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oneunexpected · 3 years

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Gregor+friendship headcanon, and Hamnet+sad headcanon 👀😭💕

This got REEEEEALLY long.

Gregor + friendship headcanon:

-He doesn’t know what to do about Larry and Angelina when he gets back to the surface.

-the lie his family settles on is Lyme disease: they say both Gregor and his dad contracted it while camping back when the “miscommunication” between his mom and dad occurred (read: the first time Gregor and Boots fell), and it’s had chronic implications for the both of them.

-it makes it easier to explain why they decide to move in with his uncle in Virginia, too.

-he wants so badly to tell the truth. SO badly. But he’s unwilling, because if they believed him... what then? What do you do when your 12-year-old friend disappears and comes back a war veteran? And even then, what if they got too curious and sought out to find the Underland? Gregor can’t risk it.

-even though he figures it’s for the best, he always regrets it a little.

-after Gregor moves, they play video games together online. It’s a good way to stay in touch. That way, they spend some time together virtually, and any discussion outside of game strategy is relegated to the simple catch-up stuff: what projects they’re up to in school, how their families are doing, wild rumors they’ve heard. It helps everything feel a little more normal for Gregor.

-when he met Larry and Angelina, it was back when he was young enough that kids just made friends with whoever. By the time he gets to Virginia, though, friendships are made a lot more through clubs and mutual interests. There are plenty of random people who reach out to him when he first moves, though, concerned about the new kid, wanting to make sure he felt welcome. They’re all nice. Some of the friendships stick, some don’t. He fits in well enough with the band kids, though band’s inherently clique-y format makes it hard to break in at first. By high school, the scars on his legs are flat enough that he joins the cross country and track teams. Sometimes people question why he always wears long sleeve t-shirts, even in the sweltering heat, but they never push him past his generic excuses. He also joins the school robotics team. Between the three, he has lots of friends across the school.

-he’s not particularly close with many, though. His closest friends are a clarinet player, one of his track relay teammates, and a kid who was always cracking jokes in biology when they were stressed about upcoming tests.

-everyone knows there’s something a little off, but none of his friends mind that much. He’s kind, he’s clever, he’s a great sax player, he’s fast, and once again, he’s really kind—so who cares if he’s mysterious as hell.

-that changes when he loses control of raging and breaks a guy’s nose in the hallway during his 8th grade year. His fairly large circle of somewhat shallow friendships shrinks significantly—but those he’s closest to stay loyal, and they do their part to make sure he’s not ostracized. “Honestly, man, he had it coming,” says his friend from bio.

-it all makes things a little easier for Gregor. There’s still so much he’s healing from. There’s still so much that limits him. There’s still so much he misses, both in New York and the Underland. And it can be so alienating. But when he’s playing in a jazz ensemble, or when he’s at someone’s birthday party, or when he’s crammed into a car with some cross country buddies headed to get some fast food after a particularly exhausting practice—it’s all a little easier.

-sometimes, though, even the good moments hurt when he remembers just how different their lives are from his.

-he visits Larry and Angelina the summer before his senior year, and even though their video game shenanigans are few and far between by then, he’s relieved by how easy it is to be around them. They cover lost ground fast, fueled by their excitement to see one another. Angelina’s working as a stagehand on Broadway for the summer. Larry’s mom just bought him a new drawing tablet and he shows Gregor what he’s been working on. They spend hours just catching up and laughing. They’ve grown apart, sure, but the affection remains.

Hamnet + sad headcanon

Nothing I could headcanon would be sadder than actual canon, so I hope it’s alright if I take an alternate approach here:

-When he disappears, nobody asks Susannah how she’s doing that much.

-Maybe they think she’s removed from it, sequestered away in the Fount. Maybe her physical distance just puts her out of sight, out of mind.

-Maybe they think she’s too immersed in Howard and Stellovet and the twins on their way to really feel it.

-Maybe it’s because Judith and Hamnet were just so close. For Judith, it’s like losing a part of herself. “He was a part of me, too,” she sobs to York one night.

