#IGNORE THAT. IT IS NOW WRITE IT OUT THURSDAY. leave me and my inability to know the day alone nfjsjfjjsjd
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Hi Abram! For the write it out Wednesday, 8 and 12 🌻
hi darling!!!!
[ handwriting asks ]
#i was running out of things i want fjdjfjsjjd was trying not to get Too Deep with it#i do want that root beer float tho..... i COULD have it now.... but i need to go to sleep ;;;#also ill take friday bc im back in the station i hate on friday djsjfjjsd#ALSO ALSO I JUST REALIZED THAT OUR DOES AT WRITE IT OUT WEDNESDAY AND IT'S NOT. ACTUALLY WEDNESDAY ANYMORE.#IGNORE THAT. IT IS NOW WRITE IT OUT THURSDAY. leave me and my inability to know the day alone nfjsjfjjsjd#askers#ask game#inafever#shh ac
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Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy: Part Two
so I’m almost never on tumblr anymore, but in case any of you remember my old fics, I wanted to come back to let you know that I FINALLY finished the second part to this fic that I wrote for the Stydia Big Bang almost four years ago haha
there’s also some excellent art for it that @wellsjahasghost and @sydrianssage made for it way back in 2017 that you can check out here and here if you would like :)
enjoy!
(Rated M)
“I can't believe I've been a ghost for ten years, and nobody thought to tell me about the new Star Wars trilogy until today. ”
“Stiles, nobody even knew you existed until last month.”
Kira slapped Malia’s knee—lightly, because Kira was still incapable of giving an actual reprimand. “Well, we’ve told you about it now,” she said, offering him her brightest smile. “What did you think?”
“I think… I miss my blissful ignorance from eight hours ago, when I didn’t know that George Lucas greenlit this absolute garbage fire,” Stiles whined. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, The Force Awakens started out with a lot of potential, and the cast is full of extremely hot and talented people, but what the fuck?! My only regret is that my death tree wasn’t transformed into a desk in the writers’ room for these movies, or I could have haunted those dipshits until they figured out how to write a plot that actually made sense.”
“Your only regret, huh?” Lydia asked, keeping her tone dry and incredulous.
“No, you're right,” Stiles said, his expression instantly transforming into the biggest shit-eating grin Lydia had seen since before he'd died. “I also regret not inventing ectoplasmic grocery stores before my death. It’s unfair that I cook for all of you and don't get to eat any of it.”
“Not our fault you actually enjoy cooking,” Malia pointed out. “And depleting Lydia's bank account.”
“I am going to strangle you,” Lydia said. “Werecoyote strength or not.”
“But then who’s going to sit next to you in bars and make fun of everybody we see?”
“Yeah, you need her for that,” Kira added. “I’m terrible at judging people, and so is Scott.”
Scott toasted her with a grin, looking relaxed and comfortable against the armrest of the oversized couch he was currently sharing with a ghost and a realtor. Stiles took one look at him and snorted.
“Scott’s a terrible judge of many things,” he agreed. “People… the distance between a car bumper and the curb… movies…”
“Movies?”
“Yes, Scott!” Stiles crowed, now fully recovered from his initial disappointment. “This trilogy may have been a mess, but in order to watch it, you must have seen the other two trilogies too, and that means you have to know how great they are! Admit it, Star Wars is amazing, you were wrong, and I was right! Not watching it with me earlier was the biggest mistake of your life!”
“Maybe not the biggest,” Scott said, the grin on his face slipping a little. Lydia’s fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. “Anyway, I already knew the Star Wars movies were good. I watched them junior year.”
“Junior year?! ” Stiles squawked, so surprised that he started sinking into the couch. “And you never told me?! What the hell, man, all those times you pretended not to get my references and you—”
“Of college,” Scott clarified, and the room went silent.
Lydia set her wine glass down on the coffee table with trembling fingers. The tapping of glass on wood sounded like a gunshot, a bullet to the lungs. There was a crescent moon outside. For one heart-shattering moment, Lydia swore she could smell wolfsbane.
“I’m going to go get a glass of water,” she said, voice too harsh to her own ears, bouncing off the walls and clanging in her skull. Another bullet to the lungs.
The next thing she became aware of was the press of a cabinet knob against her back, the solidity of a hardwood floor underneath her body. She was leaning against the kitchen island, eyes level with the cabinet that Stiles had poked open over and over again to entertain Brooke all those weeks ago. Tonight, though, when she opened it herself, there was nothing inside.
Lydia clung to the knob anyway and tried not to cry.
It wasn’t Stiles who came to check on her after a few minutes, or Scott, or even Kira. Instead, Malia was the one who tugged the cabinet door out of Lydia’s hand and dropped to the floor, flinging her legs out to one side and meeting Lydia’s eyes without flinching.
“Kira started talking about BB-8 again,” she said. “Scott looked like he wanted to change the subject.”
Lydia pressed her lips together, looked away, and settled her hands on her knees with careful precision. “That was nice of her. I’m sure he did.”
“He told me, you know,” Malia continued without missing a beat. “About what you told him. About Stiles wanting you to sell the house.”
Lydia’s fingers clenched around the hem of her dress. “Yes.”
Malia narrowed her eyes. “Are you going to?”
“I have to,” Lydia said, “or Yvenne will just find another realtor.”
“Okay, maybe,” Malia said. “But who are you going to sell it to ?”
Lydia froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on,” she said. “I know you’ve been considering it. You’ve been eyeing the curtains in the living room like you can’t wait to change them all night.”
“Maybe I just can’t believe Yvenne expects me to find a buyer for this house when it’s been decorated so poorly.”
Malia rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to lie to me. I’m more observant than you think, and I’m not Scott or Stiles. I’m not going to try and stop you.”
Slowly, precisely, Lydia tilted her head and met Malia’s piercing gaze. “You know what you’re saying, right? Scott and Stiles would try to stop me.”
“Yeah,” Malia said. “And that matters, because Lydia Martin always does what people tell her to do. And I had a normal childhood. And math was my favorite subject in high school.”
After a long moment, Lydia stood. Malia mimicked the movement. “I just think we’ve already lost enough people,” Lydia admitted. “I don’t want to lose him twice.”
“Like I said. I’m not going to try and stop you.”
For a while, Lydia told herself that she hadn’t made up her mind. She let Stiles cook her every meal and listened to him relive memories from high school and the two years of college he’d gotten to enjoy, doing his best to help her appreciate the times they’d shared together without losing herself in them. She fell asleep on the couch with him while they watched movies together and pretended that she didn’t know he’d been playing with her hair when she woke up. She allowed him to teach her how to cook and change the oil in her car, life skills that she’d always expected him to handle in their relationship, life skills he wanted her to master before he moved onto wherever he expected to go once he stopped being a ghost, but—
But then, on a Thursday afternoon a week before Yvenne’s deadline, Lydia’s phone rang.
They were in the middle of making stir fry, but Stiles nudged her with the spatula he was using—one loophole he’d found for their inability to make physical contact—and told her to answer it “just in case.” “It could be important, Lyds.”
That was precisely why she didn’t want to answer it, but with a long-suffering sigh and a pointed glare, Lydia wiped her hands off on a paper towel and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Hello, Lydia Martin? This is Shea O’Malley.”
Predictably and irksomely, Lydia’s heart rate increased. “What can I do for you, Shea?” she asked, smoothing on her realtor’s smile even though Shea couldn’t see. Between the way Stiles’s eyebrows were raised and the way his head was tilted so he could hear Shea’s half of the conversation, Lydia needed the extra armor.
“Well, Ben and Piper and I have been shopping around the neighborhoods near that lovely red house you showed us, but we simply haven’t found a place that compares. After a long discussion, Ben and I have decided that there’s no use searching any longer. We would like to place an offer on that red house.”
Lydia’s head was all white noise and bloodstains and terror. She tried to picture saying goodbye to Stiles and watching him dissolve into whatever dimension the rest of their dead loved ones had ended up in. She tried to imagine handing the keys over to the O’Malleys and leaving the red house for good. She tried to convince herself that it was possible for her to move on.
But like the O’Malleys, Lydia discovered that it was no use.
Once upon a time, it might have been possible for her to move on. But now Lydia’s heart was inextricably entwined with this red house.
The only difference was that Lydia had the ability to hold onto it.
“I’m sorry,” she said, the white noise fading to a treacherous whisper. (So, basically nothing. Treacherous whispers were old friends in Lydia’s mind.) “You’re too late. The red house has already been sold.”
Stiles froze. Lydia froze, judging his reaction. Over the phone line, Lydia heard Shea’s breath catch, and then she sighed. “Are you certain there’s no chance of the buyer changing their mind? I mean, if we could place a counteroffer—”
“I’m afraid that there’s no amount of money you could offer that this particular buyer wouldn’t match,” Lydia said with as much gentleness as she could muster. The O’Malleys really were a nice family. “They’re quite dedicated, have a substantial savings account, and are at least as attached to the house as you are.”
Shea’s second sigh was only slightly less audible than the first. “Well, that’s it, then,” she said tiredly. “Thank you for all of your help, Lydia. We all thoroughly enjoyed meeting you the other day.”
“If you still haven’t found a different house in the next few weeks, let me know and I’ll help you keep looking. Free of charge,” Lydia blurted, because she was going to keep the house and Stiles and therefore she could afford to offer a little kindness to the family whose dream home she had just poached.
“Why, that’s very kind of you,” Shea said, oblivious to Lydia’s silent betrayal. “We may just take you up on that offer. Thank you again.”
And after the exchange of a few more pleasantries, she hung up.
“What the fuck?” Stiles said into the resulting silence. “A buyer made an offer on this house, and you didn’t tell me about it?”
Lydia set her phone on the counter. “You don’t really want me to leave.”
Stiles dropped his spatula. “What?”
“Come on, Stiles,” Lydia said. “Who do you think you’re talking to? If you really wanted me to move on, you never would have opened your mouth. I would have walked into this house on that first day, sold it, and walked right back out without ever knowing that you were here.”
“I—” Stiles spluttered. “I was surprised, and I just—”
“Maybe,” Lydia replied. “But that could have been it. I told you not to make it difficult for me to sell this house, and instead you scared off buyer after buyer until I figured out who you were. You say you want me to move on, but you’re here, Stiles. You’re standing right in front of me, and I’m never going to move on when I could have this instead!”
“What do you want me to say?” Stiles demanded. “Do you want an apology? Because I know you deserve one. I—I—I’m sorry for talking to you, I’m sorry for cooking you dinner, I’m sorry for being here! I didn’t mean to make this harder for you, and I’m sorry that I did! Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“NO!”
It wasn’t a banshee scream, but it left Lydia hoarse and aching all the same.
“I don’t want you to be sorry,” she whispered. “I just want you to want me to stay.”
“Well, I am sorry, Lyds. And I can’t give that to you.”
“Stiles—”
“Pick up the phone, Lydia. Call the O’Malleys. Tell them the buyer changed their mind.”
Lydia took a deep breath and looked at the man who was the love of both her life and whatever came after that. “No.”
“Lydia.”
“No, Stiles! I’m not going to do that! These last few weeks have been the happiest weeks of the past ten years. You can’t honestly stand there and expect me to give that up.”
“That’s the thing, though,” he said. “I’m not actually standing here.”
“That doesn’t matter to me.”
“But it should.” Stiles reached out, brushed his fingers through a loose strand of her hair, and then stepped away. “I might not be able to stop you from buying this house, but that doesn’t mean I have to give you a reason to live here.”
There was a whoosh, as if he was opening up that interdimensional doorway again, and then he disappeared.
On the stove, the stir fry began to burn.
(read the rest on ao3)
#stydia#stydia fics#teen wolf#teen wolf fic#stydia fanfiction#stydia fic#tw#martinski#i wrote this#the taco fic#will anyone read this after all this time? that is the question lol#are any of you still on tumblr? that is also the question
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The Deal - Chapter 2
Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (web series)
Pairing: Alastor / Angel Dust
Warnings: human!Angel Dust (Anthony), Deal with a devil AU
Summary: Sometimes you had nobody to spend the Christmas with. Sometimes you didn’t want to. Sometimes you took a chalk and drew a pentagram on the floor fully ready to deal with anything that would come out as an alternative to self-pity occurring otherwise.
or
The time when Anthony thought if he can’t get anybody to love him properly, he can just make a deal with a devil and find out what affection feels like. Alastor thinks this mortal is pitiful beyond belief and concede. Cuddles happen.
Can be found on Ao3.
Notes: I think Cajun Alastor is wonderful but for the love of god I can't write that shit, so I apologize in advance. Please pretend it's readable.
Unbetad!
2020, January 16th
“Mamaaa, just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he’s dead~.”
Alastor raised his head from a book he snatched from Anthony’s poor excuse of a collection and narrowed his eyes. Anthony could see him in the corner of his eye, even though the demon excused himself to the living room because Anthony insisted on playing his music and not Alastor’s radio, and he couldn’t help it was Nicki Minaj for the first three songs. He even put it on shuffle too!
I’ve already died once, don’t need to repeat the experience, Alastor rudely scoffed at Anthony’s phone and left the room, even though he was bragging just night before he’d totally help with cooking. He didn’t even touch the knife before storming out rather than listen to anything modern.
“Mama, life had just begun, but now I've gone and thrown it all away. Mama, ooh, didn't mean to make you cry~,” Anthony singsonged with the melody while grating cheese and could literally feel Alastor’s eyes stabbing the back of his head. Probably not a fan of Queen either.
“If I'm not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters~,” he twirled around the counter to get plates out of cupboard, “Too late, my time has come, sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time. Goodbye everybody, I've got to go, gotta leave you all behind and face the truth~.”
He made a pirouette and his voice skipped an octave when he almost crashed into Alastor suddenly standing in front of him, right in Anthony’s personal bubble, just looming (which was strange he could, since he was half a head shorter than Anthony, yet it couldn’t be described otherwise). He didn’t say anything, just watched Anthony handle the plates clumsily until the human finally managed to put them on the counter without incident.
“See something you like?” Anthony batted his eyelashes while making a pose with pursed lips and Alastor looked him up and down and smirked:
“Not really.”
“Ouch.”
“What is this song about?” the demon ignored him and nodded towards the phone in the middle of Bohemian Rhapsody, surprisingly sounding curious instead of displeased like before (but alright, it was fair of him to be put off when Anaconda was the first thing he heard, Anthony didn’t blame him).
“Don’t have Freddie in hell?” Anthony chuckled and returned back to filling the plates with Carbonara. It wasn’t like he wanted to fall into an Italian household stereotype but Alastor seemed to like Italian cuisine and it was something Anthony was confident in anyway. Also the praise was always a pretty nice bonus and Anthony might have been fishing for it a little bit.
“Not that I know of,” Alastor hummed. “So what is it about? Murder?”
“I mean… I guess? Sorta?” Anthony shrugged and pushed a plate of steaming food into Alastor’s hands, then gestured towards the table. “Should be about a man who accidentally killed somebody and then sold his soul to the devil.”
“How intriguing!” Of course Alastor would like that topic, grinning like a loon. “You knew the lyrics by heart.”
“It’s a famous song,” Anthony stuck out his tongue. “Everybody knows the lyrics. It’s like an anthem, ya know. Great song.”
“Likeable,” the demon admitted and sat at the table while Anthony handed him a fork and a spoon. “Thank you, dear. Looks splendid as always.”
“I try,” Anthony beamed while sitting down as well. “Oh. Actually, what if I killed somebody too, like, in the future-,”
“Now that would be an adventure, would it not?” Alastor interrupted him with even a wider smile, while the invisible audience cheered, like the idea of murder appealed to him. Why wouldn’t it, as a demon of course he wouldn’t go ew, don’t.
“I’m too pretty for jail, ya know,” Anthony gave him an unamused glare. Alastor hummed in agreement and started eating, his eyes lighting up happily. For a hell person he sure was such a foodie.
“Aww, so you think I’m pretty?” Anthony cooed at him and Alastor glared. It was a thing with this guy – he handled flirtations very badly. Either he got angry or super frustrated, and the latter was honestly so adorable Anthony risked the wrath too often for his own good. “So, what do you like about me?”
“When you don’t talk.” Came a curt reply and Anthony snorted and let him get off the hook.
“What I meant was – what if I killed somebody but didn’t want to go to jail. And wanted to make a deal with you about keeping me safe from them? Would it work?”
“Why wouldn’t it work?” Alastor glanced at him from the food. “Safety is nothing difficult to achieve.”
“I mean,” Anthony leaned against his palm. “We already made a deal. Can you make two deals with the same person?”
“I can make as many deals as I want with the same person,” Alastor answered while twirling his fork in spaghetti. “Why would you think I could not?”
“Not that ya couldn’t but… more like it’s not worth it for ya anymore, right?” Anthony suggested and it seemed like he made an interesting point, since Alastor stopped eating to fully concentrate on the problem. “As in, ya already have my soul-,”
“Heart.”
“And undying love, of course,” Anthony winked at him, earning an eyeroll. Fair. “But another deal would not give ya anything else. Ya already have what ya wanted.”
“Oh, indeed,” the demon nodded thoughtfully. “Obviously true. It depends on the individual. Some demons can take years off the remaining life of the mortal, or actually only state the remaining years for their service, then come collect the life once the time is up.”
“Like they give ya an amazing painting skill, but you have… ten years to live and enjoy the fame?” Anthony prompted and Alastor nodded in agreement. “That sounds… pretty rough. Why would anybody take that?”
“Why would anybody do anything? Mortals are greedy. They want to be acknowledged. Or they fight sheer, absolute boredom and want to elevate it by any means necessary,” the demon tapped his claws against the table in quick staccato. “You think it is not worth it?”
“I mean maybe when I’m fifty, sure, ten years sounds fine,” Anthony shrugged. “But ten years from now? I guess I’d be bummed.”
“Maybe you are not thinking big enough,” Alastor gave him a wide smile. “Not all demons take remaining life force though. Everybody has different methods if necessary. Though the heart is usually a priority.”
“Not for everybody though?”
“Some don’t want underlings,” the demon opposed. “Some only work for Hell itself and don’t take anything, only assure the soul will belong to Hell once the mortal die. Some actually feed on the life force of humans. Hell is having all kind of horrors you can think of, you see.”
“At least yer a daydream,” Anthony winked and Alastor’s smile twitched. Easy. “Building your own harem down there, ya kinky bastard.”
“And here I thought we’re having a meaningful conversation,” the demon sighed and returned to the food, which made Anthony snicker.
“I mean… what do I know, it could be,” he teased him. “What else would ya need some poor bastard’s hearts to do your bidding?”
“To tell them when they need to close their pretty mouths shut if they want to keep them,” Alastor smiled at him sweetly, his crimson eyes shining, and alright, okay, threats on Thursday evening were a thing now. Anthony imitated a zipper on his mouth and quieted down, but still, it was kind of hilarious. Maybe a week ago he’d still be afraid of Alastor pouncing at over the table and slashing his throat but now it was more like no talk, I’m angy sort of meme.
The silence didn’t last very long when Alastor set the fork down and looked at Anthony with curiosity.
“You are full of vigour today,” he observed. “Something good happened? You seem to be in jolly mood.”
“Just glad ya could make it,” Anthony grinned. Alastor became very reliable when it came to the dinner dates and weekend plans after the New Year’s fiasco, never missed one when he promised to come. They found a certain rhythm in the cohabitation and Anthony got used to his presence maybe a little too fast. The man was an enigma with the way he behaved – they slept huddled together no problem, Alastor could be super clingy when he wanted to (rarely though, usually more like only when somehow too tired), but once they were out of the bedroom, any contact was met with stiffness or a five foot rule. The latter became a thing about a week after New Year’s thanks to Anthony’s inability to keep his hands to himself when it came to Alastor’s fluffiness. The hair, the ears and the tail that wagged when he liked something enough, which obviously couldn’t leave Anthony calm, right? A damn cute fluffy wagging tail just… there, for touching.
Well, Alastor wasn’t amused, not by a long shot. The moment Anthony gathered enough courage and touched the thing, the edge of Alastor’s microphone was pushing against his chest to keep him away, and he would have sworn there were creepy symbols flying all around the demon’s head like he was ready to let Anthony get swallowed by some Eldritch monster. Therefore five foot rule became a thing unless it was Alastor who initiated the touch – which was another weird thing about the man. He had no respect for personal space whatsoever, like at all, when he wanted to point out something, make a statement or just felt like it, but once somebody else breached his personal bubble, he bristled like a cat with murderous intent. So Anthony kept his hands to himself but started flirting. Honestly kind of expected a five words rule to happen at some point, but until then he just wanted to have his fun.
