#this is probably not the last time i will have this crisis either. right up til graduation. itll keep happening over and over again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

faeryarchives · 3 months

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in sickness and in health

knowing that being the only student aside from grim in such dormitory, it's hard to take care and clean the place while you are sick and grim is panicking in the corner crying and asking them if you were dying or something so it's time for your lover to do something! note: this has been in my drafts since last year so if there is a prompt similar to mine it is pure coincidence + this is pretty long

recent fics: when your hopeless streamer gets a girlfriend (ace x reader) & don't lose me, not yet & its you, it always has been you

-‘๑’- tried to cook and clean for you but ends up in a disaster: everything was going well bc they got a list on what to do because they came prepared and ready to help! but it all became blurry but somehow them getting in the kitchen to cook made you rise from the grave (aka from bed) not risking fire hazard today 👋 picking up a broom? they know how to use one to clean of course but it ends up piling the dust near you causing you to cough some more because they keep colliding with grim who is trying to help 😔 they deserve an award for trying their best 👩🏻‍⚖️ while they weren't allowed in the kitchen, they try telling you of stories that happened while you were absent in attempt to help you get better until you fall asleep listening + leaving a kiss on your forehead before going back to their dorm to ask help or tips on what to cook for you to get better 🤍

— riddle roseheart, deuce spade, KALIM AL ASIM, rook hunt, lilia vanrouge

-‘๑’- scolds you for overworking yourself while taking care of everything: they are going to appear at your doorsteps in complete personal protective equipment with alcohol spray and a basket full of cooked food inside ... well maybe most of them would + expect some nagging from them like you shouldn't neglect yourself just to take care of others because that's not how it works love 🤬 ! even though they appear strict they are still soft when it comes to you asking them for something like giving them a hug (they would probably not do it though) or asking for seconds 🧚‍♀️ + reluctantly sings you a lullabye and after you fall asleep they would finally let down their tough persona + sit next to your bed holding your hand in theirs and caress your head, you are a tough cookie right? so go beat the sickness out of your system because they already miss your company

— jade leech, jamil viper, VIL SCHOENHEIT

-‘๑’- having a crisis: its either they never get sick or doesn't know how to take care of someone who is sick 😷 don't even joke about you dying because of your fever because it will just cause more panic please be easy on them 😭 but they will try to ask their close friends on what to do and they will do it very carefully (bonus if you were the one helping them) and they are actually good at it justtt very confused if they are doing it correctly + type to note down any changes in your fever whether it got better or worse 📝 they will shower you with things that would make you feel better - feeling cold? you can find yourselves being wrapped like a sushi with two thick blankets. feeling lonely? he knows he cannot be that near to you so he will shower you with plushies from who knows where! they won't leave until you are up and healthy again even if it means staying at ramshackle and even tending to grim

— sebek zigvolt, azul ashengrotto, IDIA SHROUD, malleus draconia

-‘๑’- gets sick with you: they know you are sick but they couldn't resist you asking for cuddles 🧍🏻‍♀️at first they would be like "no are you crazy, i don't want to get sick" but after the second one, they find themselves right next to you being the lucky plush toy for the day 🫂 will occasionally try to feed you and make you take your medicine and even alarming every 4 hours to drink but will ultimately result to the two of you falling asleep until grim wakes you up around night time realizing now TWO OF YOU are now sick 🤒 took the couple goals to the next level so expect them to be clingy because nothing is stopping them from cuddling you when he is also sick 🧍🏻‍♀️ it ends up with either trey, ruggie or jade nursing the two of you back to health 😭

— ace trappola, cater diamond, leona kingscholar, floyd leech

-‘๑’- does it perfectly: they had done it before and they will do it again 👯‍♀️ they are pretty used to taking care of someone because sometimes their family members would get sick and they are also the one taking care of them + read parenting 101 atp 🫂 being familiar in the field, they could even task grim in the way he would understand like taking note of your temp and check if it is time for your meds while your lover would go and cook meals suitable for your situation and i think they wouldn't really be so hard on you because being sick is normal and you are just human after all 🤍 instead they would focus on making you feel bettter and believe me you ARE SPOILED ROTTEN 🥺 they would probably tease you with things you can't eat but will give you just a tiny bit and will promise to give you everything when you are feeling better 😍 they are the type that will ask your classmates what they have done during your absence and collect your notes for you so just focus on healing 🫶

— epel felmier, silver, trey clover, ruggie bucchi, jack howl

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sunlightmurdock · 4 months

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The Parent Trap | 0.4 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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♡ In which, after a couple of years of listening to Peyton and Parker Bradshaw complain about their parents’ custody agreement, Grandpa Mav’s meddling goes a little bit too far.

♡ warnings: mentions of divorce throughout the fic, flashbacks to arguments and unhappily married people. Idiots who still love each other and don’t know it, drinking / being drunk, flashbacks and references to sex, minors dni, wc: 4.8k

…

“I’m not being mean, I just think he smells weird,” Parker decides with a shrug, moving the little silver dog six spaces and narrowly missing her sister’s monopoly of hotels on the right side of the board. She lifts her gaze and looks at you, just daring you to challenge her logic. “It’s not mean if I’m just saying what I think.”

Peyton’s lips twitch as she shakes the dice in her hand, but she doesn’t add any commentary this time. You narrow your eyes across at your outspoken daughter, finding so much of your ex-husband in the amusedly defiant way she stares back at you.

“What does he smell like, then, Parks?” You challenge.

“Wood.” She answers with a shrug as her sister rolls a solid twelve and picks up the thimble to skip along the board in front of her. Peyton pokes her tongue out in concentration, like it’ll do anything to prevent her solid twelve from landing her right on the Go To Jail space. She growls in frustration and falls back dramatically onto the carpeted floor. She has spent most of this round in jail. You’re beginning to feel sorry for her, but it’s hard when she has some of the best properties and a business strategy that should probably concern you as a parent.

“Well, he is a carpenter.” You remind her, picking the dice up and shaking them in your hand. With that, the man in question rounds the corner with two glasses and two juice boxes balancing in his hands and a smile plastered across his face. This is now the fourth time that Chris has met your children, the first being a month ago.

He seems to be growing on them if Parker is actively trying not to be mean this time. You still haven’t gotten your girls to ‘fess up as to which one of them buried his phone in the backyard like a wild dog. Like you wouldn’t notice when your hydrangeas started ringing.

“Here we go, an apple, an orange, and two coffees.” Chris hands out the drinks and struggles bending his remarkably inflexible legs into a crisis-crossed shape. They made him be the phone piece — you’re certain that it’s to taunt him about the burying incident — but he’s being a champ about it.

Peyton looks down at her drink and hums, “I don’t want apple anymore. I’ll take an orange juice, big guy.”

In the years since you last hung out with Maverick, it’s so easy to miss the little Mitchell-isms working their way into your kids’ vocabulary. Your head whips around, far more concerned with what she said rather than where she got it from. Chris turns his head towards her, opens his mouth and quickly shuts it again, readying himself to get back up. Your eyes widen as you turn to find your eight year old smiling back at you.

“Then go and get an orange juice, P. Don’t be rude.” You correct her with a stern frown. Suddenly, the apple juice isn’t as much of an issue. She stabs the straw through the hole with her eyes narrowed in Chris’ direction, but this is still a big improvement from last time.

This was never going to be easy, but in the weeks since you introduced your girls to your boyfriend, you have to admit that you thought it would be easier than this. You’ve never heard either one of the girls talk about their dad as much as they do when Chris is in the room.

“Dad knows that she prefers orange.”

“Well, she asked Chris for an apple juice and that’s what she got.” It’s hard not to grow tired when you know it must be wearing him down too. You take the dice and drop them suddenly into Chris’ toughened palm. He softens in comparison, simply smiling back at you.

“So, did you guys get up to anything fun when you were at your dad’s last weekend?” He tries. If they want to talk about their dad, he doesn’t mind — he gets it. It makes you feel even worse.

“Yeah.” Payton deadpans, staring across at him like dirt on her shoe. “What did you two do while we were gone?”

Your head turns towards her again. Chris answers coolly.

“Your Mom sold that new dress she was working on. Cool, right? — We went out to dinner to celebrate that. Other than that, it’s pretty quiet around here without you guys.”

He’s looking at the board, busy moving his piece. He doesn’t know your children the way that you do. He misses entirely the split-second in which they glance across at each other. They find you narrowing your eyes at them.

At once, they’re saved by your ringtone. Another glance is shared between the two of them as you push up from the floor and head for the hallway to answer your call. In your absence, Chris’ piece lands on Peyton’s Park Row property, with the hotel sitting on top.

His brown eyes flicker up to find the eight-year old staring at him expectantly.

“You know the rules. Cough up.” She demands, in a tone she knows she isn’t allowed to be talking in. By the look on their little faces, Chris almost instinctively reaches for his real wallet rather than the colourful little notes sitting beside him.

When you walk back into the room, the first thing that you notice is the silence. Looking between the twins and your boyfriend, your frown deepens. “What’s going on?”

“Chris lost. He’s out of money.” Peyton explains calmly, flicking through her stack of ones like she’s Vito Corleone all of a sudden. Chris turns to look at you and simply wiggles his eyebrows, giving a shrug of defeat as he moves to stand.

As much as you find reflections of your ex-husband in them every day, it tugs at your heartstrings to see pieces of yourself in them too.

“You okay?” He asks, cupping the back of your neck, craning his neck to look at your face. Your palm catches his arm, sitting against his bicep as he pulls you closer.

Parker kicks her sister and they both turn their heads to watch.

You lower your voice to a whisper, fighting to keep the disappointment off of your face. “Yeah… The sitter just canceled.”

“Oh.” He sighs. You’ve been talking about this night for weeks, it’s not often that you get to go out with your friends now that you’ve all got grown-up commitments. “D’you think Bradley could watch them?”

“He’s out of town for a work thing.” You explain dejectedly, leaning in to Chris’ touch as he swipes your hair delicately back from your face.

Watching him hold you close, Parker starts to consider burying his phone once again. Or dropping it in the toilet. Or maybe pouring honey into his work boots that she saw by the front door.

Or maybe, if she was staying true to the source material, she could get him on a camping trip and push his mattress out into the middle of the lake. But he’s bigger than Meredith Blake was, and she’s smaller than Hallie Parker was.

The honey will do.

“I’ll watch ‘em.”

Bradley was out of town on a work thing. He was gone from Tuesday ‘til Friday, he told you that. He got in a little after nine and thought about having a beer, but didn’t. Instead, he just sat on his couch and tried to find a show that would keep him up long enough that he wouldn’t wake up at five in the morning.

He woke up at 1am, his neck stiff and the show two episodes ahead of where he thought it should be. Groaning, he had pushed himself off of the couch and decided to head to bed when he had gotten the text.

The conversation he had with Parker last weekend crossed his mind instantly. They had spent hours talking about fate; what is was, if they believed in it. If Bradley hadn’t startled himself awake by snoring, he would have missed the text completely.

He slipped his phone out of the pocket of his jeans with one hand, rubbing at his tired shoulder muscle with the other, squinting down at the bright screen.

Please pick me up from the Hard Deck when you see this.

He hasn’t ever made you ask twice.

Chris offering to watch the girls had come completely out of left field. It had almost caused a full-blown argument, but that man just seems impossible to get angry with. Stroking your hair and calming each one of your nerves step by step, he swore to you that he just wanted you to have a good time, that he could handle two little girls.

Bribing them was clearly the only way this was going to work, and it seemed like Chris had that in the bag. Emergency numbers set up and ready, allergy information written on the fridge and a borderline military debrief with your twins had left you practically trembling with anxiety, but had gotten you out of the house nonetheless.

You hadn’t planned on getting this drunk. The plan was to go, have a couple of drinks with your friends, and Uber home after a couple of hours. It never works out that way.

In fact, you can barely keep your head up straight when you hear one of your friends call out over the music. “Is that Rooster?”

Blinking doesn’t help you see straight. The loud music, and the bodies in the way, and the irregular lighting doesn’t help either. You squint and finally find him. Wearing jeans and a tight fitting black t-shirt, heading straight for you.

When you squint harder, you expect to realize that it’s not him.

“Rooster!” The second that he reaches you, your arms are around his neck and your chest is pressing into his. You haven’t hugged your ex-husband like this in a long time. “What are you doing here?”

He wrinkles his nose, untangling your arms from around him so that he can get a good look at your face. It’s been a long time since he saw you this dressed up. Hair, make-up, heels. The dress looks familiar but he can’t quite place it.

“You texted me.” He watches your eyelids falling shut, blinking heavily and irregularly as he explains to you. He steadies you by your arms. “You wanna go home?”

There’s a disgruntled groaning sound before you try to look around at your friends. At this point, Rooster makes an effort to be polite and greet them all. After all, they were his friends too, once. They’re all as shitfaced as you.

“Come on, mama. I’ll take you home,” He decides for you, hugging you against him like your own feet aren’t secure enough for his tastes anymore. You fall all too willingly against his chest, your cheek pressing into the fabric of his shirt while he tries to keep the attention of your friends. “Does anyone else need a ride?”

Maybe they do, maybe they don’t — maybe their own husbands will get up and come get them. Rooster won’t leave them without knowing they’ve got a way home, so you know that once you feel the outside chill on your skin he must have made arrangements for them.

He sighs quietly and jerks you as he tries to get a better grasp. Outside, you can finally hear him properly.

“Honey, you need to walk. Use your feet.” He tells you, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary. Your head is lulled against the swell of his shoulder, you haven’t moved your feet since he grabbed you, and yet you’re moving towards the car perfectly fine.

Everything is happening in chapters. You’re skipping ahead and losing parts, not paying attention to much. Things aren’t spinning yet, but they sure are blurry. You manage to talk back anyway.

“I don’t.” You answer, head turned towards the sky. It occurs to you, briefly, that you’re going to be horrifically embarrassed about this tomorrow. Your feet try, then trip, and his hold on you tightens.

“What did you drink? — You alright?” His arm around your waist pulls you closer, your head lulling off of his shoulder and awkwardly onto his moving chest. You hum contentedly.

“I had a good time.” You whisper.

He sighs something about you throwing up in his car and you’re faintly aware of the sound of a car door unlocking.

“C’mere, honey. Just sit right there. I’ve got some water. You wanna sit and get some fresh air with me?” Maybe there are pauses in between — maybe he says it all slower than that, but you can’t really focus. Or open your eyes.

You know that he has guided you to sit against the tailgate of the Bronco because of the way your feet dangle. As a mother, you hate this car. As a girl who fell in love with Bradley Bradshaw — fuck, you love this car.

“Wanna drink somethin’ for me?” Rooster offers the bottle to your mouth and winces as you draw your head sharply away from it. He grabs your shoulders and stops you from teetering over.

You’re not sure how, but you settle into his side and find that his arm remains there. Draped around your shoulders as you rest your head against him.