-Maybe, just maybe, it’s because she’s the eldest: she’s supposed to be the strong one, the caretaker, the first to sacrifice.

-Judith knows she has to stay strong. She is a queen. Her weakness is her people’s weakness, and losing their best commander is a vulnerability enough in itself.

-but she’s so angry, angry at her husband and her mother for organizing the attack, angry at her father and herself for not doing anything about it, angry at Hamnet for leaving her, oh, she’s furious at him.

-it doesn’t take long to strip the anger back. When you do, there is only the grief.

-when the baby is sleeping, when her husband is sleeping, she slips down into the abandoned nursery where she and Hamnet and the others her age were once cared for and wails.

-after a few weeks, she visits Susannah. They cling to each other in Susannah’s drawing room until the early hours of the morning, at first in silence, until Judith finally says, “I think I was too passive.” Susannah wants to laugh—everyone always said she was the passive one of the three.

-after that, it’s like a dam has broken. (Ooh, poor choice of words.) Susannah tells stories of when the twins were really little. There’s the time when Susannah was trying to feed baby Judith mashed sweet potatoes and Judith bit her, which had their mother in stitches of laughter even as she tried to scold Judith, the time four-year-old Hamnet refused to leave Susannah’s side during a festival because he was afraid of the people in costumes roaming about... there are many stories. Judith chimes in with her own. They laugh and cry and laugh and cry.

-the elephant in the room is the injustice of the attack itself. Neither one of them knows how to navigate it, but it fuels their confusion and it fuels their grief.

-Their father doesn’t know how to navigate it, either.

-Vikus knows he is culpable. It’s his job to make sure Regalians stay true to their word. It’s his job to balance out Solovet’s tendencies. It’s his job to look out for his children’s well-being. He’s failed. He’s complicit. And his son is gone.

-he knows, on some level, that the part of him that’s in Hamnet is what drove his son to leave. It’s what drove him insane in the first place, and it’s the reason he tried to save the drowning gnawers that day, too. Vikus doesn’t know how to sit with that knowledge. If his son was more like Solovet, maybe he would have lived.

-it wasn’t an easy birth. Solovet lost way too much blood and the twins were just so small when they were born. Even then, when her mind was clouded by hypovolemic shock, she couldn’t stand to see the doctors whisking them away. When she came to, someone had laid the twins in her arms, where they slept peacefully. Vikus beamed at her from a corner of the room. She was so, so proud.

-she never knew fear quite like she did when Mareth brought Hamnet home and he couldn’t recognize any of them. Couldn’t even speak. She never let on how scared she was, of course, but she felt it nonetheless. She was disappointed, too.

-when they received word Hamnet was missing, Solovet was immediately giving orders. “Check every route out from the city. Locate and interrogate every guard on duty last night. Send word to the Fount and Troy.” Find him.

-she knew they wouldn’t. He was too clever for that. As she goes to sleep that night, there’s a cold weight pressing in on her sternum. He could have been great, she thinks. He was so close.

Thanks for the ask! Headcanon meme found here.

#mmmmmm I really wanna develop the Vikus/Solovet clan more but it’s SOOO hard. so little characterization for Susannah or Judith #gregor the overlander #the underland chronicles #headcanon #gregor #angelina #larry #hamnet #susannah #judith #vikus #solovet #answered

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thenexusofsouls · 3 years

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Muse: Ben Leonard

[Bio and other information below the cut!]

Type of Character & Fandom/Source Material: Canon-divergent character from Savages (2012), only because I would largely write him separate from Chon and O, which if you’ve seen the movie you know that is already a huge change to his character. I would either go with them both being dead (the “bad” ending standing but Ben survives), or Chon and O being in a relationship with Ben being off by himself. This just makes him better able to have threads alone and gives me more starter/plot options for him if he’s not locked into his relationship with Chon and O.

