone before bed.

The major downside to Race getting all cuddly and cute when he is tired is that that he is also VERY whinny. He typically stumbles into the arms of the closest newsie, buries his face in their chest, and starts whining gibberish at them. While he will and has dragged every single newsie to the couch to cuddle at one point or another, his favorites are Albert and JoJo. JoJo absolutely loves it, and it works out well because he also just wants cuddles at the end of the day, but Albert is mildly annoyed by it. At this point the only thing he does to fight it though is groan a bit before he settles down and just lets Race have his way. Race’s all time favorite cuddle partner is, of course, his very own personal teddy bear, Spot Conlon! Its not common that he can be in Brooklyn, so when he is and the two of them can be alone, they will not stop touching each other for any reason. While he is not the best at comforting someone when they cry, often freaking out over what to say, resorting to humor, and sometimes making it worse, he is one of the littles first choices to go to if they have nightmares. He just holds them and lets them cry until they fall back asleep, sometimes humming gently to them (but don’t tell anyone!) Race loves his friends immensely, but sometimes has a hard time letting them know, so he resorts to annoying them.

Albert: Albert is one of the least affectionate newsies. He grew up with several older brothers (he still helps provide for them and his father) and never really had personal space before, so he treasures it now that he lives at the lodging house. He is fine with someone knocking shoulders with him or a punch to the shoulder, just as long as people aren’t hanging off him all the time. The boys know he doesn’t like to be touched that much, and they respect that most of the time, but sometimes someone will still put their arm over his shoulder without thinking. When that happens, Albert pretty much just lets it slide, but will nudge them off/step away if they don’t get off of him after a minute. He’s fine with Race touching him pretty much whenever though, especially because he knows that Race will respect his boundaries if he ever asks him to stop, even if it is a bit annoying at times! He will often through his arm around Race, but not really anyone else. While people often see Albert as closed off and have a hard time getting past his resting bitch face, he has a huge soft spot for the littles. He makes a point to check in with each of them everyday, often walking around Manhattan to see how their selling is going, if they need help, and to make sure they aren’t getting distracted. Everyday when he is finished selling and goes to the circulation desk to turn in his bag he always waits until each of the littles has made it back until he goes home. He can often be seen walking with a gaggle of littles following him, fighting over who gets to hold his hand or be carried next. He always makes sure that they are eating well enough and has been known to go nearly a week without food in the winter to make sure they all had something for dinner before Jack realized what was going on and stepped in. Albert also helps tuck them in at night, especially when Jack is at the theater late or is extra busy. The most physical affection Albert shows is normally a side hug or clapping someone on the shoulder if they’ve had a rough day, got into a fight, etc. (Crutchie was very surprised to get a full on hug from him when he got back from the Refuge) Albert doesn’t show his love for his friends the same way most of them do. Love and family are very hard concepts for him to grasp, as his brothers never treated him well, his mother left them for a young business man, and his father has been borderline abusive ever since, all while saying they loved each other. The only time he has ever said he loved one of the newsies was when Race got really sick one winter and it didn’t look like he was going to make it. The two of them have never spoken of it since. The most common way Albert shows his love is by noticing small things his friends like such as a certain seat at Jacobi’s, Finch’s favorite birds, or that one sandwich that Elmer likes and trying to clue them in when its available. He tries to be very subtle though and denies it if someone calls him out on it. Another very common thing for him to do is to tell the other boys to take a break if they’ve been selling a long time in the sun, if they are clearly stressed, or obviously sick. Albert saying to take a break is about the closest thing to an “I love you” that you can get.

Romeo: Our favorite hopeless romantic is pretty high on the scale of how affectionate the newsies are, but still not near JoJo and Jack’s level. Its not uncommon at all for him to walk up and give someone a hug, but he normally does it at the end of the day as people are getting back after selling as opposed to any other time. He is often a tired cuddler, but more often than not he is just pouty when he’s tired. One thing that is very common for him to do is to wrap his arms around someone and lean his head on their shoulder as everyone hangs out at Jacobi’s at the end of the day. His all time favorite thing to do is run up and grab someone’s hand while they walk and start swinging their hands inbetween them. The people he does this most often with are Les, Elmer, Crutchie, and Specs. Les and Romeo always end up swinging their hands as hard as they can and have been scolded by Davey several times for almost hurting someone. Elmer normally starts skipping with him, swinging their arms and seeing how fast they can go while keeping their steps in time, both of them sporting the dumbest gins the whole time. Romeo thinks its funny to do it to Crutchie because he is somehow almost always surprised (never opposed to it though). After his initial startled jerk, Crutchie normally just smiles at him, squeezes his hand a few times, and keeps walking. Specs is of course his favorite. Specs always gives him the warmest smile that makes Romeo melt every time and brings their intertwined hands up to place a kiss on the back of Romeo’s hand causing him to squeak and blush. Romeo also likes to hold hands with Jack, but Jack changes it to putting and arm around him while skipping down the sidewalk. One of the main ways Romeo shows affection is by randomly complementing/fliting with the boys. Most of them find it mildly annoying, but put up with him randomly popping up to tell them that their shirt really makes their eyes pop, and wow Finch, you should wear short sleeves more often. His other favorite thing to do is steal people’s hats. If their is a fight going on at the lodging house over a hat, 9 times out of 10 Romeo is the one who started it. He has gotten in trouble with Race a couple of times by stealing his cigars, but he knows Race wouldn’t actually hurt him. He and Race are very close, and Romeo often ends up climbing down from his bunk and slipping into Race’s below him. Ever since Romeo became a newsie he started seeing Race as an older brother, and while they’ve only acknowledge it once or twice during a midnight heart to heart and Race sometimes acts like he hates him by day, the two of them always look out for ad love each other very much.

#newsies #newsies headcanons #affectionate newsies #race higgins #albert dasilva #romeo #hope you all like this!

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tanoraqui · 4 years

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[Part 1] [Part 2]

[now all on AO3!]

As Nie Huaisang pulls his horse to a halt, as he clumsily dismounts and begs his san-ge to speak with him in private and they walk off to the side of the road together, Nie Huaisang’s eyes down and his fan covering most his face in embarrassment, he thinks very quickly, and decides faster. He’d promised himself he would do that, next time something like this happened

Here is some of what he thinks:

if the lifeblood of Qishan was power and the heart of Qinghe is strength, then the vital spark of Lanling is appearance. Nie Huaisang has always admired this, even yearned for it - imagine being born to a sect in which it was okay to just sit around and look pretty! Sure, they go a bit overboard with gilt, but who wouldn’t, if they had the money? QingheNie has a fortress in the mountains; LanlingJin has a golden tower overlooking one of the biggest ports in the empire, trade and art and culture all within reach

Conversely, they also thrive on secrets - the dark side of golden, glittering appearance. They’re not so different from QishanWen like that, because information is power. That’s why gossip is a thing

Nie Huaisang has no particular reason to distrust Jin Guangyao, personally. He’s always been very kind to Nie Huaisang, bringing him lovely new fans and paints and a beautiful finch one time. Da-ge doesn’t trust him, for reason of some things JGY did in the war, but da-ge has such high standards for conduct that it’s a miracle he trusts anyone after the Sunshot Campaign. (And it’d help if he told NHS anything about those alleged untrustworthy “things”...) Wen Qing doesn’t trust him, but in fairness, it was her side that he betrayed. That could sour anyone. Even putting aside the possibility that she’s deliberately sowing discord for some devilish Wen reason.

Admittedly, anything that Nie Huaisang says to him will almost certainly get back to Jin Guangshan, unless it’s of a truly personal nature - and perhaps even then. Secrets and gossip and power, after all, and it doesn’t take a genius to see that Jin Guangyao is desperate to please his father

even if the old bastard doesn’t deserve it an inch

So the question is, what is Nie Huaisang comfortable having known, and to whom? What does he want to appear as, to whom? And what is he willing to risk coming to light?

He thinks very fast, and soon as they’re well-out of earshot of his disciple-assistants and newly acquired Wen grandmother, he flings himself into Jin Guangyao’s arms, wailing.

(it’s a little difficult, because Jin Guangyao is one of the few men Nie Huaisang knows who’s shorter than he is.)

“San-ge, it’s not my fault! It’s all gone wrong! I just wanted to get out of saber practice, but then Wen Qing told da-ge something completely different, and then she made be get a baby, and - ”

The whole story comes out, in stops and starts mixed with helpless, hapless sobs. Nie Huaisang downplays Wen Qing’s successes with his brother, or at least mostly ignores them. He mentions A-Yuan’s nightmares only so far as they inconvenience himself, doesn’t comment on the Wens’ state of life at all, and generally exaggerates every terrible and bewildering situation he’s found himself in since he first happened to glance at Jiang Yanli at Phoenix Mountain

He figures Jin Guangyao probably sees through at least 20% of it, but that’s okay - that’s only deep enough to pierce the outer layer of overdramatics, which are mostly embellishments of the truth anyway, and maybe judge that Nie Huaisang has a soft heart for a cute kid

it’s a very cute kid, okay. NHS saw Nie Mingjue sneaking A-Yuan a piece of candy once. No one is safe

he doesn’t tell Jin Guangyao that

Nearly an hour later, Jin Guangyao peels Nie Huaisang gently off of his (now quite tear-damp) shoulder and smiles at him. It’s gentle, sympathetic, and the only thing it seems to be hiding is a laugh

Nie Huaisang is 99% sure of this assessment. Fortunately, he’s free to let his relief show, along with some healthy trepidation

“I won’t tell da-ge,” Jin Guangyao says, and there’s barely any humor to be seen dancing in his eyes. It’s really impressive, now that Nie Huaisang is learning what to look for.