“I see,” Alastor watched him carefully and then picked the fork again. “And here I thought you won a lottery or maybe fell in love.”
“Yer the only love of my life, don’t ya worry,” Anthony winked because he could and Alastor let out a sigh that honestly didn’t even sound that fed up, more like just out of habit. “But like. It’s kinda convenient. If somebody confessed to me, that is.”
“Oh?” Alastor’s eyes were sharp.
“My heart belongs to another!” Anthony stated dramatically and then let out a small laugh. “Not even lying? Like. My heart is taken, literally, by the deal we made, it would be like an ultimate move.”
The demon seemed to ponder it, then said nothing. Probably didn’t want to rain on Anthony’s parade on shutting him down needlessly. Naturally, Anthony didn’t think any romance was possible, or even vaguely interesting for the demon, so all his jabs were good-natured but without seriousness.
Or almost all of them. He would be lying if he didn’t admit at least to himself he liked Alastor as a person, not only as a convenient body pillow with Bambi tail he didn’t even let him touch. But such thoughts were private, and he kept them hidden and locked inside of his mind. He learned well enough not to hope to protect himself, and the only relationship there could be was a master and an underling – eventually. Once Anthony die.
Though… who knew when he was going to die. Was Alastor willing to do this his whole life? What if he was going to live to 80? Was he going to cuddle with him and eat dinners every three days in a week for 49 years?
But then again… what is time for a demon? He didn’t even know how old Alastor was. By appearance he’d say maybe around Anthony’s age, but then again, he was never half deer so… could be different. Did deer age count the same as dogs?
“If you ever needed an excuse for that kind of thing,” Alastor suddenly spoke, his voice staticky as always, a weirdly comforting noise lately. “I would recommend saying your husband has a wide collection of knives. It usually scares people away.”
“Pfff.” Husband. “Would need a ring for that, ya know.”
“Mhm,” the demon hummed, not adding anything else. Seriously. He just kept leaving so many openings, there was no way Anthony would not use those when he had a chance.
“So how many knives you have, husband?” he sent him a bright smile and Alastor carefully twirled carbonara on his fork before putting it to his mouth primly, chewed and then gulped down, as a show of how not amusing the jab was, Anthony thought.
Then, after another moment: “About twelve.”
Anthony made a croaking noise and completely missed a smile Alastor hid with another bite of food.
***
“Anthony.”
“Mmmm?”
The clock showed 1 in the morning and Anthony couldn’t fall asleep, no matter how hard he cuddled Alastor under the blanket. He tossed and turned and Alastor had to pull him back to him about ten times, but sleep eluded them both, even with the white noise of Alastor’s static floating around that usually lulled Anthony well enough.
“Can you play the murder song again,” Alastor requested from under Anthony’s weight, sprawled around the middle of the bed.
“Hah, sure,” the human reached for his phone resting on the nightstand and almost blinded himself when the display lit up. He clicked few times until Bohemian Rhapsody broke the silence of the otherwise quiet flat before returning back to lie on top of his demon.
“Sing with it too?” another request and Anthony prompted his chin on Alastor’s chest.
“Can’t sleep either?”
“You keep tossing and turning,” Alastor said simply. “Not me. Sing?”
Anthony raised an eyebrow, but there was no reasoning for the request, so he just softly sang along with the music, looking at Alastor with half lidded eyes until he couldn’t hold them open anymore. The song eventually ended, and Anthony finally felt sleep tugging on his consciousness like he just performed a lullaby that worked a bit too well.
“You asked about more deals for one person before,” he distantly felt a hand going through his hair and only hummed. “For you, my dear, I would close more deals if you ever asked me.”
“Aww,” he chuckled sleepily, his arms circling Alastor’s torso with possessiveness.
“The happier you are,” he heard, “the better your psyche becomes. The stronger the demon you’d be down there.”
“Boo, how cold,” Anthony pouted. “And here I thought ya actually liked me, at least a little.”
“You are… tolerable.” Anthony missed the small smile playing on Alastor’s lips, his face buried in the man’s red shirt. “But I am a professional, you see.”
“A professional dealmaker,” he yawned.
“Quite so.”
“Ya have that in your resume too?” Anthony couldn’t stop the tease. “Ya know, next to professional cuddler?”
“Probably as much as you have an immense tease in yours,” the demon uttered and his voice was thundering in his chest, which was weird, because it sounded like a completely different person without the static echo. Anthony liked it though.
“Sure, but also a good cook,” the human chuckled, “and a quality wife, ya see.”
A hum, then silence. Anthony considered the conversation closed, until Alastor spoke again softly: “There are always ways to get something in return for another deal, beside the servitude or life force.”
“Mmmlikewhat.”
“Why don’t you find out yourself?”
And with that Anthony fell asleep before any kind of dirty joke could come out.
***
2020, January 17th
It stayed in his head the whole next day. He kept thinking about it at home when getting ready to go out, then at work when taking orders and wondered, if a favourite dish made for dinner would be a possible kind of payment for the deal in Alastor’s book. What a demon like him could possibly want beside the heart he already got? He knew Alastor enjoyed good food, but was that actually something that could be exchanged for a supernatural request?
Or was it something kinky, like that in hell the only title Anthony would be able to use when talking to him would be Master? Or My Lord? Anthony could see himself do that, sure, though only in a joke to rile him up a little.
Funny how any fear of the guy went down the drain after the Bambi revelation, no matter how scary Alastor tried to be sometimes.
“Love, this is the third time you messed up an order, are you okay?” his colleague patted his shoulder and he blinked at her in confusion.
“Oh shit, did I?” he realized, after a long loading screen in his brain completed, what she just said and snapped back to reality where the demon in red didn’t bat his eyelashes at him. Not that he ever did. But he could dream. “I’m so sorry, my mind is in a gutter.”
“Yeah, can see that,” the girl patted his arm this time. He wasn’t sure why she was so touchy-feely all of sudden, but didn’t comment on it. “Something on your mind?”
“Weekend plans,” he shrugged and well, he wasn’t even lying, really. This was their weekend together and since Alastor didn’t mention any kind of obstacle in attending, it was Anthony’s turn to think of something to do. The forecast looked glum though, so going outside was probably not the best choice of outing, unless it would be short, so indoors activity sounded a little more satisfying. Maybe they could order some good food home, rather than cook this time. Or drink. Oooh, they could actually drink! He wondered if Alastor even liked alcohol.
“Man, Tony, are you in love or something?” the girl sighed, snapping her fingers in front of him. “You keep spacing out!”
“Well,” he glanced at her with a grin. “My heart has definitely been taken-,”
“In which gangbang this time?” another colleague cut in, smiling at him with fake sweetness while putting empty glasses in the sink with a loud thud. He didn’t even see her coming. “Did they pay you enough to buy you completely? Or just a quickie outside like always?”
Ouch.
“Don’t be salty just because nobody would fuck you even for free,” he cocked his hips. “Heard duster is good for cobwebs though.”
“Whatever you say, slut,” she made a face at him. “I’m not being the one spreading STD.”
“Good at spreading bullshit though,” he shot back, making her give him an uptight smile and a smack of her ponytail when she dramatically turned away and left for the kitchen. He decided not to comment on that and was kind of glad the other girl kept her mouth shut too.
Obviously, everybody at work knew about the New Year’s and his fall from grace – though that would indicate there was grace to begin with, which honestly was not. Maybe he should start looking for another job with how bleak things looked in this pub. The whole week after New Year’s random guys kept making pass at him even in his regular waiter clothes, like somebody just decided to advertise the pub as fuck-to-go eatery and it made his skin itch, especially when some of them were more handsy than others and didn’t understand no sent their way. A slap on his butt there, a grope here, hey cutie called from another table, and the girls he worked with either glared at him or had nasty remarks he should have already been able to deflect, but sometimes he just could not. He wasn’t made of sugar, some bad words and pointed fingers didn’t make him cry, but they didn’t add to good mood either.
He was always relieved if that evening Al showed up and took his worries away with the well-known staticky voice and invisible audience cheering at some of his bad dad jokes. Honestly, he had lots of bad dad jokes it was almost unreal, and the saddest thing was he unironically liked them while Anthony groaned every time he told some. He was just glad so far Alastor didn’t use those cringe worthy abominations against the flirting, because that would definitely shut Anthony down fast.
There were still four hours to his shift and for the first time since he knew Alastor he regretted the demon didn’t have a phone, so he could hear his voice while he locked himself in the bathroom stall with knees under his chin and quivering lip.
***
Anthony still didn’t know what to do over the weekend. It felt like he should have a plan, like there should be a diary or something, with post-it notes and differently coloured entries, but all he could do when he got back home was to sag down in the living room like a bag of potatoes on the couch and open a bottle of tequila. No limes, no salt, just the bottle and big gulps of it. He chugged it several times until the annoying tightness in his chest slowly eased off, until he could breathe normally and the bitter words he heard every time he turned his back towards the bar dissolved in burning taste of alcohol.
Who cared. People were mean and greedy, and he was broken and rotten to the core. Those things usually never combined well together, and he was a living proof. When was the last time he even had a friend? When did somebody expressed concern for him? Damn, when even was the last time somebody held his hair when he threw up?
Self-centred bitch. Show-off. Attention seeker. Dirty slut. A whore.
All fun and smiles and oh, I will do your make up, sweetie, oh, let me do your hair, honey, oh, this costume looks so cute on you, and oh, was it just a quickie outside or you fucked the whole train station? Did he just give you a ride home or you sucked his dick for it? Oh, new shoes? Which sugar daddy’s money was it today?
“Nobody’s fuckin’ money!” he yelled at nothing, swinging the almost empty bottle of tequila around. “None of yer fuckin’ business!”
Maybe we should do next costume event BDSM themed, our little darling angel Tony would love to lick somebody’s boots again.
“Fuck off!” A loud shattering noise when the bottle hit the wall felt like his sanity was breaking to pieces. “Just leave me the fuck alone…”
His brain was so hazed he barely registered arms circling around him, pulling him into a hug. He was swayed from side to side with a soft, crooning noise above him, and thought damn, how bad is it I even hallucinate? Up until he finally focused enough to realize he was engulfed with blackness without any real warmth, just suddenly there, holding him.
“Oh…” he chuckled pathetically. “It’s you.”
The Shadow nuzzled his face but didn’t say anything, just continued to hold him. Frankly, Anthony had no idea what day it was, even what time or where exactly he ended up, if he moved at all, if Alastor was supposed to come but couldn’t make it, so he sent Junior instead, or if this was some kind of weird, alcohol induced vision of much needed comfort.
“Whacha do’n her’, big boy?” The words were slurring together, the alcohol was doing its magic. “Al’s busy busy busy?”
Another nuzzle. Was that a touch therapy? Nobody touched him so readily before. Not even Al who cuddled him at night, but usually touched him only in two prime locations – his waist and around neck and head for pats, but otherwise kept his hands to himself. The Shadow on the other hand just pawed at him pretty much like a big dog wanting to rub all over and Anthony blearily wondered how a man and his shadow could be so different.
“Th’re, t’re,” he patted the Shadow’s head, a strange ghost-like tingling going through his hand. “Ar’ ya sad too?”
The hold remained and the dark tendrils from the shade were covering half of the couch like an expensive Persian rug. That mental image made Anthony bark out a drunken laugh. Could somebody’s shadow be sad? It was clinging to him like a lifeline and Anthony felt the tequila churning in his belly as if it were trying to burn its way through.
“Ah,” he finally realized what the shadow was doing. “Yer tryin’ t’ comf’rt me.”
A hum, clearly agreeing. It made Anthony relax into the hold, feeling a little like floating and not sitting on his tequila-stained couch, and yeah, it was relaxing, it was nice, it was… different.
“Wond’r how Al’s hugs ar’,” he sighed then giggled stupidly. “Prob’ly warm an’ nice. D’es he ev’n hug pe’ple?”
Maybe he did hug people. Just different people. Not Anthony, at least. Touching only when necessary. Maybe he could make a deal about hugging, Al said more deals are possible. Maybe he could ask for one hug a week or something, like one full body hug and then wait for seven days for Al to get his barriers back… or whatever he had. Human contact aversion, probably. He just wasn’t sure what to give in return. Being a personal cook? Not flirting at any point ever again?
Would Al even want shit like that? Or would he want some of his life force? Years off his back? He would give them… for Alastor. If he wanted his life force, Anthony wouldn’t mind if it was him. His life was not worth much anyway.
Would Alastor want something as rotten as his life energy though? Sure, he wanted his heart at least, but it just meant to have a servant later on, nothing he would feed himself with.
Unless he ate his servants. That would kinda suck.
“I k’nda like ‘im, y’kno,” he confessed quietly, slowly slipping lower in the hold. The anger he felt was already gone, now the tequila tried to pull at melancholy, and he didn’t like it. Didn’t need to be sad over the fact the only person at least vaguely resembling affectionate concern was a demon from hell that got paid with his soul and heart for acting out of his character three times a week. “Path’tic me, huh.”
Nuzzling ensued. He liked Al’s shadow. He was like a big animal soaking up bad vibes and making Anthony calmer.
“Wish I c’n talk to ‘im when I feel sad,” he mumbled to himself and barely registered the shadow pulled them both down to the cushions. “’s he French? He sounded French ‘nce…”
“Cajun,” rang through the room and Anthony attempted to focus, but his vision kept on blurring. Maybe he drank too much after all. “Louisiana.”
“Bayou boy?” he giggled anyway. “That’s cute.”
“You drank too much, cher,” rang through the room again and then another sigh came, and radio static buzzed to life. “And you. I was wondering where you slithered to.”
There was a rumble from under Anthony and he felt the force supporting him up to now disappearing until he only felt the couch around him and nothing else. He blinked in confusion before his vision cleared enough to realize all the darkness around him was gone, but legs clothed in red were standing next to him instead. They definitely weren’t there prior to his meltdown, he remembered as much.
He rubbed his eyes and attempted to look up before it finally dawned on him that this was Alastor standing here, flesh and bone and he didn’t even need to get all the way up to his face.
“Look at you,” the voice sounded a little exasperated and human. There was no static whatsoever. “Dat’s da second time you did somethin’ like dis.”
“Hi, Al,” Anthony tried sheepishly, and a clawed hand pushed him back into the cushions when he tried to sit down. Maybe for the best, the floor seemed to wobble more than usual.
“Hi yo’self,” the human voice was so warm. Or maybe he was drunk enough to imagine it that way. “How’s dat you make my shadow to just go and disappear from ‘ell just fo’ you?”
“I guess he likes me,” Anthony slid down the armrest and finally took in the whole Alastor’s height, gazing at his face he couldn’t read even if he tried to. He watched the demon look around until he stopped at the corner where the bottle landed and fell apart and his eyebrows knitted together.
“Hey Al,” Anthony raised a hand and tried to grab at something of the mans’ but missed. He tried few more times but couldn’t decide which of the three Alastors were the right one, so he just fumbled around until Alastor took a pity on him and grabbed his hand in his, stilling him. Also, warm. So, so warm. “Do you ever hug people?”
“No,” the demon answered back simply. “Do you?”
Anthony took a breath with sure answer, then stopped and thought about it.
“…I guess not,” he conceded momentarily. “Nobody t’ hug, really.”
“D’you wanna hug?” came a question and Anthony looked at their joined hands and let out a long, tired sigh.
“Ya,” he croaked out. “I wanna hug. I dun even rememb’r who or when I hugged someb’dy last.”
“I think I hugged ma mum last,” Alastor slowly lowered himself on the couch, sitting at Anthony’s feet, his hand still gripping his prey tightly. “Long time ago.”
“Was she nice?” the human whispered softly.
“Very nice.”
“Do ya miss her?”
“Ev’ry day,” Alastor had the softest expression Anthony ever saw on him. It was almost painful to see and yet somehow beautiful it would be a waste not to look. He wondered if Alastor was ever in love with somebody other than his mum.
“She in heaven?” he asked gently and only got a nod as a response. He felt his head clearing a little and hoped he would remember this tomorrow as clearly as he saw it now. He tried to scramble up, though it probably was the least dignified climb he ever did and then shuffled close to the demon, sitting down with his knees almost touching Alastor’s thigh. Almost.
“Tell me ‘bout her,” he nudged him gently.
The demon tilted his head, the buzz of the static coming to life all of sudden it almost startled him. Probably not the best topic to breach, he realized and looked down at the clawed hand that was still holding his with surprising gentleness.
“Your shadow is pretty independent, huh,” he changed the topic for peace of mind of both of them, and the buzzing intensified. Fuck, not that either.
“My shadow has no filter,” the static voice rang out, the tenseness of Alastor’s smile indicating the situation bothered him more than he let on at first. “He does what feels right.”
So, it felt right for it to come here and comfort Anthony when he felt like shit and wanted to drink himself into stupor?
“It’s nice sometimes,” Anthony tried carefully. “To do what feels right instead of worryin’ ‘bout consequences.”
The static picked up in obvious disagreement and Alastor was glaring at him, his eyes redder than ever.
“Like you do all your miserable life?” the demon uttered venomously, and Anthony felt his heart drop into his stomach and dissolve. When Alastor let go of his hand and abruptly stood up, it felt so far away it could have been considered out of body experience for how cold it suddenly became.
“Well,” his mouth moved by some miracle, though he felt his lower lip quiver. “Some days are hard and lonely. And then I get called a slut at work and groped by random guys because they think they’re allowed, and I feel like I need a hug and safety, but nobody can give me what I want, so I cling to somethin’ that feels right at least a little, even though it’s not good… or healthy… or… “
Sincere and not a lie.
“Or I just wanna forget all that shit by doin’ more dumb shit, because… why not. At least it makes me free for a while, other than just… surviving,” he tried to take a breath but it came in wet and hiccup-y and he realized he was already crying like a pathetic fool thinking a demon could give a shit about anything more than the end of the deal and one more chess piece on his black and white board.
Fucking, stupid idiot, like always. Even though he knew. He knew.
The static was so loud now it made Anthony cover his ears and shut his eyes and he felt sick in the stomach and the fucking tequila wanted to fuck him up now, because why not now, at this exact moment, when everything else was falling apart.
Just go away, go the fuck away, leave me alone.
Then everything stopped. When Anthony opened his eyes, he was alone.
***
2020, January 18th
Anthony woke up on the couch with a crick in his neck and stomach unstable like nitro-glycerine ready to explode. The room smelled of tequila shots and vomit and heartbreak and his whole body was in weird, gut wrenching spasm.
He stared into the ceiling with a splitting headache and wished he’d draw a blank about last night, because nothing about this situation gave a merciful vibe, only bad, bad consequences.
Like Alastor leaving, angry and staticky and cruel.
“FUUUUCK!” he yelled into silence and then grabbed a pillow so he could shout in it again as loud as he could. Regret immediately followed, but he probably deserved to suffer a bit more than usual after a vicious hangover and a dealmaker break up.
Obviously Alastor thought Anthony’s life was miserable. Even Anthony knew it was miserable, he was living it, and he got it. He even made a deal with a devil to make himself less miserable which only added to the pathetic part of the diagnose, so in the end there was nothing much left of him but a huge, pitiful mess.
And Alastor got dragged right into it – a failure after failure, just picking him up with all those fake smiles to keep the deal going because at the end the reward was guaranteed, but it was pretty apparent the equation was not adding up and the result could never be good enough for the demon’s standards.
He just wondered if there was a way to break the deal anyhow, from the demon’s side. There was no way Alastor was coming back after all that, and if he was by some miracle, then only to deliver a killing blow, collecting the soul at least and then leaving him to get eradicated in hell like any other lesser shade.
He managed to drag himself to the bathroom and sat on the toilet lid for 27 minutes before deciding to make himself throw up rather than wait if it would come by itself. It didn’t make him feel any better, sadly, so he just took a shower to get rid of all the sweat and guilt (sadly didn’t work for that one) under streams of water and remained there with head pressed against tiles in hope he would melt through the drain.
Would be honestly quite helpful.
“Anthony?”
He blinked. Did he just hear his name or…?
“Anthony, my good fellow, are you still alive?” Again.
That was Alastor‘s voice. Anthony stared at the door of the shower stand, afraid to even make a sound until he heard his name called once more and that couldn’t be his imagination anymore, right?