FC: Aaron Taylor-Johnson as Ben in Savages

Race: Human

Age: 22-24 (verse dependent)

Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Pansexual/Panromantic

Occupation: “Entrepreneur,” “self-employed,” “engaged in private ventures,” which are all polite covers for being in the marijuana growing, processing, and distribution business.

Family: Parents he doesn’t see much anymore; best friend, Chon; girlfriend, Ophelia a.k.a. “O”

Potentially Triggering Material in Threads: Mentions of drug use (marijuana, both toking and using bongs) and the drug business (in California, overseas, and Mexican cartels); violence (especially gun violence; mention/imagery of blood from gunshots wounds. Generally I don’t tag a lot of this stuff, but if the drug use gets described or shown in detail I will tag it and put it under a read more.

Negative Personality Traits: Honest and idealistic to a fault; sometimes naïve; sometimes not fully understand human nature and how the darker aspects of life operate, which can make him vulnerable and an easy target; he does like money and living a life with a lot of free time and disposable income

Positive Personality Traits: Giving; caring; selfless; loving; affectionate; considerate; hardworking; generous; compassionate; socially aware with regard to human rights issues and the environment

Background: Ben grew up in California, and at first glance, it was a typical middle-class upbringing and he was a typical surfer guy. But Ben was incredibly smart and ended up being the salutatorian at his high school. He then went on to get dual degrees in business management and botany (plant science). This was intentional, because as smart as Ben was, he knew he was not cut out for a 9-to-5 cubicle desk job. He wanted to grow weed. Marijuana. And he had many reasons for this… one was that he just flat out loved it for recreational use. Another reason was that he saw the very genuine benefits it provided to those with chronic pain, and Ben was nothing if not a generous, empathetic, and sympathetic person. He wanted to help people.

He went into business with his best friend Chon, an Iraq war veteran. They had been best friends since childhood, inseparable. Together with Chon’s muscle and confidence, Ben’s knowledge and expertise, and a little bit of time and savvy investing, the two were able to not only start their own pot business… they became infamous. With his knowledge of botany, Ben was able to analyze the plants he grew and breed various lines of them with different flavors. The amount of THC in them was an order of magnitude higher in Ben’s plants than others, resulting in excellent products they called their “primo.” Very quickly, they were in high demand.

It was during the startup of this business that Ben and Chon met O (short for Ophelia). Both men love her, and their three-way relationship, while not at all traditional by the standards of most, actually worked. In O’s own words, “We all loved each other so much.” In Ben’s canon movie, the guys get into trouble when a Mexican cartel takes notice of them and wants to assimilate their business into theirs. When they refuse, O is captured, and they are forced to do whatever it takes to punish the cartel and get her back… and stay alive. As a Buddhist and pacifist, Ben struggled with the idea of taking up guns and explosives and having to kill to protect O, but he’s loyal, and once he loves you, he would die for you. Or in this case, sell his soul for you. Although he felt horrible for what he was doing, he saw it as a necessary evil to protect innocent O and stop the cartel from hurting anyone else. It wasn’t easy for him, but he did what he had to do.

Potential Starter Ideas:

Pre-movie Ben could just be a dude living in California with his pot dispenser store.

Post-movie Ben could have survived his gunshot wound (from the “bad” ending of the movie), and just gotten out of jail (where he served for only a few weeks because reasons). Chon and O were killed, so this Ben would be sadder, quieter, like a spark had left him. However, he would be looking to make a new start and could potentially be recruited by law enforcement agencies for a number of purposes based on his favorable connections to the Feds previous and his education/skillset.

Fun facts: He’s helped villages in Africa and Asia live more sustainably, more safely, and have better access to clean water, education, and health care. Ben still surfs after all these years. He never gave it up. Also, he loves to travel, and finds it difficult to settle down or stay in one place for too long. There is so much out there to see and do, in his opinion.

#muse: ben leonard #about the muses

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dc-superhero · 4 years

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Red and Blue - blue beetle x reader

The team are both surprised and suspicious when a young girl turns up with a scarf just like Jaime's and the Reach. But Jaime is just star struck, not to mention Scarab is pestering him over you.