“Really?” Nie Huaisang sniffles. “I just- He tries so hard, you know. I don’t want to disappoint him, not really.”

it really is all about using the truth. if it wasn’t so stressful, it’d be an incredible high

“Of course not.” Jin Guangyao squeezes him gently by the shoulders. “What is a san-ge for, if not to look out for his littlest brother?”

Nie Huaisang could definitely make a crack about his height smiles shakily and flings his arms around JGY’s shoulders again. “Oh, thank you! Thank you for your help!”

Jin Guangyao hugs him back gently and efficiently, then starts to tug him back to the waiting horses and by-now-dismounted companions. “Go on, get your A-Yuan’s granny back to Nie Sect and get yourself a good night’s sleep. I’ll make sure they’re both marked correctly as requisitioned for labor in Qinghe”

Nie Huaisang thanks him several more times, wiping away his tears like someone who just remembered that he’s not supposed to appear so weak in public. Jin Guangyao waves goodbye as he mounts his sword and flies away, and Nie Huaisang waves back, and then he and his assistants and his newly acquired A-Yuan’s Granny ride home

[they’re never going to be relevant again but I want you all to know that in my mind, these two dumb bastards are brothers with rhyming names, like, Xi Ping and Xi Ying or something. RIP Xi Ping and Xi Ying and their eardrums after NMJ reams them out for helping NHS do something stupid again]

And then...

they actually have peace for several months.

Oh, the cold war between Jing and Jiang - or more accurately, between Jin and Wei Wuxian - is still brewing like fine tea, and Nie Huaisang finds himself paying more attention than usual to the gossip about it, because Wens come up as often as not. They're the prime example of the destructive power of the Stygian Tiger Seal, after all. And NHS has four of them living in his house, now

the gossip spikes deliciously when Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan get engaged, though it somehow neither eases nor increases the tension in either side

{the timeline is rubbish anyway, so it’s whatever’s convenient for this fic, thank you very much}

Nie Sect’s physicians are too proud to let Wen Qing take over their infirmary wholesale, but they don’t hesitate to consult with her on pretty much everything. Wen Ning turns out to be pretty fun to play checkers with, whether he lets Nie Huaisang win or gets invested enough to actually put up a good fight. Despite Granny’s addition to the orphan-caring staff, A-Yuan still slips away most days and follows Nie Huaisang around like a particularly persistent curse-construct. On the plus side, he’s learning how to be patient enough that the bolder birds will sit on him as readily as on Nie Huaisang himself, and he painted an entirely acceptable butterfly the other day.

Oh, and the veins in Nie Mingjue’s neck are only visible when he shouts, now, and enough time has passed that he’s forgotten about Nie Huaisang’s earlier, rash promise to practice saber for an extra half hour each day. Or maybe he’s just resigned to the fact that such promises never last. This is truly the best timeline!

And then the worst happens, out of the blue yet in retrospect inevitable: Nie Mingjue has a severe qi deviation

He’s coming back from a meeting in Lanling, which wasn’t so much a discussion conference as Jin Guangshan calling a handful of sect leaders together to bitch about the Wei Wuxian and the Tiger Seal again. Wen Qing is in the infirmary, setting a young disciple’s broken leg. Nie Huaisang is in his bedroom, trying to write an ode to snowflakes that, read aloud, is a single tone off from a recitation of curse words for the entire poem. They both hear the shouting from the main courtyard

Wen Qing has a doctor’s reflexes; she leaves the leg to an assistant and arrives in the courtyard in time to watch Nie Mingjue collapse out of the air. The disciples who accompanied him to Lanling are there to catch him, ease him down gently, but Baxia clatters to the ground

Nie Huaisang sees it from his window. By the time he gets there, his brother is laid out flat and Wen Qing and the Chief Physician are snapping clipped phrases at each other as they assess his status, in the mode of emergency responders everywhere

the Chief Physician doesn’t like Wen Qing, doesn’t like Wens, but he can respect her medical talents. Both sentiments are mutual - Wen Qing has a much more comprehensive skillset, but if there’s anything Nie healers know, it’s how to handle qi deviation

qi deviations are difficult and dangerous to treat - the spiritual energy starts cascading through a cultivator’s body, untamed and harmful, and adding soothing energy may help but it may make it worse, or even cause the chaos to spread to the would-be healer

{I actually have no idea how any of this works, and will henceforth be making up my own worldbuilding}

Nie Mingjue’s eyes have rolled back in his head, bleeding, and he shakes like a leaf in the wind, incongruous to the warrior who led attacks on the Nightless City itself. Who held his brother like a guarding stone wall at their father’s funeral. Nie Huaisang cannot breathe

they get him stabilized enough to move up to the infirmary. Someone eases up their grip on Nie Huaisang’s body so he could follow (he won’t remember until later that he was being held back)

It takes four hours to stabilize him fully (unlucky). His golden core tries to collapse three times, his heart stops twice, and his fucking saber tries to attack them once, seemingly of its own initiative. Several other healers join in as needed, even Wen Ning - he’s always been good at getting seizing patients to still. Wen Qing rates it below the 39-hour golden core transfer with Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, in terms of worst surgeries of her life, but above nearly everything else, including the emergency liver transfer where the girl turned out to have all her organs on the opposite side and a side order of demon-induced pneumonia

Nie Huaisang has been sitting in the corridor outside, on the floor. Someone's put a cloak on him. He looks up when they exit, forgetting how to breath again.

“He’s unconscious,” says the Chief Physician, who is probably some sort of distant uncle/cousin. “But he should wake. He will wake,” he corrects.

Wen Qing takes a deep breath. “We need to talk somewhere private.”

By the time Nie Huaisang has at least gotten to see his brother, get proof that he’s still breathing, the First Disciple has joined them as well (I mean, that position is sure as hell not held by NHS). Her name is Han Xiaoshi and she’s built in the same mold as the sect leader: tall, broad, wields her saber like a third hand. She leans against the closed door of the Chief Physician’s office while the Chief Physician - let’s say Nie Fengji - gives a slightly less brief explanation of the sect leader’s current state.

(it’s not good. he’s in a semi-medically induced coma. he is bleeding neither blood nor spiritual energy. he...should wake, in his own time, if they continue to carefully feed his healing energy)

(if he wakes within three days, he will be fine. for now)

Nie Huaisang’s blood pounds hot and panicked in his ears; an unthinking fan covers his face.

they all turn to Wen Qing, who wanted privacy.

Wen Qing soothes hands over her skirt, still blood-flecked, and lifts her chin calmly. Addresses the First Disciple more than anyone. “Before I begin, would you please put a guard each on my bedroom and the apothecary, and my brother’s room as well?”

“What? Why?” asks Nie Huaisang, bewildered. Han Xiaoshi echoes more sternly

She smiles thinly. “I’d rather not be accused of trying to assassinate Chifeng-zun.”

Nie Huaisang’s blood turns cold

“Keep talking,” says Han Xiaoshi

Here’s what Wen Qing explains: there’s an herb grown on the same volcanic slopes into which the Nightless City is set, a grass that absorbs so much yin energy from the volcano that it carries it over into anyone who consumes the stalks, offsetting the natural balance of their spiritual energy. A closely guarded inner clan secret. It can allow for rare, advanced cultivation techniques (including demonic ones)...or it can spark a fatal qi deviation the next time the user tries to do anything spiritually strenuous. Like flying from Carp Tower to the Unclean Realm

“It’s almost impossible to detect in the blood,” she finishes. “But I recognize the pattern of its effects.” Her hands are clasped loosely in front of her. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find some planted in a place that draws suspicion to A-Ning or myself.”

“Who else would know about it?” Nie Huaisang demands, trembling even as the ice is settles into his veins

“Someone who was close to Wen Ruohan,” she says calmly

they all know who she means

(oh, how she wants to tremble, too, too aware of every sword in the room that could be turned against her. Aware of A-Yuan and Granny and Wen Ning, her brother in the corridor just outside, and how it still hasn’t been a year since Wen blood ran in the flagstones of this castle. But Wen Qing has never been one to shake)

“There’s something else I should say,” she admits, to Nie Huaisang more than anyone. “I don’t actually know much about qi deviation - I’ve had a crash course, obviously, and I’m not a fool, but I’m mostly been treating it as a blood pressure problem - ”

“Obviously,” the Chief Physician scoffs

“ - but my Uncle Six is a true expert. Wen Zhichen - he was friends with your aunt, Huaisang-gongzi; your older sister, Fengji-shifu [the previous Chief Physician, killed in battle in the fifth month of the Sunshot Campaign]. If anyone can wake Nie-zongzhi, it’s him - ”

she could have said this earlier, could have said it weeks ago, or even from the start - but she had Wen Ning to think of before anyone else, and then A-Yuan who was too young to have accumulated crimes even as a Wen...

Wen Qing had once noted that the second son of Nie had likely never felt fear, true fear, in his life. That’s not true anymore. His brother is unconscious in the next room over and it’s not sure if he’ll ever wake. And it’s consequences catching up with him again, for real this time, this maybe-first time - was it the Wens, villainous duplicitous Wens that he brought into their home himself? Was it someone else, equally traitorous, suspicion roused to a killing intent by something Huaisang did himself?