“…yeah?” he made himself talk but refused to step out.
“Good! You are still here,” Alastor’s voice was closer now, probably in the hallway. “I am taking your kitchen for now, but please do join me at your convenience!”
Happy, loud voice. The fake cheeriness he heard few times and learned how to recognize – he usually acted like that when he was mad at Anthony for needless flirting but refused to show it.
It made no sense. Why was he here?
The water started to run cold and Anthony gritted his teeth and turned it off, just to carefully step out, bundle up in a towel and added a fluffy bathrobe before cautiously leaving the bathroom. Jazz was playing through the radio in the kitchen and Alastor was humming along while the sound of cutting and simmering added to the ambience.
Was he cooking?
The human stopped near the entrance to the living room and took a deep breath. He wasn’t ready to face him just yet, he still felt like a raw bundle of nerves on two wobbly feet. It was ridiculous – Alastor didn’t exactly do anything wrong. He just stated how things were, Anthony hadn’t been told for the first or last time in his life for sure. He had no right to be mad about the truth.
It was just… such a bad timing. After having a bad day, after going through a depressive episode where the self-loathing starred in the main role, then get this thrown in his face like a hot potato just hurt. Rightfully. But still hurt.
“Are you going to stand there all day?” the staticky voice interrupted his thoughts and the tone was much less cheery now. It made his stomach drop and he unconsciously took a step back. There was a clink sound of a knife being put down and then steps leading towards him, which immediately made him panic and he shut the door to the living room with a loud slam.
The steps halted.
“Should I leave?” Came a question from the other side of the door, loud and clear and scary.
“I don’t know,” Anthony answered back, his hands shaking. It sucked. He should not be this way; he didn’t make a deal for feeling worse than on his normal bad days. He made a deal to be lied to, to be coddled, and then to die and suffer for being a coward, and that was it.
“I will if you want me to,” Alastor said quietly. “I am not here to torture you. Or make you feel bad.”
Too late, bucko.
“I crossed a line yesterday.” It sounded suspiciously like an apology, Anthony thought. “I apologize for saying what I said.”
“What, the truth?” Anthony snorted and leaned against the closed door, eyebrows knitted together unhappily. “Ya don’t need to worry about that one.”
“It upset you.”
“That’s what the truth does.”
“Yes, agreed,” there was a hint of guilt in Alastor’s voice, no matter how he tried to hide it with his radio nonsense. “I was upset too. But still… I should not have lashed out like that.”
Upset?
Anthony turned his head, partly facing the door. What was even Alastor upset about? He just suddenly got all staticky in there, just because Anthony asked… about his mum?
“Because I asked about your mum?” he tried and Alastor on the other side sighed.
“I am going to open the door now,” he stated instead, and Anthony immediately caught the handle in refusal with an immediate no. “Anthony.”
“I don’t get ya,” the human groaned, holding the door closed like it was a lifeline. “I just don’t get ya, why are ya even here? Why were ye so mad yesterday? For a while ya were the nicest person in the whole fuckin’ world and then ya kicked me when I was already on the fuckin’ ground, so why now? Why pretend yer a nice guy when ye don’t care?”
Silence.
“Just because I asked ‘bout her? Ya think it’s somethin’ I can hold against ya in hell or what?” He had no idea if Alastor was still even there. It was deadly silent on the other side, he probably just poofed out of thin air again rather than listen to this.
“No,” sounded behind him all of sudden and it made him curse loudly when he suddenly faced Alastor in his red shirt, with coat nowhere to be seen, his sleeves rolled up and his face not smiling at all. If anything, he actually looked quite hurt.
Fucking filthy lying bastard, that one. Actor worthy of a Golden Globe.
“That’s cheatin’,” Anthony scoffed but Alastor didn’t seem to mind it. He wasn’t immediately in his personal bubble, but he wasn’t far either and it made Anthony unable to collect his thoughts properly. All he wanted was to shout and maybe smack him a bit too. But the demon could bite his arms off, so he refrained from doing anything but glare.
“You seem to like my shadow much better,” Alastor said evenly.
Anthony didn’t get how that was relevant to anything.
“He likes to hug,” he said lamely.
“You like him because he hugs you?” Alastor’s expression morphed into a surprise and Anthony really didn’t get why was he asking about his shadow now of all times.
“Wha… who cares?” he stared at the demon, hating he felt cornered like an animal. “How’s yer shadow even relevant to this conversation?”
“I thought you were asking why I was upset,” Alastor looked away for a while, a strangely nervous gesture. “Therefore, I’m telling you.”
“Because I seem to like yer shadow better?” Anthony almost lost his jaw for how low it dropped and holy fucking shit, was Alastor fidgeting? Was he for real? Was it some refined plan for Anthony to drop his defences again? To act cute as fuck?
His fucking ears were droopy too, Anthony realized, his eyes glued to the top of the demon’s head. No. no no no. This couldn’t be real.
“Are you fuckin’ with me?”
“Since I made a deal with you,” Alastor ignored the question, but still avoided his eyes. “I felt like I lack complete control for some reason. It makes me uneasy when things do not work the way they are supposed to. The way I want them to.”
At that moment it finally hit him.
“You didn’t order yer shadow to come here even once,” Anthony stated, and the static crackled again until Alastor shook his head to get rid of it. Oh. He really didn’t like when things were out of his reach. And his shadow just fucking off to visit the human must have been one of them, especially yesterday.
“But… but you can’t blame me for that?” the human insisted, his eyes wide. “It’s not like I called him here or…”
“Of course not,” Alastor let out a sigh. “He just acts on his feelings.”
“Your shadow likes me?”
“You keep referring to him like he is a completely different person,” the demon crossed his arms on his chest. His forearms were scarred and for some reason showing that bit of skin now seemed like a big step for the man, though Anthony wouldn’t really call him vulnerable. Still scary as fuck.
Silence. Alastor tilted his head to the side, then pursed his lips and looked away again.
“He is not,” he added for good measure. “We are the same being.”
Anthony gaped.
“He has no filter,” he repeated, the conversation yesterday so clear even despite his drunken state, and the more he was staring at Alastor in front of him, the more the demon in red seemed to fluster.
“I, for one,” the demon finally spoke, “have tons of filters. We seem to disagree when it comes to you. On how to… handle you.”
Full body hug versus five foot rule is a pretty wide gap, Anthony mused, still gaping.
“I was unfair yesterday,” Alastor cleared his throat. “You are not… well, of course you are pretty miserable, honestly,” he looked him over, and yeah, okay, fair. He must have looked like complete shit with the hangover, now bundled up in fluffiness of the bathrobe. “There’s no denying it, and you are at least aware of it. But that was not supposed to make you feel bad. It is why we are going to fix this. Eventually.”
“Fix…?” Anthony repeated, not being able to get his expression under control.
“Yes. And then you will die and that would be it, but that is not important right now,” Alastor shook his head again, his voice softer. “Now… you are alive. And you need me.”
“Cocky, aren’t ya,” Anthony sniffed a little. “Mr. Control Freak.”
“At least I don drink tequila like a savage,” Alastor scoffed, the static dropping from his voice like a curtain. “No class at all, cher.”
“Bite me,” Anthony flipped him off and finally opened the door to the living room. Somehow it felt like a gateway where his insecurity had no way to pass and when he walked through, his chest was not so tight anymore.
Then he realized there was a dead deer in the living room, and he hurled out the rest of his stomach contents.
“Tu as fait un gâchis,” Alastor said and went back to the kitchen.
No. No nice things. Alastor was a fucking freak.
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Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!
(click here to read them all on my tumblr and not the dash)
1. It takes approximately forty-two minutes before Stiles can convince himself to get up off the loveseat where he’s happily squished between Danny and Isaac. (love aka part 3 of the Stiles/Peter slow burn I wrote because of Catt)
2. “So. What the djinn did to Dean in, what was it, season one? Two? Whatever. Yeah totally legit. Negative fifty out of ten. Would not recommend.” (promise aka part 2 of the Stiles/Peter slow burn)
3. Hajime freezes when he hears the distinct sound of someone pointedly clearing their throat behind him. (the 5+1 mistletoe kisses prompt)
4. Stiles’s phone lights up and he gives it a wary look when he sees the text notification on his screen. He’s already been warned, by a few different people, that he would probably be getting a summons soon. (trust aka part 1 of the Stiles/Peter slow burn)
5. “There comes a day in every man’s li—”
The officiant is cut off by a loud cough and he takes a bracing breath, eyes fluttering. (the magic in you aka KageUshiIwa magical fluff)
6. The sky is turning gray, clouds rolling in to cover up the sunset, when Kuroo finally turns to Shouyou and sighs.
“Call him.”
Shouyou snickers at the defeated tone of Kuroo’s voice but he pulls out his phone. (we’re in a parking lot somewhere aka KuroHinaDai something or other I’m writing)
7. It still hurts sometimes. Not his wound. It’s scarred up rather nicely. As nice as a giant scar across half your face can be anyway. (a yet to be titled/plotted ATLA Zuko & Toph thing)
8. It starts early one morning — mere minutes after the door has unlocked and the sign has scrawled itself into a brilliantly colorful OPEN complete with sparkles and tiny fireworks — not long after everything has started to quiet down. (Well it had technically started years and years ago when they were all childish and stupid right little shits to each other but that’s a different story for a different day.) (only time will tell aka my Draco/George & Theo/Fred fic)
9. Neville snaps his head up, instantly wary of Hermione and that tone of voice, and then flushes when he realizes what he’s done. It’s Hermione after all. She’s entirely too clever for her own good but she’s not some sneaky devious creature he has to watch his back around. Though sometimes when she smiles the way she’s smiling now he remembers that, actually, yes she is a sneaky devious creature. She just likes him enough that, for the most part, he doesn’t have to worry about watching his back around her. (an untitled HP everyone comes back as professors fic)
10. Some things in life are certain. They’re just going to happen no matter what, no matter how much you might try to prevent them. So the smart thing to do would be to just go with the flow, right? Just let the things happen and try not to stress over it. Morisuke likes to think of himself as a fairly smart person. So he’ll just take a few deep breaths and let it go, right?
Wrong. (untitled TsukkiYaku fake dating fic)
11. Issei stumbles out of his bedroom and shuffles down the hall doing a really great impression of a zombie if you ask him. He’s got the groans and the unsteady steps and the unfocused eyes and the inability to use higher brain functions like speech and decision making. (my last first everything aka HanaMatsu slow burn mutual pining childhood friends to lovers)
12. The cauldron in the fireplace rattles and Daichi gives it an unimpressed stare. (cauldron bubble aka BokuDai magic accidental baby acquisition)
13. Tobio’s eyes cross as he tries to focus on the object dangling in front of his face. He leans away from it and presses the back of his head against a warm stomach.
“Hello Iwaizumi,” he says. (a place in the sun aka IwaKage fluff)
14. The cupboard under the stairs isn’t exactly the most comfortable place to be. But if you are five and want to hear what the adults are talking about so seriously in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place then, sadly, the cupboard it is. (matchsticks and dragon scales, year 1 aka my Harry Potter rewrite)
15. Hajime takes a sip of his coffee and sighs, ignoring the world around him for just a few minutes while he sits and at his table at Generic Coffee Shop and gets his morning dose of caffeine. (roots and sky aka the IwaOi part of my childhood friends to lovers series, the dichotomy of you and me)
16. It’s two in the afternoon on a Tuesday and all Tadashi wants to do is go home and sleep. Maybe for a week. Maybe for a month. He’s not too entirely picky to be honest. (stars and sea aka the YamaTsukki part of the dichotomy of you and me)
17. So. Library.
Not exactly where he’d thought he’d be working when he was back in high school. But it’s, objectively speaking, not the worst place he could be working. Like sure it’s not quite as interesting as working at the aquarium like Watari. But it’s also not as taboo sounding as working at a funeral place like Matsukawa.
So. You know. It’s not that bad. (past and future aka the KinKuni part of the dichotomy of you and me)
18. Tetsurou glances at the screen one last time before posting and immediately closing out of his browser and signing out of his email. He shuts down his computer a moment later and stands with a quiet groan. It’s been a shit day. It’s not the worst Thursday of his life or anything like that. Just. A shit day. All he wants to do is clock out and go the fucky doodle home. Which is why he hurries past his boss’s office with his head down — he has the worst problem saying no when his boss asks him for things which is how he found himself with Social Media Coordinator tacked onto his business card a few months ago — and when he hear his boss’s door start to open he hurries a little faster and opts for taking the stairs down instead of waiting for the elevator. (body and soul aka the KuroKen part of the dichotomy of you and me)
19. Kei stretches idly as he waits for practice to start. They’re already a few weeks into this year’s season but today they’re apparently waiting for their new team trainer. Or assistant coach. Or something. He wasn’t entirely listening to the announcement from the captain yesterday. (we’ll meet at the horizon aka my epic HinaTsukki slow burn)
20. He knows the moment the words leave his lips that he’s gone too far, that he’s made one too many jokes, said a few too many things he shouldn’t have. He always screws up, is always too much for people to handle. ((don’t) write me an elegy of your past, love aka that AkaKuro & BokuDai fantasy au)
I have no idea if I have any patterns other than I go for humor, a lot. And I can’t pick a favorite cause I love them all for different reasons.
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Astrid the Devil Chapter 1: Uneasy (Excerpt)
Everything dies.
Every single thing you touch or feel or say will die. Sentences will leave your mouth, ill-thought and unwise, and they’ll die halfway through the air. Some things take longer, some things take more effort. But they die.
I’m no exception. My mother is no exception. But we’re more like plastic than we are animals. We’re more like nuclear waste.
I thought about styrofoam and plastic as I read the letter, ignoring Noah’s anger as she prepped my arm for bloodwork.
“I can’t believe you opened my fucking mail,” she spat, searching for my vein. I ignored her and kept reading and rereading the letter.
Noah, my best friend for over a decade, opened my mail all the time.
I’d find opened bills on my coffee table after work, come across my children’s report cards sitting on hers. She never actually let me know that she’d taken any of it – I always had to find them. New debit cards with post-it notes that read ‘ACTIVATED IT HUN’ with whatever pin she’d chosen for me. Cell phone bills, ‘I PAID IT ALREADY DON’T GIVE THESE VULTURES ANY MORE MONEY’ written in her swirly handwriting across the top. She’d renew my car insurance. Respond to inquiries about services for my speech therapy practice. Sometimes, my husband would walk in the house with an incredulous frown, whining about a stack of my mail that he’d found sitting on top of her car. She’d always had an insane privacy issue that seemed reserved for me, my things, my personal space.
I never told her not to do it. It didn’t change my life in any way, really.
The letter I’d opened was the first thing of hers that I’d ever snooped through. And Noah was immediately vile with anger. Seething. I understood why before I’d even reached the second sentence, but I wasn’t sorry.
The letter traveled with us to our lab appointment despite her angry protests.
“Can’t even keep mail on the fucking table…it’s either covered in applesauce by the time I get to it or your ass is in my house, opening shit…”
I read the letter slowly, sucking in each word, and nodded. There wasn’t really anything to nod about. The most recent company Noah’d convinced to fund her research into my blood, to pay for the lab work, wanted to ‘change the parameters.’ ‘Go in a different direction.’
Destroy the body.
Noah waited for me to quiet my nerves before she plunged the needle into my skin.
I felt the pull of the plunger but nothing else.
We recommend burning her.
I thought about those words while Noah pulled back another plunger on another needle, sucking my almost black blood into another syringe. She swapped the containers, glancing over at me periodically, and I ignored her glances. The anger sifted out of her as she continued. Shame replaced it.
When it felt like there wasn’t any blood left to suction, she stopped.
“Same as always, hun. Eight vials get the sweet spot…you still don’t see it?” I didn’t move. Something about the practice embarrassed me. Made me feel open.
Try not to think about what you deserve…
“There’s like a yellow color in there. It’s really faint, but I can see it for sure. Can you put that down and look?” I ignored her. Noah sighed, irritated, and I yanked my arm away. A long line of blood bubbled up and slid down my arm. It hit the floor and was dry in seconds.
Just like that. Completely dry.
Noah spent a long time rolling her huge eyes. Neither one of us looked at the blood drop again.
We recommend burning her. We need to know what happens when her body is destroyed. Please note, we have yet to receive your report going over the methods you’ve tried already. Yvette Lincoln, the head of our financial department, will stop by as our most senior representative to…
“It’s really yellow now. Like the fucking sun.” Slowly, she reached her short arm over and grabbed the letter from my hand. I realized she was shaking herself. The floor seemed calm compared to our faces, our attitudes, so I watched that instead of trying to speak. I wished I could sink into it.
Noah ripped the letter in two and placed her tiny hand on my shoulder.
“Let’s get on with our day, hun.”
...
After the lab work was done for the day and we’d shared a solemn lunch, we traveled from her small downtown office to her house. Sitting in her living room, she passed me letter after letter. She had boxes. Some of the wording seemed nicer than others – she’d lost a lot of investors over the years as they slowly figured out she wasn’t going to meet their demands. That she was stalling. She’d been threatened with legal action too many times. She used tricky language and lied too much to convince universities and corporations to donate lab equipment and give her grant money.
She mentioned immortal cells a lot. She mentioned a lack of aging. An inability to produce tears.
Eon Tech was one of the last investors willing to work with her.
“How long has Eon been asking you to do this type of thing to me? Did you tell them that you would,” I asked. And Noah stared down at my hands instead of at my face.
“We’re going to be late to meet the boys if we don’t go soon, Astor.”
...
Read the rest of the chapter at Astridthedevil.com
Astrid the Devil is a serialized paranormal horror drama created and written by me, Trey Briggs, with artwork by @freemechanism. Catch up to the current chapter now at AstridtheDevil.com. New chapters and content will drop every other Thursday at 6 PM Eastern. There are also character bios, short stories, and background pages so that you can stay up to date on the creatures and inhabitants of this world.
“Astrid the Devil is an ongoing tale of generational doom. It’s an in-depth look at the lives of a few good friends, their own clashing personal struggles, and the struggle to keep from becoming the monster you just might be. It’s a story about the ocean, the uncertainty of friendship and love, and maintaining hope throughout madness. Welcome to the lives of the Snows, the Dills, and all the other ‘Things’ out there”
All writing by Trey Briggs || All art by @freemechanism
#Astrid the Devil#Trey briggs#Freemechanism#stories#writing#writeblr#my writing#black writers#black stories#original characters#original story#serial fiction#horror stories#paranormal horror#paranormal horror stories#excerpt#serial novel#literature#read something#something to read#indie authors
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Stretch Thursday
Prompt: "In front of the protagonist, the grocery store clerk just packed several large glass bottles on top of the eggs. The protagonist hears them crack."
Constraint: write in first person
(I vaguely knew how this was going to end, but everything between the first paragraph and the actual prompted moment, and then most of what came after, surprised me on its way out of my fingers.)
Gods above, could this checkout line move any slower, I wondered. Sure, there were only two people in front of me, but the haughty swaggering lump of a human being in front was questioning everything, in search of a nonexistent bargain:
(readmore should be right here but it's not hey tumblr please build a functional app ever maybe?)
Why didn't you accept this week-out-of-date coupon? Why did that coupon only apply to one package of frog eyes, not four. Are you sure this naga skin rucksack isn't on sale? I'm pretty sure the sign said it was on sale. (the leather shoulder bag in a similar size was on sale.)
The poor clerk - Ashley, their nametag said, a pin on the lanyard instructing people to use She or They pronouns - was the only person on checkout duty in the early afternoon. She seemed flustered, but answered every single question in the same patient, even tone of voice.
I wouldn't be able to do that. Actually, when I worked in retail, I got fired from three different jobs for intimidating customers when they started acting like that. Like just because they cleared out a nest of giant rats on the outskirts of town or prevented a band of goblins from establishing a camp in the caves just across the river, that they're entitled to luxury and hero worship, or at least special privileges, from the rest of us. Thank goodness I finally got a job with the local theater, my talents in projecting illusions finally celebrated for dressing the actors up with "no effort" (on the part of the makeup team, not that I don't stretch my magic as far as it can go and then some every night at rehearsal and for hours at a time eight days straight when our shows are open to the public, to turn the bright-but-plain frocks into resplendent ball gowns and every other bit of nonsense that was asked of me). And that's so much better than when I was viewed with suspicion by peers and teachers alike because apparently creating tiny intangible dragons or silent fireworks and lying about my character are the exact same thing, who knew?