It takes a while, but Rooster gets you to drink. It’s anyone’s guess as to how long you sit on that tailgate sipping from that water bottle, but his arm around your shoulder feels nice anyway — even if he’s just rubbing your back because he thinks you’re going to puke.

When things start to come around a little more, you’re laying across the two backseats and hugging the water bottle like a teddy bear. Your head is spinning.

“You alright back there?” Rooster calls to you, making you frown slightly and lift your head. Passing by traffic lights and street signs, the world turned on its axis as you try to push yourself up and ultimately give in to staying laid down.

He’s really here. Some way or another, you really forced this man to carry you out of the bar and spend his Friday night babying you. You want to know if you called, or texted, or if he was just in the bar and saw you — you thought he was away for work — but that’s all too embarrassing still.

Your mind is too cloudy for that level of conversation, your words still don’t sound quite right.

“You even didn’t question it.” Your body sways as he pulls to a stop at a red light, your focal point on the soft top of the Bronco swaying with you and kickstarting that dizziness all over again. With a swallow, you close your eyes. The swaying continues like the leather seats below you are actually built into a speedboat as opposed to a seventies classic car.

“Did you put that seatbelt on yet?” His dad-voice comes from the front. Eyes still shut, this makes you smile. You don’t even remember him telling you to. He peers at you through the rear view mirror. “Question what?”

All you offer him is a small shrug, not interested in a seatbelt in the slightest in your current state. This next sentence requires a deep inhale first, but is interrupted by a hiccup. “I text you out of the blue and you just… show up. Didn’t even check to see if it was for you.”

Bradley bites at the inside of his cheek, brows drawing together as the light turns green and another check towards the mirror confirms that you still aren’t wearing a seatbelt. He huffs and the car pulls sharply to the side, making you groan in complaint.

The radio plays on as Bradley stops at the side of the road and unclips his own seatbelt, then gets out of the car. Your poor brain hasn’t even had time to catch up before he’s pulling the door open and half-climbing in. You blink as he appears over you.

With the door still open, he’s just illuminated by the street light. His eyes have always looked so soft in the dark. The slight pout of his lips, the sharpness of his jaw, the bump in his nose. He’d started out with the most innocent of intentions, but as he leans over you across the backseat, it becomes clear that you’re both struck by the same abrupt chord of familiarity.

This is far from the first time that the two of you have been in this position. In fact, this is exactly how things started out the first night you hooked up.

He swallows above you. There’s a wonderstruck look on your face that makes his ears burn red. Your eyes search over his face and with each inch they cover, he watches them flood with remembrance. Warm pink spreads across his cheek, extending down his chest. It makes your lips twitch to think you can still get him to blush.

“Come on, sit up.” Bradley whispers, gently taking each of your hands in his and pulling you upright. “Let’s put your seatbelt on.”

Silently, you don’t fight him on the matter and Bradley knows that’s a win in itself. It’s not the first time he’s had to wrangle you into this car after a few drinks either. Your eyes are just on him, and he swears that’s where the heat on his face is coming from. His fingers fumble to get the buckle into the clasp.

The second that he hears that click, he’s withdrawing from the backseat and climbing back into the driver’s side. You stare at the rear view mirror as he pulls away from the curb. In truth, you had forgotten how gentle he could be with you.

“Thank you.”

He glances up at the mirror, then back at the road.

“Thanks for picking me up. Sorry that I’m…” The pause facilitates a deep inhale that stops you from hiccuping mid-sentence. He watches you sheepishly ready yourself to continue. “Such a mess.”

This, makes him smile. It spreads across his face just as easily as the pink hue had, taking over his features.

“Honey, we both know I’ve seen worse.” Oh god, he remembers. He said it so casually too, like he’s reminiscing on a fond memory. The memory isn’t quite as fond for you, but then again, you don’t remember too much of it. He used to always tease you about it.

The night you met him was your twenty-first birthday, and you were flirting all night, but then you had gotten way too drunk and he had to carry you home — with you fighting him the whole way. He called you alley-cat for two months afterwards. Your feral behaviour had clearly caught his eye, though, because he started hanging around the Hard Deck a lot more afterwards.

Things hadn’t ever seemed that serious in the Hard Deck. Everything was easier back then. The career you have now is exactly what you wanted, but you can’t pretend that some days you wouldn’t rather have a handsome aviator leaning over a bar and telling you jokes to make your shift pass faster.

He takes one more look up at the mirror and smiles again, this time because he finds you already not trying to smile back at him.

“God, I had such a crush on you that summer.” The second that you’ve said it, you have to stop yourself from slapping a hand over your mouth. Closing your eyes will do. You can feel him staring either way.

It shouldn’t be weird to acknowledge. You were married for over five years. In love for a good while before that. Of course you had a crush on him originally. But it’s at the forefront of both of your minds that it still feels like yesterday that you were sprawled along this backseat, stomach bursting with butterflies as he unbuttoned your shorts for the first time.

The salt on his skin, the smell of his cologne mixed with sunscreen and sweat. The way his curls dry after he’s been in the ocean. The way the sunset hits the browns of his eyes. The freckles on his shoulders, dipping into the valleys between his muscles.

The brush of the same moustache you had been making fun of for months against the most sensitive parts of your skin and with it — the realisation that you actually loved that moustache.

Shivering through the late summer evening heat, whispering his name to the stars as his smart mouth worked between your legs. He drove around with the top down a lot back then.

He remembers everything about getting to know you. Getting taunted relentlessly by Hangman because of the way he blushed when you used to tell him his drink was on the house. Almost falling off of his stool craning his neck to get a better look at you behind the bar. Making sure you were invited to every beach outing. The first time he kissed you, and the way you were looking up at him before.

“Sorry, that was—“

“It’s alright.” He interrupts. When he closes his eyes at the next stop sign, all he can think of is the sight of your wet footsteps leading up the steps on his back porch. You had come from the beach. He had known he was going to find you in his shower inside. It was the first time he had ever come home to you. You were barely dating back then.

He looks at the mirror, wondering if you remember that time in the shower.

You’re not thinking about the shower. Fingers spread out, trailing the seams in the leather, you’re thinking about the last time you had sex in this car. So different from the first time. Bradley had known your body so much better, the two of you were so much more comfortable together.

The girls were with your parents for an entire weekend while the two of you were out of town for the wedding. Before the reception, Bradley had tugged you outside and bunched your pretty dress up around your middle. Closing your eyes and letting your fingers inch across the seats, you can still remember his breath fanning across his chest, the low grunts as he drove himself into you. His arms wrapped around your body, your forehead resting against his bicep and your legs around his waist.

“Rooster.” You rarely call him that anymore. It’s the first name you knew him by, since all of his work buddies called him that. Bradley was something that came letter, something that felt more for just the two of you. The last thing you would say most nights. Goodnight, Bradley. It’s been a long time since you said that, but you know it would feel just the same coming off of your tongue.

He hums from the front seat, but doesn’t look.

“Could I sit up front with you?”

“Yeah, sure— let me—“ Too late. He hears your seatbelt unbuckle and knows what’s coming next. Sure enough, as he’s going at a steady forty along Palm Avenue, you swing one foot unsteadily over the console and wobble in the direction of the passenger side. “Baby—“

It’s out of instinct, purely because you’re stressing him out. You plop down into the passenger seat and turn your head to look at him. Wordlessly, both of you decide to pretend you didn’t hear that.

For his peace of mind, you tug the seatbelt across your body and clip it in.

“We’re in so much trouble if the girls take after you.” He teases, the smile in his voice cutting through the tension. You giggle beside him.

“Me? — Do you not remember what happens when you get too familiar with a bottle of tequila?” You answer back, eyes closed and a silly smile on your face. You remember. You remember having to carry him, practically dead weight, into your bed from the living room and spend the night rubbing his back while he threw up the next morning.

“Yeah, we’re in big trouble.” Rooster scoffs, pushing his fingers through his hair. You stare across at the tattoo on the inside of his bicep as he rests his elbow against the door.

You’re still drunk enough to blame the alcohol when you reach across and take his free hand as he steadies the wheel with the other. His gaze flickers down as you loop your fingers through his. “We weren’t that bad.”

This time he laughs.

“We weren’t? — So you don’t remember—“ He’s still grinning when he stops himself, already turning into your street. You two don’t talk about that stuff anymore. You’ve moved on. Those funny little stories are private now, entirely his. Your boyfriend sure as hell wouldn’t want to hear them.

He looks over at you as he slows down to pull up to the curb.

You’re already looking across, staring at him with a look he hasn’t seen in a long time. The smile that you flash him makes him think of that first year. Then, you close your eyes and exhale, “I remember everything.”

Even with the radio playing, there’s a silence that sits between the two of you as the car pulls to a stop. It’s at that point that everything in your orbit starts to spin, forcing you forwards and making you whimper. Bradley’s already out of the car and jogging around to your side as you catch your head in your hands and try to breathe.

“C’mere, honey. I’ve got you.” He reaches around you to unbuckle you from the car, pulling you out by your underarms and holding you against him as he shuts the door. It’s still not the most graceful procedure, but he’s gotten better at it. You’re not exactly making it easy for him as you wobble back and hit your head on the window.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” He breathes out.

“I wanna go to bed.” You complain, wobbling forwards and this time crashing into his chest. He secures one hand on the back of your head to keep you there, pretending like he isn’t checking whether or not you have a bump. Even now, he can’t seem to turn the dad-reflexes off. You sigh into his shoulder. “Take me to bed.”

His free hand finds your waist and he glances down, finally clocking where he remembers this dress from. You wore it the second night of your honeymoon. He remembers this dress very well — he used to carry a picture of you wearing it in his wallet. He’s ninety-percent sure that the twins were conceived because of this dress.

“Yeah, you’re going to bed, baby. Nearly there.” In truth, by the time he has carried you to the door, Rooster has almost forgotten that you have a boyfriend. He’s expecting the same sweet old lady that you’ve been hiring for years to answer the door. That’s why he makes no effort to peel you off of him.

Rooster stares at Chris, while Chris looks between the two of you. You’re barely awake and clinging to your ex-husband’s shirt, he’s holding you at the waist, keeping you standing. Chris looks barely awake, still fully dressed. Clearly a man who has been waiting to hear from you for hours.

“Is she alright? — What happened?” His reaction is positive. Rooster appreciates that much about him. Still, he can’t stop thinking about what Maverick said. If Chris becomes permanent, Bradley’s entire family becomes his.

“She just had too much to drink, she called me for a ride home. I gave her some water and stuff, but—“ Rooster starts to explain, propping you up and holding you halfway. It’s unclear if he’s supposed to just pass you over. He doesn’t know if this guy even knows where you keep the products you remove your make-up with.

“She called you?” Chris challenges. There it is. There’s the anger that Rooster was waiting for.

“I wouldn’t take it personally. She’s shitfaced. She just needs to get some sleep and—“

“Yeah,” Chris steps one foot outside and reaches for your waist. You fall compliantly towards him, the toe of your shoe dragging along the ground as he tucks your arm over his shoulder and props you up. “I’ve got her. Get home safe.”

Rooster’s face doesn’t give away anything. He’s not immature anymore. He wants you to find someone who can give you, and by default his kids, everything that you could ever need. That’s why he keeps his mouth shut. He can think whatever he wants.

“Sure, yeah. Can I just ask… uh… where’s the sitter?” He was so close to walking away and just getting back in his car, but it’s after two now. If that old lady is still here, she would have made it known. As sweet as she was, she loves to complain.

“I watched the kids.”

Bradley raises his eyebrows at your stone-faced boyfriend. Once again, his face gives away nothing. “You did?”

…

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@khaylin27 @fudge13 @slutford @averyhotchner @hangmanscoming @diorrfairy @thedroneranger @phoenix1388 @perpetuelledaydreaming @princess76179 @cherrycola27 @wkndwlff @xoxabs88xox @galaxy-moon @sugarcoated-lame

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #jake seresin #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x you #the parent trap #parent trap #parent trap Bradley #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x female reader

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olderthannetfic · 6 months

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You've encountered site changes over time as a fan elder, what do you make of Tumblr potentially being put out to pasture? Tumblr was my coming of age fan site, and im looking for advice to transition to the next thing with grace and less bitterness than I feel now.

Ahaha. God, you should have heard the howling about LJ. "Fandom is over!" "Never again shall we dwell in fandom's True Home!" etc.

Hell, this endless "only LJ was good" crap turns up in replies here on posts where I as OP have very clearly laid out why that's rose colored glasses nonsense and you can so make friends on tumblr, have a conversation on tumblr, etc.

I had my crabby phase about this during the transition from Yahoo Groups to LJ. A lot of the real olds had it over paper zines and the transition to the internet.

I don't know if reading these hilariously samey old posts would help. It does give perspective, I think.

As for what you should do, do what I did with Tumblr:

Look around to identify the Next Thing fandom is going to camp out on.

It may take a few guesses and some time to figure this out. You will likely not be an early adopter. Fandom was well established here by the time I joined at the end of 2010. Of course, by now, all those 2009 and before accounts are long gone, but at the time, I was a n00b joining other people's space despite having been in fandom for ages.

Don't expect to enjoy it

I didn't join tumblr because I liked it. In fact, I despised it. I kept right on despising it until a brief stint in Sherlock fandom, a fandom that was so active here at the time that I was able to finally see the good aspects of the site's structure and features.

This is the mistake a lot of people make. They give things a cursory try, don't enjoy them, and go "not for me", forgetting that the last site also had a steep learning curve that was either difficult or that they didn't notice because they were in a different phase of their life.

Bitterness and grief are, frankly, an inherent part of the process. You can try not to be a debbie downer in your public comments, but you can't just not feel those things during the awkward part of the transition. Sometimes, acting positive and cutting off excessively negative thoughts can make you feel less negative overall, but it doesn't happen immediately.

Accept that feeling cranky and old is both a you problem and a state of mind, not a property of the new site

Relatedly, the way we remember fandom platform X feeling usually has more to do with us being in college with fandom friends down the hall or having discovered Our People for the first time or some other time when we had a lot of energy and positive emotions. Often, we were in the throes of a first or new fandom love too, probably for some megafandom that other people also cared about at the same time.

When fandom is leaving some site, there's a grieving process anyway, but we're also often in a worse part of our lives for starting new things. We're busy. We're tired. We're between fandoms. We feel like we already paid our dues to build up our community. Why should we have to start again?

But let me tell you, you always need to start again eventually. I go to a weekly vidders' zoom chat, and a lot of the people in there are old as balls, including Kandy, the person who invented vidding back in the 70s. She's a lot of decades and a few cancers in, and she had to relearn how to vid on a computer after transitioning from slideshows to VCR vidding back in the day. If bad health, platform changes, and dead friends were going to stop her, she'd be long gone.

It's like sharks: you stop swimming, you die.

This isn't just about fandom, obviously. It's about avoiding a midlife crisis and, later, about avoiding feeling emotionally geriatric even when your body is falling apart.