People do a lot things when they’re feel fear deep down to their souls. They scrape and bow; they make bargains they shouldn’t, accept costs they can’t. They bend or they break

Nie Huaisang is a fop by preference, but it turns out that he breaks like a Nie

He shoves Wen Qing against the wall, hand on her throat. “Tell me this isn’t a trick. Tell me this isn’t some fucking ploy to get more Wen-dogs into my home, so you can finish killing my brother.” He shakes her, drops the fan to put his hand on the saber he's terrible with (it still hums eagerly for blood.) “Tell me.”

“I am,” she gasps

There is a tableau. Then Nie Huaisang drops her and strides for the door. “Shijie, put guards on her rooms, her brother’s, and Granny’s,” he snaps to Han Xiaoshi. “Don’t let anyone enter. Gather the Wens all in the third guest bedroom and keep them there - make sure A-Yuan has some paints to keep him quiet. And I’ll need your two fastest - no, those with the best strength and endurance in flight - ”

“Nephew - ” says the Chief Physician, and “Young Master,” says the First Disciple, a little impressed and a medium dubious

the closest Nie Huaisang has ever gotten to this commanding before was the early days of the Sunshot Campaign when there were no battle lines to hide behind yet, when he sometimes followed Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji as they tore across the country and directed the clean-up of their wake

“The best strength and endurance,” he repeats over them. The fan stays on the floor. “We’re flying to Qishan - we’ll be back with an extra expert for you in a couple days, Uncle. In the meantime, you can have Wen Qing if you need her, but otherwise they all stay in the third guest room.”

It takes a full day to fly to the Wen settlement in Qishan, at Nie Huaisang’s best pace. Starting already late in the afternoon, full of anger and terrified panic in equal measure, it’s beyond late by the time they near - and all but the anger has simmered away. Nie Huaisang lets them settle near the nearest halfway decent city instead, forces himself to lay on the ground and try to sleep, and sends one of his disciples out to buy the nicest fan they can find. He left so fast, he forgot to pick one up again

When they land in the filthy little town just after dawn, he stumbles off his sword more than lands (he is genuinely tired, at least) and runs to hammer on the door of the supervisory office, all terror and panic. “Jin-guniang! Jin-guniang! Help, help! It’s me, Nie Huaisang! I need - ”

“What?!” The captain yanks the door open (she sleeps above the office) and he very much does fall into her arms

“Ah, you have to help me!” He’s disheveled with flight and weepy with tears. “Wen Qing poisoned my brother and now he won’t wake up, so I have to find her sixth uncle - ”

“What - Nie Huaisang, what? Is she threatening - that Wen-bitch - ”

“No, no, we beat up her brother until she said - please! He’s the best at qi deviation, even Uncle Physician admitted it - ”

make sure to have Wen Ning beaten up just enough to look good, he notes in a small, back corner of his mind. in case there are spies in the castle. I’d have spies, if I could

“Okay, okay!” Jin Qixian ushers him into the office, half-holding him up. “Let me check the list of residences - sit down, Huaisang-gongxi, someone will brew tea...”

[five minutes later...]

“A different camp?” Nie Huaisang cries, fluttering his new fan in dismay

“They needed a healer...” Jin Qixian says apologetically. “But you just wait here, I’ll send someone - ”

“No, no,” Nie Huaisang gets to his feet, shaking his head. Happy to let the exhaustion of a 10-hour flight and 4 hours fitful sleep in the woods show, and the desperate helplessness that’s really not hard to fake. “I have to- Da-ge is counting on me - ”

He waves off all her attempted reassurances, bullheaded with anxiety, and accepts an officially sealed note of authority with babbling gratitude, and...

[about an hour and a half later...]

the other town the remnants of the Wen sect and soldiers have been relegated to is more of a city, really - cramped and filthy, where the other one was merely destitute and filthy. Families living all in one room or worse, and it’s okay because they’re only home to sleep; the fields are already filled with everyone old enough to work. They probably do need healers, because there’s not enough attention being paid to waste management. But -

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Nie Huaisang demands more sharply than he’d intended

Focus, A-Sang. It’s Nie Mingjue’s voice in his head, always, as though this was just another hated saber practice

“I’m sorry, Young Master Nie,” says the disciple in charge of this place - Jin Guangchao, another stray cousin. does everyone in that family spread seed like a watering can? “There was an incident a few days ago - ”

“He’s dead?” Nie Huaisang wails, sinking to ground

“No!” Jin Guangchao looks a little disgusted at his helplessness, but bends down to pull him up anyway. “Jin Zixun came around on an inspection and that one you wanted, he was impudent. Jin Zixun ordered him sent to the work camp at Qiongqi Pass.”

mother of fucking fucker [meaning Jin Zixun; meaning the whole situation]. the man probably made eye contact and that overbearing asshole -

“That’s so far away!” Nie Huaisang whined, staying limp, crying into his fan

“Nie-shixiong, it is on the way - ” one of his disciples offers uncertainly (poor bastards - he’s really yanking them around. They’re not sure if they’re helping a con or offering real support)

“We’ll get him back to Chifeng-zun, and get Chifeng-zun back on his feet,” says the other, slipping her arm under his and pulling him to his own feet. “Come on, you’ll see”

(whether it’s for the con or not, Nie Huaisang appreciates it. They’ve never been this genuinely nice to him before)

there’s a conversation in the air halfway to Qiongqi Pass. It goes like this:

“Nie-shixiong, we have to rest. You have to rest.”

[gritted teeth] “I’m fine.”

“You’re going to fall off your sword.” (Liu Lifang, the older woman)

“Then you’ll carry me, won’t you? We’ll already have Wen Zhichen - we’ll double up.”

“Your, uh, dramatics - ” (Zhao Huandi, younger, male - there aren’t a lot of Nies, in Nie. There’s a lot of guest cultivators. There’s a lot of turnover.)

“Will be just as good, if not better, when I’m fainting from spiritual exhaustion.” [slightly bitter, mostly factual] “Don’t worry, I won’t deviate - I don’t use my saber enough for that.” [definitely exhausted] “We don’t stop.”

The work camp at Qiongqi Pass has all the bully-filled charm of Jin Qixian’s town and all the overworked labor je-ne-sais-quoi of the other one, and it’s started raining so there’s a really nice note of despair. If Nie Huaisang had any room left in his brain, he would mourn the beauty of the frescos being destroyed, grand and glorious works of art even if their glory was that of the Wens

he slides off Liu Lifang’s sword in the middle of the densest group of workers, cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Hey! Wen Qing’s Sixth Uncle, Wen Zhichen of DafanWen! Nie Sect requisitions you!”

the prisoner-workers all shrink away; an inspector hurries over. “Hey, who are you - ”

“You will respect Second Master Nie Huaisang,” snaps Zhao Huandi, hand on his saber while Nie Huaisang starts to cry on cue for the third time that day, and god, either they’re really getting it or he’s just blessed with a sect full of perfect straight men.

“Please,” Nie Huaisang begs, leaning on his disciple and waving the letter from Jin Qixian. “I need a healer - that healer, it’s my brother, he’s been poisoned - ”

they’re real tears of exhaustion. maybe he should have let them talk him into a rest

(Da-ge will be fine, he knows, he insists to himself and the world. He was stable 24 hours ago and Nie Huaisang left him with the most competent people he knows)

the inspector has no idea what to do with him and neither does the Chief Inspector, really, when he rides up. That’s perfect - it means their half-hearted objections are easy to push past

they’re still shit at actually helping, because they don’t know a single person in this goddamned work-prison, and all the Wens just shy away, or pick up a pickaxe and try to keep working if anyone comes too near. The inspectors seem to regard this as ideal

Nie Huaisang honestly doesn’t care right now, but he does notice

Finally Nie Huaisang has wailed loudly enough up and down the valley that one prisoner hesitantly steps forward and admits to being the Dafan Wens’ Sixth Uncle. He has Wen Ning’s ears and Granny’s eyes and the same needle callouses as Wen Qing, so Nie Huaisang calls it a day

except they still have to fly back to the Unclean Realm, a flight of six hours unburdened

Nie Huaisang’s groan is entirely genuine

Wen Qing has taken to pacing by the time the Chief Physician comes to fetch her, personally, from the third guest bedroom. Night has come and gone and come again; A-Yuan and Granny are both asleep in the bed and Wen Ning is lying beside them, though she can tell he’s only pretending to sleep to make her feel better. What a good boy.

Sixth Uncle is sitting by Nie Mingjue’s bed in the infirmary, eating soup. There’s a couple Nie disciples in the room as well, one sending a slight stream of energy into Nie Mingjue and one simply watching the Wen, a hand on his saber hilt

(no one’s told her if they’ve searched her or anyone else’s rooms, yet; if they found anything)

“Keep sitting and eating!” snaps Nie Fengji, the Chief Physician, before Sixth Uncle can leap up at the sight of Wen Qing. “I need you talking qi balance, not falling over again.” He mutters under his breath, “People can’t even work if you let them get so weak - can’t trust a Jin to do anything with care.”

She sinks to her knees to hug her uncle instead - and notices a cot that’s been brought in to sit beside Nie Mingjue’s, its occupant also as still and wan as the grave.

“Huaisang!” She springs to her feet. “He didn’t - ”

“Exhaustion. The boy overworked his golden core and passed out.” Nie Fengji pushes her back with a roll of his eyes. “Bullheaded as their father, the both of them.”