I reeled that train of thought back in. There was no need to be bitter about high school bullies considering I'm now living the (pre)Broadstreet dream, and most of them... Well, even the "successful" ones still work ten hour days at tedious office jobs to keep the heat on and the wards up.
The one thing that bitter spiral was good for was that by the time I forced it out of my head, Ashley was calling "have a nice day, Sir" in the same perfectly-bland tone at Mr Cheapskate as he stalked off, carrying three bags on each arm and leaving his cart half-blocking the checkout lane.
He nearly got blown off his feet as he stepped from the store's heat and calm across the ward line, a generous two feet outside the door, into the frigid wind the meteorologists were calling a sneak peek into the blizzard that should hit this weekend. Good riddance.
I met Ashley's eyes as they tapped the rune to pull the items on the conveyor belt forward. I rolled my eyes sympathetically at her forced smile and dead-exhausted eyes. (Not literally dead! Apparently my brain was stuck in high school again because I could almost hear Mrs Primfoot growling about teens and their inability to describe things accurately. Come on. The zombie revolts in Rhodesia were fifteen years ago, and hyperbole is hilarious. Do people just lose all sense of humor when they turn 30?)
Ashley didn't roll their eyes back, she probably worried about losing her job over disrespecting customers in front of other customers, but their lips twitched and their smile seemed a little less stiff.
"Just these two things?" Ashley asked, with professionally-faked curiosity, picking up a large carton of eggs to scan them. "Eggs and milk to wait out the blizzard?" Eighteen goose eggs was a bit much for waiting out a two day storm, even for a bigger family, but some people liked to overprepare. Gods knew I'd seen weirder purchases when I had to check people out. I'd seen weirder people too. This woman, with her sapphire blue, floor-length dress and gray roots belying her dark brown hair, appeared absolutely normal, even with her curls adding at least two inches in height, making her appear barely shorter than me.
"Those are golden goose eggs," the woman corrected her in a syrupy sweet tone that sent a shiver down my spine. Ashley's eyes widened - probably in recognition because they'd been too professional for anything else, but I wouldn't have blamed her for expressing horror. The only customers worse than the adventurers who thought they were better than everyone else, were the governor's many cousins, who were obscenely rich through none of their own effort and not only thought they were better than everyone else but that we were all too naive to understand that.
"For my sweet niece's fourth birthday," the woman continued as though it were obvious.
I couldn't hold back a snort and immediately faked a coughing fit so she wouldn't turn and lecture me in that same patronizing tone.
Even if a dozen golden eggs wouldn't cost me over a month's wages, the yolks, with the flakes of gold leaf suspended throughout, gave them an awful texture no matter how you prepared the eggs, and they inevitably tasted metallic. No toddler would appreciate that, not even if she was already spoiled so rotten as to only accept the priciest of gifts. Well, if the kid was allowed to smash the eggs raw and then go "panning for gold" she would probably have a blast, but something about this woman's perfectly symmetric makeup, smooth, manicured nails, and shockingly hairless arms told me that she would accept nothing less than the most picture perfect cuisine, which meant she was likely to boil the golden eggs so she could present them, polished to the classic shine.
Regular egg yolks turn chalky and disgusting when you boil them, boiled golden eggs are infinitely worse.
Ashley didn't respond beyond a mild "ah, of course" as they efficiently double-bagged the eggs and set them aside.
The woman made a vague disgruntled noise in the back of her throat, but didn't say anything.
Ashley reached for the next item, the package of six tall carafes that I was now sure were something other than plain milk. Sure enough, when Ashley picked up the package, their hand moved in an arc, as though the carafes weighed less than they expected. The additional height caused the yellow light from the enchanted ceiling to dance across the bottles, drawing my eyes to the anti-theft runes stamped on each one.
Suddenly I recognized them. If I were going to blow an entire paycheck on luxuries, I certainly wouldn't buy the two or three golden eggs I could afford with that amount, but I might splurge on a set of these corruption-identifying bottles. They were supposed to be equally good for home canning, for jams and pickles and the like, and for potions. the not-quite-clear, milky white glass promised to turn sickly green if the contents of each bottle went bad, or if poison was added, intentionally or otherwise, or if the properties of the potion inside changed even if it was still safe to drink.
As Ashley was starting to tuck the bottles into a new bag, the woman cleared her throat. "Dearie, I'm sure those will fit in with the eggs. No need to waste another bag."
Ashley hesitated. "Ma'am, it's Magemart policy to bag fragile items separately and"
"It's fine, it's fine," the woman interrupted. "There's only two items, and I don't need all this extra plastic.
"Of course, Ma'am," Ashley agreed, monotone. They opened the top of the bag of eggs, which had folded itself shut.
As Ashley tucked the bottles into the bag with the eggs, I thought I heard a sharp clink, like glass on glass. Odd, but whatever. maybe one of the bottles is loose in the package. and ran into another.
"This is your total," Ashley said, straightening up and indicating the display. Either the lack of reading the final price was another breach of policy or there was a clause in the policy about not reading numbers with more than four digits aloud. I don't remember exactly, my own job at the Magemart closest to my apartment lasted barely three days, the shortest of any of my retail jobs.
The woman swiped her credit card, and was just tucking it back away into her wallet when one of the carafes exploded with a tinkling crash that seemed to echo for ages. I flinched at the sudden noise, and Ashley jumped back with a yelp, unflappable facade forgotten.
We all looked at the fluorescent green shards for a moment. I couldn't quite believe my eyes - either I'd badly misunderstood how CI bottles were supposed to work or there was something really horrendously wrong with those eggs. Besides just being golden goose eggs I mean. All of the other bottles had dangerous green cracks spreading throughout, and another looked like it might fall apart into thousands of shards like its fellow at the slightest provocation.
Almost before I had processed what I was seeing, the woman had rallied enough to shout in Ashley's face, leaning over the counter. "What the devil did you do?"
Ashley cowered, silent tears building at the corners of her eyes. They still looked stunned, frozen in place.
"Hey!" I shouted, feigning confidence and trying to get in this woman's face to protect a fellow cashier. She ignored me. "You were the one who told them to put everything in one bag!"
That got her attention. It wasn't quite what I meant to say, but I was having trouble figuring out what I meant to say, and that slipped out in the meantime.
"And you want to defend her for what? Selling me defective goods?" the woman demanded, equally happy to yell in my face. At least I'd kind of gotten into this knowingly. "CI bottles don't work like that! Or if this is some new function, then that means these golden goose eggs are poisoned or spoilt and they shouldn't be selling them to me!" she insisted.
"What do you expect her to do?" I asked, meeting her continued shouting with a tone that I would call 'panicked' but that Sierra once called 'dangerously quiet'. "How should she have known? Is she supposed to spend her shift finding any magical item that might interact with other things, and taking it around to set it on every other item it might possibly be bagged with, to make sure there's no unexpected interaction? Should they be doing that instead of checking people out, while they're on the clock?" I tried to make the scenario obviously illogical but I think I rambled too much to get the point across.
The woman only squinted at me for a long moment before putting her nose half an inch from mine and shouting even louder than before, "I! Want! A! Manager!"
I wiped spittle off my face, and she stamped her foot, which seemed to be the impulse needed for the second and third bottles to shatter, with another echoing crash.
Someone in line behind me muttered about a manager, before rushing off. ...Probably. I didn't exactly turn to look, with the woman still glowering in my face. Hopefully they ran off to get a manager who would take this belligerent lady out of my and Ashley's faces.
Fortunately, that's exactly what happened. A manager showed up to talk to the woman right around the time she started making threats, and Ashley and the line of people waiting to check out shuffled over to a new register without glass shards everywhere.
We all kept our positions in line, so it was finally my turn to check out. My heart was still pounding from the confrontation as I handed Ashley the bag of moonstone chips to scan.
They offered me a weak smile. "Illusion magic? Isn't that really hard to learn?" Ashley asked, with a tiny but genuine spark of interest in her eyes.
I nodded before I fully processed the second question, already fumbling for my company credit card. "I work hard at it," I said, stretching the truth a little. I certainly didn't have the usual trouble developing the basics, but I push my limits near-daily at the theater and stumbling out of my comfort zone proves to me that I can do more.
"Will that be all," Ashley asked, but tapped the appropriate button on the register before I could reply, my card already poised over the place to swipe it being answer enough. "Your total is 10.53," she said, the next line in the cashiers' script that I still unfortunately have memorized.
They skipped the part of the script asking me if I wanted a receipt, just grabbed it when it printed and scribbled a quick message on the back of it, before finally presenting it to me, holding it out with the handle of the plastic bag with my moonstone inside. "Here is your receipt Ma'am."
I grabbed both, gently, and before I could pull my hand back to look at the message, she flipped her hand over to grab mine.
"Hey.... Thanks," they murmured, then let go.
I flashed her what was either a reassuring to smile or a pained grimace. Hard to tell from inside my own face. "Cashiers ought to be allowed to yell back at people like that," I said. "I'm glad I could get her attention off you."
Ashley opened their mouth to respond but the person behind me in line cleared his throat, and she turned to him, professionally flat expression back in place.
I flipped the receipt over to read what Ashley had written. It was her phone number and the message
I get off at 5. May I treat you to coffee?
I pulled out my phone to text her a yes, and fumbled putting the basket back into the stack for future customers twice before I paused typing long enough to focus on putting the basket away.
I wasn't really bothered by my klutziness. For once my hot head earned me a hot date instead of a hot mess.
#stretch thursday#well i started this on thursday after work#feedback tentatively accepted#muggle writes#muggle originals#writing from prompts#long post#i've tried to add a readmore but they don't seem to work on mobile#i'm not so certain about the ending but i needed to be done#listen it's 3am and I need to be done proofreading and I'm 95% certain there were more things I wanted to fix and I can't find them#if you think I didn't fullfil the prompt please read the prompt again i made sure to quote it directly#hmm what's the tumblr magic key to skip a post?#press j to skip#?#k and j are up and down in vi but there's no guarantee it's the same here#also that still only helps for people on desktop who presumably have xkit anyway
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She Is Everything And More (She Is Home To Me)
Her eyes speak a thousand words she couldn’t say, choosing her words carefully until she settles with “You love my daughter, don’t you?”
And she’s taken aback, because it shouldn’t be this obvious. She shouldn’t know. No one was supposed to know. Well, Lena had just found out herself, with the warmth that took over her chest last night when Kara didn’t think twice before hugging her by the waist and tugging her closer.
Sometimes, being ignorant was the best way of self-preservation. She lusted the moments before she knew, she lusted being able to put those thoughts back, to just be. Because now that she knew, she couldn’t unsee it.
There was something on Eliza’s knowing smile that almost made it too easy blurting out the truth, blurting out that love was too little of an emotion for what she felt. But she knew better than that.
“She’s my best friend.” The words sound wrong to her ears, they taste bad on her tongue. “Of course I love her.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
OR
The first time Kara takes Lena to Midvale
Also on AO3 here
For @ratherembarrassing. I'd like to thank this prompter for the amazing ideas and say that it was really hard choosing between them (I loved both and really wanted to write them, but with only a two-days notice I couldn't). Anyway, I hope I made justice to this one and I'm sorry in advance.
Lena should’ve said no.
It’s actually really simple once she stops to think about it. She just had to say “no”. And she wanted to say it, the word was already at the tip of her tongue. But she made the mistake of looking into pleading eyes and that stupid pout, and the word “no” was still in her mind. She found the word “yes” slipping from her lips instead.
It’s the only reason she finds herself retrieving a bunch of clothes from the back of her closet because Kara insisted on “packing comfy”. And sue her if her only comfortable clothes were from her time during college.
Faded jeans from her time back on freshman year, sweaters she doesn’t even remember buying, shirts she was sure once belonged to Lex and maybe one or two from Jack, her National City University hoodie she bought as a joke on her last year there. She even shoved a pair of flip flops for good measure. Not that she would ever wear them. Ever.
Kara Danvers and her stupid not good enough excuses (because saying I’ll be all alone because Alex will take Maggie and James will be with Winn and I just don’t want to be on my own the whole weekend was not good enough) are the only reasons she’s packing a duffle bag at Thursday night. A weekday. A work day.
Hours she could be using to go over the inhuman amount of contracts she had to sign, both for L-Corp and CatCo. Precious hours she’s wasting to look for clothes she hasn’t seen in years, just to make Kara smile.
Kara Danvers and that stupid smile were the reason after all.
Which reminds her of why Kara had asked in the first place. Lena sighs, takes her phone.
Kara Danvers was the reason her last Google search was “How much can you spend on a present for someone else’s mother?”.
**
“I’m sorry they demanded your presence.” Sam’s voice is as apologetic as one can be and it’s all it takes to prompt a single wave from Lena as she settles down in one of the uncomfortable chairs. Feels good to know Sam keeps at least some of her old habits, getting everyone and anyone unsettled, even if it’s only physical. “They wouldn’t let go.”
“Well, I can’t say that a meeting through all morning was my ideal Friday, but shutting down old, white, misogynistic men improved my mood.”
Sam takes her seat behind the desk, a board smile on her lips and a simple nod moving her head.
Lena takes a moment to look at the CFO, from the matching gray blazer and trousers, to the red button up, stopping at the relaxed shoulders and soft expression she was sporting. Lena thinks this place really suits Sam.
She wonders how can one change so fast, and forces her own shoulders down, forces a deep breath in.
“Lucky Kara.” Lena raises an eyebrow at her, Sam does the same, they share a quick smile. “How did Kara convinced the so busy CEO to take four days off?”
“I came into work on Friday and I’ll be back Monday evening. That’s hardly four days.”
“You don’t sound like the Lena Luthor I know. So? What did she say?”
“She asked.”
And Sam stares at her, tries to see the woman behind the blank expression, but there’s still that soft, little smile at the corner of Lena’s lips, so she knows there’s nothing but truth in her words.
“Let me get this straight: she asked. And that was all the convincing you needed? You’re going back to her home town, pilling up work, to celebrate her mother’s, a woman you don’t actually know, birthday, because she asked you to?”
“It sounds insane when you put it like that.”
“You were the one who said it. I didn’t call you insane.”
Lena chuckles at that, her eyes lingering on her own watch. Slowly, she gets up, takes her (Alex’s really) duffle bag and heads to the door.
“Thanks again for letting me borrow your office, Sam.”
“It’s still yours, Lena. You’re my boss.” Lena’s hand lingers at the handle, eyes bored on Sam’s face until she receives an encouraging nod. “Have fun with your… Kara. Have fun with Kara.”
“Don’t work too hard, Miss Arias.”
Sam waits for the sound of heels fade before going back to work.
Her employers look weirdly at her. She realizes it during her ride down the elevator and she feels all set of eyes on her. On her hands. As if they knew whatever she was doing, as if their suspicions were growing and they couldn’t hold back.
So, when it finally stops and the doors open, she is the first one to move, to cross the lobby with confident steps and only a slight bounce provided by the bag rhythmically hitting her ankle. Still, it all seems too much. With every person watching her and the spacious lobby suddenly too small.
Lena doesn’t stop. She nods at anyone who locks eyes with her and even smiles at one of the doormen when she’s finally out.
It’s quite chilly, she notices first, not at all strange during the end of winter, even welcoming the way her lungs burn as she breathes.
The second thing she notices is the black SUV haphazardly parked right in front of the company.
The third and final thing, the one that makes her stop dead in her tracks, is the blonde woman casually leaning against it, arms crossed in front of her chest and a serious expression on her face. The stance lasts until she looks around and sees Lena, a huge grin taking over instead as she comes closer.
“I’m pretty sure those are not comfortable.” Kara reaches over to take the bag from her hand and Lena feels herself blush under the once over. “I’m pretty sure heels and power suits aren’t the definition of comfy.”
“I wasn’t about to leave L-Corp in jeans and a hoodie. I have an image to uphold.”
“You actually packed jeans and a hoodie? You actually have jeans and a hoodie?" Kara laughs, Lena doesn't find it in herself to be mad after the sound. "Come on, we have a nine-hour long drive and we have at least two stops to make.”
Lena doesn’t spare another word before following Kara. The door is opened for her, the leather seats clean, not a single paper out of its place. Lena raises an skeptical eyebrow at Kara.
“Did you rent a car? You could’ve asked me.”
“It’s Alex’s. They went on James’ car and she let me borrow it.”
“Doesn’t Alex own a bike?”
“We are on a tight schedule, stop questioning me.” Lena snorts, which she would absolutely deny if anyone asked, and takes a step closer to the car.
“You’re driving?”
“I can drive, Lena.”
“Whatever you say.”
“I only took the license test three times, okay? I can drive! And on that second time, that old lady shouldn’t be there!”
“We are on a tight schedule, Kara, stop arguing with me.”
Eleven minutes into the trip, Lena turns the radio off for the total displeasure of Kara Danvers.
It’s going to be nine long hours.
**
They are late. They are an hour and twenty-two minutes late and there's only one person to blame: Kara.
But then again, all it took was a "please" and a pout, and Lena couldn't say no. That's not entirely her fault, even Alex had a hard time telling Kara no and they've been sisters for over a decade. But her inability to deny anything would be her downfall. At least when it came to Kara. So, there was one person to blame: herself.
When Kara takes one last turn left, Lena releases her hold on the seatbelt (Kara was a bad driver, terrible even, and she couldn't be more relieved that Maggie would be driving them back) and takes a deep breath.
“I may have taken the driver’s license test four times.”
“No shit.”
“Or five.”
“It doesn’t surprise me.” Kara chuckles, Lena joins in a beat later. "I'm just glad it's over."
"Hey!"
They come to a rather abrupt stop in front of, what Lena suspects, is Eliza's home.
It's a two-story house, high white fences around it, a simple gravel path leading to the uncovered garage with two parked cars taking all of its space, a yard that seemed to extend until the back of the house and, surely, Lena could see Kara Danvers growing up in the epitome of middle class suburban home.
She wonders now how many things from Kara she will be able to learn, how many things she’s yet to learn. She looks at Kara, who’s already leaving the car and going to the trunk, and she knows there’s much she’ll never understand.
She’s much less enthusiastic to leave the car, maybe because of the strange mix of tiredness and nervousness, but she forces her head up nevertheless and follows Kara. And, perhaps, the nervousness is dissipating, giving space to her body to feel how tired she actually is. At the moment, any surface would be appropriate for her. She’s not entirely proud of that.
Eliza Danvers, she learns, is as sweet as Kara and, at the same time, as terrifying as Alex. Maybe it was the terrorized idea of meeting Kara’s mother, a person she’s not sure where she stands with even after all of Kara’s friends taking her in, or maybe it’s the fear of doing something wrong, the fear of not being enough for yet another mother.
“Mom, this is Lena Luthor.” And with a push on her lower back, she’s standing barely two feet away from Eliza. “Lena, this is my mom, Eliza.”
It’s excruciating, to say at least. The hard gaze she’s met with is not one she’s unused to, it’s the same gaze everyone looks at her, to see how long it’ll take her to break. She never does.
Somehow, she thinks that blue eyes, much like Kara’s in a weird sense, will be the first ones to achieve such accomplishment. Instead, they turn warm and, then, warmer when a smiles makes itself noticed.
“Make yourself at home, honey.” She doesn’t know at who it’s directed, but, by the grin on Kara’s face, she has a suspicion. “Let's get you two settled.”
It takes her thirty minutes, after Kara urged her to the bathroom at the first floor with a change of clothes, a towel and instructions to her bedroom.
She takes her time, her movements slow as she takes off her heels, the aching on her ankles settling down at the lack of pressure; untucking her button-down from the hem of her slacks, she relents on the feeling of fabric moving against her skin and she feels the CEO stance leaving her face a little more at every drop of clothes and at the motion of retrieving her contacts; fingers moving up to retreat the pins that held her hair in a tight bun, which has caused her an headache in hour two of the drive, and set it free; she welcomes the feeling of warm water hitting her back, her collarbones, her neck. At the end, it's hard leaving the relaxed state she found in there.
Even after she’s out, dirty clothes pressed to her chest as she takes her surroundings, she takes her time. As she looks at the walls, she can’t help but remember about her own house and the one previous to that, the bare, white walls, the minimalist furniture and the lack of the feeling of a place that was lived in. Except, of course, for the simple frame of herself and Kara, sitting securely on one of her book shelves.