"It’s a simple mission. Well split up into two groups. M'gann, Superboy, Bart, L'gann Boy and myself in one group, Nightwing, Blue Beetle, Wondergirl and Robin in the other."

Aqualad looked round at the members present in the meeting, some were busy either dealing with their own problems or helping their mentors whilst others had to deal with issues from their own lives. He was fine with the group assembled though, all experienced and practical fighters, well maybe except Impulse.

In return the group nodded, resdy to suit up for the mission and head out.

"This is so crash, an undercover covert mission, ninjas and a cool tropical island. Not gonna be feeling the mode today, woo !"

As the others dissembled to board the Bio-ship and rests themselves for the mission, Impulse dashed over to his best bud Blue Beetle chatting away at a hundred miles a minute. Unlike the others these covert missions were new to him, he’d only arrived about two weeks ago and found everything to be just as exciting and crash as people in the future told him, like Nathaniel or his parents. He couldn’t get over the fact he was here, especially with friends like Jaime.

"Sshshh Ese, my head hurts so a little quieter please."

Jaime grumbled at the now Moder speedster who looked a little sadder from finding out Jaime wasn’t as excited as him. Seeing this the Blue Beetle warrior decided to try and push past his raging headache from lack of sleep, too much coffee and finals coming up.

"It’s pretty cool I guess. Ninjas are crash."

Bart's smile instantly lifted into a big grin as he started his rambling once again about "covert missions are crash", "the past is so awesome" and "I really love chicken wizzies, do you have any ?". Pain radiated through his head, put he ignored it to both to stop his friend from getting disheartened and also to help him concentrate better on the mission at hand.

———————————

Santa Larisco Island 20:18 July

With one team covering the ground and another circling the perimeter of the island, the mission started off smoothly. The two sons of Batman were more skilled than the bets ninjas on the island and easily snuck past their defences, hacking the mia frame of the eco outer within the temple-like base. With the defences now down, Kaldur signalled his team to go in, the mind-link set up among them by M'gann.

"Okay Robin, Nightwing start downloading the information on The Light and it's partners. Everybody else it’s your mission to take in the wanted criminals here who have escaped Belle Rev. Icicle jnr, Shimmer and Bane are reported to be here on the island."

A series of "on it"s and "yes" rattled through their leader's mind as the others made their way across the island. Well except for one person. Jaime Reyes couldn’t explain 2hag it was but something was drawing him to turn away from Wondegirl and Eobin and to explore further into the jungle. It was stupid, probably his mind going a little nuts from sleep deprivation but those thoughts were swept away when Scarab spoke up.

"I sense it too, Jaime Reyes, there’s some energy source coming from that grove. You must get closer so I can scan for what it is."

In his usual commanding voice Scarab's words were th last push that sent Jaime off to explore what was letting off the strange energy. Distracted by the computer and coding, both Nightwing and Robin didn’t notice whilst Wondergirl began to fly off to aid Spuerboy against Icicle jnr.

Wing ready, he took off flying low just over the treetops scanning the ground with keen eyes until he noticed light red waves pulsing out from below the trees. Like a heart beat the pulses would expand and then contract, in this nearly crimson colour.

"The energy is from another scarab, Jaime Reyes. You must investaigte now. If it is another scary you just terminate them !"

Jaime rolled his eyes at his Scarab's usual persistence of "terminating", which he threw in way too much. Only the other day when Bart has invited him over to the Allen's house has the Scarab insisted they "terminate" Iris and Barry's twins for sticking gum in his hair.

"I’m not going to terminate them!"

Annoyed and now suffering from a full-blown migraine, Jaime snapped at his scrab but did begin to descend from the treetops.

As he neared the ground he saw that the source of the energy was a young girl, clothes half burnt off from where he could see as she was rolled into a small ball facing away from him. However he did manage to see a long red gash travelling down the exposed area of her back. Inwardly he cringed at how much blood was coursing out of it. Whoever this girl was she needed medical trade,not and stat.