He rolls up his sleeves and nudges the attending physician out of the way, to take over easing calming energy into Nie Mingjue without a single quiver in the stream. “Now, you two prove to me why I should trust any sort of Wen.”

To be continued...but Part 4 really will be the last, so, that’s p good actually. By my standards of mis-estimation of how long a piece of writing will be. And it’ll definitely be a short one! Unlike this Part 3, which is...*checks* 4.5k WTF.

#mdzs #the untamed #nie huaisang #wen qing #jin guangyao #a bunch of OCs who i named by mashing together random syllables and i'm not checking if any of them are real names bc it's 3am #ALSO wildly made up as i went: how to address anyone with any sort of title #just went with my gut #so like...apologies if i wildly messed up

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whatiswhump · 4 years

Note

What if Dr.Harris saw Alfred befriending another doctor, him feeling more comfortable around them or opening up to them, how would he deal with them and how would he deal with Alfred? I'm assuming (hopefully) that the possessive doctor parts really show with that. Also, I am really glad you're back!

@cursedscribbles @voidwhump @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @aliceinwhumperland @whump-it @professional-idiocy @ziptiewhump @angrystudentgoopfire @jaxonjekkels

“I think he needs some sun,” The charge nurse, Ethel, said when she woke him this morning. He had been deep in the throes of a nightmare he couldn’t remember so he was still blinking blearily at the nurse and orderly as they stood over him with their clipboard and medication.

The authoritative middle-aged nurse looked down at him still tangled in the thin sheets of his cot, “Would you like that Alfred?”

He was rarely asked for his opinion and for once he didn’t feel dread at the suggestion from one of his caretakers. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been outside. So he nodded slightly.

“He isn’t approved for grounds privileges yet so put a jacket on him and take him to the courtyard for an hour. That ought to do him some good.” With that, the nurse marked something on her board and left the cell.

The orderly, a brusk one named Ed, waited a moment and looked back down at Alfie and said, “Alright, no trouble now if we do this. If you pitch a fit, you will be right back in here,” before he stared at him long and hard and left the cell to return with a straight jacket. Honestly, Alfie was too tired to fight anything even if he wanted to but he didn’t bother informing Ed of this.

Now Alfie sat in the tepid mid-morning sunshine that washed over the large courtyard in the main building. It was actually fairly pleasant for what it was. Flowers beds and the occasional bench dotted the brick walkways so that if he zoned out just enough, it was almost like he was in one of the parks in his neighborhood back home. He was told to sit and not make any noise when the orderly attached his jacket to the bench he was on. Once Ed wandered away for a cigarette break, it was just Alfie and a few other milling patients. He closed his eyes and lifted his face upwards to let the warmth soak into him, he had forgotten how nice it felt. All of the freckles and warmth his face once held had drained out of him months ago. Now, he was pale and sullen with the occasional mark from a heavy-handed orderly. The traces of who he was before the institution were starting to disappear.

“Enjoying the sun?” A voice very close to him startled him.

He shrunk back and reopened his eyes to see a man, a doctor, he didn’t recognize. He appeared to be in his fifties with thinning hair and a gentle smile. He stood just a few feet away but Alfie hadn’t even heard him approach, it unnerved him slightly.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just noticed you over here and wanted to introduce myself. I’m Dr. Grant.”

Alfie was a little surprised, most other doctors ignored him if he wasn’t in a session with them, “I’m um Alfred Finch,” he managed quickly. Out an embarrassing force of habit, he tried to extend his hand but the jacket kept it secured to his body.

The man politely pretended not to notice, “Yes, I am sorry we haven’t had the chance to meet before now. I know you’ve been here for a few months. How are you settling in now?”

Was it a trick question? By all definitions, he was doing so very poorly but he didn’t want to get in trouble for saying so.

“Um, fine thanks.”

The standing man smiled gently in response but did not appear convinced by the pithy response, “I know it’s not easy here, it would be a major adjustment for anyone, let alone what you’ve been going through.”

Alfie glanced across the garden at one of the opening doors and then back at him, “So are you one of my doctors?”

“Yes and no. Every doctor at the hospital assists in each case, so I may work with you occasionally but not in the same capacity as Dr. Harris. He is your primary psychiatrist.”

Alfie nodded slowly in comprehension trying not to flinch at the mention of Harris.

“But you know you’re lucky. He has taken quite an interest in you-”

At this Alfie’s eyes darted back to Dr. Grant’s face. Was he taunting him? Smiling or sneering at his colleague’s pet project perhaps?

But instead, all he saw was an earnest expression well at home in the man’s relaxed features, “He is a particularly perceptive doctor but very busy with more patients than most. I am impressed with how much time he seems to spend with you. But if anyone can help you, it will be him.”

He seemed intelligent and empathetic enough but he was still a doctor here so Alfie wasn’t sure why something in his chest sank when he realized this man had drunk the Kool-Aid too. Why should he be any different than anyone else here? It seemed everyone worshipped the sick bastard except him.

The doctor was still speaking amiably when Alfie drifted back into attention, “I read that you are a painter? Have you had a chance to use the arts and crafts room yet?”

It seemed everyone had read everything about him. Did everyone but him have access to the intimate details of his life? Alfie stifled a paranoid urge and responded, “I didn’t know there was one.”

“Yes! It’s limited, it’s no Renaissance workshop but you might enjoy it. I’ll speak to Dr. Harris about it for you, perhaps a bit of normalcy will be nice for you.”

“Thanks,” Alfie thought to all of his canvases at home in his apartment. What had happened to them? Did his art dealer take them, or perhaps the landlord burned them when he cleared out the apartment for new renters? Regardless they were probably gone by now.

“My wife and I love art, I mean- I could never pick up a brush and her creative skills lie in embroidery and sewing the odd dress but we spend a lot of weekends in museums. She loves the precision of the Dutch school, all of those more perfect than life still-lives but my tastes run in the more avant-garde. I guess the chaos that runs through and the glimpse into the artist’s mind appeals to me. Hm, now that I think of it, many of the artists would be considered insane on one level or another. What do you like?” A poor transition but seemingly innocent inquiry.

Alfie smiled slightly at the thought, “Whistler. He’s always been my favorite.”

“Oh, beautiful choice. Yes, I can see it with you. All of those layers of transparent washes coming together to make heartbreakingly subtle scenes, anonymous and unequivocally distinct at the same time. There’s a lot in those paintings even though most people find them simple.”

Alfred found himself looking back at the man for the second time in surprise.

He noticed and chuckled, “I’m sorry, I get carried away sometimes, I don’t know many appreciators of fine art.”

“No, no- it’s fine, I just- I’ve never met anyone else that has described him that way. I agree. It hurts in my chest just to look at one.”

Dr. Grant’s face fell solemn suddenly, “It is a particular weight to bear.”

The doctor’s odd and surprisingly serious proclamation didn’t perturb Alfie but instead did the opposite. For the first time since arriving, he felt like someone wasn’t watching him waiting for him to act out or to study and record, but simply to have a conversation.

A moment passed and Dr. Grant suddenly looked down at his watch, “Oh dear, I’m late again. Nurse Ethel will have my head on a stake if I am late to another session. I’m sorry to cut this chat short but thank you for indulging my ramblings, Alfred.”

Alfie just nodded in response as the man walked off. He felt more awake than he had in a long time... Grant was right about normalcy. Perhaps this doctor would be alright after all.

---

“Please sit down Alfred.” Dr. Harris prompted and the orderly took his cue to push Alfie into the seat.

He himself sat down and took the glasses from the pocket of his white coat to scan his notepad, “You seem a little more up in spirits today. Did Nurse Ethel’s recommendation of sun help?”

“Um, yes, thank you.” Alfie could feel the intimidating presence of the orderly hovering just a few feet behind him.

“I spoke with Dr. Grant and he mentioned you were quite loquacious,” He looked up from whatever he had been reading to make eye contact with his patient, “Now. I find this odd considering you are so unwilling to speak during your sessions. Would you like to explain this to me?”

His stare was withering and Alfie felt like a rabbit cornered by the fox, “Um, no I didn’t- I, he just talked about art a little. It wasn’t very long.”

“Alfred, I am glad you are speaking with other members of the staff,” A sickly smile spread across his face, “I just expect you know that you need to cooperate with me first before you start asking others for privileges. Did you not think that I would allow you to go to the art room?”

“Um, no, I didn’t know about it until today, I didn’t mean to-”

“If you had asked me I would have encouraged you to use it. I find it disappointing that you went around me to someone else though.”

“I-”

“As it is, I agree with Dr. Grant. I think it will be good for your treatment. But you will have to be very good to receive this privilege. One issue and I won’t think twice about rescinding it. Will you be good?”

“Um- thank you. Yes... I’ll do my best.” For some reason, he already felt like the consequences would outweigh the reward and a new lump of dread began to form in his throat.

“You’re welcome, Alfred. I just want to see you do well here… And since you’re evidently in such a talkative mood today, I say we should delve into your history with your parents-”

Harris picked up his pen with a click and smiled again at his prey as the blood drained from Alfie. This was going to be a long session...

#alfie #alfie finch #dr harris #possessive doctor #psychiatric whump #whatiswhump #mine #jealous #painting #Straight Jacket

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the-shadow-of-atlantis · 3 years

Text

Wait You're A What?