Lena doesn’t dare to stare at the family pictures on the wall, she knows what she’ll find. She’s not sure she wants to see it, the reminder of the father Kara lost just after she got him. A reminder that herself and Kara had more than a few things in common.
At the top of the stairs, she turns left, as Kara instructed, to be met with an empty hallway. She stops at the first door to the right, painted in simple, worn out white, and gets in.
The bedroom is... not what Lena had expected. She had expected light blue and green walls, shelves filled with books, trophies for whatever fair Kara had participated, pictures of young Alex and Kara. The last ones were there, hanging on red and yellow walls among painted canvas, but they were accompanied by more recent photographs.
She takes a step closer to them, the blurred silhouettes making her attempts of distinguishing who they are harder. It takes her a minute, but she sees it. Lucy, Alex, James, Maggie, Winn. Herself. She takes a look closer, it's a picture she has never seen before. At it, she's laughing sitting in, she bets, Kara's couch on a game night, her hair down and head thrown back. She looks carefree, young. She wonders how Kara got that one.
The door opens and clicks shut behind her, she doesn't move. Kara stands on her side, it doesn't take her long to talk after that.
"You looked different that night."
"Should I take that as a compliment?"
"You should." Kara chuckles, Lena turns to face her. "Last time I came home I hanged them here. It felt right having the most important people in my life around me, I don't know. Sounds a little silly when I say it out loud."
"But it's not." Lena reaches out, holds Kara's forearm. "It's flattering. Really. And the paintings?"
"It's what I remember from-" She never finishes it, she pushes her glasses up instead, as if to keep her grounded, and lets out a small sigh. "It was home."
Lena tears her gaze away, a feeling of wrongness taking over the pit of her stomach. It felt wrong learning about Kara's past when it wasn't told by the woman herself.
"Well, anyway, I just came here to make sure you have everything you need for the night."
"What do you mean?" Kara takes a step back towards the door, already ready to leave the room.
"The rooms is yours, I'm sleeping on the couch."
"Don't be ridiculous, Kara. It's your house, I'll go to the couch." She's already shaking her head even before Lena finishes her last sentence. "Then we don't have an agreement. I'm not kicking you out of your old bedroom."
They stare at each other for a minute and when Kara drops her shoulders, Lena knows she has won. She's already moving back to retrieve a duvet and a pillow when Kara speaks again.
"We could share, I mean, the bed is big enough for two and we've fallen asleep on the same couch before, it can't be that different, right?"
As a matter of fact, it is.
She ends up laying on her back, body completely stilled and hands folded across her stomach. She doesn't dare to move, neither does Kara by the lack of movement to her left.
Until, of course, Kara rolls to her side, drops an arm around Lena's middle and whispers "Do you mind?". She shakes her head slightly, but Kara's apparent comfort is enough to make her relax.
If they wake up next morning tangled from the waist down, they don't mention it.
**
Alex developed the habit of waking up early on the weekends during her teenager years. It had started a couple of weeks after her father’s death, when Eliza was too busy with work and someone had to take responsibility.
The fact that Kara couldn’t wake up before ten to save her life made the choice a little more obvious for them. And a few months were all it took for Alex to start actually liking it. As much as anyone possibly could.
Somehow she found herself looking forward to it. After discovering the quietness during the mornings, the absence of fights for the remote, time to make an actual breakfast, the peace to read while watching the sunrise. Alex ended up liking it way more than any teenager should.
So, when she wakes up a little over fifteen before seven, she doesn’t complain before getting up. Even though, leaving Maggie clutching at the pillow she was once resting will probably be her hardest decision on the day.
With an over lasting stretch, Alex crosses the hall, the idea of finding an empty, silent house warming her up enough to keep her going. She thinks about what it will be like once they all wake up, with Maggie, Winn and James talking way too loudly, her mom and her sister with way too excited tones, Kara trying to show Lena around in a couple of days.
Lena. Alex actually stops at the thought. She had arrived last night with Kara, after everyone had found their bedrooms, and Alex would bet she was already up. Alex doubts Lena would take lazy mornings no matter how much Kara pouted.
When she reaches the first flight of stairs, her suspicions are confirmed: Lena sitting by the corner of the dining room table, in a soft looking pair of pajama pants and a simple too big shirt, nursing a mug of coffee.
She looks young, without the weight of carrying a company that made too many mistakes in the past, and Alex is struck with the reminder that this woman is barely twenty five. Alex almost breaks the moment, the need to make her presence known instead of scaring the woman growing faster. But she doesn’t move. Not when she notices the second person on the first floor.
Kara appears, two plates with a pack of pancakes on each, barely holding the bottle of maple syrup between her teeth. Honestly? Alex is going to scream so hard at her later. Instead, right now, she can only stare, mouth slightly ajar.
Her sister is awake, not only awake but making breakfast for someone else other than herself. While smiling.
She watches as Lena chuckles and retrieves the bottle from Kara with a small shake of her head. And watches as Kara runs back to the kitchen and Lena uses the seconds she has to slip three of her own pancakes into Kara’s plate. And watches as Kara finally settles down with her mug of cocoa (Alex doesn’t even doubt what her sister will be drinking) and the pot of coffee for Lena, who accepts it with a grateful, small smile.
Maggie was right. Her sister got it bad.
“Morning.” She says as she steps down, both pair of eyes coming to lock on her. Kara grins with her face stuffed, Lena manages to be more polite, with a nod and offer for coffee. “How was the drive?”
“Tiring.” Lena answers after she went to the kitchen, fingers eager after her own mug.
She hears a chuckle, cutlery clinking and rushed whispered words.
“There is pancake dough by the stove.” And Alex is sure, just by her sister’s tone, Lena had forced her to say it.
It takes her eight minutes. Exactly eight minutes to go back into the dining room, her own breakfast in hands and eyes trained on the two. When she settles down, she sees Lena sliding her plate with her last two pancakes over to Kara, who doesn’t even think twice before stuffing her face again.
Alex raises an eyebrow at the fond smile on Lena’s lips, they look at each other and the younger woman blushes before finishing her drink.
**
"I told you not to wear heels." Kara states simply after another one of their stops because of an almost fall from Lena, prevented only by Kara's arm around her waist.
Twenty minutes ago, it hadn't been there. Also, twenty minutes ago, Lena's feet hadn't slipped even once.
And then, it happened for the first time, nothing but a bounce on her walk and a mumbled curse under her breath. It didn't take more than an offer of her right forearm and a firm grip on it for Lena to regain her balance, and keep walking. The hand never left its place.
It proved to be the right choice when she slipped again two blocks down. The chuckle was almost bursting out of her lips when Lena just looked at her, green being replaced by a light gray because of the lighting, or lack thereof. She couldn't bring herself to laugh anymore. Instead, her arm had snuck around a thin waist and flushed Lena's side against hers.
Lena had taken solace on it, then. With her head resting on Kara's shoulder and slow steps down the streets, they had walked for longer than Lena could count. She didn't mind, not when Kara's fingers started drawing patterns against the fabric on the side of her coat. For once, she felt completely and utterly relaxed. The rhythmic beat of heart proved it.
"I refuse to wear flip flops. You'll never see me in one."
"Well, I was thinking about sneakers, but I bet I can change your mind."
Kara doesn't try to hold the conversation for longer, and appreciates the fact that Lena seems to share her wish. Especially so, when Lena snuggles closer, and hesitantly puts one of her arms on the same position as Kara's.
Still, she can't help but take one last disapproving glance at the pair of black high heels at Lena's feet.
She tries to ignore it, she really does. She tries to keep her mind on the welcomed cold wind, so different from National City, tries to point out all of the changes from her so well-known path from home. She finds out she can't.
Because the clicking of heels gets too high and she just can't numb the super-hearing. Not with this. Not when Lena curses under her breath one more time and winces, actually winces, after another step.
"I could carry you." It's out of her mouth before she realizes it. Lena raises an eyebrow at her, that single change on her expression speaking volumes, and smirks.
"As tempting as the offer sounds, I'm afraid I'm a little too old for piggyback rides."
"Then, please Lena, take them off. You're gonna end up hurting your feet."
Lena halts their movement, the arm around Kara easily sliding against the fabric of her sweater until it settled around her wrist. She looked forward, since, because of the so offensive heels in Kara's opinion, they were the same height, and tried her best reassuring smile.
For the look on Kara's face, it hadn't worked out that well.
"I appreciate the concern, but, Kara, I have an image to keep."
"You don't have to be CEO Lena Luthor around me." Kara knows she's won just from the drop on Lena's shoulders and the visible sigh. She pushes just a tiny more, bright smile full on display. "I'll even join you."
With secured heels on Lena's right hand and the left back into place around her, they go back to walking a couple of minutes later. She keeps her promise, pair of shoes being carried in her own hand, as she uses the other to keep Lena flushed at her side.
There was a time, Kara remembers, that was the hardest for her to try and pretend how satisfied she was at settling down. There was a time, even before that, she wondered what a close friendship was like.
She looks at Lena, all flushed cheeks from the cold and still muttering under her breath every once in a while, and she knows she doesn't have to wonder anymore. It only meant that she had to try her hardest to pretend the close friendship was all she has ever wanted with Lena.
They stop at the block of Kara's old school. It's much the same, blue bricks with peeled paint, grass that has seen better days and a gray steel double door at the entrance. She takes a right turn, bringing Lena closer to her and continue walking.
"Where are you taking me, Kara?"
"It's a surprise."
It doesn't take long after that. Five more minutes and they are standing next to a low wood fence delimiting the edges to the hillsides and the Midvale largest lake on the middle of the plain field.
"We walked forty-five minutes for a lake?"
Kara wants to laugh at the disbelieving tone on Lena's voice. She nudges, her side instead.
"It only took that long because you wore heels. And, for your instance, it's an ice-skating ring."
"It's not frozen."
"Maybe we are a month too late for the ice-skating season, but it's not why I brought you here." Kara shoves her free hand on her pocket, if only to hide the shakiness of her fingers. "This used to be the place everyone went out on dates, it's beautiful during winter."
"And young Kara Danvers had lots of dates here." Kara actually laughs at the teasing tone this time.
"I've never been here with someone. Not until you." She feels the blood running to her cheeks, hopes Lena shakes it off as being the cold. She hears a low gasp, followed by a clearance of her throat. "I guess there's no one rather than you I'd like to share this memory with."
Maybe because that's the only way I know how to tell you I'm in love with you, she thinks. She never says it out loud. Seemed like she was a coward, after all.
They don't talk anymore after that. Not as they stared down while Lena clutched at her coat for warmth, not when they took an even longer path back to the house.
(Not that Lena would ever admit it, but she had accepted the piggyback ride on the last couple of blocks.)
**
That afternoon, Alex comes down the stairs after a shower (not with Maggie, and said woman was definitely not still under running hot water) to find Lena Luthor, legs tucked under herself and thick book in one hand, sitting on the living room couch with Kara Danvers lying down, head resting on Lena’s lap.
It’s the first time she sees them this way, not with all the intimate touches, no, she was there during the shared looks and the hand holding during movie nights. What she had yet to see was the look on their faces when the other wouldn’t be able to see. Again, she sure had seen the stolen glances on both parts, but it was never as intense or as long as this.
Because Lena, dear God, Lena wasn’t even making much effort to pretend her eyes were focused on the words written on the pages. Instead, her eyes trace the lines on Kara’s face with such reverence that makes Alex take a breath longer.
She is unsure someone has ever loved her sister that much. And, in some way, she is glad this person is Lena.
She may stare a bit too long, or maybe time just passes too fast, because sooner than she anticipated, fingers assume the place eyes once looked. The touch seemed so light, just the pads touching smooth skin along her cheek, her temple, her forehead, her brow. The glasses sat untouched on the bridge of Kara’s nose. Alex stares long enough to see the small tug of lips on Lena’s face, a smile she had never seen.
Maybe that was the effect of having Kara Danvers on their lives. And, as she looks at her sister, as peaceful as she has ever been, she wonders what effect having Lena Luthor on Kara’s life they would all have.
“I didn’t see you there.” Alex snaps her eyes back to Lena, who now had her fingers stilled, but the soft expression had yet to leave her face.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t.”
Alex doesn’t know what to say next, and it seems that neither does Lena, so she forces her eyes back to the book. She never turns the pages, her fingers find Kara’s hair instead.
“I could take her upstairs if you wanted.”
Lena looks puzzled for a second, before she shakes her head and lets out a small chuckle.
“It’s okay. It’s not the first time.” The pause makes Alex wonder if she would continue, if they had more words to share even though the feeling of invading something so personal grew stronger at every heartbeat. “Kara tends to be the first one to fall asleep on movie nights, she claims I’m a great pillow.”
Her chuckle is low, but it’s enough to make her sister stir. Both pair of eyes turn at her, hand coming up to wrap around the hem of Lena’s shirt.
“Did I wake you?”
And, yes, Alex might have seen the soft side of Lena Luthor when they talked, she might have seen the woman without walls guarding her every movement, but she hadn’t seen the woman she became when Kara was around.
It was a whole new level of discovery. It was an experience she never thought she would be able to see. How a woman became so different, as if Kara had handed her a new universe just by smiling sleepily at her.
Maybe Kara had. Because Kara had seen Lena Luthor as Lena, that itself was another reality to the woman. Yes, maybe Kara gave her another universe.
“Mmmh. ‘S okay.”
And Kara turns on her side, buries her face on Lena’s stomach and lets out a shaky breath.
Maybe Lena had given Kara a universe too. One where she could be just Kara.
Maybe sharing this, a place where no last names nor titles were needed, was what her sister needed all along.
Alex had never been more glad for a person on Kara’s life.
**
Lena’s last experience in a family dinner wasn’t exactly, well, pleasant. That being said, not so pleasant was an understatement for the hell that surfaced on the last time she was put together with Lillian and Lex for more than an hour.
It had happened before Lex’s downfall. It didn’t mean he hadn’t already lost him mind. Because he had. She just had been too blind to see it.
Sometimes, she thinks she should've been more aware of the signs, she should've paid more attention to the details. Other times, she just wonders if it had already been too late. Most nights, she thinks that nothing could've stopped him back then.
Family dinner four years ago hadn’t been an experience she would like to repeat. Hearing her mother’s speeches and her brother’s plans for Luthor Corp for two hours before she snapped and left were not her number one choice on how to spend her evening.
That said, she couldn’t help but feel a little wary of dinner with the Danvers. And Kara’s reassurances were little to no help at all. Still, the uneasiness on her chest diminishes at every smile from Eliza, or the light banter between Maggie and Kara, or at the very appreciated motion of Alex getting her a glass of wine.
Still, she can’t quite hide the shakiness of her fingers and, by the way Kara comes closer to her as they set the table and rests her hand against her lower back, Kara can sense it too. She forces a smile out, leans a little more against lips that had found her temple and sighs.
“If it gets too much, please tell me and we’ll go upstairs.” Kara whispers, Lena tries to fight the shudder down her spine. “I know we can get kind of intense.”
“Thank you.” Her words are soft and low, but Kara hears it anyway and her only response is to leave another kiss at Lena’s forehead.
Her heart rate does not decrease, though. She’s not sure whether it’s because of the proximity, since sharing her personal space is not something she’s very fond of, or because of the fact she’s not entirely too comfortable yet.
“Come on, we always give the presents before dinner.”
That’s how, on a Saturday evening, she finds herself squished between her best friend and the armrest of the couch as she watches everyone slowly getting up to hug Eliza and nurses her second glass of that bottle of wine she’s been sharing with Alex.
She had laughed at the nervousness on Maggie’s face as she handed her joint gift with Winn and James and the pleased expression on Eliza’s face at the words stumbled out “It’s for the next time you’re in National City for more than a couple of days. It’s the best spa we could find”.
And she couldn’t help but send Kara a warm smile when she and her sister got up to embrace their mother and show her the simple golden necklace with a photo pendant and said “That’s our last family picture, when dad was still around”.
Suddenly, the card on her back pocket feels wrong. But she can’t back away when Kara is by her side again, hand desperately trying to find Lena’s. And she lets her, wraps their fingers together and leans her head against Kara’s shoulder. It feels nice until she has to ignore the tilt of Alex’s head and the excruciating gaze.
“Guess it’s my turn now.” With one last reassuring squeeze, Lena gets up and takes the card out. “I know it’s not much, but Kara mentioned your interest on bioengineering and L-Corp is making some progress in the area. So, next time you’re around just handle this over to reception and one of our doctors will accompany you through ours labs.”
“That’s very sweet of you, Lena. Kara told me how protective you are of your company, so it means a lot.”
“It’s nothing, really.” Eliza grabs lightly at her wrist and runs the pad of her thumb against its inside. “Happy birthday, Eliza.”
“Thank you, sweetie.”
Lena turns around to be met with five bright smiles.
Perhaps family dinner’s aren’t that bad.
**
Eliza had had the opportunity of seeing her daughter fall in love; seeing someone else fall for her daughter; seeing love nourish when the time just wasn’t right.
When Kara was fifteen, she was asked to prom by a senior. Alex had given him the answer instead. But Kara was relentless and it was the first time Eliza understood Alex could never say no to her sister. Like that, Alex was going with her friends, Kara, with her date.
When the boy had arrived, five minutes before he was supposed to, Alex had only stared. Eliza never mentioned how they arrived two hours later, Kara with red eyes and Alex’s arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She hates to think about how that was Kara’s first heartbreak.
She still remembers how, shortly after meeting Winn, how Kara had called and spent half an hour about how amazing her new friend was, until maybe a week later when she called again to tell her Winn had tried to kiss her. And she was there at every phone call as they worked it out. Now she knows Winn, she’s never been more grateful for what they shared because it brought them closer.
Cat Grant’s son came after that. She never had the chance of meeting him, she had to create her opinion on him by what Kara and Alex decided to tell her. Somehow, she was captivated. He sounded nice, and after every call from Kara she knew what kind of relationship her daughter was in: a nice one. She knew it wasn’t what Kara had dreamed of. Adam didn’t last long.
Then James Olsen was there. Eliza believed he had always been there, since he moved to National City and she knew all it took was a smile and a greeting. Kara never really stood a chance. She had been there, seeing the two dancing around each other until the inevitable. It was the first time she believed two people could fall in love in the wrong time and, with that, feelings just weren’t enough.
Being honest, Eliza would never have imagined the scene unfolding in front of herself a couple of years ago. Everything was so domestic it brought a warmth to her chest she couldn’t quite describe. It felt like coming home for the first time since Jeremiah was gone, for the first time in years.
Because Maggie and Alex had claimed almost the entire couch, leaving just enough space for her to slip between them and the armrest. They are the first ones to arrive at the living room, and they can only watch as James and Winn race inside the room to guarantee their places at the single chairs next to the couch. They fall into easy conversation, while her eyes linger on the doorway.
Her daughter takes a while longer to come in. Eliza is sure none of the other pair of eyes are on them, but she can’t help it. They walk in side by side, Kara with her head bowed down because of the couple of inches she has on Lena, their bodies almost molded into each other’s side, and the small smile on Lena’s lips because of whatever, Kara told her.
With no other sits available, Kara puts two cushions on the floor by the couch, settling down with her legs tucked under herself and extending her hand towards Lena, who doesn’t need another moment to accept the offer.
They never stop holding hands. And Eliza wasn’t stupid not to notice the shared looks, the blushing cheeks and the happy little smiles on their faces. But it’s only when Lena leans over to rest her forehead against Kara’s shoulder and her daughter does the best she can to turn around and wrap her free arm around Lena, lips easily finding her temple as if they’d been too many times before, that Eliza knows for sure.
She had seen Kara in love before and this, without a doubt, is it. She just doubts Kara has even realized it yet.
She takes one last look at the two women, at how they try to snuggle even closer, at the low sigh Kara lets out when Lena turns her head enough to brush her lips against Kara’s neck, before she finally opens her mouth to drag Winn into a chat.
Maybe this is the right time.
**
“If you’re reading your e-mails, I promise you I’m throwing your phone away.”
Lena looks up to the open door, where Kara is standing at the doorway in nothing but a long, white button down and what Lena guesses are boy shorts. She tries to ignore the fluttering on her chest at the thought.
“I’m not doing anything related to work, then.”
“Good.” She receives the biggest smile she has ever seen, fingers rapidly reaching up to adjust her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “It’s a break, Lena. It loses its meaning if you spend it working.”
“But”
“No buts.” Kara walks in, arms crossed, legs bare, and Lena uses all of her self-restraint to keep her eyes on blue, instead of falling down to tanned skin. “Please.”