"The Scarab user is injured Jaime. Finish her now whilst she’s out."

Jaime swore he could almost hear Scarab's inner evil chuckle.

"No. There will be no terminating. She’s hurt. Even if she’s a scarab user she’s clearly injured."

Cautiously, he approached you, kneeling down next to your form. Your (h/c) hair was covering your face, and it was clear that the front of you was much more exposed than the back of you. Clearly, you’d been shot at, around the chest area with something that could disintegrate rather than a piercing bullet.

"Chica, whoever you are, wake up. I promise I-"

Just as Jaime reached his hand out to brush your hair from you face, trying his best to be cautious and act harmless, you suddenly and swiftly sat up, grabbing the hand reaching four you and twisting his arm. Jaime let out a shriek of pain, Scarab telling him "I told you so", as his sonic canon activate on his free arm, raising it fire at you.

However to both his horror and surprise, he was met with another sonic blaster, but red in contrast to his blew. The pair of you remained there, kneeled and sat on the floor, arms raised to fire at each other whilst your other froze on his. Eyes wide, and mouth a small "O" shape, Jaime imagined your look of surprise mirrored his.

Sure he’d known beforehand that you had a Scarab, but it still took him by surprise to see another one like him.

You on the other hand were having a far worse time. Pain pulsed from your legs, arms, back. You name it, it hurt. Even your pinky toes radiated with pain. To make it worse here you were, on some random forest floor, unable to remember how you got here with a sonic blaster obnoxiously pushed up into your face. This day was shit.

"What happened to me?" Brain a jumbled mess you tried to remember what had happen3d as your eyes never left those of the boy in forms of you. Under other circumstances you might have found him cute.

"Upon escaping the Reach we suffered a blast too the chest from Black Beetle's Ion canon. We are lucky to be alive right now (y/n)."

"Ohhhh"

This time you let out an audible response which surprised Jaime a little as you seemed to break a way from your death stare at him.

Upon doing this his eyes travelled away from stare and then did he realise something. Something he probably should’ve noticed sooner. So,etching that Scarab would remind him of many times in e future to come.

You were naked around the front, exposing well your middle, and other parts north of their.

"Gahhh! I’m sorry..."

Like an arrow he shoot uo from where he was kneeling next to you and scurried further away, hands covering his eyes.

"Jaime Reyes to not cover your eyes when the enemy is about. You won’t be able to terminate them."

Jaime felt his face go red as he turned to face you a little, peeking from in between his fingers.

"Oh my god !"

Letting out a squeal, you instantly folded your arms over your chest, quickly turning away from the boy as you felt your face blossom into a colour so red it matched your beetle. Turns out you were half naked, high your Scarab decided not to tell you.

"You creep, coming near me like that when I’m like this ! I don’t care if you’re another beetle user, I’m going to kill you..., well when I get a shirt on I will!"

Frustrated, angered and afraid you screeched at the boy, the Blue beetle user, as he gave you a sheepish look before starting to talk into what you guessed was an earpiece of some kind.

"Blue Beetle, come in Kaldur.....yeah I’m on the south side....you guys fly the Bio-ship. I found something you’ll want to see."

By the way he spoke you guessed he was addressing others, maybe a team ? A cold gust of air sucked you out of your thoughts as your arms covering your chest tightened a little, a feeble attempt to generate a little bit of warmth. Stuck outside in the middle of the night with your clothes torn to pieces, you were definitely starting to feel the cold.

"Jaime Reyes the other scarab user is cold. The female will develop hypothermia. As you don’t want to terminate her, I suggest warming her up."

Jaime eyed your shivering body, to which you glared back in return as you didn’t take to his wondering gaze kindly. Sure the others were on the way but you looked freezing and it would be embarrassing to meet a whole group of people without something covering your upper half properly.

"Ay I guess you’re right."