Tagging: @melyaliz @lizartgurl @sea-quinn @coffee-randomness @speedypan @gobydana @uncpanda

A/N Britney and the color coordinated triplets belong to @melyaliz Harper horde belongs to @speedypan

Read More of the Next Gen Here

"Why's Uncle Dicks cop car here?" Aquata asked as she stepped out of the car.

"I dunno." Shaylees shrugged and looked over at their father who was helping their siblings climb out. "Dad?"

"I know your uncle is investigating something. Maybe he needed your mother for help." Kaldur said as he helped the last one out of the car.

The twins shared a look before quickly rushing into the house.

"I'm telling you this is too calculated to be an animal. Sure their attacks can be precise but also there seems to be sighs of… oh hi girls." Annabella quickly glanced at the clock and sighed. "How was school?"

"Good." Shaylees responded.

"What's going on?" Aquata inquired seeing all the files spread across the kitchen counter.

"There's been a string of deaths recently but there's something odd about the deaths." Dick furrowed his brow. "There's a good chance I'm gonna have to hand this over to the team. So be ready you guys have a mission tonight."

"Tonight?" Aquata asked, her shoulders slightly slumping.

It had been the first week back at school and Tyler had really wanted to take her out on a date to celebrate. Great… she really hoped this wouldn't ruin things. He was a pretty great guy.

"I gotta go make a call." Aquata said as she turned to leave towards her room.

"Hey Aquata, I was about to call you." Tyler said as soon as he answered.

"Oh?" Aquata felt her heart drop.

"Yeah hey listen I'm sorry I really wanted to go out tonight but something came up some family trouble." Tyler sighed.

"Oh thank God." Aquata breathed then realized how that might have sounded. "I mean it's okay! Something came up for me too that's why I was calling. Now I don't feel so guilty for canceling. How about if everything calms down by Sunday we could do lunch?"

"That sounds great." Tyler said and Aquata could almost hear his smile.

"Great, see you Sunday then." Aquata said though for some reason she couldn't bring herself to hang up.

She felt butterflies flutter around in her stomach and she was glad she was alone as she was pretty sure she was blushing like crazy.

"This is nice." Tyler whispered.

"Yeah it is." Aquata mumbled.

Faintly Aquata heard someone else talk on the other end of the phone making Tyler sigh.

"I have to go." He whispered.

"Me too." Aquata responded. "See you soon."

"Of course." Tyler said and then the line disconnected.

"Sooo how did it go?" Shaylees asked as Aquata walked out into the hall.

"Great actually, something came up for him too so we're postponing till Sunday."

"Oh nice." Said Shaylee as she gave her a knowing smile.

"Oh stop it." Aquata said, playfully shoving her sister. "Come on, let's get to the cave already."

The briefing room was quiet as the twins and their cousin Britney sat there waiting for their teammates. Their mother and uncle stood at front, both of them going through the tablet that now held all the files. It was strange seeing their mother in uniform, it was moments like these where she really resembled grandpa Bruce and Uncle Damian. Aquata had just started spinning in her chair when the door opened and in came the horde.

"Sorry someone was taking too long to get their hair done." Eric said, smacking Collin upside the head.

They quickly took their seats and Aquata waited for the briefing to start. Except it didn't and a few moments later the triplets came in. Okay then this was probably a serious mission. Everyone took their seats and the room went silent again.

"For the past two months the police has been dealing with a string of deaths and they can't figure out what's causing it. At this point they think it's an animal considering the wounds but I'm not quite sure." Annabella began and the screen behind her turned on and showed tons of pictures of all the victims.

"Ew." May squeaked quietly.

Aquata wrinkled her nose a bit but leaned forward to get a better look. She could see why police thought it could be an animal the bodies were riddled with puncture wounds like a dog bite. But these were much too big to be a dog.

"Why do you think it's not an animal?" Collin asked.

"The attacks are too precise and happening just on the outskirts of the city near forested areas. Almost like it knows that the attack will be blamed on an animal. So I'm not risking any of my workers if there's a slight chance this thing isn't what the police say it is."

"The attacks are also close to full moons." Dick added and everyone looked puzzled.

"You think it's a werewolf." Aquata asked deadpanned, though her stomach seemed to churn a bit.

For the past three months she'd been dating Tyler. And the more time she spent with him the more she was convinced he was a werewolf. She never said anything, never asked, hell she had her own secret to keep from him. So she waited to see if he was ever ready to tell her. This couldn't have been him though.

Her head spun as she tried to think of the times they would hang out. Any sign that maybe he was bad. But no he would mainly skip on full moon nights, never anything leading up. She could almost hear her grandfather and uncles voices in her head.

Focus, find a pattern.

A pattern. There in the bite marks.

"You have something to share Aquata?" Her mother asked, yanking the girl from her thoughts.

Aquata glanced around realizing that everyone was staring at her. Her mother didn't look upset with the fact that Aquata had basically zoned out. Instead she looked expectly at her daughter waiting to see what insight she might provide.

"I think you might be right about it being a werewolf or something similar. The bite marks, there's always one on the left shoulder. It's the deepest of all the bites it's also close to heart. I think whoever is doing this is trying to make more. And I think we're looking at the failed test subjects. I think they're going back and killing whoever didn't complete the transformation, making it look like an animal attack."

Her mother smiled and turned to her brother. "You owe me dinner."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, we still need to figure out if it is what we think it is." Dick countered, though his eyes shined with amusement.

"Yeah okay. Okay well with that insight this is how it's going to go down. Red Arrow, Blue Arrow, and Red Willow, you guys will take the woods surrounding the areas that the attacks have happened. Try to spot any tracks that seem suspicious and where they might lead.

Red, Green, and Blue you guys will take the westside while Tempest, Cyclone, and Finch take the eastside of the buildings and houses that are near the forest. You two will start from opposite sides and meet in the middle. Check every building, alley, and anything abandoned looking fro any suspicious activity or victims.

Nightwing and I are going to be close by. As soon as one of the teams spots something we will be on our way. Understood.”

Everyone nodded in response. “Very well let's go.”

The girls raced through the roof tops occasionally stopping to glance through windows and sunroofs to see if there was anything out of the ordinary. So far every building was empty except for the one where Riddler, Penguin, and Calenderman were playing poker.

“Anything?” Aquata asked through the coms as she leaped to the next building.

“Woods are clear so far.” Blue Arrow said.

“And a lot of these buildings are surprisingly empty.” Red responded.

“Yeah we’re-“ Aquata halted when she heard shouting coming from the other side of the building they were standing on.

“Cyclone?” Her mothers voice came in.

Aquata signaled to her cousin and sister to be quiet as they carefully approached the edge of the building and peeked over the side. There in the alleyway were four figures. A rather large man one was standing over a girl who was sobbing uncontrollably while two slightly smaller men were standing several feet away.

“Marcus stop this, you know this won't have a good ending.” One of the smaller men shouted and Aquata recognized Tyler’s voice.

“You're right it won't have a good ending for you.” Marcus growled and lunged towards Tyler and his companion.

Without thinking Aquata jumped off the building in the direction of Marcus. She whistled sharply as she plummeted to the ground. Immediately Marcus glanced at her confused only to receive a hard kick in the face. Quickly rolling out of the way Aquata glanced over to see the girl disappear in a soft blue light, great that means her sister got her. Pulling out her water-bearers she formed the water into swords and quickly froze it in place.

“Might I suggest you bite into something that’s a little more dead. There’s a nice restaurant not too far from here that serves a very good filet mignon.” Aquata said keeping him distracted however Marcus simply growled at her. “I'll take that as a no.”

Britney dropped down beside her pulling out her own weapon. “Seriously, you couldn’t wait for us to plan something first?”

“I have a plan. Take out the big bad wolf.”

Marcus growled again and charged but before Aquata could strike Tyler rushed in and shoved Marcus into a nearby wall.

“Aquata?!” He asked standing in front of her.

“Cyclone.” Aquata answered automatically.

“What?”

“Watch out.” Aquata sidestepped her boyfriend and sliced at Marcus' arm who howled in pain.

“You’re a hero?” Tyler asked kicking Marcus towards his companion who Aquata finally identified as Cason. Cason quickly got Marcus in a choke hold.

“You really want to have this conversation right now?” Aquata questioned as she rushed over to Cason, her arms sparkling with electricity. “Let him go unless you wanna get shocked.”

Cason did as he was told and Aquata quickly sent a charge through Marcus' body making him go limp.

“Okay, now you may continue.” Aquata sighed, running her hand over her face.

Tyler was about to say something when two different gusts of wind rushed through the alley. The horde and the triplets showed up and Aquata almost wanted to bash her own head into a wall. Tyler stared at her wide eyed.

“You're all heroes?” He asked.

“Yup and I’m the leader, and sorry who are you again?” Collin said, holding his hand out.

“Tyler, my boyfriend.”

“Wait, he's the one going around killing people?” Collin asked, taking his hand back.

“No idiot the guy passed out is the one killing people.”

“Speaking of killing.” Shaylee said, appearing beside Aquata. “This girl is still alive.”

“Why does she look dead then?” Cason asked.

“Sleeping spell she wouldn’t stop freaking out.”

“Does she have any bite marks?” Tyler asked, trying to get a good look at the body.

“No first thing I checked. Girl got lucky but what do we do with her?”

“Erase her memory.” Annabella sighed as she approached the group with Dick right behind her. “Right now that’s the best option for her. I also said to radio me and we would come to take over.”

Aquata winced slightly yup that one was on her. Marcus suddenly tried to lunge at Aquata but her mother quickly stood in front of her and growled.