This time, Kara didn’t even need the pout to make Lena relent. She desperately needs to learn how to say no to Kara, because she feels her downfall slowly approaching by every step Kara takes, by every word that leave Kara’s lips, by every smile Kara gives.
She turns off the Wi-Fi, puts her phone into airplane mode for good measure, before tucking it at the nightstand by her side.
Kara smiles at her antics, tales long, confident steps towards the bed after she turned the lights off. Somehow, with only the low lights of two lampshades, Kara seems even more at peace. Even more human, without all the weight she has to carry.
That’s another thing Lena doesn’t want to think about. Because as much as she wanted to be trusted, she understood the need of being vulnerable and having someone to be vulnerable with. That part she was willing to play, even if it meant never being told.
And she watches, transfixed, as Kara came closer, loose strands of hair glowing at the yellow light that was supposed to make Kara look less… breathtaking. But there were no other words to describe Kara at any given moment. She was utterly breathtaking, no matter the situation. In a quick motion, she slips off her glasses, keeping them just close enough at the nighstand, and under the duvets.
It feels so natural as if they’d done this a million times before tonight, sharing a bed, sharing so little space doesn’t make Lena feel uneasy. At the contrary, her heart rate settles down and she can’t stop the lazy smile grazing her lips.
Without another word, she mirrors Kara’s position, lying on her side, hands almost touching at the middle of the bed. It would’ve been so easy to slide her hand a couple of inches to just hold Kara, even if it was something so simple. It didn’t feel simple, though. It felt the most intimate thing they could share.
Lena forced the thoughts out of her mind when she realizes Kara was talking again.
“Thank you. For everything.”
And she understands. She does. Because she hears everything that lies behind the words, the unspoken for being here, for not giving up on me, for caring, for helping, for not giving up on yourself.
It’s not hard, then, closing the distance between them, not when Kara does the same. And their legs end up tangled, faces mere inches away.
“I know you almost couldn’t come, since you have a lot on you, but it means a lot.”
“I wanted to.” For you.
“Thank you.” It’s too sincere, Lena realizes then. Like Kara tries to compensate her one secret by being her truest self with everything else. “Would you” she stops herself, takes a deep breath in then shakes her head “sorry, it would be weird. Night.”
Lena finds out it’s easy, then, once she started acting on her thoughts. Kara is already turning around when fingers wrapped around a thin wrist and tugged at it.
Wordlessly, without giving it another thought (because she was sure if she gave into reason over emotional, she would never find the courage) she placed Kara’s hand on her waist. With a nod of permission, she slid her body closer to Kara’s, tucking her head under Kara’s chin and fingers in a deadly grip on the hem of a white shirt.
“Thank you, again.” Kara exhales contently, as an arm slips around her middle, while fingers come up to caress her hair. “I haven’t been able to sleep well since the invasion. Yesterday was”
“I know.” Lena closes her eyes, she feels the warmth of Kara’s skin brushing against her lips where they rest against her neck. “Me neither.”
Lena knows Kara’s fingers shouldn’t make her feel so calm and loved. She knows the heavy breathing against her ear shouldn’t bring her comfort. She knows her heart shouldn’t feel this calm at the mere presence of Kara. She knows, rationally, that they were never friends. Never only friends.
And that annoying fluttering at the top of her stomach is nothing but a reminder of how good at denial she’s become. Because that feeling has been there for as long as she can remember. She just didn’t want to acknowledge it.
Because acknowledging it would mean having to deal with it. And that was something she didn’t look forward to do.
Lena realizes what all the strange looks she’s been getting from Alex mean.
She’s in love with Kara.
And Alex knows it.
She doesn’t sleep that night.
**
She slips out of Kara’s hold after three hours of drifting in and out of sleep. Her brain won’t shut up, especially so when Kara has the cutest frown on her face and she readjusts herself on the now empty bed, arms stretching to the place Lena was supposed to be.
And her brain won’t calm down because all she wants to do is go back, let Kara’s arms hold her, let the intoxicating smell of Kara’s shampoo lull her into a troubled sleep. Unfortunately, her heart seems to be in sync with her head for once, and she feels every beat against her ribcage. It’s unsettling, to say at least.
There was a time Lena relented the fact she never had much experience on the nuances of friendship. Or dating. Or relationships in general. It had affected the beginning of her interactions with Kara, it had made her confuse the way friends were supposed to feel.
She told herself that every innocent touch, every lingering look, every gesture that could be described as more than friendly, the way the words always seemed to be phrased with a deeper meaning between them, God, Lena told herself all of that was nothing but friendship. She never knew what friendship was before Kara.
I’ve never had a friend like you before, Lena had said. I’ve never had a true friend before, is what she meant.
Couple of years from now, Lena will deny, even if only to herself, that she had mistaken romantic feeling towards Kara with platonic feelings. Couple of years from now, Lena doubts she will be over Kara. She doubts anyone can actually get over her.
With light footsteps, she turns around and closes the door as quietly as she can behind her. With even lighter steps, she moves her body to the only place she can think of to get peace in Eliza’s home.
It’s how Lena finds herself sitting in the hammock at the porch at four in the morning.
When Lena was younger, she used to slip out of her bedroom and go into her father’s study. He mostly just sat at the couch with an open book she could barely understand what was about at five years old. It was the only place on the house she felt like she could just be, the only place she felt completely calm.
It had lasted until one day Lionel found her. He was never a bad father, he wasn’t the best either. Lionel had sat by her side and he had read for her. It’s the best memory she has of her father.
Lionel had started to lock his study after that. Lena never found another safe place again.
Then, Kara Danvers had arrived and Lena found out safety wasn’t just a place, but a person. For her, that person was Kara.
Looking at the stars (God, she can’t even remember the last time she was somewhere she was able to do that) now, she feels the same wave of calmness she was hit with over twenty years ago.
It’s a cold dawn, Lena realizes it fifteen minutes after she sat down at the edge of the hammock, pajama shorts not covering enough skin and her stupid college hoodie that’s way too thin for the weather. She welcomes it, though, with a deep breath in that leaves her lungs burning from the cold.
She doesn’t turn around when she hears the sliding door opening and closing with a soft thud. She doesn’t turn around when she senses the sweet smell of cocoa. She turns her head when the hammock bounces slightly, and Kara is by her side, filled mug being offered to her as she tries her best to wrap a soft blanket around themselves.
Lena accepts it all.
And when Kara moves closer to place an arm around her shoulders, Lena curls up around her side and sighs, face buried against Kara’s chest.
“When the Danvers took me in,” Kara starts and Lena tries her best to look at her face without getting too much space between them. She sees nothing but blue eyes staring at the beautiful, open sky in the same reverent way Lena had “Alex and I had a rough start, things weren’t easy between us, then she found out I used to slip through my window to sit on the roof and look at the stars. She came with me one night, things got easier after that. It felt”
“Safe.”
“Yeah, safe. She started making me hot chocolate at the second month, we never talked about it. It was just, I don’t know, one of those things that happened.” Lena didn’t know what to say, silence seemed like a fitting answer for Kara. “You were gone for almost an hour. I got worried.”
“We used to live in this mansion quite far from the city, when I first arrived at the Luthor’s.” She doesn’t know why she says it, but it seems right, it seems fitting for the timing. “It wasn’t far enough for the sky to be this clear. I wanted peace and quiet, and this was the first place I thought of, it reminded me of times that weren’t that bad. I’m sorry if I overstepped. And that I woke you up.”
Kara is shaking her head no before she even finishes the sentence.
“I want you to be comfortable, if this is where you feel like that I never want you to apologize for that.” Kara tugs Lena closer, arm wrapped around a slim waist and sides completely pressed together. Lena exhales shakily at the increasingly unsteady beating of her heart, closes her eyes and tries her best to enjoy the moment of peace. “And I told you, I don’t sleep well without you.”
She doesn’t know if the statement comes from a sleep deprived Kara, who doesn’t understand the weight her words carry, or if it comes from an over analyzed place, at where she knows what it entails and all the consequences of it.
By consequences she means the way her breath gets caught in the back of her throat, the way her heat rate gets even more erratic, the way her stomach won’t stop moving around until she can’t take it anymore.
Lena doesn’t try to look at Kara’s face, she’s not brave enough to do that. She is not brave enough to know the answer to her question. And, from the place her head is tucked in, she doesn’t hear any traces of sleepiness on her voice, only the steady heartbeat. Somehow it’s enough for her.
Being in love with Kara Danvers was the easiest realization she has ever had.
Being in love with Kara Danvers was the best thing she has never asked for.
Being in love with Kara Danvers had the potential of breaking her. Then putting her back together.
“Does it still hurt?” She asks minutes later.
She doesn’t know how many, she doesn’t care. But sleep isn’t coming and silence was becoming heavy.
“What?”
“Mon-el. Mike”
Kara lets out a soft “oh”, as if this was the last thing on her mind, as if this had happened years ago.
It had been eleven months.
Eleven long months of seeing Kara try and fail at doing better, at showing people she was okay. Eleven long months of late phone calls and way too many nights at her office. Eleven long months of doing her best and still not being enough.
As Lena thinks about it now, she realizes how many similarities they share. They understand each other. It gives them so much potential, so many opportunities to grow together, to always bring out their best.
Then, “No.” A beat. “I did. A lot, actually. But a few months after he went away, I understood we wer- he wasn’t good for me, because he brought out my worst. I guess the worst part was losing the idea I had of him, losing a person I could be myself with, someone who reminded me of home. Even the bad parts of home.”
“You can always be yourself around me.”
Kara nudges her head until she’s looking up at her eyes. Clear. Open. Loving. And she feels the blush on her cheeks, because it wasn’t meant to be said out loud, she wasn’t meant to be bold.
And it’s with all the honesty she has ever seen on Kara’s face that the next words come out, in a string of revelation that leaves Lena at the verge of doing something stupid. Something very stupid. Like kissing her best friend. Or kissing her and telling she’s in love with her, a feeling she has barely come in touch with and is already dying to let out.
“I can be my best around you.”
It sure feels like an I love you.
Lena brushes it off (later she would come to the conclusion she chickened out), sets her head back in the same spot on Kara’s shoulder and takes a sip of her hot cocoa.
The first time in years she has watched the sunrise (since her over nights in college to study), she has Kara Danvers by her side, Kara Danvers’ hand on her own, Kara Danvers on her mind, Kara Danvers’ perfume around her and the taste of hot chocolate on her lips.
Nothing could be that perfect, she reasons.
When Maggie finds the two of them in the morning, she doesn’t find in herself the courage to disturb them. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t take a picture, just in case she needs it in the future.
**
“Do you think they know it?”
Alex tries her best not to stare again, at least not after such a short notice. But it was hard not to look.
Three hours ago, Kara had dragged a chair to the open space by Lena's left. It was nothing but a friendly gesture, Lena was her guest after all and her best friend on top of that. But at the mark of two hours and fifteen minutes ago, Kara had taken one of Lena's hands on hers to trace light circles at its back, until, fifteen minutes later, she gave up and intertwined their fingers. Lena never stopped talking to Winn, as if Kara's actions felt completely natural to her.
At the mark of one hour and forty minutes ago, Lena had leaned in and brushed an out of place lock of hair from Kara's face, then proceeded to brush Kara's cheek with her thumb as she received the biggest smile her sister could muster.
At the mark of one hour and seven minutes ago, Kara had gotten up to grab a burger from a tray Maggie had just finished making before going back and settling next to Lena and offering, offering, a bite.
At the mark of twenty minutes ago, the two found themselves in a deep conversation with Maggie. It had lasted until Kara leaned in and whispered something in Lena's ear that made her giggle, actually giggle in front of five people other than Kara. A commentary that led into shared looks and rushed words.
Which brought them back to this moment, after Maggie had given up on gtting their attention again and gotten up to stand next to Alex at the far corner of the backyard, where the table with the drinks were settled.
Their shared spot gave them a perfect view from everything. From James' turn to look at the grill, to Winn and Eliza just walking out of the house to join them one more time, and, finally, to the two undoubtedly oblivious idiots, who, in Alex's personal opinion, didn't need two chairs by the way they stared at each other.
She shrugs, though, shakes her head before resting her hands at her front pocket.
"I don't think they have realized it."
"I think Lena knows and she's just messing with your sister until she gets that Lena has been flirting with her this whole time."
Alex chuckles at that, takes a step closer to her girlfriend who welcomes her with and arm wrapped around her waist and a kiss on her cheek. She doesn't mention how Maggie had to stand on the toes to complete the action, they have bigger subjects to approach at the moment.
"Nah."
"Wanna bet?" She turns to Maggie, eyebrow raised and smirk at the corner of her lips. She could, and it would've been really easy, to just lean down and wipe it away. Alex glares at her instead. "What?"
"We said we would stop with the stupid bets."
"It's your sister's love life!"
"Exactly."
When they first got together, Alex had thought winning a fight with Maggie would be easy. At first, all she needed was a glare and a long minute of silence to make Maggie agree with her, sometimes she even cheated a bit and used the same pout she learnt from Kara. Back then, Maggie had lost half a dozen of arguments.
But the weeks turned into months, and the months passed until they became years (almost two, she remembers, and the secured ring on Maggie's finger for the past months is nothing but a reminder of their time together), and Maggie, unlike her when it came to Kara, had learnt.
Now, Alex didn't always had things in her way in the relationship, and they adapted, got more mature, came into a consensus on their wishes. Still, there were some things Alex would not relent. The bets, in example, especially when they were about her little sister.
They had been fun at first, an unharmful way to keep their minds busy in the middle of too many things happening all at once. Alex had started looking forward to it. Then, they weren't all that... nice. (Winn took the worst of it in an incident they promised to never mention again.)
So, when Maggie looks at her with pleading eyes and the smallest pout she's ever seen (it could, and would, rival Kara's), she needs all her strength to keep a straight face. And, if the ringing of her cell is the only thing that keeps her from breaking, she would never admit it.
The DEO's calls came in the worst times, Alex found out years ago. And she's proven right one more time while she stares blankly at the screen of her phone. She looks at Kara, who's in the exact same position she is in, and can only watch as her sister whispers something on Lena's ear that makes her nod slightly, before getting up and walking towards them.
"Did they call you too?"
"DEO?" Maggie asks, they both nod.
"Yeah, I just don't know what they want me to do. I'm nine hours away from National City."
"Well, I'm only five minutes away."
"You'd go?" Her sister nods, a motion that seems more to herself than to Alex, and manages a small smile. "Are you sure?"
"They need me." And that's explication enough for her. "Can you give me the car keys?"
"You're flying?"
"But I already told Lena I had to go to the grocery store because I drank all of Maggie's horrendous vegan milk?"
"And she bought it?" She raises a skeptical eyebrow, Kara answers with a bright smile.
"I'm really good at keeping secrets."
Maggie scoffs at her side, they don't mention it.
"Can you do me a favor?" The "anything" slips fast from her lips, but Kara's next words topple over anyways, as if she's trying to say them before she loses the courage. From what she hears, that's exactly the case. "Take care of Lena. Not that she can't do that herself, but sometimes, she forgets to do things like sleep or eat, so, if I take too long, make sure she does that?"
"You really care about her, don't you?"
It's Maggie who says the sentence that's been on their minds for the past couple of days. Weeks. Months.
And Kara stops, fidgeting all over at once. Her hands still around the keys she had just taken from Alex, her eyes fix on the two, she squares her shoulder, ready to defend Lena in any capacity.
But, then again, she also has the warmest smile Alex's has ever seen, she has this glint in her eyes that Alex can't quite place but has already seen before, she has a blush on her cheeks and neck. Alex had seen her like this before, and she knows there will be no answer from a flustered Kara.
Yet, it's with all confidence that the next words come out of her mouth.
"No." It's when Alex thinks Kara will just turn around to leave that her sister shakes her head slightly and says "Caring feels shallow compared to what I feel about her."
That's when Kara leaves, with a fast wave to Lena and a simple kiss on Eliza's cheek.
But Alex never sees the last, because she's too concentrated on the younger woman barely six yards away, and who keeps her eyes glued to the door Kara just passed. Lena never looks at her, but she doesn't have to.
"She's definitely handing her gay panic better than you, babe." Alex elbows Maggie's ribs playfully before turning and leaning down.
"Shut up."
**
Lena waits five minutes before going back inside for Kara, only to find exactly what she was expecting: Kara had left, clothes in a messy pile by the floor and glasses on the arm of the couch.
They needed Supergirl, and Lena knew Supergirl needed them just as much.
That doesn’t stop her from chuckling as she bends down to retrieve and fold Kara’s clothes, mind already going to the stupid excuses (buying vegan milk can only last a few minutes and she has this suspicion Kara will be gone for hours) she’s bond to listen once Kara comes back. And she finds out she doesn’t mind. Somehow, she doesn’t. Not if it means she’ll be able to hear the little sigh Kara let’s out when she is sure she’s fooled Lena. Lena is a goner. She doesn’t mind about it either.
She’s just finished folding Kara’s shirt when Eliza joins her in the living room. She closes the sliding glass door behind her as quietly as she can, trying to claim as little attention to them as she possibly can and, at first, Lena looks over her shoulder; to where Alex is still in a light conversation with James; to where Winn is trying to open a bottle of beer with his hands for Maggie as she laughs at him; at where her family is.
They don’t notice the absence of the two. And it’s enough to make Lena look at Eliza’s eyes, to find a glint of mischievousness that, for once, doesn’t make her want to flinch.
And she finds out it’s easy to reciprocate the warm smile, she finds out it’s easy to fit into this.
“Kara is not really subtle about it.” Lena follows her line of sight, to the white shirt neatly folded on her hands, the jeans lying on the floor, the glasses. She doesn’t even chastises herself for the snort she lets out. “She still thinks you don’t know.”
“I like to let her think she’s sneaky, but she made a hole through L-Corp's roof last month and there have been complaints about clothes being left in bathroom stalls at CatCo, so it’s getting harder to pretend.”
Eliza smiles brightly at that, it’s a smile she has only seen on Kara and she wonders how alike they were. Based on how openly Eliza has received her, she thinks that maybe they are exactly the same.
She sets the shirt on a cushion, making quick work of folding Kara’s pants and leaving them right at its side and turns to retrieve the glasses to be met with Eliza standing next to her.
Her eyes speak a thousand words she couldn’t say, choosing her words carefully until she settles with “You love my daughter, don’t you?”
And she’s taken aback, because it shouldn’t be this obvious. She shouldn’t know. No one was supposed to know. Well, Lena had just found out herself, with the warmth that took over her chest last night when Kara didn’t think twice before hugging her by the waist and tugging her closer.
Her heart wasn’t supposed to beat that fast as she tried to remember herself they were friends. Her mind wasn’t supposed to go back to the night Kara stared at her for a second too long before answering Sam. Her hands shouldn’t shake as she brought them up to rest them against Kara’s forearm and all she could see was the way Kara looked at her as Lena begged her to let her go.
Sometimes, being ignorant was the best way of self-preservation. She lusted the moments before she knew, she lusted being able to put those thoughts back, to just be. Because now that she knew, she couldn’t unsee it.
There was something on Eliza’s knowing smile that almost made it too easy blurting out the truth, blurting out that love was too little of an emotion for what she felt. But she knew better than that.
“She’s my best friend.” The words sound wrong to her ears, they taste bad on her tongue. “Of course I love her.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
Lena smiles shyly, her eyes fix on the floor as if it was the most interesting thing she’s ever seen. It’s not.
And Eliza’s hand finds the small of her back, Lena fights back the overwhelming want of letting the tears roll down. Because admitting it out loud is taking one step closer to losing Kara, and that’s something she could never endure.
But Eliza grounds her, makes her feel valid, makes her feel like everything will be okay at the end. She wonders if that’s what having a mother should be like. It doesn’t help shaking the tears away.
“Yes.” It’s barely audible, and for a moment it feels like there’s no longer a weight over her chest, because someone else is helping her to carry it. Still, she can’t help but say “I’m sorry.”
The words don’t match the powerful image Lena has created for herself, the words don’t match the too mature for a still too young CEO façade Lena Luthor puts on every day. They are nothing but a soft admission of the girl she once were, just Lena.
“What are you sorry for, sweetie?”
Suddenly it’s too much: the admission, the love she hears on those words, caring, the tears still threatening to fall. It’s all too much, Lena realizes.