Change gets us all, but being mentally old is a choice. The real reason I gave tumblr such a try was that I had been so resistant to getting on LJ. I was 20. Even a year later, it was fucking embarrassing to have been a crotchety old hag as a college student. I promised myself I'd soldier through the next change instead of dragging my feet about it. And it totally worked in the end! But boy did it not make the transition any less unpleasant emotionally!

Find your joy

As is obvious from the above, the vast majority of the problem is just emotions. Fandom has been on a million broken sites with shitty features. We go where the people are, regardless of whether it has the technological aspects we liked at the last place. The actual shape of that platform is largely irrelevant.

What does matter is whether we as an individual fan are still excited and happy about something. I was between fandoms recently and went looking around for BL series I hadn't watched yet. People kept suggesting things set in the present day with too-cheesy production values and too many banal schoolboys in modern day settings without even anything spicy going on. I realized that the BL/danmei scene wasn't really cutting it for me and I should go for production values and genre and non-canon ships. You probably scrolled annoyedly past the picspams that resulted.

(Of course, hilariously, someone has now shown me the trailer of Red Peafowl, so someone may be making BL that feels like it's for me after all. Look at all that badwrong and very dark color grading.)

When you're in a good place emotionally, it's a hell of a lot easier to weather any change, and when you have a new fandom, it's a lot easier to connect with other fans.

A lot of people wait around for lightning to strike twice. They found their first fandom by accident, and they expect it to happen seamlessly again. For me, it's far more productive to brute force it: collect up a big list of what's popular or what's new and go through it till you find things you might like, then try them all.

And part of this, obviously, is not waiting for other fans to make the party happen. The more you need to join something other people are already doing, the less choice you'll have in fandoms or in platforms. If you aren't picky and just go where the tropey longfic is, that can work, but even then, favorite authors disappear or go to fandoms you hate and former megafandoms dry up. If you're the one bringing the party, it's a lot easier to find a new fandom or platform or community to have fun in.

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strangersteddierthings · 11 months

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Porcelain Steve - Part 8

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

Eddie hears the commotion in the living room, and it takes everything left in him to move away from the door. He just crawls himself forward and onto a pile of nearby clothes because he knows he'll be out of the way there when they open his door.

He knows he should open the door and go out there. Wayne's still out there, confused and concerned, and he needs to call Jeff. He can't just not show up. Yet he remains on the ground, cross-legged this time, face hidden in his hands.

Steve is broken. Because Eddie broke him.

He's been so afraid that something would happen to Steve if he wasn't around but given the track record of Eddie's life, he feels like such an idiot for not realizing the biggest threat to Steve and his safety is Eddie himself.

The commotion beyond his door gets louder, bursting open, and then Robin and Dustin are falling through it, stumbling over each other in their haste to get into Eddie's room. Wordlessly, Eddie points to where he abandoned Steve on the floor, knows that they're here for him.

He's a bit startled when the two finally untangle themselves and Dustin goes to Steve but Robin drops herself onto his dirty laundry, all but draping herself over him in a hug. His body moves on its own, wrapping around Robin and all but pulling her into his lap in a bear hug. He's not crying, too numb for that now, but he does shove his face into the side of her neck and let out a dry, sobbing noise as she coos softly.

"Shhhh. We're here. We've got Steve and we've got you," Robin's voice is wet. She's crying, too, silently but tears are definitely falling because one lands directly in his ear.

He feels detached from himself after that. He's aware of things going on around him but doesn't feel sentient. Robin pulls back from him slowly, she says something as she stands up but Eddie's too busy watching Dustin ever so gently pick up Steve's pinky finger and then Steve. He thinks the smile Dustin gives him is supposed to be reassuring but it's mostly just sad.

Eddie's head followed Dustin as he heads out the door and down the hall, at which point he starts to track Robin as she's coming back down the hall, dragging Wayne behind her.

"Can you stand up, Eddie?" she asks, and Eddie feels like he's watching himself shake his head no more than he feels like he's actually doing it.

"That's alright," Wayne says, as he pats one of Robin's shoulders before moving around her. "I'm not so old as to not be able to get down there. I still don't understand what's goin' on, Eddie, but I'm here."

Wayne joins him on the floor, sitting beside him so he can fling an arm around Eddie's shoulders and tuck him into his side. Robin flops down on his other side, once again draping herself across Eddie like a weighted blanket. It's all very grounding, and a little bit jarring, and that's probably what makes Eddie come back to himself sooner than he would have if he were alone in his room.

"You should be with Steve," is what Eddie decides on saying when words return, turning his head to look at Robin.

"Nah."

"He'd want you-"

"No, he wouldn't. I'm Steve's soulmate and I know him better than anyone else in the world. Which mean you don't get to tell me what Steve would want, because I know what Steve would want. And that's me, here, making sure you're okay first."

"What's happened with Steve?" Wayne asks, and Eddie stiffens. Robin starts rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"It's a long story, Mr. Munson. But I promise we'll fill you in once the crisis has passed."

"Is this related to whatever happened last year durin' the supposed earthquake that y'all can't talk about?"

"Well, I couldn't say either way, since we can't talk about it."

"Right. Get one o' the kids to tell me, then. Whatever they signed ain't legal anyhow."

Robin shoots Eddie a look, like she's trying to figure out if Eddie broke his NDA and told his uncle everything. He gives a quick shake of his head, and then Robin looks to Wayne. "I'm certain Dustin would be thrilled to fill you in, then. Now, Eddie, can you tell me what happened?"

He looks down the hall. He can see people crowded into the trailer's tiny living room but none of them look like any member of the Byers-Hopper household. "Uhh, yeah, but where's El?"

"They're in Indy, some family day thing. But don't worry, we went out to the Cerebro and were able to get El on the Walkie, so they're on the way back."

"You went- how long have I been just... sitting in here," Eddie is mostly talking to himself because it hasn't felt like enough time has passed for them to have made it to pick everyone up, get to Weathertop, communicate with El, and come here.

"Well, Nancy called me-" she cuts off, grabbing Eddie's arm and twisting it around so she can read the time on his watch, "-about an hour and a half ago. So, I guess you've been here that long."

Eddie untwists his arm, shaking her off. "You are being scarily calm right now, Queen of Catastrophizing."

"I already had an hour and a half to freak out. You think I need more?" Robin says as she stands up.

"I guess not," Eddie follows after her.

"Hey, help your old man up," Wayne grumbles, hand out for Eddie to grasp and help pull.

They go down the hall and now Eddie can see the full collective of people in his living room. Nancy, Mike, Lucas, Erica, Max, and Dustin, who is still holding Steve. It settles something inside Eddie, that the group he sees before him is the same one that fought tooth and nail to clear his name and keep him alive.

"So, we're all really sure that we can't just glue it back on?" Mike is asking when Eddie, Robin, and Wayne make it to the living room.

"We aren't sure about anything, Mike," Nancy replies, the frustration in her voice clear.

Everyone stops talking, though, as Wayne gives Eddie a thump on his back and wades through the crowd to get back to his chair. "Well, don't stop on my account. If I hear somethin', no I didn't."

That gets a snort of a laugh from Dustin.

Nancy looks like she wants to argue but doesn't. Instead, she wheels on Eddie, full journalism mode seemingly on, "what happened?"

Eddie swallows thickly before answering, "I dropped him. I-I pick him up and something pinched my palm. It surprised me, or something, and I just- I just let go. He landed on his left side before falling onto his back."

Nancy nods, brain processing much faster than Eddie right now, "And the crack appeared before or after you dropped him?"

He tries to remember, "I don't- I think so?"

"You think or you know?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't know, Wheeler," Eddie says it more harshly than needed but he doesn't know! He doesn't remember because he didn't even look at Steve for longer than a second or two after Jeff saw him. "I've been having a mental breakdown kind of all day so no, I don't know! All I know is it's my fault because there wasn't a crack this morning, and now he's missing a finger-"

She's not even effected by his outburst, "Eddie! I'm not blaming you! I'm asking for the details because if you didn't do anything to cause the crack, then maybe that's just Steve, breaking the curse or something."

His anger drains from him almost as quickly as it built. "What?"

"I've been reading a lot, researching you know. About magical transformations. But there's not a lot of nonfiction on the subject. Ergo, I've been reading a lot of fairy tales."

"Which isn't really good for research-" Dustin starts, but Nancy just talks over him.

"My point is that, if you didn't do anything to cause the crack, maybe it just happened naturally. Supernaturally? Whatever, maybe it's a sign of whatever curse is on Steve is fading on it's own. That's why I wanted to know," she shifts from one foot to another now before adding, "I'm sorry about your day. I might have broached the subject differently had I known."

"No, you wouldn't have, but that's why I like you, Wheeler. You're a no-nonsense gal and I appreciate that," Eddie says.

Nancy gives him a small, almost shy, smile in return and the room falls into a silence that just this side of uncomfortable.

"Alright, Dustin, since the talkin' seems to be done, you wanna fill an old man in on what the hell's been goin' on around here for the last few years?" Wayne breaks the silence and Eddie barks out a laugh at the look on everyone's faces.

"Uhh, we don't-I don't know what you are talking about," is Dustin's eloquent answer.

Wayne nods and Eddie knows his uncle well enough to recognize the look on his face and in his eyes. Wayne switches tactics, then, and says, "You got any one older than twenty-five that knows what's happenin'?"

The group exchanges looks before Dustin says, "yes."

"Alright. They comin' here?"

"Yes."

"I can wait, then. Anyone hungry? Thirsty?" Wayne asks, and then without waiting for an answer, looks to Eddie and says, "Eddie, get to makin' some sandwiches. What kinda host are you?" Wayne is shaking his head like he can't believe Eddie's audacity.

Eddie sputters out some indignant response, even as he turns to round the corner cabinet to officially be in the kitchen. His first choice is peanut butter and jelly, but when he gets the peanut butter out, he can see there's probably enough for two sandwiches, three if it's a thin layer of peanut butter. Opening the fridge shows a sad amount of lunch meat; the cupboard has two tuna fish cans.

"Guess we're making several different sandwiches," Robin's voice so close to his back makes him jump, which earns a chorus of chuckles from the peanut gallery in the living room.

"Someone needs to get you a bell," Eddie mutters. "Get to work on the PB and J's. I'll get this tuna mixed."

They work in silence, making three different types of sandwiches. Wayne knew they didn't have enough of any one thing to make enough for everyone here, and the ones who will be showing up eventually, but he told Eddie to do it anyway. Asked, but didn't wait for an answer. Wayne's making busy work for him, he realizes. A distraction from what he's done. He's not sure if he should be thankful for that or not.

The only thing separating the kitchen from where everyone is seated in the living room is a counter and cupboards, so when the sandwiches are done, Eddie just shoved them across the counter. "Sandwiches are done."

It's not exactly a rush for the sandwiches on the other side of the counter but everyone does gather to grab one. There's not even an argument about wanting a specific one, except Max, who is offered all three kinds and when she says PB&J, Mike hands over the one he grabbed without hesitation. It's the most mature thing Eddie's seen him do, if only because every other time he does something mature he complains about it, which kind of ruins the 'mature' part.

It's about three minutes into eating that the trailer's front door bursts open and at first no one is there, like a gust of wind had blown it open, but then El comes barreling in and Hopper can be heard shouting something about knocking first.

"Where is he?" El demands.

"Here," Dustin is already holding Steve out to her. She doesn't even approach Dustin, just pulls Steve to her using her mind, grabbing him out of the air with one hand. She examines him quickly, finding the crack. She trails one of her fingers along the crack to where his pinky is missing. Dustin adds, "Do you want his finger, too?"

She shakes her head and turns to Eddie next, and he doesn't even feel the bandana leave his pocket, but he does watch it fly across the space between them. She moves over to sit in front of the TV, Steve in her lap as she's folding the bandana into a blindfold.

"TV," is her final demand as her eyes vanish behind cloth and she's trying off the bandana. Mike moves instantly to the TV, clicking it on to fill the room with static.

Wayne, to his credit, has only the tiniest hint of an eyebrow raised from watching things move about the room seemingly by nothing. El hadn't even stopped to consider someone not In The Know was here. Guess he's In The Know now.

Will, Jonathan, Argyle, Joyce, and Hopper have made it into the trailer, closing the door silently behind them. Hopper finds Wayne among the crowd of kids, eyes going wide, while Wayne just lifts his sandwich in a salute before taking a big bite out of it.

"Steve, I cannot hear you. I do not think you can hear me in your mind. Nod if you hear me now." El's voice breaks the tense silence that had fallen.

Of shit, what did Eddie do?

"Oh, good. Are you okay?" A pause. "He is nodding. Do you know what happened? He is shaking his head. Do you know why you are far away now? Shaking his head again. You can still hear. Can you still see? He is nodding. Steve, there is a crack on your arm-"

"His left arm," Mike interjectes.

"Yes, your left arm. Yes. You are missing a finger on that hand. Do you think that is what is causing the distance? He is shrugging. Do not worry, we will figure this out. I am going to go now."

El pulls off the bandana and uses it to wipe the blood from her nose before setting it on the living room floor. "I cannot get as close to him as I could before. He stays far away no matter how close I walk. But he is okay."

He's okay. Steve's okay. Fucking Christ, Eddie's going to throw up. A couple people call his name as he dashes down the hall. He crashes through the bathroom door and knows he doesn't have time to close it, so everyone gets to hear him lose his sandwich into the toilet bowl. On the third heave of his stomach, cool hands touch his head, gather his hair up and away from his face. He doesn't even have it in him to flinch or jump. "Thanks."

"I'd say anytime, dingbat, but I don't really want to hold your puke hair too many more times. You get, like, two more, tops," Robin says.

"I can't go back out there, Robin," he whispers, "I did this. I cracked him, broke his finger off and now El can't even hear him. I can't- he's gotta go with someone else. I can't-"

"I know. Dustin already asked if you'd be upset if Steve went home with him. I'll let him know you understand he needs to be around Steve right now."

"Why aren't you mad at me?"

"Dingbat. Eddie. You're mad enough at yourself for all of us," she says, reaching over and flushing the toilet. Eddie feels like there's more throwing up to do but he is glad to have the smell of vomit reduced with the flush. He sits up a bit more, so his hair won't fall into his face when Robin lets go. Robin lets go long enough to search the bathroom cabinets for a hair tie, pushing it into Eddie's hands. "Hair up."

"So demanding," Eddie mumbles even as he gathers his hair into the tie.

"Once you're done ralphing just go to bed. I'll get everyone out of your house."

Eddie nods and Robin leaves, clicking the door closed. He heaves a few more times before his body is done. On shaking legs, he makes his way to his room. He feels like he's floating above himself again. He doesn't know if everyone has left yet, or if he hears nothing because he's too out of it.

He tucks himself in and dozes. He wakes up three times; once, when his uncle comes in and puts the walkie near him on the bed, the second time in the evening when Robin wriggles into his bed and forces herself into his arms with a simple I usually hold Steve when I'm feeling bad, but I suppose you holding me will have to do and the final time, almost at midnight, when the walkie goes off.