Sighing, Jaime retracted his blue better form, the suit disappearing to reveal him in his civvies. Eyes wide you watched as the blue beetle revealed himself to be a quite attractive young man, around your age with jet black hair and dark warm eyes. Warm. Oh you wished you were warm, as another shiver rattled your injured and tired body.

"Take caution (y/n), the blue beetle is still a threat."

Your scarab's calm but bristled voice washed through your mind and you knew she had a point. However when Jaime started to unzip his hoodie, leaving him in a T-shirt and offering his source of warmth to you, you threw caution to the wind.

"Here, use this."

Still cautious, he approached you, making sure to look you directly in the eyes.....no wondering glances. In return yiu looked up at him, wary at first until a small smile formed on your face.

"Thank you....."

You trailed off, not knowing his name.

"Jaime Reyes."

He knew it was dumb to tell a stranger, potentially a threat his secret identity, but he found himself trusting you, just a little bit. Perhaps it was because you had something in common. The shared dilemma of having an alien creature stuck on your back.

"Well thank you Jaime Reyes."

You took the hoodie with a smile and quickly put it on, zipping it up and allowing warmth to flood you. Warmth from Jaime wearing it....

A small blush adorned your cheeks as you realised the strange boy, who for one had seen half of you naked had given you his hoodie that was coated in a nice boyish smell like mint and pine leaves and cinnamon.

"Your hormone levels are spiking (y/n), it appears you are attracted to the one who calls himself Jaime Reyes."

At your scarabs words, your blush darkened and you jerked upright like an arrow. Jaime raised an eyebrow at your reaction, seeing your blush and strange behaviour.

"Maybe the female scarab user has a fever."

Scarab's words made sense, and Jaime nodded to himself. That sounded about right, your red face and jerky actions definitely made it seem like you were sick. You certainly felt a little sick, still a little chilly even with Jaime's hoodie and your injuries were worsening the longer you went without attending to them.

The large cut across your back ached and you could almost feel the cool chill of the blood surrounding it, you probably looked very beaten and bloody. Blood loss, nausea and fatigue started to set in, your body had fought for so long and finally now you believed you were saved, or at least were going to be taken off that damn island.

"Your losing too much blood (Y/n), you need medical attention now, or you’ll pass out."

Scarab's warning words almost sounded sympathetic as they resonated through your head. Now that you thought about it you did feel sleepy, so so sleepy....

Eyes falling shut your body and mind finally gave up fighting, giving into the peaceful lull of slumber. Seeing your collapsing body, Jaime rushes forwards catching you before you hit the ground in his arms. The quite small breaths leaving your lips reassured him that you were dead but rather sleeping and he let out a sigh of relief.

"She’s not dead, thank god. Migraine, mid terms and a dead girl to top it all off, sounds like a crappy day."

Up close now he could see the damage done to you, blood spotting your shredded shirt as your wide gashes still dripped with blood.

"Jaime the female has fainted. Her blood levels are low and she appears malnourished. Medical attention is needed immediately."

Surprisingly, Scarab was choosing to help you and your own Scarab out, not willing to let another one of his species die or at least their host.

"I know, I know. The others are almost here. She’ll be fine.....your safe now (y/n)."

Still sleeping, a tiny smile formed on your lips, almost as if you could hear Jaime's comforting words.

———————————-

Might make a part two, let me know if you want one and what I should write next !

#blue beetle x reader #jaime reyes x reader #young justice #young justice imagine #x reader

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saintfreda · 4 years

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character introduction — fredericke “freddie” dickinson dawson.

with a new & improved bio since the first one i added to the blog was far too rushed (and this one’s only... slightly better). TRIGGER WARNINGS: depression, death, financial problems, domestic abuse, violence, pregnancy, child abandonment.

“ look what i found , look what i found ! an artificial light , well , come gather round ! this is why we have lovers and why we have fighters . this is why the arms race and the particle colliders. mine is a humble flame , just a little white lighters — and it belongs to me ” (♫).