“Stand down.” Her voice boomed and Marcus halted his face full of confusion as to why his body obeyed.

Blue magic swirled around Marcus and suddenly he was bound in chains. Tyler and Cason stared at Annabella wide eyed with fear.

“How…” Tyler whispered, unsure of what exactly to ask. However Dick cut in.

“I'm guessing you guys have also been trying to catch this guy for a while.”

“Yes. Our pack is nearby. We're suppose to take him in for a trial.” Tyler said composing himself.

“Call your pack then and get this sorted. Right now the police still believe this is just a strange animal attack.” Annabella said. “However we are going to expect an update. And we’re taking the girl to make sure she is taken care of”

“Um okay.” Tyler said unsure of what to make of this whole situation.

Annabella smiled warmly at him. “Don't worry we can go over this when we're not holding a rabid werewolf prisoner.”

“Right right.” Tyler muttered, rubbing his head. Aquata could almost see all the questions racing around in there.

He locked eyes with her and Aquata could only bring herself to mouth the words we’ll talk later. After that they gathered the girl and the two groups went their own way.

Benched that’s what Aquata was after the stunt she pulled on the mission. And extra training lectures run by her Uncle Damian, though the joke was on her mother Aquata actually liked her uncle's lectures. The only downside, the lectures started immediately and Uncle Damian had a strict no phones policy. So by the end of her lecture on Saturday her phone was filled with messages by Tyler.

It was all pretty much the same thing he wanted to talk. In response Aquata simply sent her address because on top of being benched she was also grounded. By the time she got back home Tyler was there pacing.

“Hey.” Aquata said softly as she got out of her Uber.

“Hey.” Tyler said slightly startled.

They stood there looking at each other awkwardly.

“I've been trying to get in contact with you all day. And then I was like well let me text her sister only to realize I don't have your sisters number. Then I thought to come to your place only to realize I also don’t know where you live… well until now.”

“I know, I know sorry. I got in trouble for that stunt I pulled last night and got sent to my uncles for some training lectures.” Aquata explained quickly.

“Oh, okay yeah… training lectures… hero.” Tyler muttered. “So those times you’ve postponed dates that’s because you’ve been off being a hero.”

“Not entirely. Sometimes it has been family stuff.” Aquata winced slightly. “Are you mad?”

“Mad?” Tyler asked looking at her confused. “Why would I be mad? No, I’m just… shocked. My girlfriend is a freaking superhero. How cool is that?!”

Aquata couldn’t help but laugh suddenly. “This coming from a guy who can transform into a werewolf.”

“How long have you known that?” Tyler asked, his voice suddenly quiet.

“Since we met.” She answered honestly.

“What?! And you never said anything??”

“I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. Also no offense but you're pretty terrible at hiding it.”

“Its the hair isn’t it.”

“Yeah you shed like crazy.” Aquata giggled.

“It doesn’t scare you?” Tyler asked, his voice was trying to use curiosity to mask the fear.

“If anything it's pretty hot.” Aquata said truthfully, taking a step closer. She couldn’t help but smile as he began to blush.

“If I had known you would take this so well I would have told you sooner.” Tyler whispered.

“Well I get it. I usually dont tell my partners I’m a hero on the first date.”

“Yeah no that’s definitely a second date kind of thing.” Tyler smirked, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“You are such a dork.” Aquata smiled, closing the distance to kiss him.

Someone behind her cleared their throat and Tyler nearly jumped out of his skin. Aquata turned around to see her mother.

“You're still grounded missy.” She said but her stern voice didn't match the playfulness in her eyes. “Tyler, why don't you stay for dinner. We can talk more privately inside.”

Tyler cleared his throat. “Thank, thank you Mrs. Durham. I’d be happy to.”

Annabella nodded and turned to head inside the house.

“So um what exactly is your mom?” Tyler whispered.

“It's a long story.” Aquata said, taking his hand. “Would you like to find out?”

Tyler looked at her and smiled as he nodded and Aquata couldn’t help but feel her heart swell. With the butterflies threatening to burst they walked down the path way to the house.

#oc #my ocs #next gen

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erintoknow · 4 years

Text

falling forward

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

You agreed to help Herald relearn how to fight – and oh god what were you thinking? Tw: past sexual abuse; suicidal thoughts [still feel]

[Read on AO3]

With Halloween behind you, fall is in full swing now, and the worst of the summer heat is safely in the past. Hard to believe it’s already going to be winter next month, if it wasn’t for the cool air filling your lungs. Was Banshee’s big debut trashing the Heroic Heritage Museum Gala really just this summer? It feels like a lifetime ago.

You hold your shawl against yourself as the wind whips it about, Herald holding you in his arms. Jesus christ you hate flying. Hate it hate it hate it. Why did you agree to this insanity?

You don’t know what you expected really, agreeing to train Herald. Herald! Of all people. But he needs it. He needs the work. Whatever cocky assurance he had before your debut has evaporated. The first couple sessions you couldn’t even do much actual sparring, his leg was still in recovery.

The blond bastard is always floating, which must be why you didn’t notice before – How much he favors that knee, the way he’s shifted how he carries his weight. The first time, it was hard to stay focused, to keep present in the moment. Kept falling back to that moment, the sheer disdain and… jealousy? Were you jealous of Herald? Is that what was? So jealous you had to break him.

Another soul you’ve carved with poison.

Or you thought you had.

“Here we go,” Herald lets go of you as your feet touch solid ground again. Quickly retreating, “Again, sorry.”

You take a breath, make a show of dusting the ‘Herald’ off of you and adjusting your sunglasses. “Let’s just… get this show on the road. You said the, um, the quacks finally cleared you for active duty again?”

Herald nods, smiling with his whole face. Swear to god, even if you weren’t telepathic the man practically broadcasts what he’s thinking regardless. Always sunny. Always hopefull. And today? Excited to finally do something with the forms you’d been running him through.

You step back and let him run through his warm-up exercises as you scan the horizon. So high… you’ll never get used to it.

The little niggling urge in the back of your head whispering ‘jump!’

“Are you going to warm up too?” Herald watches you. That’s another thing about Herald, he never met a good silence that he didn’t want to immediately fill with something.

You shift your stance, flexing your fingers under your shawl. “I’m plenty warm, thanks, wonderbread.”

Herald laughs at that, so you deepen your scowl, watch the sunshine wither under your glare. “I wasn’t joking.” Concern flits across his face, and you can’t help the triumphant smirk. So he is capable of more than one emotion after all. “Look, a villain isn’t going to… uh, going to stand there while you do your morning crunches.”

“Well, good thing there’s no villains up here, right?”

He smiles, sunshine poking out from behind the clouds again. You scowl at that and shift your weight, feet planted on the ground with hands behind your back, hidden under your shawl. You’d never get away with it, sparring with Ortega. She’d pick up Banshee’s style in an instant. Herald’s still green. Still safe.

“Let’s just… see what you can do, first.” Relax. Take a breath. Let the music drop and the buzz of the world around you leech in. There he is. Right in front of you, watching. Thinking. Loud and clear.

“Uh – really? Already?”

Roll your eyes. “Just hit me already, Herald.”

Herald takes a moment to center himself. An old familiar song, crushing down the doubt into somewhere dark and deep so it can’t throw you off in the middle of a fight. He rushes you head on, thinking he’ll fake you out and sweep around the side. You stay put, ready. At the last second you twist to the side, and grab his arm, overextended. Pull him forward and off balance and follow up with a knee to the gut.

Herald wheezes, floating backward as you let go. A hand to his chest as he gasps for air. “Did you… wow – did you have to hit so hard?”

You tap your chin, glancing upwards as you make a show of thinking it over. Shrug. “No.” There’s no better teacher than pain. Frankly, compared to the kind of training you had? Herald’s getting kids gloves here. You reset your position, nodding at him. “Come on. Again.”

Herald grits his teeth, bracing himself.

The two of you repeat the process; over and over. And every time you smoothly avoid his attack and knock him away. Ten minutes later he’s still floating away, clutching his side this time. You sigh, rubbing your leg.The kid has got some persistence, but now your own knee is starting to get sore.

“Listen.” You say, and Herald looks up at you, relief in his eyes. Christ. You shake your head, focus! “Listen – Herald. You keep – keep making this same mistake. Over and over.” You spread your arms, hands poking out from under the shawl. “I say ‘attack me’ and, you, fool that you are, attack me.”

Herald face scrunches up. “What? You’re not making any sense.”

You keep your hands out. “Hit me.”

Herald doesn’t move, floating a few feet away. Still gently drifting backwards from your last go-around.

“Com’on, well?”

Confused thoughts spill onto his face, but he stays where he is.

You smile. “Better.” You run a hand through your hair. “Don’t follow your enemy’s script. Make them follow yours.” Your fingers find the bobby pin holding your hair out of your face. With a flick of your wrist it’s sent sailing at Herald’s head.

He ducks automatically and you use the chance to move forward, striking at the back of his legs. Herald falls backwards, flailing in the air as he tries to right himself again. A foot catches your face and you fall to your ass as Herald pulls up and out of reach.

“Damn!” You wince, rubbing your jaw. Bit your own tongue hard enough to taste blood there.

Glance up, and Herald is hovering, anxious. “Are you alright?”

Ugh. You roll your eyes. “Goddamnit Herald, you d–don’t ask your enemy if they’re okay.” You push yourself back to your feet, glaring up at him with your hands on your hips.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He protests, dipping down closer, but not you note, within reach.