"Anyone up?" says the disembodied voice of Dustin Henderson.

Eddie's not sure how the quiet voice woke him up, but it does. He reaches over Robin, who has starfished out of his arms in their sleep, to grab the walkie. He doesn't know if he should answer, so he holds out for someone else.

"Hello?" Dustin asks again.

No one answers. So, finally, Eddie does. "I'm here, Henderson. Bad dream?"

"I'm glad it's you, Eddie," Dustin says, something soft in his voice.

"Why?"

"'Cause I wanted to talk to you," says a new voice, a familiar voice.

"Steve?" Eddie whispers, even as his free hand is violently shaking Robin awake.

Robin mumbles something incoherent, head turning to Eddie as the voice on the walkie says, "Yeah, it's me."

#steddie #my fic #porcelain steve #let me tell you‚ the decision to go with this ending for this part was HARD #i had to flip a coin about it because i couldnt pick #almost done now!!#I think only 1 more part then ill do a post about what didnt make it into the story

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soaps-mohawk · 24 days

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Heyyyy ik ur are tired ,just wanted to ask if you will post a chapter this week ,get well soon

Honey, I am not "tired", I am sick.

Congestion, sinus pain, headache, fatigue, sure my sore throat went away last night but now I have a cough. I can't sleep because I don't want to use my cpap while sick, so I wake every hour either from not breathing or because I'm choking on sinus drainage. (And yes, I sleep at an angle and it still doesn't help any.)

I wrote 600 words of chapter 16 on Saturday when I was getting sick, and I have not touched it since then, nor have I even thought about touching it because I am now fully sick.

I gave y'all two chapters last week. Two. You have no idea how badly I was stressing about Chapter 15 and how close I was to giving up writing and I still got the chapter up for everyone on Sunday WHILE I HAD A FEVER.

Regardless of the extra bonus chapter everyone got, I still would say it's not likely you'll get a chapter this week because I AM SICK. I want to rest and sleep and try to get better because I have things in my real life that I need to do too that I haven't been able to because I've been sick. I'm not even thinking about this fic and updating it right now.

I am begging y'all to remember I am a real person with a real life behind this blog. I get busy, I get tired, I get sick. I do this as a hobby. I post here on tumblr for free. I pump out 7k word chapters every week, and in the case of last week, multiple times a week. It's hard. It takes a lot of work and dedication just to do this alone while I feel healthy and normal, much less everything else I do during the week.

On top of that, Friday is my birthday and I'd like to take that day to do what I want to do and celebrate the crisis of getting yet another year older.

So no, chances are, there's probably not going to be a chapter out this week. I want to rest and recover and even if I did try to pump out 7k words in the next two days, I'm not going to be happy with it. I'm not going to like it. It's not going to be up to par with the standard I've set with the rest of the chapters quality-wise and I'm going to be tearing myself up because I'll have felt like I cheated y'all trying to write while sick just for the sake of getting a chapter out this week.

Now that I've got myself all worked up, I'm going to go lay down and rest and maybe have some soup because I'm hungry and for the first time in days, it does not hurt to eat. So take one of the chapters from last week and consider that the update for this week.

#had i not gotten sick there would have been a chapter this week #but i do not feel good #so i will not be forcing myself to write #even for my wonderful patreon subscribers who do in a way pay me to do this #because it's not fair to y'all to give you something low quality like it will be if i tried to force it #answered

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petermorwood · 1 month

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Sound FX oopsie or not?

I was watching a couple of episodes of "The Crown" last week, and picked up yet again on something I'd noticed - heard - before. Unless there's something going on that I don't know about, the sound the show used for phones is incorrect.

They (w)ring wrong. In fact they ring American.

UK / Irish bell-ringer phones, the ones I grew up with - and which you'd expect to hear in Buckingham Palace, Balmoral etc. - had a short double ring, like so: Brringg-Brringg ... Brringg-Brringg ... Brringg-Brringg.

youtube

US bell-ringer telephones had a single long-ish ring, like so: Brrriiinnng ... Brrriiinnng ... Brrriiinnng.

youtube

It probably sounds unimportant for those too young to have heard these phones unless they've installed a "old phone ring" in their mobile.

However for people who grew up with a particular ring (not that long ago, the phones in those pics brring'd on in homes and offices on both sides of the Pond well into the 1990s) the incorrect sound can be as odd as, for instance, seeing US or Irish / UK cars driving on the wrong side.

It takes a couple of seconds, and then "Oh, that's not right..." (or not left, as appropriate).

Despite more on-line searching than I should have wasted time on, I haven't found either "goof" or "reason why" to explain how those phones in "The Crown" rang the way they did, and it's an itch I'd love to scratch.

*****

Another sound error is depicting modern British emergency vehicles as having two-tone (dee-dah-dee-dah) horns. Not any more - even though an EV going somewhere in a hurry with lights and sounds on is AFAIK still "running blues and twos".

Nowadays "twos" have been replaced by wailer, yelper and oth-er kinds of electronic siren - none of which, IMO, are as efficient as the two-tone either for cutting through ambient noise or indicating which direction the sound and vehicle is coming from.

I've also got a memory of a documentary sometime in the past year about the Battle of Britain and the Blitz (i.e. 1940-41) where whoever dubbed in the sound-effects clearly assumed that a dee-dah tone has always been the British police-fire-ambulance warning.

Ahhh... No.

British emergency vehicles in the 1940s didn't use sirens, horns or klaxons; they were fitted with hand-operated or electric bells. At that period, the two-tone warning called a Martin-Horn...

...was AFAIK exclusively German...!

All this sounds picky-picky, but while using the wrong plane or ship or vehicle because no example of a real one exists any more is one thing, making a mistake in something as inexpensive and easily-reconstructed as a period sound is another matter.

Of course it's a well-known truism that while the contract for a movie / show's historical consultant says they must be paid, there's no matching contract clause that says they must be heeded, so for the sake of their scholarly reputations those consultants sometimes demand to be removed from the credits.

Looking at you, Ridley...

*****

ETA: Some days later, with that original post still queued, I may perhaps have found an answer. :->

I've just watched "Thirteen Days", that rather good, properly tense movie about the Cuban Missile Crisis, in which Kevin Costner's character had two phones at home. The black one was domestic with a US single ring, the red one was Official...

With a UK-style double ring.

Without bothering to re-watch each relevant episode of "The Crown", I'm now thinking those "incorrect" phone-rings may all have been internal lines and - like the Official phone in "Thirteen Days" - had a different ringing pattern to denote they weren't a "civilian" call.

In addition, the Costner character and his wife both react to the double ring with alarm, indicating they know its significance.

All of the above makes sense when you consider that custom ringtones were half a century in the future, and there's only so much the electrical pulses driving a pair of metal bells can do...

#The Crown series #Thirteen Days film #US - UK telephone ring #on-screen accuracy #sound effects #Youtube

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ladyblueberrymuffin · 6 months

Text

I feel like people haven't really understood The Lost Hero, because like... "I think the reasons Piper and Jason broke up make sense. Their relationship is based on fake memories and blah blah blah"

THE LOST HERO IS LITERALLY ABOUT PIPER HAVING AN IDENTITY CRISIS, BECAUSE SHE LEARNS HER MEMORIES ARE FAKE AND SHE HAS TO LEARN TO ACCEPT IT.

The whole crux of Jasiper in The Lost Hero is they're slow and shy and even ashamed to a degree about their feelings, because they are afraid it'd be those fake memories pushing them into this.

Like, I feel like The Lost Hero couldn't be more obvious about the fact that they like each other for real, and they're the only ones who can't see it.

Piper already learned this lesson in The Lost Hero, why is this treated like a new development in The Burning Maze?

Also,

Aphrodite smiled. “Because you are my daughter, Piper. You see possibilities much more vividly than others. You see what could be. And it still might be—don’t give up."

It wasn't Hera, or Aphrodite who gave Piper the memories of dating Jason. It was Piper. Like, the way I think about it, it's like when you meet this boy, and you develop a crush, and you start making up all these fantasies about dating him in your head.

In other words, all Hera did was "introduce" Jason to Piper's brain, and because Jason is very sweet, and nice, and funny, Piper's brain was like "Yes, this guy, more please."

I dunno. I always found it cute. She's basically just dealing with an unrequited crush, just dressed up in a magic packaging.

I do think there should be more emphasis put on the fact that there are differences between how Piper "remembers" Jason, and what he's really like, and over the course of the book, she realizes that she likes real Jason more than her idealized version of him.

No one gaslit no one into liking each other. Jason and Piper actively gave each other time to process things. The Lost Hero even ends with this:

Across the green, her cabin mates looked disappointed that they hadn’t witnessed a kiss. They started cashing in their bets. But that was all right. Piper was patient.

The patient bit was always the most important to me. Piper isn't rushing things.

I think Rick heard fans complaining that Jasiper is based on fake memories and how messed up that is, and course corrected. They wanted a major character death, more representation, a different personality for Piper, not having Piper constantly think about Jason, they didn't really like Jason...

And you know, I think he's valid. Like, this is a job to him. He's feeding his family. He doesn't have to care about these fake names on the page just because I do. He wanted to accommodate the fans, he probably wanted some more meaty character stuff after the last couple of books were kinda boring with Callypso and Leo and so on, he probably thought this would get people hooked and interested.

It's fine. I'm glad he's still making books, and getting work, and helping other creators. I don't think other writers are that invested in their characters either, but when I read like a Kami Garcia schmaltzy romance, it feels like it was written with the mindset of "How would I feel if my friend stopped talking to me? How would I feel if my loved one died?" and it makes the actions of the characters feel less cold and detached.

I'd have a panic attack if I was friends with Leo and he moved on a whim, and didn't seem all that broken up about not seeing me again. I'd feel like I am not worth a lot to him. Hell, I am 23, way older than they are, and I still cry, because my friend moved away this year. I pass his house, and I realize I feel nothing, and I don't wanna be there, because he's not there, and I cry. These characters don't cry about anything, unless someone dies. And even then, a few minutes later, it's back to normal.

I dunno, is this what makes it more accessible to middle-schoolers? I feel like middle-schoolers would be even more terrified of the prospect of a friend moving away and not even feeling that sad over leaving them behind.

EDIT: Furthermore, if you think Hera put fake memories of a relationship into Piper's head... TO WHAT END?! To what end?! How does that benefit Hera in any way? Why would Hera care? Rick has done a pretty interesting thing with Hera lately by making her actually love Jason like a son, but that relationship was a lot more reserved at the time of HoO. Why would she care if he gets a girlfriend? Why would she think Piper is a good match for Jason? I feel like the last thing Hera would want for Jason is a relationship with Piper, like, common, Hera hates Aphrodite, they're like polar opposites, and the Trojan War started because of their argument (Athena was involved too, but Hera has different reasons to dislike her). Hera is the goddess of marriage, who has stayed loyal to a man who cheats on her daily, do you think she would hitch her boy with the daughter of the only woman who's body count rivals Zeus'?

#heroes of olympus #hoo #percy jackson #pjo #toa #trials of apollo #the burning maze #can you tell i recently stumbled into the burning maze and got swept up in the angy again?#i'm sorry i'll try to slow down with these vent posts #jasiper #jiper #jason grace #piper mclean #leo valdez #i don't hate rick riordan i swear

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inkandarsenic · 6 days

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I had a dream last night that could have been a fic and I’m disappointed that it wasn’t.

It was Buck and Eddie like after the last episode after Eddie was like “this changes nothing between us” and at first, everything was fine and normal but then it became very apparent after like six months that something very much had changed between them, like Buck was still dating Tommy and Eddie was still dating Marisol and in the field they were as in sync as ever but then everywhere else there was this weird distance between them? Like they were still best friends but like fundamentally they were Buck and Eddie instead of BuckandEddie like they used to be and everyone else in the 118+ could see it and they couldn’t

And then suddenly they could see it, because Buck was at Eddie’s and something happened and he needed to change his shirt but he realized that for the first time in years, probably since Eddie got shot, Buck didn’t have anything of his at the Diaz house. A couple weeks later, Eddie was telling the 118 a story about Chris and Buck had no idea what’s going on in the story and they (Buck and Eddie) were talking about it and they realize that it’s been a while since Buck picked Chris up from school or just like had a day that was just the two of them. And then there was some gathering at Eddie’s house instead of Bobby and Athena’s, and Buck makes cookies at his loft and brings them and Maddie points it out, and Buck has a mini crisis as he realizes abruptly that he is a guest in Eddie’s house and he was looking around and the couch was new (Marisol had convinced Eddie to buy a new one) and he hadn’t even realized.

And then Eddie and Marisol and Buck and Tommy were going on a double date at Olive Garden of all places but Marisol couldn’t make it, so it was just Buck and Eddie and Tommy and it was awkward and Tommy was like “look i haven’t known you guys as long as everyone else around you but even I can tell that there is something not right here and you need to talk it out and fix it because you’re both not the same with your lives being almost completely separate, it’s like not natural for you two.”

And they start talking except it kinda devolves into grocery store fight 2.0, about Buck not being there for Chris and not being around except this time it’s kinda on both of them and it’s really no one’s fault but it’s kinda both their faults. And this argument makes its way into their work life where they’re just not as in sync in the field.

And then something happened on a call (unclear what) that wasn’t really anyone’s fault but Buck blamed himself and the current issues he’s having with Eddie, and asked Bobby to be put on B-Shift for awhile and it was just super awkward in the firehouse and Bobby was talking to Eddie and was like “I don’t know what’s going on but whatever it is you need to fix it” and Eddie was like “I dont know what’s going on either, Buck and I just aren’t the same since he started dating Tommy” and Bobby was like “maybe you need to evaluate that because that’s something that only seems to be affecting you.”

And then like a week later, Eddie and Marisol broke up, and Marisol was all “it’s because of Buck isn’t it, you love him more than me.” And Eddie did not work through that, he just went to Buck’s despite still sort of being in a fight and they got drunk on Buck’s couch and Eddie kissed Buck just kinda out of the blue and then was like “fuck I didn’t mean to do that” and left.

Buck told Tommy immediately the next time he saw him (because he learned his lesson from Taylor) and Tommy was pretty cool about it but he was also like “hey maybe you should think about that because you don’t actually seem all that upset by the fact that Eddie kissed you just that he kissed you while you’re dating me and I feel like that says something” because Tommy is a real one.