Lena takes a step back and Eliza lets her. When she looks up again to blue eyes, so alike Kara’s, she loses her breath for a second. But she locks her jaw the same way she learnt years ago and forces the words out.
“I know you don’t want someone like me loving your daughter.”
“Someone like you?”
“With a lot of baggage. With the family I have. Bad. Broken.”
“Oh, honey.”
She’s hugged before she can take a step back, and it takes all of her self-control not to break. It would’ve been too easy, Eliza has this effect on her. Anything and everything sound too easy.
“You’re not that. And I am so glad you love Kara, because she needs this. She needs you.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t need unrequited love. Not again.”
“No, she doesn’t. And that’s why she needs you.” Eliza loosens up her hold, she leans back enough to force Lena’s eyes back on hers, so she can see nothing but determination and truth. “You might not see it yet, but she is in love with you. I know that because I know my daughter. Sometimes she just takes a little longer to realize how she feels. And, other times, she takes even a while longer to act on her feelings. She’s not the most enlightened woman in the family.”
Lena manages a chuckle after that, takes a step back to create the much needed distance before it all became more than she could handle, but allows Eliza to keep a hand on her forearm.
“Now, you should take five minutes on the bathroom to recompose and then meet us outside, because I’m pretty sure Alex won’t save us any food if we take longer. She has survival instincts from growing up with Kara.” With one last squeeze of her fingers, Eliza lets her go and turns at the glass door, already striding to the backyard. She stops, hand smoothly placed over the handle and looks over her shoulder. “This stays between us for as long as you want.”
For the first time she feels a very welcomed tightness on her chest.
She wonders if that’s what feeling cared for feels like.
**
Lena tries to stay awake, she really does. But the minutes rapidly turn into hours and before she understands what is happening, is already one in the morning and she can’t find any more strength to fight the heavy eyelids.
It lasts until she feels the slow dip of the mattress behind her and the warmth of the slim body settling down. She gathers all the willpower she has to turn around, fingers easily finding the soft material of Kara’s t-shirt to tug her closer.
And it’s almost ridiculous how fast they find a comfortable position, with her head tucked under Kara’s chin, lips resting against the tan skin of Kara’s neck, while the latter arms find their way around Lena’s body, fingers dipping just below the waistband of her pants and resting calmly on her hips.
“Is everything alright?”
“Shhh. Sleep.”
She feels the ghost of lips against her temple and she finds it harder to disagree with Eliza.
Maybe it’s not that unrequited after all.
**
Kara is leaning against the kitchen sink the morning they have to leave. It’s way too early for Kara to be in a good mood, because six am on a Monday is just hellish, but she’s not in a bad mood. Not when she has Lena in front of her.
Not when she has Lena, in a soft sweatshirt and jeans, her glasses still framing her eyes and hair slightly disheveled as if she hadn’t bothered on fixing it after waking up. She looks up at Kara as she cradles her mug of coffee, eyelids dropping from tiredness but, still, she manages to send the smile she reserved for Kara and Kara only.
It makes her snap.
Kara never thought she could enjoy the taste of coffee. It’s bitter, it’s strong and even the smell makes her sick. But when the taste is on Lena Luthor’s lips, it has the potential of getting her addicted.
It doesn’t feel like a first kiss, not on the way her hand easily cups Lena’s cheek as her other hand rest on her waist. It also feels like a first kiss, on the way it’s barely a press of lips and the short gasp it prompts from Lena.
Their first kiss happens because Kara couldn’t take it any longer, because Kara needed it after all the times she wished Lena had been the one kissing her. And Kara liked to brag about her lack of addiction (Alex would always scoff and mumble "potstickers"), but, Rao, she was already addicted to the feeling of Lena’s soft lips on hers.
And she thinks she’s fucked up. Because Lena doesn’t move at first, she hears her heart race and the way her breathing changes, but she doesn’t move. Not until she takes a step closer, fingers grasping at the hem of Kara’s shirt and presses harder, tongue shyly seeking its way out.
Kara relents. If she had thought about the feeling of Lena’s lips, she surely wasn’t ready for the feeling of Lena’s tongue. She sighs, gets closer still and allows her hands to wander.
Hands find waist, lower back, the hem of light jeans, up to ribs, collarbones, neck. It’s with a hand at the soft hair on the base of Lena’s neck and the other with its fingers hooked loosely around belt loops, that Lena bites her lower lip for the first time. It’s something Kara never knew she needed.
There’s a moan, Kara doesn’t know who it belongs to, but it has the desired effect. Kara’s body heaths, her palms start to sweat, her heart beats as fast as Lena’s. And she hears the tiny, little gasps the girl she’s been in love with for weeks (months) lets out, she hears her nails raking up her back, she hears the low sound of skin brushing.
Suddenly, it’s too much, because she hasn’t been this overwhelmed since her first months on earth, she hasn’t felt this much in over a decade. So she takes a step back, a low whine ripping through Lena’s throat, and a simple chuckle from the blonde.
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked but you just looked too cute not to be kissed.”
“Smooth, Miss Danvers.” And she has an answer, but then Lena’s fingers start running against the skin just above the waistband of her own jeans, and words become a too complicated concept. “You kissed me.”
“Yeah, I did. I wanted to do this for weeks.”
She takes a moment, then, just to look at Lena Luthor, eyes still closed behind the lenses, swollen lips curved into a content smile, the shyest tingle of red threatening to appear on her cheeks.
Lena Luthor had to be the most beautiful woman she has ever seen. Sleepy, recently kissed Lena becomes her favorite version of the woman.
“I’m glad you finally did.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She just shakes her head no, a low humming sound coming from the back of her throat.
“We can talk about this later.”
Kara couldn’t agree more, especially so when Lena tilted her head and kissed her harder.
Alex walks in on them ten minutes later, when Kara has Lena pressed against marble, when hands are under clothes and lips are no longer on lips, but exploring newfound skin instead.
She clears her throat, it still takes two seconds too long for Kara to bring her head up from Lena’s neck and she swears she tries not to stare at the reddening spot just below her jawline.
“I’m glad you figured it all out, but we’re leaving and Maggie is driving, so if you want to make out for nine hours at the backseat, it’s not my problem.” Lena laughs, Kara can only hide her blushing cheeks by burying her face against a pale neck. “But, please, don’t make out.”
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I was tagged by @aconitum-napellus Thanks! Sorry for the delay....
**WARNING: I always write too much! Feel free to skip!**
Rules: Answer the 20 questions and tag 20 amazing people you would like to get to know better.
Name: Stephanie Wolfe Yeah, I know. You weren’t asking last name, but I like it enough that as a little girl I wondered how I could find a guy to marry that wasn’t related but had the same last one. I assumed you HAD to get rid of it when you married and I liked it too much to give up. I was so relieved to find out you don’t have to just cause you’re a girlie thing! Then I never got married anyway. LOL
Nicknames: Mom calls me “Flower”, it was “Little Flower” when I was growing up. Pop would call me, when I was upset or whatever, “Teffy Weffy” (usually accompanied by a pat on the shoulder, back or head) My family sometimes calls me “Steffy”
Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius
Height: Good question! My driver’s license has always said 5′ 10″ BUT this has never seemed quite right. I expect thick soles on my shoes for that first license. I suspect 5′ 9″ or even close to 5′ 8″
Orientation: Ah, see I naturally rebel against labeling. I REALLY hate it! This especially the case for something where limited experience makes it hard to be certain about you reaction to all circumstances. So far it has always attraction to males, and males where I found the personality attractive. The personality informs my asthetic judgement, but I can’t be certain it is males because of anatomy or “masculine” type personalities. My social circle has been small enough in my rural life I can’t say I’ve been “tested” enough to be proven 100%. 90% maybe? Ok, 80%. And while I am sure there catagories for what I feel, I honestly don’t care! LOL
Ethnicity: I’m an American. How about that? Good enough? I don’t really feel any allegiance, only historical interest, about my distant ancestory. I would check “white” on forms, because the relatives I know would call themselves such with ancestory mainly of the Scottish/English/French/Irish/etc. Still I KNOW I have a great great whatever grandfather that was Jewish (and the relatives that try to deny it, he has a star of David on his grave so shut up!) and a Cherokee great great whatever grandmother. But the truth is, who can tell what mix of genetics go into all of us? The human race isn’t made of pure breds but good ol’ mutts!
Serious question though....how long does the USA have to exist before we get catagorized by that instead of where our ancestors came from 400 years ago? (No really, some of my non English ancestors got the land I live on in the 1600s) I love diversity in culture, traditions, race, etc.....I just don’t get using ancestral homelands as a main identifier.
Favourite Fruit: All! LOL I gobble up blueberries and cherries like I can never stop. I love raspberries but they are too expensive to get often. This year I discovered a service berry tree in the woods, so I tried them for the first time. They were incredible and really did have hints of almond flavor like I read. At only five reachable non bird eaten berries I don’t think I can call it my favorite yet.....
Favourite Season: Autumn, though all of them are nice.
Favourite Book Series: I dunno! The fact is I’ve had far too little time to read for years now, so most the books are stand alone. Actually, even as a kid I’d usually not finish a series. (see my mini-me rage when I figured out what the Narnia books were REALLY about). For whatever reason, series where I’ve read every book are very few. I think I have a four book limit! (except Harry Potter since I had to read them aloud to my parents) I always end up ready to move on to something fresh, too busy or just disappointed around that point. I was loving the Thursday Next books, but then I got so busy that the last two ended in the “to read” pile.
Favourite Flower: ooh, tough! I have had an obsession with poppies, but my utter inability to grow them has gotten to me. I adore so much about how dandelions make magical seed heads, grow absolutely anywhere, are completely edible....but they are just so darn yellow, unfortunately. Pretty much it’s whatever flower I’m looking at right now! LOL
Favourite Scent: These are so impossible!! Wisteria flowers in full bloom, the smell of crushed dog fennel, the spices I mix to bake cookies at Christmas, the smell of the wet ropes on our boat at the river, baking bread, (this is really specific) the way it smells on our mountain smells in autumn when it rains...you know I could go on! LOL
Favourite Colour: red, but particularly the rich dark shades like burgundy
Coffee, Tea, or Cocoa: ALL! It depends on my mood, and if I can get Mom to not make endless pots of coffee. Decaf coffee, btw. I really have to be careful about caffeine.
Average Sleep Hours: Not enough!! LOL I always had been an 8hr person, but the last few years have been a mess, 3 hrs one night, 7 the next. I guess 6 is the most common amount.
Cat or Dog Person: BOTH! With six dogs and around a dozen cats I am sooo not picking favorites.
Favorite Fictional Characters: Geez, too many! I have different ones in every book, movie and other fandom, like if you asked favorite Doctor Who character I’d give you about a dozen! LOL Growing up Alice (in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass) and Pippi Longstocking were the two characters I most related to on a primal level, so let’s not turn this into an endless list and go with them.
Dream Trip: An open ended round the world trip with no schedule so you can explore as long as you feel like wherever you go. And not just other countries but some deep sea travel and Antarctica too. A dream trip with offworld travel included might be too much I guess. But whatever, having to ever come back must merely be options and NOT required! LOL
Blog Created: May 2015 (While I was sick with the flu, and clearly too feverish for good judgement! LOL)
Number of Followers: 1,771 but a LOT of them aren’t real. About a dozen of you ever click on anything I post, so I kind of ignore the number.....
I’m supposed tag people. You DO NOT have to do this!!
@runningbarefootthroughtheforest @theramblingrogue @kimikokat @whitexblackrose @omegadalek @lzbarnabas @awesome-beatles-fan
You know what? I’m starting to feel an anxiety about tagging people. Like suppose I tag someone and they hate these things? You never can tell how people will feel. One Christmas I gave blank journals to all my family, carefuly selected to have covers to the taste of each and with a note saying they could tear out the pages and use them for their grocery list if they didn’t want to write/draw in them. So what happens? My irate cousin rants at me that she’s sixty years old, she never kept a diary and has no damned intention to start now. She held it against me!!
Anyway, I’ll leave the ones I’ve listed (and may tag the same ones on this other game I’m answering) but you do NOT have to do either of these!!
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so here’s what’s been going on with me lately (this is a long post with a lot of rambling, sorry):
1. i haven’t been using this blog like at all. the last posts were from pretty early in my first semester at college. once i got through that initial hard part of getting used to the university environment, my life has been incredible. here’s a couple sub-points:
1a) i started hormone therapy (spiro tablets and an estradiol patch) in january. actually started on friday, january 13th which is beautiful and i love it. that also means that my 5 month anniversary is the day before my birthday this month. but that’s stuff you probably know from my tumblr and twitter.
1b) i really started to connect with a few people at college and now i have a better grasp of who i can trust and who i can turn to. that’s a weird and bad way of putting it, but it’s important that i know those things.
1c) i also started doing more with my online friends like cole and jack. in fact, i am now officially the Founder of something - i run a podcast network along with cole that’s shaping up to be pretty good. again, keep an eye on my twitter and tumblr.
1d) in the few weeks leading up to finals and summer break, i met a transfem person on okcupid in springfield. (she had “trans woman” on her bio when we found each other on the app, but i guess that’s no longer fully accurate. i haven’t asked her about labels or even pronouns yet because i’m a bad person.) her name is leslie and she is just stunningly gorgeous. we like a lot of the same things and we were kinda talking really vaguely about maybe having some kind of not-just-platonic relationship. i met up with her face-to-face for the first time just a couple days before i left for summer break. i like her a lot, but distance is hard and i get paranoid easily.
2. this brings me to the problem, and the reason i’m back on this blog after so long. i had to move back to tipton for summer break. i couldn’t find any internship or job or summer class to keep me in springfield so now i’m back in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do and no one to see. and it’s tearing me back down again. here come the sub-points.
2a) i came out to my parents about a year ago. the day before i moved to springfield, actually. my sister told me that it would help if i gave them some kind of expectation or directive - something they could do to show support. i asked them to use my name and my pronouns when we were alone. just in private, not a big task, and i made sure that they knew i wasn’t expecting perfection. my mother has used my name one time in the year since. my dad has not. neither have used my pronouns. i tried to confront them about this the other day. their reasoning boiled down to: well, we have some problems with how you act at home and so we’re not going to give you the basic respect of name and pronouns. fuck, i’m being reductive but they literally brought up how i don’t refill water jugs or how i don’t like eating with other people. during the conversation i was trying to have about my pronouns. they brought up other things that i feel are part of me being somewhat autistic (that’s a separate conversation). my mother said to me that when she thinks of trying to say my name out loud, it makes her want to throw up. she said that to my face. and i’m the one who has to change my behavior.
2b) there’s no one here. in college, i had easy access to my college friends (who are actually pretty good at handling heavy topics), my online friends, support groups, and my counselor. if i felt something and i needed to talk about it, 80% of the time i had someone willing to talk with me. now i have my online friends and that’s it. i can’t talk about anything with my parents, i have no friends in tipton, and there’s not a single community within 30 miles of here where i could actually belong. there’s no lgbt center in tipton, there’s no pride celebrations in tipton, there’s no group counseling in tipton, there’s no therapists in tipton. the only thing i can do with my emotions is let them fester in my head.
2c) i’ve always felt negatively about tipton. my entire life i’ve hated this piece of shit town and everything around it, about it, and in it. i’m starting to think that my attitude of hating the physical place of tipton also started to apply to how i feel about my experiences being in the closet. all of the worst things in my life - being closeted, my bad relationship with my parents, my inability to find friends, the lack of resources - they all are tied to this town. that’s why it was so easy for me to adjust to springfield. i was ecstatic to leave the town where i had to endure 17 years of psychological harm. that’s maybe part of the reason i felt so good for so long in springfield too. i left everything bad behind. and now, i’m back. and all those 17 years and all those bad experiences just sat here in tipton and waited for me. add to that the fact that apparently my parents were fostering more resentment than i thought about the fact that i never wanted to come home. for me, tipton is everything wrong about the world in one place. if you were to make a community built on willful ignorance, it would be named tipton, missouri. my primary goal in life is to never have to be in tipton ever again. but here i am.
i think i’m done with the points and sub-points now, but now we’ve made it to my big fear right now and the reason i started writing this post in the first place. i think i might be slipping back into the tipton headspace. i went back to dressing more like i used to (old t-shirts, sweatpants). my dysphoria - while thankfully not as bad as it used to be - is coming back. the ever-present fear that i forgot was part of the atmosphere of tipton is back. ever since i got here, i haven’t been able to stop comparing my life during college to my life now. the main thing is that in college, i was actually happy. i was happy most of the time. i was happy in a general way that touched every part of my life. i realized this sometime in second semester.
see, i used to do this obnoxious depressive-nihilist-millenial thing where every time i crossed the street i’d make a half-joke in my head about getting hit by a car. it takes different forms, but i think you know what i’m talking about. sometime in second semester i crossed a street, saw a car, and had that thought about getting hit. and then immediately, i realized that no - no, i don’t want to die. that was the first time i ever remember having the explicit thought “i don’t want to die”. i felt like i had a future for the first time in my life. when i began to fully understand what that moment was for me, it was one of the most terrifying and the most liberating realizations of my entire life. liberating, because i recognized that there was a possible future where i could live as myself and be happy. terrifying, because i realized all at once that i should have had that feeling before, and tipton stole it away from me.
i described it to my counselor like this: tipton is a bubble, and it has an insidious way of making the people inside it think there’s nothing else in the world but tipton. tipton contains everything, and it’s not possible for someone to need something that tipton doesn’t have. remember how i said earlier that tipton has no lgbt centers, no theatres, no therapy? when you’re in tipton, you can’t need those things. nobody needs those things. what even is it that you think you need? those things don’t exist. you don’t need therapy, you just need to suck it up. why aren’t you like everyone else?
that’s what tipton did to me. and that’s what it’s trying to do to me again. i noticed today that my brain seems to have gone back to being depressed more often than not. but now i know there are other things than this god-forsaken hellhole. tipton is what drove me two steps from attempting suicide. i will burn the entire god damned place to the ground before i let it do that to me again. i don’t know how i’m going to avoid all this shit. i just know that i can’t let tipton destroy me for a second time.
i don’t have a game plan. all i have is this. i’m writing this on thursday. tomorrow i work. saturday i’m coming out to my grandparents. sunday, i’m coming out to my uncle. these are the people that my parents told me i need to talk to in person before i can come out on facebook. my public coming out will be at midnight on my birthday - wednesday. i want every obscure relative and forgotten acquaintance to see this post when they try to wish me a half-hearted happy birthday. i’m gonna spend the following two days dealing with the aftermath. i have no plans after that, but i think once i come out publicly i’ll be able to fight back more effectively. i’m going to rip control of my life out of the hands of this town and then i’m going to be the most important force in my life again.
i started this post because i felt sad and helpless about what tipton was doing to me. but for the first time, writing shit on this blog has actually helped me. all of this post boils down to what could be described as my supervillain origin story: this town ruined me once. now, i’m going to make it kneel before me.
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AU Thursday: Tell Me Where To Find Shelter -- The Reboot
Okay, so -- this past Saturday, I brought back the Pentatonix/Lindsey Stirling cover of Imagine Dragon’s “Radioactive,” and commented that part of the reason the song was on my mind was because I’ve been really getting into Fallout 4, which I’m playing with Victor as my Sole Survivor. This mean that, of course, I have a Valice AU for the game -- “Tell Me Where To Find Shelter.” I originally came up with a rather simplistic version of the AU aaaalll the way back in 2016, based on what little I knew about the game (and the series in general) from getting into the Fallout Shelter mobile game and seeing a friend’s posts about her Sole Survivor. That original version could be summed up as basically “the prologue sequence, only Victor and Victoria are secretly in a poly relationship with Emily, who dies too when their kid is stolen, and Victor discovers Alice alive in the Vault as the only other one who made it -- they go out into the Wasteland together to discover what happened to Victor’s kid.” Pretty simple, right?
Yeah, you can throw all that out. Now, I have actually played the game, spoiled myself on the main quest and a lot of the side quests because I don’t give a damn, and have done a bit of research on the history of the Fallout verse as a whole. (Short version: It sucks. It sucks a lot.) So I have a lot of new ideas, meaning it’s time to reboot this verse! I wouldn’t expect a full-fledged story to come out of this (you’ve seen me panicking over the size of “Londerland Bloodlines,” right? Which is based off an action RPG that is reasonably linear and has a timeline of a month? Fallout 4 is open world and while the main quest is linear, the fact that I’ve been able to ignore it for MONTHS in-game because I can’t say no to Preston Garvey is -- eeep), but I may at least do a few snippets and whatnot.