You shift your hand up, rub at your temples to hide your eyes. He has no idea. No fucking idea who you are. It – it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. “Herald.” You shake your head. “What do you think happens in a fight?”

A flare of frustration from above you. “I know what a fight is, Ariadne.”

“The moment you had me on the ground, you should have pressed your advantage, instead you pulled back and gave me a chance to recover.” You flick your wrist in his direction again, frown as he ducks. How long has he been in the game now? A couple years right? How is he still this green? “There’s no such thing as ‘playing dirty,’ understand? Only fights you walk away from and fights you don’t.”

You step away from him. Put the sunshine to your back. This isn’t a hero flick, or a sanitized news report. He needs to get it through his thick skull or he’s going to end up getting mulched. Again.

“Ariadne?” Can feel him hover closer behind. Scared you’re going to do something stupid. The concern is enough to make you ball your hands into fists. You ‘doing something stupid’ would just be doing him and most of the world a favor, honestly.

He’s still there. Just out of striking range. At least he learned one thing. “I was hoping for training Ariadne.” He sounds worried. Fuck. “Not beating the crap out of each other.”

“Yeah, well…” You stare out at the horizon. The crest of the mountains beyond the city. Somewhere past those rocks lays home, your nightmare. “Fighting people isn’t pretty, Herald. If – if you haven’t figured that out by n–now, you’re hopeless. People break bones, they bleed everywhere. Sometimes there’s tears and crying, and – and you can’t always tell if it’s… yours.” You flex your jaw. Can still feel the sting where Herald’s shoe hit. “At–at–at the end of th–the day, there’s nothing… nothing heroic about b–breaking a man’s rib cage just because the–the–the alternative is him chopping you and a d–dozen other – a dozen other people into bits.”

Your every nerve is on edge, shoulders tense enough to make your neck hurt. You shift your arms under your shawl, hugging them tight against yourself. “People just… they die.” Can feel your voice rise as your throat tightens. “They die and die and die and you p–pray you aren’t one of them.”

“Hey… are you alright?” The voice behind you sounds distant. A thousand miles removed. Vaguely aware of your legs buckling underneath you as you collapse, accordion-like onto the roof tile.

You’re not there. It’s not real. You’re not real? No – fuck. Vague memory like someone else’s voice, prodding reminder of something Dr. Finch suggested. Try to grasp it and it’s gone and there’s just light above and white around and – and –

Someone moves, their intention for touch like a burning iron cutting through your thoughts. You grit your teeth and snare it, halt the arm with red threads pulling back. “Don’t. Touch. Me.” Pull hard and the attached body staggers back. Away.

There's a note of alarm. Fear. Fear of you? Who could possibly be…?

It’s sunlight. Wonderbread. It slams like the ache in your knees, the pain in your throat. The salt on your cheeks. You’re in Los Diablos. On a roof. With Herald. It’s Herald. Not scared of you, scared… for you? Fuck.

Have to get out of here. You stagger to your feet, one hand pushing up your shades as you try to wipe your eyes before he can notice. “Lesson over for today. S–sorry. No refunds.”

Herald’s fear is palpable and terrifying. “Okay, seriously, what just happened there? Did I say something wrong?”

You march your body to the roof access. “It’s nothing. Don’t – don’t worry about it. In fact: f–f–forget about training altogether.” Grab the handle and pull. Push and pull. No luck. No movement. “Mierda.”

“Ariadne, talk to me. Something’s clearly wrong, you’re worrying me.”

God – fucking hell. You spin on your heel, fists at your sides. “I d–d–don’t owe you jack shit Herald!” You yell at the top of your lungs. “I’m only up here in the–the–the first place because of – because of you! And now I’m – I’m fucking trapped here!”

Herald dips backwards, hands raised as if he’s going to block your words like a punch. “You’re upset. I’m sorry.” He means it. Really thinks he means it, the idiot. “I’ll just… take you back down to the street and we can call it a week, okay?”

“No!” You stomp your foot, willing him to go away, heart pounding at the thought of it. “Nobody else is f–f–fucking touching me today!”

Herald doesn’t move. Stays put, ever so slightly off the ground. Hands out, ready to… to…

“Goddamnit.” You close your eyes. “I–I–I don’t need a second fucking Ortega.”

A silence passes between the two of you. It doesn’t last long enough.

“Can we…” Herald hesitates. “Can we talk now?”

“Fine. Free country.”

“Did you…” Can feel him try to pick the right words. His fear of setting you off putting you on edge again. “Was that another… attack, just then?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You turn away from him, glare at the lock. Maybe if you will it hard enough, you can get the door to open out of shame.

“But you just said–”

“You don’t – Herald, you d–d–don’t need to understand. It’s none of your goddamn business.” Have to will yourself to keep standing. To stay angry. To not fall apart. Not here. Not like this. Not in front of this stranger you barely know whose life you’ve ruined. “H–how did you think this was going to go, Herald? W–w–what exactly were you f–f–fucking expecting? To–to–to have your – your fearless hero leap out of TV Screen? Well… S–surprise!” You whirl back on him, waving your hands, sneering. “She d–doesn’t exist! I’m not her! I n–never was. We c–c–can’t all be perfect TV Stars, Herald! I’m just a – a washed-up has-been that d–d–doesn’t know when to leave things well fucking goddamn enough alone!”

You turn back to the door and kick it hard enough to leave a dent.

“Ariadne…” Oh god, he’s not giving up, jesus christ. “Even if that was true, that’s not why I asked for your help.”

Uh-huh. Sure buddy.

He wilts under your stare. “Well. Okay. Maybe, um. Maybe that was part of it – but it’s not the main reason! I was serious about needing help. This new villain, Ghost or whatever–”

“Banshee.”

“That. I told you. I need help. I need a new way to fight if I’m not going to… If I’m not going to screw up again.” He holds your stare. Can feel him focused on you. Willing you to believe him. Desperate for it.

Begging for your help to defeat you.

“… you’re really serious about this?”

“Yes!”

“One hundred percent dedicated?”

“Yes!!”

You turn away. “Welp. S–sucks to be you I guess.”

It takes him a moment to recover from that. “Excuse me?”

Rolling your eyes at the door, you hold at a hand, as if holding something. “What’s your tragic backstory? Dead wife? Lost your parents? Every hero’s got one.” You kick the door again. Still no luck. Turn back to Herald, glare at the stricken expression on his face. “Nobody willingly throws themselves at people who can shoot laser beams out of their eyes or has knives for hands who doesn’t want to die on some level.”

“You… don’t really think that, do you?”

You laugh, throwing your arms up, helpless. “Maybe I do! M–maybe I don’t. Who f–f–fucking knows anymore.” You fall back against the door, sliding to the ground. Finally got Herald to shut up. He thinks you’re a mental case now, but fuck it. Fuck him. Fuck you.

Tilt your head up at the sky, watch the smog and clouds meld together.

Herald stays put, floating awkwardly. His thoughts loud and clear and threatening to drown out your own.

This clearly isn’t how he expected his morning to go today. He knew you had… changed since the hero days. But after that first conversation and agreeing to help him, he had hoped that maybe… working with you, he could help… fix things? Somehow? That’s what heroes do, right?

Well, here you are now, looking even more tired and run down then he had ever seen at Rangers HQ. Some kind of panic attack you refused to talk about or even acknowledge. Did he just make things worse? Had he pressured you into it, somehow? He had just wanted to maybe get to know you–

“God, you think too loud.” You rub your temples with one hand, the other tracing a familiar pattern into your pant leg.

Herald’s face reddens. “I’m… sorry?”

“You should be.” You shake your head. “I’m embarrassed for you.” You add, because you just can’t help yourself today. “Fighting a telepath and you can’t even put a lid on it.”

Herald grabs the subject change with all the enthusiasm of a drowning man grabs a life preserver. “That’s possible?”

You shrug. “Obviously.” Doesn’t he know this stuff? It’s not like its secret knowledge “There’s ways – techniques, work-arounds, little ‘walls’ you can put up to make it harder.”

“What do you do?”

“It’s…” You hesitate. “It’s a little different for me. Since I’m also the one, uh, hearing.” At least this is a safe subject. Mostly. Mostly safe. “I guess it works pretty much the same though. You want something that can occupy your, uh – shit, I don’t know the professional terms. I’m not a damn doctor.” You shrug, still staring up at the sky. “But like… your surface level thoughts?”

Herald tilts his head, thinking it over. “Like… when you talk to yourself in your head?”

“Y–yeah. Yeah, sure.” Good enough. “You can use that as a – a smokescreen. Chaff. Or whatever?”

“Huh.” Can feel Herald’s mind churning. Turning your words over. “Couldn’t you also use that to like… misdirect? Think one thing and do the opposite?”

Uh – huh.

You look at Herald. Okay. Didn’t expect him to catch on that fast. “Yeah.” You nod, smiling despite yourself. “Yeah, that’s… possible. But it’s a lot harder than it sounds to pull that off in the middle of a fight. Trust me.”

Herald stays quiet for a blessed second, weighing the idea in his head. “What about you? What do you usually do for a… um, smokescreen?”

Fuck. Not Even Ortega ever straight up asked you that. “…If I tell you, and – and you laugh. I am legally allowed to kill you.” Why are you even offering? What the fuck Ariadne?

Herald smiles, raising his hands, “I won’t laugh,” he promises. There’s a slight anxiety to his smile.

“I’m dead serious, wonderbread.”