After like two weeks wherein Eddie goes to great lengths to avoid Buck outside of calls despite being on the same shift again, and Buck talking through it in therapy and with Maddie, Buck breaks up with Tommy (who again is very chill about all of it and is like “we can all still be friends just give me a little space for a while”) and then he drove to the Diaz house and Eddie saw him pulling up and met him outside and it was raining so they really should have gone inside but I digress. And Eddie was like “Buck it’s like midnight what are you doing here” and Buck was all “i broke up with Tommy because you kissed me” and Eddie was like “fuck I’m sorry I didn’t mean to do that I never meant to get in between you two” and is just sort of spiraling and Buck can’t get a word in so instead Buck kisses Eddie and Eddie is just like “Oh. So you aren’t mad.” And Buck laughed and was all “No I’m not mad I’m in love with you”

And then my neighbor’s kid started screaming and woke me up so I didn’t even get to see the ending and I’m kinda mad about it because I wanna see how everyone else reacted to all of this

#if anyone wants to write this #I would absolutely read this #if anyone has any suggestions #of fics that are similar #please im begging #911 abc #evan buckley #buddie #eddie díaz #buck x eddie #buck x tommy #dream #could have been a fic #my fanfic ideas #the 118 #tommy kinard #grocery store fight #911 #911 season 7

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velvetcloxds · 3 months

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LITTLE BIRD- CHAPTER TWO | S.B.

word count: 1.8k

characters: mafia!sirius, secret agent!regulus (not related to sirius in this au), prince!james, princess!reader, potter!reader, bodyguard!lily, future prince!remus

series warnings: blood and violence, non-canon characters and places, no magic, time lapses between parts, non-conventional viewing of monarchy and other social systems, mafia characters, semi-legal things, love triangle

summary: regulus confronts you about going to see sirius alone, your parents being home forces you to lie about how you solved the crisis in their absence and even amid damage control you're still thinking about sirius, seems he's thinking about you too

previous chapter | series masterlist

You half expected them to be waiting for you, ready with the full set of questions they usually have you run through, your mom with James, your dad with you, conveniently working to your advantage even though they’ve yet to figure that out. Your mother always got James to squeal, just the right amount of pressure and he’d sing like a bird, his own praises of course, some pile of lies about how he saved the day, made it all work out to his good without the real details, which you’d fill up for him with your dad, despite the knock to your own pride. However, the palace was eerily quiet when you and Lily arrived, the staff at hand and ready as always but your parents weren’t waiting in the dining room after you’d trekked your way there, James was eating alone, the table set yet empty still but there was some food missing from what would’ve been their plates.

“Look at you, home just in time for your warm welcome,” he spoke over a nearly empty glass of wine, messily setting the glass down next to his plate. “How’d you do it, little sister?” it was a slurred question, one he’d probably been pondering since you left and you were ready as always too, prepared with a line-up of stories fit for the situation but your curiosity got the better of you, you wanted this conversation to end quickly and find them soon after. Whatever they’re flawed parental endeavours, your parents were torturously insistent on having dinner together every night it was possible, especially after long trips away from their children, especially after a crisis.

“Regulus,” the easiest lie, also the one that prompted the least number of questions, you didn’t expect him to scoff, didn’t expect him to smirk at you either and you were just about to question that when you heard the man in question’s voice, followed only by your father’s.

“I heard my name,” Regulus looked as handsome as ever, more so in his uniform than you remember from growing up and mostly just seeing him prancing around in a loose shirt and jeans, your dad was smiling so brightly you’d think he hasn’t seen him in ages though really you all saw him the day they left, still you believe age was making him softer than before, you’d never tell him that. Regulus smiled over at you as well, his face distorted momentarily as your dad forced you into a hug, a quick kiss placed to your cheek as you just barely caught the little nod that Regulus gave you, it said enough, it promised that Sirius came through in more ways than one. “Good to see you again, Princess, heard my friend helped you out,” Your dad didn’t let go, didn’t ask for confirmation either but you knew if your mother was around that wouldn’t be the case.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I got stuck in traffic on the way back- can’t believe you beat me home,” you lied, gripped your dad’s waist as one last welcome home before he let you go and drifted right back to Regulus’ side. “And all of you at that, actually, where’s mom?” you had to wonder if Regulus had caught her up yet too or was that your task to do.

“She’s waiting for you in the kitchen,” Your dad wasn’t one to pretend he didn’t know she spent the whole time away simply waiting to be back to gossiping and eating the night’s dessert right from the fridge before the boys got to it, the only little bit of royal rebellion she had left in her after all this time. “Leave some for the rest of us, won’t you,” he joked, and you smiled, a familiar thing, it felt good having them home after all, despite the drama and the lies that was ahead of you.

“Actually, can I have a word with you first?” the question was for you but it was aimed at your dad still, he nodded, didn’t think much of it really, mumbled something about having the server set up some new plates for him and Regulus who took hold of your arm gently to guide you as far away from curious ears as he could without looking suspicious. “What were you thinking?”

Honestly you should’ve expected him to push back, even if you were the one to set up the agreement between Regulus and Sirius, Regulus was very serious about never speaking to him alone, without protection- had he only known how common that was, how many nights you’d snuck off right into danger without a single consideration about what might go wrong. It started out as a deal for peace and peace was definitely still the goal, but there was something intriguing about Sirius, about a man brought up in the role of his family, no choice, not really and somehow there still seemed to be so much more to him, behind the title and the danger and the threat of his very being. Maybe you related to him in the most mundane way, carrying a burden that was yours way before you were even born, fighting a battle that was started even long before that.

“Oh, don’t start, alright, Lily was with me, and we were careful,” you checked the door, made sure he closed it properly just in case your whispered words weren’t soft enough. “You being here, saying that to my dad, that’s more cause for suspicion than anything else,” you were right, he knew that too, and logic couldn’t explain why he said what he said, he just wanted to show you that he knew, show you that he was unhappy being cut out when you were only ever supposed to be the one in the middle.

“I’m sorry,” he pulled a hand through his hair, rolled his eyes into the air as if annoyed with himself, for a man who taught you to think through every action, every word, he wasn’t doing a very good job living by that. “Listen, I don’t like the idea of you being too comfortable around him, around his people- he’s helping us now, but don’t confuse his willingness for alliance.”

“I know,” you did, so why you were annoyed at hearing it was beyond you. “He’s a means to an end, Regulus, I know that and so does he- I needed help, he was willing to provide that, don’t confuse my ability to play at your game for naivety.”

You caught him on that and there was more to be said but your mother was calling for you, your brother was hallway through another drunken rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody sung at the top of his lungs and your phone was burning a hole in your pocket, begging you to text the very person you swore you could not care less about.

“If your mother finds out now, before we’re ready, it’ll ruin everything, we’ll cause a war.”

“And if she finds out you’re the one making me hide it from her, there will be much more than a war for you to worry about,” you had grown tired of this conversation, wanted to be anywhere else. “Goodnight, Regulus, it was good seeing you again, but we have a system for these types of conversations, don’t bring this up in the palace again.”

Fresh off what anyone would consider a victory, you were more annoyed than relieved, there was something to be said about being a powerful woman in this family. Your mother had taken a crown meant only for her corrupt father and built a country up from ruin, ended the reign of the mafia threatening to destroy the entire monarchy and she’d done so while raising two children and facing the constant ridicule of marrying her military advisor and still- beyond all logic, woman still had to earn their place in this palace. It was frustrating, the only person who’d yet to question your abilities was Sirius Black, the very man you should stay as far away from as possible.

“There’s my girl,” you’d found your mom crossed legged on the counter, she was about as far away from a royal example as you could get, yet still she never looked out of place, even with remnants of chocolate pudding smudged on her chin and your father’s dress shirt thrown over her sleep pants way before it would be acceptable for the staff to see her as such.

“Mom,” she opened her arms for a hug, one hand balancing her bowl, the other taking you into her chest just like she did when you were a kid and you laughed lightly at the sight of her, used the sleeve of your shirt to wipe her face, earning a warm smile from her lips as well. “I’m glad you’re home safe,” what else could you say, truly it wasn’t the first time your parents had disappeared without a word or warning, and you considered it might not be the last, while you considered your future, they were still putting out fires from other parts of their past. “We missed you.”

“I hear James saved the day,” you both scoffed at the same time, laughed because of it, of course she’d never fall for the pretty tales told in her absence, if only she knew. You slipped onto the counter with her, took the extra spoon she offered and scooped a large bite from her bowl. “Thank you,” you hummed around your spoon, shrugged it off quickly, as much as it did your ego good, you didn’t want her to create an opportunity for you to lie to her. “Your dad and I are very proud, you know, can’t imagine it was easy having to deal with this mess just the two of you.”

“Well, I mean we had help.”

“Regulus, of course,” she wasn’t technically wrong so you saw no reason to try and correct her. “Well still, dove, you were very brave,” the words sent your mind adrift and as if his ears were burning all the way across town your phone vibrated in your pocket, two times, just like you’d set it to and while she was reaching over the counter for some more sprinkles you couldn’t help stealing a glance to see what it said. “Think your dad would want some cherries with his?” you nodded, hummed, you’d think you were entirely focused on her but really you were going over the sentence a few more times in your head.

From Padfoot: Glad you got home safe, little bird, I’ll let you know how I’m planning to collect my debt soon.

#princess!reader #potter!reader #prince!james potter #mafia!sirius black #prince!remus lupin #bodyguard!lily evans #secret agent!regulus #marauders fanfiction #marauders fanfic #marauders fic #mafia au #royal au #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #regulus black x reader

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chiefdirector · 4 months

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Talking | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Act One | Chapter 16

I’m in a&e (er for my American friends) so y’all are getting a chapter early

"So, Detective Bradford, what evidence led to the arrest of my client." Wesley asked, pacing back and forth, arms crossed behind his back. He looked at (Y/N) expectedly.

They had been going over trial preparation for the last hour or so. In exchange for his services, (Y/N) brought a take out for them, as well as Tim and Angela. The other two had retreated into the kitchen to have some beers so as to not bore themselves to death.

"The operating detective arrested Mr. Smith of the claim of him being found holding the murder weapon over his dead fiancé."

"That proves nothing. Could he not have just picked it up in the heat of the moment? It must have been pretty traumatic for him. People act irrationally in moments of crisis."

"He could've but he didn't." (Y/N) rebutted, leaning further into the couch. "He practically confessed."

"There's no "practically" about it, detective. Either there is hard evidence that my client did this or you have arrested an innocent man going through one of the most terrifying things that one could experience."

(Y/N) flicked through the case file she had been given to build her testimony around. The acting detective hadn't been all too thorough as they were sure it was a clean cut case. Letting out a small "ha!" She smugly presented Wesley with a sheet of paper. "Here you will find the prints we ran on the gun. Only one set, belonging to Mr Smith. Any more questions?"

"No more questions at this time," he said, finally sitting down and reaching for the beer Angela had brought through to him a little while back. "You did good. Just keep that energy up and you'll be fine."

(Y/N) sighed, "You think? Court was never my strong suit."

"Yeah. I'd challenge you in the courtroom any day."

"No thanks. This was hard enough." (Y/N) laughed, leaning her head back to look into the kitchen, watching Tim and Angela bicker about something. "You wanna call them through or should I?"

"Actually," Wesley stood up, "I should probably get her home before something stronger comes out. You know how those too get."

"Oh god, don't remind me."

It didn't take long for Wesley to gather Angela up and make a quick departure. Once Tim had closed the door behind them, he made his way back into the kitchen where (Y/N) had begun to clear up. Dishes were stacked up high in the sink and bottles littered the counters.

"God, how much did you drink," she said, turning to face her husband. "It looks like the remnants of a brewery made a home here."

"Hardly any and not nearly as much as Angela, I always forget how much that woman can drink." Tim moved forwards, pacing his hands on (Y/N)'s hips, bringing her body into his. Softly he kissed her, "Leave all this for tomorrow."

"And what will we do now," she said, leaning in to kiss him again.

Quickly, he moved his grip on to hold her waist. Swinging one arm under her legs, he picked her up bridal style, moving towards the bedroom. "I can think of something."

- - - - -

"You look happy," Angela teased as she walked over to (Y/N)'s desk. "Too happy."

(Y/N) didn't look up to respond to her, knowing the direction Angela wanted this conversation to go. She didn't want to humour her friend but she also knew that if Angela wanted to do something, it would happen. "Can I not be happy? Is that against the rules?"

"Not at this time in the morning you can't." She said moving round the desk to lean over (Y/N)'s shoulder, now whispering. "Somebody got laid."

(Y/N) let out a breathy laugh. Shaking her head, (Y/N) continued to type. "And someone's trying to live vicariously through me. Having a dry spell, are we?"

"Not at all. But as much as I like talking to you about this, I have a suspect on the store robbery; his name is Damian Barrett. I'm sending Harper and Nolan to bring them in..."

"Right, okay? What do you need from me?"

Angela smiled, "Nothing. I just wanted to say 'hi.'"

"Bullshit," (Y/N) leaned back in her chair, finally turning to face Angela who had decided to perch on the surface, "Also, that isn't a chair."

Lopez rolled her eyes as she got down. "I do have a reason for coming here though. Patrice is on my case about this wedding."

"And Patrice is...?

"Wesley's mom." She took out her phone, scrolling through her messages to show (Y/N) "This is just from last week. I need help."

"Don't ask me, Tim and I almost eloped. A lot less fuss and mess." (Y/N) smiled as she absently played with her rings, "I say go to the courthouse and throw a party or something after."

"You're wedding was lovely. How did you do it?"

"I didn't have much to do with it. It was all Grey and Tim."

Angela raised her eyebrow, "Sargent Grey? Sargent Grey as in the Sargent Grey who works here and was your boss helped plan your wedding?"

"Yeah," (Y/N) said, smiling as the memory came back to her. "Grey nearly lost his head when I mentioned eloping. Something about how it would be a 'tragedy' and that it would happen over his dead body."

"Great," Lopez sighed, moving back towards her desk. "You are no help."

"Hey," she laughed, "You asked me!"

- - - - -

It was only mere moments after Angela had returned to her own desk did she approach (Y/N) again, this time her easy-going demeanour had hardened into something more serious. She had their shared case file tucked under her arm.

"Harper and Nolan found our friend and put in interrogation. He's waiting on us. Seems like bad news, but like I said, he's only a suspect and we have got nothing concrete. We're going to try for a confession," Angela said, taking off, not leaving (Y/N) to question her any further.

With a small sigh, she got up to follow Angela to the interrogation room. She was going to let her take the lead, it was her case after all, she only came onto the case as a consulting detective. Besides, by the looks of the case, (Y/N) thought it may be an easy win.

Act One | Chapter 16 | Chapter 18

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e @malindacath @agentred27

Tags are open :)

#tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford imagine #the rookie #the rookie imagine #chiefdirector #bottom of the river

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tgmsunmontue · 1 month

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Once Upon a Time in 1996... 3/?

IceMav TimeLoop. Maverick wakes up to a great day. Then it all turns to shit.

Chapter One Chapter Two

DAY THREE

He wakes up and he rolls over, half expecting to fall directly off the sofa and he opens his eyes immediately.

What the fuck.

“What the fuck?”

He’s back in his bed at Carole and Bradley’s house. His home. Except he knows he went to sleep on Ice’s sofa last night. Knows he didn’t drink a single drop of alcohol to blame the weird nightmare-dream of the previous night on and he remembers seeing the bottle of vodka which had sort of confirmed that maybe he hadn’t dreamt the previous day.