So! Let me share what I’ve got regarding Victor’s history as the Sole Survivor of Vault 111 -- I’m gonna try to keep it to more general thoughts as I’m not totally up on the history of the Fallout world, and things may have to be adjusted if I later discover that something in the canon strongly contradicts it:
-->I have got his birth date: June 9th, 2050. This makes him 27 at the start of Fallout 4, which I felt was reasonable based on the Fallout Wiki stating both Sole Survivors were likely born between the early 2040s and the mid 2050s.
-->I still want him to be born in England, and have his family move to America a little later in his life -- though when is complicated by the whole Euro-Middle Eastern War and the New Plague putting America under quarantine for a while. The latest I can imagine is them making it over in his early teens or so, having left the broken-down wreck of the U.K. to rebuild fortunes in America.
-->They do indeed rebuild fortunes in America -- Boston, Massachusetts, to be precise. William sets up an extremely lucrative fish-canning business and makes sure to support the military extensively. (The Four Leaf fishpacking plant is almost certainly one of his in this timeline.)
-->The Victor/Victoria/Emily poly thing still happens, kicked off by Victor’s parents pressuring him into dating Victoria (whom he likes), Victor making friends with Emily (whom he also likes) -- and Victor accidentally asking Emily to prom via trying to rehearse his lines to ask Victoria to prom. Feeling bad as Emily is coming off a really bad breakup with an ass named Barkis (who stole a lot of money from her in a long con), he clears it with both girls to take Emily, and later they help defend Victoria when Barkis returns during the party and try to rob her. This leads to a close friendship, which eventually becomes something more.
-->Victor ends up being pulled into the Sino-American war straight out of high school -- William attempts to buy his way out, but for once his money doesn’t work, and Victor ends up fighting in Anchorage, Alaska.
-->This version of Victor, while still into butterflies and moths, is also a tinkerer, and quickly becomes known among his fellow soldiers in Fox Company (108th Infantry Regiment, 2nd Battalion) as “that guy who can fix anything with duct tape and Wonderglue.” (I do enjoy my armor and gun mods -- everything must be deep pocketed!)
-->I’m not sure what Victor does to earn his “decorated war hero” status yet (probably saved the lives of a lot of men with some quick repairs and shooting), but it’s enough to finally get him discharged around 2076. Victoria and Emily had gotten together while he was stuck fighting, but are only too happy to let him into their relationship. Victor officially marries Victoria to keep his parents happy, and they move into Sanctuary Hills with Emily pretending to be their “eventual live-in babysitter” to avoid scrutiny from the parents.
-->And then, during a park escapade, Victoria ends up pregnant. Baby Shaun is welcomed to the world July 31st, 2077. Everyone is thrilled, and Victor picks up a Mr. Handy soon afterward to help with baby care.
-->And then, of course, the bombs drop on October 23rd, 2077. Victor, Victoria, Emily, and Shaun just barely make it into Vault 111, and end up in cryonic suspension -- Victoria is later shot when her and Victor’s pods are reactivated during the kidnapping, and Emily dies quietly when the life support is cut to all but Victor’s pod. Victor is absolutely devastated by their deaths, and takes Victoria’s wedding ring and Emily’s favorite butterfly hair clip as mementos to remember them by before leaving Vault 111.
-->As for the actual game stuff:
Victor’s starting SPECIAL stats were Strength 4, Perception 3, Endurance 7, Charisma 2, Intelligence 8, Agility 3, Luck 3. I’ve been mainly improving Strength for carry weight, though I recently started working seriously on bumping up Charisma because I have realized making it a dump stat was probably not the greatest idea.
I can’t list all his current perks off the top of my head, but Armorer and Gun Nut are up there -- he’s very much a shooty-bang-bang kind of guy, and I believe I mentioned loving deep pockets?
Victor hasn’t met all the factions yet, but -- he’s definitely a Minuteman. I am so easily distracted by those quests, it’s not even funny. ...Well, it’s a little funny. XD He was only too happy to help Preston Garvey’s group set up in Sanctuary Hills, and he and Preston are best friends now -- aka, Preston’s the first companion who idolizes me and whose perk I got. He’s a LITTLE awkward about the whole “General” thing (”Preston, you’re the one always telling ME what to do”) but he’ll grow into it.
As for the other factions -- he’s met Paladin Danse and helped him out at Arcjet, but refused the offer to join the Brotherhood. . .he might go back and do some missions with them, but I don’t think he’s going to like Elder Maxson’s views on synths and ghouls (Super Mutants -- okay, Super Mutants are assholes). He hasn’t met the Railroad yet, but I think he’ll like them and join up to help, even if he thinks some of their methods need tweaking. The Institute -- I think he’ll be of the mind that their discoveries are good, but they’re using them for such evil purposes, and -- ugh.
That being said, I’d like to go for the Minutemen ending that does not require warring with the Brotherhood of Steel, simply because there are kids on that airship and I’d feel bad shooting it down. If there was a way to just get rid of Maxson and maybe yank the Brotherhood closer to its Fallout 3 views. . .and if not blowing up the Institute was an option, Victor would be for it. Getting rid of the top brass who have completely written off the Commonwealth is one thing -- but the building, with all its advances? That could be useful.
Oh, and yes, he is adopting Synth Shaun -- but he is letting the kid know who and what he is, to help him forge his own path in life. (Synth Shaun also correctly guesses his new Dad feels awkward calling him by his predecessor’s name, and they decide on “Chester” instead.)
As for companions he’s currently met -- mentioned already that Preston’s his best friend, and he’s a solid supporter of the Minutemen. He adores Dogmeat and has made him a doghouse to live in at the Red Rocket near Sanctuary. He likes Piper Wright and her desire to spread the news quite a lot (and finds her attractive too). Danse he admires for his commitment to his men and his cause, but doesn’t really know him beyond that due to not joining the BoS. He IS very thankful for the gun, though -- Righteous Authority is useful! Codsworth and he had some rough moments at the beginning (I gave Mama Murphy some Jet for a vision, and poor guy got in the way of some friendly fire on an early trip), but seeing Victor get his modding on has improved their relationship quite a bit (Codsworth sees it as Victor getting back to his old helpful self). He’s encountered Ada and has grown quite fond of the little robot, wanting to help her avenge her slaughtered caravan family (WHY CAN I NOT HUG THE ROBOT). And he’s rescued Strong from Trinity Tower. . .and ended up getting sick of the Super Mutant’s constant negative comments toward humanity and inability to figure out stealth. He was helpful in taking back The Castle, but currently Victor’s got him living with a couple of settlers as a “guard” of sorts, in the hopes it’ll keep him busy and out of Victor’s hair.
And now you may notice there’s a strange lack in this longer-than-I-anticipated write-up. . .namely, where the hell is Alice? Well, that question has three answers:
-->For the purposes of my playthrough, I’m designating Piper as Alice -- she’s going to be Victor’s romance option in this game. (Me turning my attention to boosting Charisma may have been inspired by being unable to flirt with her during an affinity conversation no matter how many times I reloaded.)
-->An idea I had recently to put Alice in the verse was have her as a native-born Wastelander/escapee from a Vault (latter would probably be best to keep her history -- oh cripes, maybe she was from a Vault where BUMBY was OVERSEER, imagine THAT horror) who discovers the history of the “Order of Mysteries” (a group of women, lead by the old voice actress of the Mistress of Mysteries, who turned herself into a legit superhero post-Great War -- unfortunately betrayal led to the group dying out) and decides to take up the mantle, much like the Sole Survivor can become the Silver Shroud. She’d show up not long after Victor starts Shrouding around, asking to meet -- they’d have a little spar, end up fighting another enemy together, and she’d join up as a companion, leading to eventual romance.
-->But the first idea I had to get Alice into the story was. . .well. . .
Let me put it this way -- for quite a while, I was playing both Vampire: the Masquerade -- Bloodlines and Fallout 4 at the same time.
. . .yeah, I think this is going to need another post.
#tell me where to find shelter#fallout 4#victor van dort#in which I ramble on a lot about an AU that really only lives in my head#so what else is new XD#yeah I was originally going to have the Van Dorts come to America when Victor was 15#then I thought 'maybe that's too late'#looked at the timing of the Euro-Middle Eastern War#'okay maybe they leave when he's pretty young to get away from THAT mess'#and then I discovered the timing of the New Plague#'I'm not giving him up as English-born Fallout YOU CAN'T MAKE ME'#so yeah now that's happily vague#but he's in Boston and naturalized by the time he ends up in the Army#also can you tell what companion I like the least?#Strong I had high hopes for you#but then you WOULDN'T SHUT UP about Super Mutants killing everything#pathetically he admires me because I took him around killing lots of stuff while exploring the Commonwealth#also why is there no option to comfort Ada when she talks about her loss#I tried to and I got options like Disable Personality#no game fuck you#let me hug the robot#I have Feelings about this game now can you tell?#queued
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Lost.....
Alright I guess I need to clarify. This week I was to attend a workshop at McMaster for Storytelling in Multimedia, with collaboration from a partner group working with sound and sonification. I was hoping to get some insight into telling my story as I have tried so much myself in the past. This was not part of my animation classes I would never give that up, on something like this. They dont start until Sept. This was to help me get a little insight.
The first day they dropped this entire concept. Instead of storytelling, we were working on projects that the "teachers" found interesting. That meant that my story may have to wait. I did understand all of the concepts the master speakers were discussing . I did not understand the digital programing conversations. The group were amazing people with different and shared backgrounds in many ways. I could see them having major connections to each other within the fields they were a part of. I did share my idea. As a group meeting exercise, Zoey got out there and the group were all very supportive and interested. That was the great part of this. My fear to show others and accept that they like it was again tested and I felt ok about it. We all are asked to present a "project" on our concept at the end of the week, in a theater setting. (Today).
The next day with that in mind I tried to figure out what to do. Most of the group fitted together with the skills they shared. It was suggested that I could work on my own and make a storyboard. I was very excited because I would finally get some useful knowledge about storyboarding from someone other than Google. The assistant teacher, tried using the learning technique of using “could” to make ideas happen. I have done that to death and expressed that. However, because cant express myself properly, I was given the advice to “just do whatever you feel”. “Go online and get some examples from Google” “you just got to jump in and do it�� was suggested as well. I get that. I have heard that. It is not helpful. I then tried to get the idea across about how to make a storyboard. b I need to write a script. I asked how do I approach that? You need to write dialogue. I said great how do I do that? Conceptualize the characters and think about what they feel and how they think. Which is more of where he wanted the conversation to go. As what typically happens in this kind of collaboration, is that is becomes less about my concept and more about how to modify that concept. Now, I have that concept we were discussing, and it’s all worked out. I would have liked to have figured out a way to communicate this with him but people again say I am being difficult so I stop. To me, it is keeping the integrity of my concept, over the feelings of inclusion for someone other than my work. Sigh, I really just wanted a quick, simplified way to approach a storyboard so I could communicate my idea. I was left to my own devices because this comes off as me being “difficult”. Using my hate for the concept of “could” and the infinite possibility of could without the” I will/ I am” after it, I made a crude game. Now I had something at least to show, even if it felt negative. Like giving the bird to someone.
The next day we again were left on our own to record sounds. I have no use for that skill yet but it was interesting as someday DarkWorld will need sounds. Because the other members had worked out what they wanted to do within their groups, they were very busy with each other. I got to talk to many of them and even the other group members from the sound concepts, would chat with me. They again are amazing. The masterclass was on body awareness in itself, space and in the digital art world.I made a mistake with this. I forgot my chronic pain. I wanted to participate and became aware of the inner workings of my body. The pain level I keep at 7 went to 9.5 in an instant. I have to ignore my body the pain it generates constantly in order to manage myself. After this spike of pain was not able to participate with the rest of the group. My pain was misinterpreted as hesitation by a kind person. I did need to tell someone I could not be a part of this experience, which as typical, was met with loss of understanding. After the next master speaker we were again back to working on our concepts. Without knowing what to do with either project, I was again lost. I had DarkWorld and some kind of game I was not into. With nowhere to really go with my ideas. I was very sad about this and sat working on nothing for the rest of the day.
I was again choosing to leave the past day behind. I still had nothing I wanted to do, and no way to use DarkWorld to communicate. The speaker was giving us insight into types of people and how they work together in groups in a project setting. I have seen this kind of dynamic work in the group setting many times. The only point I did not agree with was that the four kinds of people in this concept were never within a single person. However, cosplayers are the embodiment of that idea. They conceptualize, innovate, experiment and produce their ideas. After this, I had more great conversations with the other members of both groups. I got to touch on what they were working with and even talked anime. Then we went back to work. This topic was on citizing each other's work in a healthy and respectful way. A system of colored “hat” cards to give us a way to give feedback on our projects. I again understood this, and had no project to critique, or better yet, no game I cared enough about to have meaning in the feedback. So I left 2 hours early after sitting alone in my mind for the same amount of time. I came home on the bus, stuck in my mind, getting more depressed as I got closer to home. I couldn't draw, play games, watch anything, because I had nothing. I got in and right away, slept until the next day.
This was Thursday, and I was not moving on DarkWorld. I took the idea to just work on my stuff as if I was at home. I brought my laptop and drawing tablet, all my ideas in my sourcebook, hoping I could figure out something to show everyone. I sat uncomfortably. With nothing. I did not have the comfort of my workspace. If I had been given insight into how to approach the story making aspect of this workshop I could have followed that path and branched out creatively from that seed. I would have had something I could have communicated with everyone and had feedback I could use. I did not have that though. Up to and even after that days master class on the visual representation of sonic images and the sound of nano object as an expression I felt lost in tech language. I liked the concept but again, I dont know the math or software that is the language these artists speak. I approached the program director, I was filled with fear to do this, and let them know that I was not feeling the connection to this class. They accepted this.I said that the expericance of sharing my work was scary but a good feeling too. They said that they were glad that I took something from this workshop, whatever that maybe. They suggested that I stay as a fly on the wall and that the group was glad to have me there. I was “in a safe space” which was an odd statement. I never felt anyone didn’t want me there or that I was “unsafe” but I was too emotional to say that. I asked if maybe my fear was getting the better of me because I was looking for a reason to overcome that fear. They were vague about their opinion on that idea, which is typical. I then suggested I go for a break outside and come back refreshed. Anything I could think of to stay. Thankfully they agreed it might help. So I tried everything I could think of to get my spark going. I sat outside, medicated myself, felt the movement of the wind, watched the grass dance, let the sun warm my skin. I used music to inspire me. I used visualization of bio matter gel to shape my ideas., Nothing worked. I went back to the “Lab” hoping that I could at least get through the day. I could not. I left after sitting for half and hour doing nothing but hating myself for not being able to find a place and belong. I could not communicate. I was lost, sad, but accepted and encouraged to go wherever I felt.
Today, I could not stand in front of these amazing people and tell them I could not be part of their world. I can't say that I did not understand what was expected of me in a place that has no expectations. I want so badly to be a part of that place because I felt warm there, within my mind and my soul. Which I have not felt before. Even now I am overwhelmed by sadness and my voice is useless to my heart. My inability to connect with others is a sadness consumes me. I never learned how to say “can I play with you guys?” I dont romanticize these people, I look up to them as they are. I feel I can’t go back. I dont belong yet. I might soon. When I have knowledge. For now, I think I will be small. I will be quite. I will go in myself again. I can not say these words, I dont have the ability to communicate that way. I left for those amazing people a small note. A hope, that I expressed to them that I loved that expricance because of them. I wish so much to meet them again, and to be able to communicate with them and work with them in my future. I was vague in my sadness yesterday when I wrote about my day. Because I expressed my excitement about this workshop here, I wanted to make sure I followed up with what happened and how I experienced it. I do not regret this experience. I learned a lot about art, how groups work, and myself. I only feel sad because I was not able to fully experience it.
Thank you
Hexed
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3.2.2017 9:56 p.m.
It’s Thursday night. The vibe as of late has been been me regretting my emotional outbursts and inability to control my reactions to things that upset or bother me. It wasn’t until bae left for work this morning and I attempted to go back to sleep that I realized how much his words and these issues were consuming me. I had one of the worst dreams.
--There was a house party in a dingy home. Like a cross between a Rockhurst party house and something less occupied like a trap house or whatever. I get there with bae, white guys are being rude to me. A girl bumps into me hard and her boyfriend defends her, treating me like the piece of shit in her way. I try to find bae and share these occurrences with him, yet his attention is not on me. It’s more focused on kicking it at this party and getting lit*. I stop trying to share because in the end, I’m not gonna be heard*. The next thing I know, I’m waking up and apparently many people fell asleep there. I search for bae. Everyone is under covers. On one huge bed, I poke at it and out comes Carlo, Angelo and AK. Moving on... Theres a stranger. Next bed...there’s the silhouette of 2 figures. I poke one and as bae comes from under those covers, a female comes out beside him. I look and immediately ask, “Why are you in bed with her?” He looks over nonchalantly and smiles at her. The girl looks more worried than him. I ask this time, “Did you sleep together?” The girl immediately attempts to lie and say no. Bae calms her and reassures her that it’s alright and smiles while answering, “Yeah we did.” The pain feels so bad I go numb. I throw my hands up, unable to say a damn thing (which is completely out of character for me because I share everything I dislike in the heat of the moment). I start walking away and all I can muster is a meek “You lost me.” I search the house frantically for my keys and phone to leave and never look back. I can tell he’s slowly moving to get dressed and indifferently says in my trail, “Why are you being so dramatic?*” I respond, “You sabotaged us and ruined any chance at a future.” He tells me I’M THE ONE WHO’S BEEN SABOTAGING US*. As if my contributions of problems are anywhere near equivalent to his actions. I tell him he has no self-discipline*. He watches me go to my car and all he can do is present with a snide chuckle.--
Break. Back to reality I awake and I’m shaken the fuck up. I cried the way a baby does after it wakes from a bad dream because as it turns out, bae was texting me the sweetest things in reality.
So what in the fuck?
How is it that my subconscious is in such overdrive that reality turns into fallacies? I’m living in a hallucination.
Im writing this evening to share that my emotions are taking a fucking toll. They always have been there like a shadow I can’t escape, but it’s more apparent now than ever. I have someone worth working and fighting my inner self for. Yet daily, situationally, and instantaneously, I’m being tested.
Feelings fucking come and go. So how does one ignore without feeling repressed? How does one feel better when your blood begins to boil and you spew out the most intense words you can? 25 gotdamn years old... There’s gotta be a way for me to figure this out.
People have judged me...I’ve judged myself harder.
People have been confused by my thoughts, words and actions...I’ve been completely bewildered at my capabilities.
People have thought I didn’t care due to what they see come from me... I’ve fought so hard to get through the intense emotions, responses I hurl out and make it heard that I DO CARE. It’s so challenging to fight through a dark cloud looming over me at times.
I’m not depressed. But I sure as hell can tell you what I feel I am.
I feel annoyed, upset, angry at times, bitter, petty, cold, savage, hard, sad, helpless, misunderstood, belittled, and then hopelessly tired... All within a day... Multiple times a day when my mind goes into overdrive and intensifies.
Can you imagine? I mean really... just fucking imagine trying to fight every single one of those emotions constantly. Do you know how tiring it is? Do you know how hopeless it makes me feel about my goodness? Do you know how dark of a perception I can form of myself when I feel out of control? Do you know how embarrassing it is to know that there are people who actually care for my dysfunctional ass knowing exactly all I have to offer back to them? Do you know what it’s like to let myself, my parents, my friends, and most importantly my significant other down constantly? Do you know how much I hate lies? Do you know how much I stress about the fact that I think I look crazy saying all these good things I want to do and can only show my bad side when shit hits a nerve? Do you know how misunderstood and alone I feel? Do you know how undeserving of good things I feel regularly? Do you know how little love I feel I deserve?
The thoughts are overwhelming.
I’m tired.
I just wanna curl up in a ball sometimes and close my eyes to sleep so it can all stop or slow down... then they sneak their way into my dreams. Perfect. Fucking perfect.
I am determined like never before to read, research, observe myself carefully, understand my triggers, practice silence when I’m poked for my dysfunction, and just find a relationship again with God. I’ve been a mess without him and I know that I need someone who knows my inner thoughts, my intentions, my good nature that I want to shine through and who knows that I am stronger than these measly thoughts and emotions.
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