“…me too.” His voice cracks.

You chew your lip, tracing patterns in your leg as you think it over. Whether to follow through.

Ah, fuck it.

“I… um. I use music.” You stare down at your lap. Ready for the first smart comment to signal Herald’s final beatdown.

“Wait…” Here it comes. “Like – so you’re just, what? Singing in your head?”

You shift position, glare at him from across the rough, ready to strike.

“Hey!” He raises his arms again, “Hey, I’m not laughing! It’s actually kind of cu–” He cuts himself off. Has the presence of mind not to finish that sentence. “Anyway, I’m just surprised by it being that simple?”

“Try keeping it up while fighting three separate people and balancing keeping out bystanders while still monitoring the other combatants.”

“…Okay. That does sound harder.” Herald admits. “But, I’d only need to worry about keeping out a telepath right? Like Banshee?”

You can’t keep the sarcasm out of your voice, “Lucky you.”

If Herald notices, he doesn’t give any sign. “Do you think, um, maybe that we can practice that next week?” He catches your eyes again, worry lining his face. It’s enough to make your chest hurt. It’s not right. He’s still practically a kid. And you’re… Fuck.

“Maybe.” You owe him that. Don’t you? But you can’t quite bring yourself to give up that easily. “You th–think you can pick a training area that doesn’t leave me trapped on top of a f–f–fucking building?”

“Um.” Herald scratches his head. “I can try. I could at least get a copy of the roof access key.”

“And I expect at least a milkshake. As – as compensation.”

“I can work with that.”

–––

You’re really spending a lot of time at Rangers HQ these days, aren’t you? If you’re not grabbing Herald for training, then you’re playing consultant to Ortega. Or stopping by to grab her for something else… You’re a wanted criminal and terrorist. You really shouldn’t be flaunting yourself like this. One day it’s going to come back to bite you in the ass.

Until then, you’ll sit on the break room windowsill with a cup of hot chocolate and watch the traffic outside until the sound of the door opening draws your eyes away.

“So. Ari.” Ortega slides into the room, arms behind her back. A smile on her face that can only mean trouble. “You seem to be getting along better with Herald these days, huh?”

“W–what?” Can feel your face get warm. “I – I told you. I don’t – I’m just – I’m not even…” You put your drink down and cross your arms. “So – so what? What of it?”

Ortega keeps smiling, the bastard. “Nothing.” She lies. “I’m just pleasantly shocked is all. It took me how long to even get your name? A year? You move fast in your old age.”

“Old age!?” You jump to your feet.

“What, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?” Ortega cackles.

“S–shut up, old woman! Crone! Uh – um – fuck – uh, Disney Timeshare holder!”

Ortega’s grin only widens. “You know? I’ve never actually been.”

Where does she get these ideas? Why does she keep – no. You’re not thinking about this. Stop it. Shut up Ariadne. “It’s–it’s–it’s not like I’m doing it for free!” You push on. “I’m making him pay for it!”

That gets her by surprise. “Really?”

“In milkshakes!”

There’s silence, and then Ortega laughs. “Oh! I thought you were serious for a minute there.”

“I am serious!” You stomp your foot. “I’m d–d–dead fucking serious!!” You need to go on the attack fast. “Why? Huh? What’s it matter to–to–to you!? What? You jealous?”

“Me?” Ortega huffs, “Jealous of what? Ari, I work with Herald. I see him plenty. I’m just happy for you.”

You blink. “W–what? That’s not – there’s – Ortega…”

“Hey, relax. I’m just teasing. Well,” Ortega tilts her head with a shrug, “Mostly teasing. I know you’re gayer than a three-dollar bill.”

“I – what?” You voice cracks.

Now it’s Ortega’s turn to look confused. “Er, I’m not misremembering am I?”

“I – I don’t know? I–I–I’ve never – never thought about it!?”

Oh god. Oh fuck. Why is this happening? Why are you saying these words with your mouth in that order?

“Really?” Ortega’s watching you. All damnable static and an unreadable face.

“I don’t know!” You sit back down. “It’s – it’s never mattered before! I don’t… I don’t do that kind of stuff.”

“A certain rock on the beach would beg otherwise.”

“S–shut up! Crone!”

Just… let lightning strike you right now. Please.

“You… know it’s okay if you want to, right?” Ortega pauses. “And if the other person is into it, of course.” Can hear the smirk in her voice.

“I – I guess?? I don’t know…”

“Ari, I was just teasing before but… are you interested in Herald?”

You shoot up your head, locking eyes with her. Shock on your face. “What? No! I… No! I don’t – no. It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?”

You frown, drop your gaze to your lap. “I don’t want anything to do with men. Not… Not like that. Not ever. No way.”

“Ari…?”

“I’m fine. Okay. I’m fine. It’s fine.” You dig your fingers into your leg. Focus on that. Stay present. Stay centered. “I d–don’t want to talk about this. Okay?” You close your eyes, the past three sleepless nights hitting you at once. Even with your eyes closed, can just fucking swear you can feel Ortega staring at you, that same worrying, pitying expression on her face that she has so often now when the two of you are together.

“Have you talked to Dr. Finch about it?”

You make a face, turn away to stare out the window. “Yeah. Sounds like a great f–fucking idea.”

“I think it would help.”

“Just… what did you want me for today, anyway?”

“Oh! Right. Sorry. I got carried away giving you a hard time.”

You groan. “D–doesn’t he bother you?”

“Huh?”

“Wonderbread.” You gesture an arm towards Herald’s general direction in the building. “Blue-eyed, blond hair, white dude replaces you as the public face of the team? That PR puts him up front of all your events? That he gets the speeches? Don’t you… think that’s weird?”

“Oh.” Ortega’s silent, and she stays silent long enough that you look up to check if she’s still there. She grimaces as you catch her eye. “Herald’s a good kid. PR’s kind of got him in a dazzle, and Chen hates that stuff so…” She shrugs. Doesn’t even mention Argent, you note. “People will think whatever they want. They always have. Ari… I was always envious of your ability to stay out of the limelight.”

You blink at that. “R–really? But… you always kept trying to push me in.”

“You deserved at least some recognition, Ari, and… honestly? I didn’t want to do it alone.”

“Oh.”

“The kinds of stuff people said? I don’t miss it at all. Hell, Ari, I still get shit. It’s just easier to ignore now. Let Herald have the spotlight. I did my time. I never signed up to be some kind of model minority.”

“I…” You frown, look away. “I never realized. I’m s–sorry. I thought… you always seemed so at home in front of the camera. I – I always thought you lived for that stuff…”

“No, I do. Or did. Still do?” Ortega sighs. “Mierda, I’m sorry. I know you had your own reasons, I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty. And I don’t… I didn’t mean to drag down the mood–”

“S–stop” You make yourself look at her again “D–don’t apologize. Um. Thank you. For… for telling me. I’m sorry for… for not being there. For… not realizing.” You mean it. Your heart hurts for it. For everything. You can’t apologize for everything but… you can apologize for this, at least.

“Yeah, well…” Ortega cracks a smile, and after a moment it’s spread to your own face. You push up your sunglasses, rubbing at an eye. She coughs, “Anyway, we’ve gotten way off track here.”

“W–what about?”

“It’s circling back to Herald actually.” Ortega’s smile turns apologetic as she finally pulls the bag from behind her back. “He wanted me to pass this on? I think he was a little too embarrassed to hand it over himself.”

“Oh.”

Oh no.

You look between Ortega and the bag in her hands. “So that’s why you were…?”

“I… think it’s just Herald being Herald? He’s a gift-er.” She holds the bag out towards you. “Well? I want to see what’s inside at least.”

You frown. “Don’t act innocent. This has your m–mitts all over it.”

“What?” She snickers, “I had nothing to do with it. Scouts honor.”

“I–” You narrow your eyes, searching her face. “…were you in scouts?”

“Oh, just – open the bag, Ari!”

“Alright, alright, fine. Geez.” You get up and stick your hand in the bag, feel around until you pull out a small plastic box.

“Well?”

“Hrm.” Turn it over in your hands, scanning the print. “It’s… a CD player?” Why would…? “With headphones?”

Ortega puts the now empty bag aside on the table. “He said it was to help you concentrate? I couldn’t get him to explain what that was supposed to mean though.”

“Oh.” Maybe you underestimated Herald. “Huh.”

“There should be a couple CDs in the bag, too.” Ortega jerks a thumb to the bag. “So, okay, yeah, full honesty, I helped Herald out with some suggestions. But the idea and everything was all him.”

“This is… very, um.” You can’t tear your eyes away from the package, the silver-colored machine encased in plastic. “I… I can’t take this, Ortega.”

“Of course you can. It’s a Christmas present.”

You blink. Wait – what? “Christmas present!? Since when is it–”

“Uh, Next week, remember?” Ortega looks at you, brow creased. “Have you looked outside lately?”

“I – I just. I didn’t think about – oh my god. Already?” You shake your head. “It – it doesn’t change anything, Ortega I…” Your voice cracks. “I can’t. I don’t…”

“Ari… how many times do I need to tell you?” Ortega steps closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “People care about you. It’s okay to let them.”

“But–”

“Herald wanted to do something nice. As thanks. We both did.”

You have to blink your eyes rapidly. Try to clear the water away. “Idiots.” Your laughter is abrupt. Nervous and guilty. “Both of you.”

“I can think of no higher compliment.”

You push her away, laughing. “S–shut up!”

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

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