Except.

This type of stuff doesn’t happen. He remembers there being a film like this a couple of years ago, what was it called, god, he’s going to have to find it and remind himself what the hell happened in it.

Oh fuck.

Ice.

Tom.

He’s gay and in love with him.

That’s a lot to take in.

Carole is sick. Dying.

That is also a lot to take in, but he sort of feels like he’s a day ahead of dealing with that already. He remembers waking up… yesterday? Was it still yesterday? How can he keep track of previous days if they are all yesterdays? He remembers waking up on Day Zero and thinking it was a perfect day. Now he’s got his two best friends in crisis and no way in which to fix either of them. He can’t fix either of them. Not that Ice needs fixing, but Carole needs healing, and he’s not a doctor. He’s going to have to somehow accept he can’t change anything.

Fuck.

All he wants to do is run away.

Instead he goes through the morning motions, on autopilot as Bradley runs out of the house and Carole leaves for appointment. He needs… well, he doesn’t know what he needs exactly, but he needs to think. He has time. Infinite maybe. He cuts the grass, his mind ticking over the potential things he can say and do. He can’t change what is happening to them, but he can change how he responds. Thinks about where Carole is, probably receiving the news and he wonders if he should be with her. Maybe he can try that if he gets another tomorrow.

He tips all the bottles of alcohol down the sink and throws the bottles in the trash. He can make Carole a coffee or something. Stay with her. Until he needs to go and see Ice. Should he talk to Ice? He should maybe figure the fuck out what he’s feeling himself before he faces that gauntlet again.

He sucks in a sharp breath.

Oh god, what is he going to say to Ice? What is Ice going to say to him? He remembers the first day, when he’d turned up later, or on time, and there hadn’t been anything, no hint, so if he doesn’t turn up early then Ice isn’t going to tell him. But he wants his best friend to feel like he can tell him. He also needs to figure out what the best way to respond is, because yesterday had not gone well. He doesn’t want Ice avoiding him. Doesn’t want to avoid Ice.

Carole pulls into the drive and he doesn’t wait for her to just sit there, almost runs out of the house immediately and opens the car door and pulls her out into a hug.

“Maverick? Everything okay?”

She’s not even crying.

What.

The.

Fuck.

“Uh… I missed you?” Fuck. Has he got it all wrong? She gives him a smile though and it immediately turns watery, but it’s still a smile and she’s laughing at him being a little silly and he feels relieved suddenly, he’s doing something good. Something right.

“I missed you too you idiot. Got some… not great news.”

That a fucking understatement of the year.

“Can I make you a cup of coffee?”

“That would be nice. Thanks.”

They sit and drink coffee, curled up on the sofa facing each other and she does break down and cry he just reaches out and holds her, lets her cry through it. Doesn’t say anything or ask anything, just tries to be there, and it seems to help, even if it is fucking hard to keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t offer to go and pick up Bradley, doesn’t even mention him, just sits with her until his stomach rumbles and it makes her laugh through her tears again. They shuffle around the kitchen together and make food, and he tries to act normally. This is all new at least, so it doesn’t feel like he’s experiencing déjà vu for the third day in a row. Carole turns on the radio and sings along and it’s such a sharp contrast to her attitude the last couple of days he wonders if she too is maybe experiencing the same thing.

“You ever experience déjà vu?” He asks and she scrunches her face at him, the same way she always does when she thinks he’s being funny.

“Sometimes. What made you think of that?”

“Oh, just… feeling a little of it today. Wondered if it was just me.”

“Pretty sure it’s not a collective thing. You’re in a weird mood today.”

Yeah, he guesses he is.

“I’m just going to ring Ice.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m going to tell him I can’t make dinner.”

Okay, he hadn’t really decided that until he just said it out loud, so maybe he’s not ready to face that gauntlet quite yet. Fuck.

“Maverick, don’t let me stop you from seeing him. He just got back.”

“And another day won’t matter,” he says, not sure how he can explain he saw him yesterday, and the day before as well. And also he doesn’t know how to feel about seeing him again today. Carole makes a weird humming noise and he turns, about to ask her what she means by that.

“Invite him here. It would be nice to see him too.”

“Uh… yeah. Okay. Sure.”

He has no reason to say no, he’s friends with Carole as well. He picks up the phone and dials the number Ice gave him for his base accommodation, waits for him to pick up as he trails across the room, the coiled spring of the phone following him. He doesn’t need to wait long, maybe six rings and then Ice’s clear strong voice comes through the line.

“Tom Kazansky.”

“Hey Ice, how are you?”

“Maverick… Hi,” Ice says, and his voice is cautious and Pete doesn’t blame him. They’re not really friends who have ever been the type to talk on the phone. Letter writing has happened occasionally, postcards sometimes. “Why are you calling me? We’re meant to be seeing each other in a few hours…”

“Uh yeah, about that. Just wondering if we can postpone dinner?”

“What? Why? Tell me what’s happened.”

“Uh, well,” he looks across the kitchen to where Carole is now washing the dishes, still singing to the music on the radio and he lowers his voice and angles his body away. “Carole’s got cancer. Bad. Don’t really want to leave her. We’re actually going to have a movie night,” he says, adlibbing his way through the lies, although now that he’s saying it he’s going to make it happen. Remembers that he wants to find out the name of that movie and then watch it. Once he finds it. But he also needs to gather information, wants to see Ice again with the knowledge he has now. He turns back toward the kitchen and Carole is now looking at him, mouthing words at him and he doesn’t need the ability to lip read to know she’s telling him to ask Ice to dinner.

“Actually, you want to come around here for dinner and join us instead? I know it’s not what we planned but I kind of want to be here with them tonight.”

“Yeah. Of course. What can I bring?”

“Just yourself.”

“I think I can manage that,” Ice says, and his voice is dry and Pete snorts, because Ice has never turned up empty handed anywhere he goes, which is something he could probably try and emulate more. They agree on six for dinner and he hangs up, turns back to Carole and wonders if he should ask her for advice. Would that just cause her more worry or distract her. Maybe she wants distracting? Fucked if he knows.

They end up back on the sofa and she talks, clearly calmer than she has been the previous two days, talking to him about the diagnosis and lifespan estimation. Not long. Never long enough when it’s measured in months. He can only listen with half of his brain, what she’s telling him is what he’d heard the first day, but it had been through wracking sobs and tears. He still can’t figure out why today is different, needs to figure it out so he can make sure he can repeat it tomorrow if he needs to.

“Will you let me adopt Bradley?”

“What?”

“Can I adopt Bradley?”

“You want to do that?”

“Of course. Jesus Carole, I can’t imagine loving him any more than if he were my actual kid.”

He doesn’t know what he’s said exactly but she’s crying again, but this time there’s a tremulous smile on her face and he feels like this is also something right, something good that he can do. Then Bradley gets home, bursting through the door and Carole reaches an arm out to him, her smile wavering and Bradley can definitely tell something is wrong. He’s a smart kid.

“How would you feel about Maverick adopting you?”

“Uh… are you guys getting married?”

“No!” They both answer in unison and then laugh, although it would probably be easier.

“Um. Sure. It’s cool I guess. Why are you crying?”

Smart kid, Pete thinks, and he wonders what Carole is going to do, going to say, when faced with Bradley asking outright like this.

“Just sad about life this afternoon…”

“Oh. Okay.”

He sucks in a quiet breath, clenches his jaw, because she’s still not telling him. Okay. It’s okay. This is still better than the first day, although anything is better than that horrific day.

“We were thinking of having a movie night. You want to come to the Blockbuster with me?” Pete asks and Bradley’s nodding, his school bag dropping to the ground and Carole tuts under her breath.

“Come on, I need to go to the grocery store, seeing as I’m now cooking for four people…”

“You told me to invite him!” Pete protests, knowing she’s giving him a gentle jab about Ice and him now being there for dinner. Although he prefers it over the alternative, even if he’s curious as to what the table would look like if he turned up even earlier. Another task for another tomorrow maybe. They all get in Carole’s car and she drives, humming along to the radio. She drops them off, saying she’ll be back shortly, saying she only needs a few things and they’ll likely take much longer picking a movie. She doesn’t know he has one movie in mind already and that it's Bradley that will take an age to decide on something. He walks into the Blockbuster, Bradley on his heels and he goes up to the bored looking teenager behind the counter.

“Hi, I was wondering if you could help me.”

“Sure.”

“Uh. I’m looking for a movie, about this, uh, person, a man I think, who is caught reliving the same day over and over?”

“What, like Groundhog Day?”

“What?”

“You mean the movie Groundhog Day?”

“Is that it? Is that the movie I’m thinking about?”

“I dunno man, you just described the plot though. He wakes up every morning and it’s Groundhog Day. It’s a romantic comedy. Just over there,” he says, pointing and Pete thanks him, heads over and finds it almost immediately. There’re about ten copies, clearly a popular film and he picks up the case and goes to find Bradley.

Of course he’s looking at the new releases, a film Pete knows he’s not allowed to see clasped in his hands.

“No.”

“But!”

“Bradley, that’s an R-rated film. Your mom will kill me. How about this one?” Pete suggests, because space films are always pretty cool, and a nice middle ground they’ve realized that they both generally like.

“Fine, but I do want to see this…”

“Sure, you can see it when you’re old enough to get it out without my help…”

“Ugh, fine…”

Pete puts Se7en back on the shelf and taps the Apollo 13 against the Groundhog Day case, which is definitely not his normal choice for a movie, but it feels like necessary research. He needs some type of guidance or direction and he’s pretty sure talking about it with anyone else is going to get him called crazy. He sure as hell doesn’t need that. Maybe he is?

Huh.

That’s actually a possibility he hadn’t considered.

Surely if he were actually loosing it he wouldn’t be sane enough to think that he might be loosing it?

He sighs, slides his membership card and cash across the counter and accepts the videos back, passing them to Bradley who is now busy reading the back of Groundhog Day and pulling a face.

“This sounds boring…”

“Well, I thought it might cheer up your mom.”

“Okay.”

He clearly agrees that his mom needs cheering up because he doesn’t even roll his eyes; Pete wonders if he should ask if he’s really okay if Pete adopts him, while they wait for Carole to come and pick them up. They can probably work things out without that if they have to. Of course he doesn’t have time, Carole honking the horn and waving as she drives toward them.

They get back to the house and he helps Carole carry the few things inside, Bradley instructed to put away his things before coming to help prepare dinner. She making a pasta dish with lots of vegetables and he laughs at Bradley’s disgruntled expression, tells him he has to eat them otherwise he won’t grow tall. Of course Bradley retaliates by saying that explains why Pete is so short and he grabs him in a headlock and gives him a noogie, Carole laughing and rolling her eyes, telling them to behave and it all feels shockingly normal. Good.

A knock at the door, it opening and Ice calling out has him jolting a little, part of him having forgotten that Ice was coming.

“Hello! I’m here!”

“Hi…”

He hasn’t allowed himself time to think too deeply about what Ice told him yesterday, can’t tell that it’s even a thing right now, everything seems perfectly normal, just like usual. Ice is handing Carole a bunch of flowers and some chocolate, giving her a kiss on the cheek and smiling at her and he feels a little spark of something, unidentifiable and irritating. He ignores it and gives Ice a grin, tries his best to pretend everything is normal. Then he catches the tight little smile Carole gives Ice and he wonders if she maybe knows. Oh god. Was he completely blind? He shakes himself mentally, reminds himself his best friends are in front of him, one with a terminal cancer diagnosis and the other, apparently, maybe, in love with him.

Perfectly normal day.

Sure.

They eat dinner and he’s glad for Bradley, so glad as he keeps up chatter about school, what he’s wanting to do in the weekend, asking questions of Ice about his deployment. They don’t talk about Carole’s diagnosis. Can’t with the fact that Bradley doesn’t know. Dinner ends and they wash up, used to working together. Carole makes Bradley go and shower and change into his pajamas, ignores his protests about it being too early but she stands firm and Pete realizes he’s going to have to be a parent soon. He’s going to have to be the person that tells Bradley no. God he doesn’t want to be that person.

They move into the TV room, Bradley waving the video in one hand and insisting in setting it up. Normally he and Ice sit at opposite ends of the sofa, Bradley sprawled between them, but he swallows, instead takes the middle himself, gives Ice a shrug and just murmurs about mixing it up a bit when he asks a silent question with a single eyebrow. They watch Apollo 13, Tom Hanks making a convincing astronaut and he finds it pretty compelling knowing it’s based on a true story. Despite his attention being focused on the movie he can feel the warmth of Ice’s body near him; they’re not even touching and yet he’s so conscious of the space between them.

He reaches out slowly, so slowly that every second feels like minutes, stretching time out like hot toffee. He brushes his fingers over the back of Ice’s hand and Ice twitches suddenly, hand jerking away and Ice is staring at him, eyes wide, face illuminated by the light coming from the TV and he turns his hand over, leaving it palm facing up in an invitation for… well. To hold hands he guesses, even if they’ve never done anything before he wants to know if this is something that he could maybe have.

Of course, these actions without any words first probably weren’t the smartest move because Ice is looking confused, almost the same spooked expression he’d had yesterday when Pete had turned up early and he nods his head slowly but leaves his hand where it is, doesn’t want to retract the open invitation he’s made. Is still curious, even if Ice is looking at him as if he’s lost his mind.

Everyone makes it back to Earth, the movie ends and Carole is sending Bradley to bed, ignoring his pleas to watch the second movie while offering to make coffee. Ice stands, his head already shaking a polite decline, mumbling about heading home early and Pete doesn’t groan out loud but he really wants to. He stands as well, says he’ll see Ice out while Carole ensures Bradley actually goes to bed. He follows Ice to the front door, can’t help but notice his stiff posture and he wishes he could make things… okay. Better. Good.

Fuck.

He doesn’t know.

He steps in, putting himself very firmly in Ice’s personal space and reaches for his hand, squeezes it, runs a thumb across his knuckles and swallows nervously.

“What are you doing Maverick?” Ice asks, his voice rough.

“I don’t know…” Pete replies honestly, looking up to meet his eyes. They search his face, looking for answers he doesn’t have, then Ice is making a broken sound, a whispered god and then Ice is kissing him, his lips softer than he expects, careful almost, like he’s afraid Pete will dissolve like sugar in water. His entire body prickles, like it’s suddenly and immediately on high alert, definitely wants more and he sways into Ice’s space further but he’s stepping back, his expression serious.

“We’ll talk tomorrow. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Tomorrow…” he agrees and god he hopes he gets a different tomorrow.

He watches Ice drive away and then goes back and sits on the sofa, Carole joining him and he presses play, watches as Bill Murray navigates living the same day over and over and feels a sinking sense of dread.

CHAPTER FOUR

#icemav #Once Upon a Time in 1996...#pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #Top Gun fanfiction

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mariaofdoranelle · 7 months

Text

Look at Us Now - ch. 17

Fic masterlist

Hey! It feels like forever since I last posted, probably because I was kinda handling a crisis at home 😅 the crisis is very much still on, but I’m ~excluding myself from the narrative~ for mental health reasons, which hopefully means I’ll stop skipping classes and write more lol. Anyway. Have fun!

Warnings: language

Words: 2,7k

Rowan failed her.

He was reminiscing, reflecting on a rocking chair, under the faint light of the beach house’s side porch. Alone. The hammering sound of the rain against the roof was loud, but not as much as Rowan’s thoughts.

His doom was a lot easier to deal with when Aelin was just someone who broke his heart because she didn’t care enough about him.

He rocked his chair a bit harder, his muscles strained. He was too angry at himself to stay still, but too gloomy to have an eruptive reaction.

Rowan got up, pacing around the porch. He couldn’t stop thinking what would’ve happened if he’d done his job right. Maybe they would be together now. Maybe their co-parenting arrangement would’ve stayed friendly. Either way would be better than what it became.

The purely physical affair he had with Aelin was brutally interrupted by his incarceration and the discovery of her pregnancy. After that, they bonded in a way that made him feel like their souls were melting to be forged as one, but it was just another way of not having her.

Aelin was never fully his, and she would never be after what he’d done.

And even if she wanted to take a risk and have him, what if Rowan broke his family all over again?

Three knocks against the doorframe snapped Rowan out of his thoughts, and was all warning his mother gave him before sitting on a rocking chair.

“I brought some hot tea for you to tell me what happened. Come on.”

He complied, knowing he didn’t have the energy to defy Rory Whitethorn right now. Rowan could trust his mom to read his moods like a manual. He sat on the other rocking chair next to hers. “Did I ever tell you you’re too nosy?”

“I’m your mother. If I didn’t pry, I wouldn’t know anything that happened in your life ever since you left for college.”

He let out a quiet chuckle and sipped the chamomile tea she brought. Breathing the rain’s fresh air in, he let it fill his hollow chest. Rowan couldn’t even begin to explain his situation without uttering the words he dreaded the most, something he’d never dared say out loud before.

“I’m in love with Aelin.”

He stilled, bracing himself for the I’ve been telling you that forever or You’re six years too late, but all he got was an unreadable motherly look.

Rory reached for his upper arm, stroked it with her thumb before she said, “That’s a good thing, honey.”

“We were growing closer lately, and I… well, I didn’t have a plan, but—“ Rowan ran a hand through his hair, closed his eyes and let out a pained breath. “She explained today why she asked me to move out of her house. It’s bad, mom.”

“I see…” Rory trailed, his chest caving as she did. This was a bad indicator. The situation was so serious his mother was actually thinking before she opened her mouth. She continued, “I’m assuming you won’t tell me what happened?”

“I’m not sure I can.”

Even if Aelin allowed him to tell Rory about her mental illness, everything that happened between them back then still felt too raw, too intimate.

“That’s okay.” His mother gave him a small, reassuring smile. “Did she forgive you?”

“I—“ Rowan’s mouth hung open for a moment, then he closed it. He was about to say ‘no’, but even though Aelin didn’t say the words, she didn’t look mad or wounded either. “I’m not sure.”

“It was a long time ago, and she doesn’t look upset about it anymore.” His mom’s voice was soft, her touch on his forearm gentle. “This looks a lot like forgiveness to me.”

“Yeah, but that’s beside the point.” His mouth was ajar as he flailed his arms in front of him, struggling to explain that weight in his chest. “I shouldn’t be looking for cues and forgiveness. I shouldn’t have done anything that—“ Rowan rubbed both hands against his face, coming to terms with the fact that it’d take a while until he found the right words. “I don’t even feel like I deserve her forgiveness, to begin with.”

Rory recoiled. “But that’s not your decision.”

The sudden change in his mother’s tone, from soft to firm, snapped Rowan out of his spiral of self-loathing. “What?”

“Honey,” she pursed her lips, that trademark Whitethorn frown on. “Only Aelin can decide whether you deserve her or not. If she thinks you do and wants to try again…” Rory shrugged. “Just take that chance and don’t make the same mistake twice.”

Rowan’s mouth and shoulders went slack. “Am I supposed to forget I deeply wounded the mother of my child?”

Because that’s exactly what happened. Rowan was so scared to hurt Maisie it made him blind to some of Aelin’s needs, and he hurt his family anyway. His throat closed, and he felt as heavy as Aelin’s words on the night that crushed his dreams. That’s what happens, right? It’s impossible for a man to wound the mother exclusively. As if this isn’t bad enough, it leaves a trail of hurt that affects the entire family.

This one was on him.

“That was included in the ‘don’t fuck up again’ part.” Something about his expression made his mother soften. “It’s normal to wallow, but you can’t let that stop your life, Rowan. It’s always the same thing.” Rory sighed, and Rowan felt she was gazing right into his soul with the same green eyes she gave him. “Honey, you’re so full of what-ifs, it’s putting your entire life on hold. Sometimes you gotta be a little bold to get the things you want in life.”

Rowan stared at his mother, dizziness taking over him as his insides sank to the pit of his stomach. The rain was dying down, the gentle wind rustling his hair, but he couldn’t move.

At that moment, Rowan wanted to defend himself. He didn’t have the energy to, but he wanted to say that his mother was wrong, that she didn’t understand. He wanted to get up and scream.

He doesn’t like the way things are now, he never liked the co-parenting arrangement.

He didn’t choose this.

He never chose to wait for things to settle until six years passed by, it just happened.

Rowan is a careful person, that’s part of him. Always weighing his next step, always waiting for the right time.

And while he waited for the timing to be perfect, Aelin got pregnant, moved in with him, birthed his baby, kicked him out, grew to hate him, stopped hating him, and now their daughter is five years old.

He was still gravitating around her, waiting for the right time to do something. Anything. Rowan wasn’t even sure what exactly he was supposed to do, he just knew it involved bringing Aelin back into his life.

Sensing his struggle, Rory sat back and decided to not press on the subject. “This reminds me of your dad, you know?” Her gaze grew distant, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “It’s easier for him when I mess up than when he does. The guilt is always the worst part for him.”

“Sounds like Dad,” Rowan said around a faint chuckle.

Rory wiggled her eyebrows. ”You know what helped him a lot?”

“Huh.”

“Therapy.”

Rowan tensed, and he narrowed his eyes at his mother, trying to decide if he should believe her. “You’re lying.”

“I am! But it got into your stubborn head, didn’t it?”

Rowan chuckled, his gloomy state not strong enough to survive his mother’s antics. “Not now that I know it’s a lie!”

She gave him a small grin, then reached for her son’s hand. “Honey, your father’s mental well-being is called retirement, a grown child, and leaving the big city to a beach house. You can’t have any of that now, so you should consider therapy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rowan waved her off. “I’ll think about it.”

“Also, you should really talk to Aelin. You’re not good at reading cues, honey, you got this from your dad as well.”

He gave her a sidelong glance, noticing that she was off her handling-my-son-in-crisis mode, back to her usual self. “Is that so?”

Rory adjusted herself in chair, picking back the long-forgotten mug of tea. “Did I ever tell you your father hired a band when he proposed to me? You have no idea the amount of unsubtle hints I gave him.”

“Mom.” Rowan interrupted, giving her a pointed, knowing look. “I don’t remember saying anything about proposing.”

He had no idea if Aelin would let him get anywhere close to that.

“I know.” Rory’s elbow on his side was as faint as her subtlety. “But keep that in mind.”

He chuckled. “The band or the hints?”

“Both. Especially hints about bands.”

“And what if you want to swim?” He asked, crouched on the floor and eye-to-eye with Maisie, his face as serious as it could be.

“I can’t swim without a grown-up.”

“Any grown-up?”

“No strangers!” She dramatically shook her head. “Just Mommy, Auntie Sellene and Aidan.”

“Maisie.” Rowan’s voice was firm. “Your cousin Aidan isn’t a grown-up.”

“But he’s nine!”

“No, he’s still a kid. And…” He bowed his head, running his palm against his forehead. “I’m forgetting something.”

“Daddy.” She gave him a pointed look. “You’re being a buzzard.”

Rowan bit back a smile. The weight in his chest almost crushed him to pieces the first time Maisie called him that, about a month ago, but he was growing to love hearing the nickname Aelin gave him come from his daughter’s mouth.

“Oh.” He looked back up to her. “And what do we do about the beach animals?”

Maisie crossed her arms. “Leave them alone because it’s their home.”

“Perfect.” He kissed the top of his daughter’s head. “Time for sunscreen.”

“You done, Buzzard?”

Rowan startled, snapping his eyes to the doorway and finding Aelin there. If he wasn’t on his knees already, he would be now.

Her pink bikini made his eyes linger, but was enough to make him train his eyes back to her face, and Rowan thanked Mala she was at least wearing denim shorts. He plastered on a smile, looking at her face. Not her pink bikini and exposed curves. Blonde hair—not the ends hugging her breasts—and blue eyes. He focused on her face.

It was a regular beach attire, but Aelin didn’t need much to take his breath away.

She smiled at her daughter, pointing at the lotion in Rowan’s hand. “Auntie Sellene can’t find Bree’s sunscreen, can you hand yours to them?”

Maisie got the tube from her dad and ran downstairs, a girl on a mission. After a quick peek in the hallway, Aelin closed the door and took a step closer to Rowan, her arms crossed.

“You sure you don’t wanna come?”

Rowan shook his head. “I got a thing.”

“You got a thing… in a city where you have no work, and half the people you know are going to the beach?”

His lips pressed together in a slight grimace. “I’m staying home with the other half.”

“Rowan, are you—“ Aelin took a step closer and lowered her voice before asking, “Are we alright?”

“Yeah.” His voice came higher than intended, then he corrected, “No. Um.” Rowan grimaced. “Actually, can we—“

“Come on, Aelin!” Sellene shouted from downstairs.

He gave her a close-lipped smile. “You should go.”

“Sure.”

She took a step back, eyeing him carefully before fully turning around. Rowan’s shoulders dropped in relief when she left. They needed to talk, yes, but Rowan needed to organize his thoughts before they did.

He waited in his room until the rental car drove off the garage, and headed towards his dad’s office. Rowan flinched every time the wooden floor creaked—he didn’t know why, since he wasn’t sneaking, but something about that moment made him want to go unnoticed. It wasn’t his childhood home, but it still had the same smell of baked goods and the same pictures on the wall. Except that now the pictures of Rowan as a kid were side-by-side with Maisie’s.

In one of the frames, he was wearing his daily camouflage uniform, while Aelin wore the hospital staff’s maternity uniform—white pants and a white wrap blouse she absolutely hated, but her blinding smile suggested she wasn’t worried about it at the moment. Rowan remembered it was taken on the day they moved into her house, but he never understood why his mother kept it there. She wasn’t even with them that day, Aelin texted her that one, but maybe she noticed how Aelin’s silly smiles and enormous bump broke his usual serious stance in pictures.

Rowan didn’t miss how she ignored his love confession yesterday.

He glanced at the watch at the end of the hall. It was almost time. He wanted a better way to look at things, but it was a difficult task. What was Rowan supposed to tell her? Hi. Remember when you made me realize the biggest mistake of my life, I confessed my love to you, and you stayed silent? I already have my rejection, I just need the complete humiliation to have some closure.

It could be a dramatic depiction of what he was going to say, but he couldn’t find a better way to put it right now.

Depending on how the conversation went, Rowan could even grovel enough to confess that he didn’t need Aelin to love him back, that was not his issue. If she chose to share her life with him, that’d be more than he could ever ask for.

But would that be what he deserves?

Deserving of her or not, Aelin is the mother of his child, the love of his life. He didn’t expect her forgiveness, but he couldn’t let go of her either.

He opened his dad’s computer and logged into his email to get the link. He opened Zoom two minutes early, but the meeting’s host was already there.

“Hey there!” Yrene cheered from his screen. “I wasn’t expecting your text, but it’s good to see you.”

This session had been canceled for a very long time, since he and Aelin decided to not do therapy during their vacation. However, it came in very handy that Rowan’s mental turmoil started a day before their weekly session was supposed to happen, so he texted Yrene asking if they could meet online.

Rowan tried to smile, but his expression was strained. “Did I crash your plans?”

“Not at all! I was going to lie on the couch and play Subway Surfers for an hour. It’s a good thing you called, since I’m always encouraging people to fight their vices.” Yrene leaned closer to her screen, as if it’d help her see Rowan’s better. “Where’s Aelin?”

He scratched the back of his head, fighting the unease in the bottom of his stomach. “It’s just me today.”

She straightened her posture, squaring her shoulders. “An individual session, then?”

Rowan nodded.

“Good!” Yrene cleared her throat and continued in a serious tone, “I mean, good. What made you take that decision?”

Rowan swallowed, fiddling with his fingers and steeling himself for what he was about to say. For the second time.

“I’m in love with Aelin.”

“Go on.”

He frowned. “You don’t look surprised.”

“I’m really not.” Yrene’s own blunt answer made her grimace. “What I mean is, I’ve been working with families for a long time. It gets easy to tell.”

“Sure.”

He looked at Yrene. She looked at him. He was the first one to break, darting a glance at the wall, feigning interest there to ignore the awkwardness of this situation. Rowan wasn’t used to leading conversations, Aelin and Yrene usually did that.

“Okay.” His therapist cleared her throat. “I’ll give you two options, and you’ll choose how we start: you can tell me what happened in your vacation, or we can talk about how you only choose therapy because of your family, never yourself.”

Rowan was halfway into a flinch when he schooled his expression. This wasn’t a difficult choice at all.

“We arrived here last Saturday…”

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rustingcat · 7 months

Text

Twilight

They started working on the test immediately. Bringing both Brainy and Nia to draw blood, as Kara and Lena started loading materials and performing last minute check ups before their real full trial. Their preparations took longer than expected, both Lena and Kara had important day jobs to get back to after all. After work, they started testing the nourishment distribution system. Hopefully the main system they would need to update and temper with in the long run.

A problem with a delicate Foundation project called Lena away in the late evening. Kara insisted on continuing by herself as there was not much left to do, Lena agreed and promised she would come back as soon as she could. Lena ended up coming up to check on updates every time she had a minute before needing to go back to deal with another issue.

It was getting much later than Kara anticipated when she finished setting up the PF, checking the numbers twice before proceeding to the next stage. The excitement came back to her in full force when she faced the familiar UI once more.

Their first trial was about to begin, their first test to see if their machine was capable of creating life!

She happily pressed continue through the proceeding warning windows and activated the nourishment system. She watched in glee as one of the pods lit up, indicating its activity. A warm feeling spread in her chest as she felt her smile widening. That little thing would become a baby, a baby that would be so loved and cared for by everyone around them, they're gonna drown in it.

Kara wiped off a tear and checked the status of the PF, which should start its transformation into an active embryo pretty soon. The numbers seemed to be on par as expected as PF1 made its new home in pod number one, pretty fitting Kara smiled. It took her a second to realise her mistake.

Getting closer than necessary to read through the genetic data of the new embryo confirmed her suspicions. She accidentally processed her and Lena's genetic data. The baby being created belonged to her and Lena!

Kara took a step back in sheer shock, her eyes as wide as saucers locked on the screen.

"Hey Kara." She heard Lena's voice from behind her.

Kara turned quickly, moving her hands around frantically from the shot of anxiety that went through her system and swallowed hard while she did her best to look normal. She gave Lena her best reassuring smile, that might have showed a bit too much teeth. Luckily Lena was engrossed in her tablet, writing down whatever it was that needed her attention. Kara was grateful her mistake was yet to be discovered.

"How did it go?" Lena continued, finally looking up from her tablet to meet Kara's questionable gaze. "Did it process Nia's and Brainy's genetic data?" She asked, concerned. With the crisis she was dealing with she was probably desperate for some good news.

A small giggle left her lips as Kara swallowed hard. "All is fine." She lied, raising a thumb up to solidify her claim. She would be the first one to admit that her statement was not as convincing as she hoped it to be, but at least it wasn't 'I accidentally started a process to create a baby for us', which was honestly a win by itself.

Lena studied her for a second. "Are you ok?" She asked with concern.

"Yeah, yes. Definitely. Just… you know, excited. Yes, I'm just so excited." She nodded enthusiastically.

"If you run into any problems you–" whatever it was that Lena was about to say was cut short as the power for the entire building was suddenly cut off. The room was illuminated by the moon and the few computer screens that moved to work on the back up generator and the New Birthing Matrix that had its own personal power supply created specially for it.

"God dammit," Lena muttered, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. "I'm really sorry, I'll be right back." Lena stormed off the room and Kara selfishly wished she would exhaust all of her frustration on either her problematic project, or the people responsible to it so she wouldn't have the energy to be mad at Kara. Rao, she was terrible.

Breathing a small sigh of relief once she heard Lena entering a room a few floors down, Kara turned back to the machine.

Standing in the dark room, staring at the small pod illuminated almost exclusively by the twilight as the moon shined brightly through the opened window, Kara felt a shiver running down her spine.

Kara moved closer to the monitor, her fingers hovering over the termination button once again, only this time she would destroy something else, something more.

She saw them again, those flashes of small hands, chubby cheeks, and dimpled smile holding a small bundle of rags. A possible future. A future that had been haunting her dreams for months at this point. A possible future she suddenly desperately wanted to see to fruition.

Kara stepped back from the monitor to stand in front of the pod. She lay a hand on the protective glass, it was warmer than she anticipated. A small smile spread on her lips, knowing her hand was only inches away from their baby. She tasted something salty in her mouth only to realise she was crying. Rao, what a crazy day, a small chuckle escaped her lips as her tears became stronger. She was crying, she was standing in front of what she desperately hoped would become her first born child, a bizarre thought by itself.

Kara let herself have that moment, before drying her tears and turning back to the machine. She had still promised Nia and Brainy a child after all. It suddenly dawned on her, it would mean that their children could be born at around the same time! Give or take a few weeks, depending on the development of all the different species involved, but it would mean lots of conjoined birthday parties – if the kids wanted to of course – happy playtime together, and a chance to gain a true friend for life. Suddenly, this idea seemed like the perfect plan, she frankly wasn't sure why she hadn’t thought of it earlier.

Kara processed the second PF to pod number two, then lit up similarly to the first. They were already best friends, Kara smiled to herself, living next door to each other and all. "Be kind to your neighbour." She addressed her unborn child. And took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and turning back to the monitor.

She confirmed everything was okay with Nia and Brainy's data before letting herself sit down on the small couch in the corner of the room. In the dim twilight, Kara felt the dawn of a new era begin. Growing, in front of her eyes.

Kara wasn't sure how long she'd been staring at the pod before she fell asleep.

The morning sound that woke her up was not her usual alarm, nor was it the warm rays of the sun, but a loud voice that felt way too close to her face.

"Kara!" It rang in her ears, "Explain! Now!"

Read everything in order on AO3

Also, this whole fic was inspired by my little animation I did for last year's Supercorptober! This one right here

#supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #art #supercorptober #supercorptober2023 #my art #my fic

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frozenjokes · 1 month

Text

I Need [You] [To Be] A Hero! (1/2)

note: this is a pretty direct sequel to this fic, but can probably also be read on its own. wouldn’t recommend it though. ALSO. there is a misunderstanding involving domestic abuse in this fic, when in reality nothing has actually happened. still, if that makes you uncomfortable I would definitely skip.

It was safe to say Scar was freaking out a little. Grian, Cub’s roommate who he had never met before, not even as HotGuy, was in his house experiencing some sort of mental health crisis- what the fuck was happening?

His first impulse was to call Cub- of course that was what he wanted to do, but Cub had made it quite clear he was not happy with HotGuy right now, and Grian had been adamant that he couldn’t go home- that there was no one Scar could call who could help.

But when Grian woke up the next day, not leaving his room until the early afternoon, Scar didn't want to tell Cub anything at all. Grian’s face was all sorts of fucked, bruised to all hell, and Scar didn’t remember seeing bruises last night, but it was dark and he had been tipsy- Though, Grian had been wearing quite a heavy amount of makeup, which he seemed to have washed off now.. Oh god. Grian didn’t want to talk about what had happened, and Scar didn’t want to push, but he was suddenly quite worried about what was hidden under the sleeves of his sweater. Grian hadn’t wanted to be touched last night either- fuck.

Scar didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. Though, he got his answer pretty quick when HotGuy’s phone buzzed in his back pocket, his heart sinking at a text from Cub.

‘Have you seen CuteGuy at all? Last night? Important.’

What did he want to know about CuteGuy? Suspicion curled in his gut, but maybe that was just anger, or hurt, or any number of emotions turning his stomach. He hadn’t, obviously. He hadn’t been working last night.

‘No, but I need to talk to you. Meet me for lunch, same place, or anywhere that’s easiest for you. 2:00.’

‘I’ll be there. Is something wrong?’

Scar could only frown at the message, staring for too long before leaving it unanswered, dropping his phone back in his pocket.

“Hey, Grian, I have to meet someone for work. I’m going to lunch, and I can bring you something back if you want. Could be a while, but I grabbed a few things from the grocery store, so you can make yourself something if you don’t want to wait. Doesn’t matter either way, just text me. Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen.”

“Okay,” Grian mumbled, looking just as miserable as he sounded. He never looked up from his phone, scrolling aimlessly with lidded eyes. The sight broke Scar’s damn heart.

“Try and eat something, alright?”

“Okay.” Just about as noncommittal as it gets. Well. He would make sure Grian got dinner at least.

Scar wasn’t used to being unable to change in this house, but it wasn’t too big of a deal. He stopped by his hospital instead, the one that would glue him back together whenever needed, and changed there, leaving behind the bits of his disguise to pick up later. It wasn’t much, just the wig and the clothes he was wearing, but it still took a bit of time to fix his hair, adjust his makeup- just getting into his uniform could be a chore sometimes, especially when his prosthetics were deciding to be difficult- he was going to have to get those repaired again soon. A problem for another day.

By the time everything was said and done, he was a bit late, though he didn’t feel very bad. Cub deserved to squirm a bit as far as Scar was concerned, but he did try and hurry it up regardless.

And squirming he was.

Cub was a complete nervous wreck when Scar managed to arrive and sit down, which was reasonable, all things considered, but Scar was glad for it. He should be nervous.

“Uh, hi,” Cub spoke before Scar could, “I had a question, actually, I mean, I know you’re a superhero and that’s your thing, but are you- do you arrest people? Is that a thing you do? I couldn’t really find any answers online, I wasn’t sure.” Cub fidgeted with his hands when Scar frowned, almost aggressively avoiding eye contact.

“Why? Have you committed any crimes?” Scar couldn’t help himself from shooting back, the anger crawling beneath his skin getting the better of him.

“Uh,” Cub paused for what had to be an abnormal amount of time, “No. Just curious.”

“Just curious? Well no, most of the time, not really. My job isn’t to take people into custody, just to stop them from hurting other people or damaging anyone’s property. Our police force is a bit pathetic though, if you haven’t noticed, so most of the time our villains don’t really stay in jail.”

“You’re upset with me.” Cub said the words like facts, which they were, and stared. Scar stared right back.

“I think ‘upset’ is the wrong word here.”

“If this is about that fight with you and CuteGuy, I don’t think you have any right to be unhappy with me. That was stupid, you were both being stupid, and someone could have gotten hurt. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out or anything, but things have been bad at home, and I didn’t have the time or energy to talk, so some patience would be appreciated.”

“For goodness’ sake, I’m not mad about the fight.”

“Then why- I don’t care. I don’t have time for this. I- I need help. Someone I know did- has been doing some really bad things, and I want to help him, but I just don’t know how, and he ran off and he’s not answering his calls and-“

“Someone you know, huh?”

“Yes- What is wrong with you? Why are you acting so shitty?”

“I want to know what you did to Grian.”

“Wh-“ Cub stopped short, freezing completely, “What I- Scar, have you seen him? Is he okay? Is he safe? Do you know where he is? I don’t- What do you think I did?”

“I don’t think he feels safe at home, Cub. He’s got all sorts of bruises where people don’t just get bruises.”

Silence. Scar’s frown deepened, while all Cub could seem to do was gape.

“Oh fuck, Scar, I did not- Scar, this is a huge misunderstanding, I have not hurt Grian, I need you to believe me- I need your help.”

“I don’t believe you, actually.”

“Scar, Grian is CuteGuy.” For the first time, Scar saw the fear behind Cub’s eyes, the desperation in his voice; for the first time, Scar stopped completely short. When Cub was sure he was listening, he continued, “I found out when he met me in that parking lot. I didn’t recognize him immediately with the outfit and the covers over his wings and- I think he paints his flight feathers? But I figured it out pretty damn fast, and he’s- Grian has always had issues, Scar, like, major issues, but he’s- he’s not- he just doesn’t have good outlets, I don’t really think he actually wants to hurt people!”

Oh.

“I..” Scar dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his forehead, “I hit him. I did that.”

“You did do that! You almost shot him-!” Cub stopped, taking a breath, then laying his hands over his temples for a moment before letting them hit the table, “I don’t care. It was stupid, but I don’t care. I just want him to be okay. Is he safe? Where did he end up? I didn’t see anything on the news, but him not being CuteGuy doesn’t- he can have these really intense reactions to bad stuff happening, even little stuff sometimes, it’s- I promise you he’s trying, I know he’s trying.” There was so much pain there, so much, and Scar had to wonder if Cub knew the extent of what Grian had done, or if he even cared at all. Even Scar wasn’t sure, now that he really thought about it. He.. would have to check later.

“He’s safe. He’s at my, uh, a friend’s house. Found him at a bar, being.. I think intense is the right word. He said he couldn’t go home, and needed a place to stay.”

“Oh god. Was he drinking?”

“I don’t.. think so. Friend was pretty concerned, but Grian insisted he was sober. Took him home before that changed.”

“Oh, good. Good,” Cub sighed, head falling back into his hands, and Scar swore he felt Cub’s relief in his soul. “Could I.. get this friend’s number? I don’t know if I should try and see Grian yet, I really don’t want him to run again, but I just want to make sure everything is okay. I don’t- I have no idea what to do here, I really don’t, I’m just.. really grateful.” Cub paused, then sat up suddenly, “You won’t arrest him, will you? Please don’t. He’s already had to serve some time for repeated offenses, and he’s so much worse when he gets out, it won’t work, it won’t help him-“

“I’m not going to arrest him, Cub. And yeah, let me text you his number.” Scar grabbed HotGuy’s phone to do just that, fumbling a bit as he erased the name off the contact.

“Thank you,” Cub heaved a massive sigh, deflating, “It’s hard enough to get him working again as it is. Customer service isn’t an option- you think I’m bad, woof. It’s not an option.”

“I don’t think you’re bad!”

Cub snorted. “That’s sweet.”

“I don’t!”

“You were barely through the door before I said something rude, then had a complete autism panic attack in the back room. That was particularly bad.”

“Okay, but the thing you said about my legs was hilarious- oh is that what that was?”

Cub paused for a moment, then shook his head, teeth poking out behind his smile, and Scar felt himself fall back in love all over again, “Yeah man, I get it rough sometimes. Thought you knew, honestly.”

“People react in so many different ways to seeing me, getting helped by me, or thinking they’ve embarrassed themselves in front of me that I’ve literally seen it all. I’ve just stopped asking questions.”

“Hey, cheers to that, man.” Cub checked his phone when it buzzed, though had a small moment of confusion that Scar had already anticipated before he shared the contact. “What’s your friend’s name again?”

“Not my place to share, I’m afraid. He’s a tricky guy, really paranoid about the fae and names, so you’ll have to ask him what he wants you to call him. I’ll give him a heads up that you're contacting him, so it’ll be fine. If it’s easier, Grian calls him Micah. For ease of access, he might let you call him the same name, but he’s been known to be.. difficult. Very nice though, just a little odd about some things. You should see his house, it’s all decked out in iron trims and’s got these funky chains everywhere? His front and backyard is all pavement, it’s nuts. I mean, I guess you will see it eventually, won’t you? Maybe.” Scar found himself rambling, suddenly very afraid of being found out. Grian did a pretty shit job at hiding his identity- the voice thing in particular, why did he do that? And if they’ve been friends for years, why did Grian even go near Cub in the first place? REGARDLESS. Clearly Cub had a pretty good intuition, so Scar would greatly prefer if he and Not HotGuy also known as Scar also known as Micah never met.

“Oh. Cool.” Cub looked kind of amused for some reason, but Scar didn’t get the chance to try and puzzle the expression out before he spoke again, “Hey, that’s a different mask, right? Any reason?”

“Oh! Yeah! This is the one I wear when I break my nose, since it doesn’t really cover it like the other one does. Well, CuteGuy broke it actually, but you understand. It’s.. a relatively common occurrence for me.”

“Ah, you know, I thought your nose looked a little crooked, but it’s always been kind of crooked, so I wasn’t quite sure. But that makes sense to me. ‘S cute.”

Scar’s brain stopped working. “What?”

“Nothing. Just thinking.” Cub smiled, and Scar felt his face heating up, and Cub laughed, fuck, what a delightful sound, “You silly thing,” Cub sighed, and Scar had no idea what that meant, but he wanted to know, he wanted to know so bad, he leaned over the table, waiting for Cub to say more, to say more right now, but Cub’s eyes were closed, sitting back in his chair contentedly.

Cub did not say more, and neither could Scar when their waitress arrived at the table, the same lady from before, looking positively frightened for some reason.

“Are.. you two ready to order?”

#hermitcraft #hermitfic #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #grian #cubfan #cubscar #hermitshipping #hotguy #cuteguy

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