NAME : fredericke ann dickinson . an old name, another’s name — as tangible as ghosts now, an echo from the bottom of a well. whatever was left of fredericke dickinson now goes by the name of freddie dawson, fred for some friends (st. fred for the funny ones). AGE : thirty-eight (born september 12, 1977). PRONOUNS : she/her. GENDER : cis female. LOCATION : charming, ca. OCCUPATION : bartender (hoopers). SEXUAL ORIENTATION : bisexual. RELIGION : atheist. AFFILIATION : none.

PERSONALITY : “saint fred” — is it a nickname, a self-fulfilling prophecy? is it the destiny of the ones who were born to atone sins they can’t remember anymore? she remembers hearing it the first time, after covering a friend’s shift for the third time — she thought she liked the sound of it then, but it crawled under her skin, turned into a thought, a question, burrowed itself between the folds of her brain until each morning she’d open her eyes and think to herself: is this the day i become a martyr? thing is, it comes easy to her, playing the saint — always smile, always laugh, be there for everybody. have a safe shoulder to cry on, a wise joke to crack, a clever trick to keep her audience interested and intrigued. and still it’s a mask, or perhaps a layer of the hundreds she’s buried deep within herself. there’s things of her — true, honest pieces of the grotesque patchwork she’s made of herself — that flow up to the surface now and then, bubble up on her face: curiosity, a sharp humor, an ability to cut reality into thin strings of cutting-edge wisdom. then there’s the façade — a smile to hide the hollowness within, laughter to cover the screaming that won’t come. she’s made herself a shelter of her loneliness and is proud of it, it consoles her at night, thinking her self-imposed exile from a life worth living would be enough to make up for the good she couldn’t do. she calls everyone “friend”, would follow anyone into battle and yet won’t let them in — so scared, so frightened that they might look inside and find nothing but rot inside. but the outside, oh the outside is beautiful: as nurturing as a mother, warm and thrilling like that first drop of whiskey after sundown. sometimes she makes herself bigger than her demons and then she burns bright, fuel on the fire: it’s a show for others, for she can’t protect herself (she’s never been good at that, never good at nothing but running). there’s an unspoken safety distance she keeps with everyone, and everything’s warm until the line’s crossed — what lies behind the confine of the bar counter is a wasteland, no place any man or woman could set foot in. POSITIVE TRAITS : nurturing, clever, good spirited, humorous, wise, motherly, diligent, quiet, loyal, protective. NEGATIVE TRAITS : closed off, impulsive, proud, resentful, self-deprecating, bitter, frightened.

BIO —

TRIGGER WARNINGS : depression, death, prostitution, domestic abuse, violence, sexual abuse, child abandonment) .

“why’d you get so obsessed with that word, freddie? who told you about saints?” “grandpa did, he said he’s named after st. peter”. “and why do you care?” “‘cause he said saints do good things. i wanna be a saint, too”. “why on earth would you want that?” “‘cause, ma — i wanna save everyone”.

—

there’s a lifetime from that moment to now. she can remember it, but it comes in flashes, a hazy hue of desert gold — she remembers the girl she was, bright-eyed and restless, never shying away from the trail of a question. prying, relentless: the whole world could be simplified to reasons and whys, and she would hunt them the whole day long, out in the dust storms like the wind, not even it could dare question her spirits. whatever happened to that girl? dull, watered down: erased, and her own has been the hand rubbing her existence off her own life.

she couldn’t tell how it happened, or when it began — surely that summer of twenty-three years ago must have played its part. her mother losing her job (too tired, too tired all the time: too sad to see a doctor, too weak to even get out of bed anymore), bills piling up. her older sister trying hard to keep things afloat with an underpaid gig at the laundry, but it’s not enough. it’s never enough. one day grandpa comes home and he’s making math in his head, calculating how much longer they can survive if he sells the farm, the truck, the horse. that night freddie asks, how come their dad’s not around? he could provide, he could help them? grandpa grows colder then, gaze darker than the clouds gathering on the horizon: i’ll burn this place to the ground before he sets foot in here.

that side of the family, either way, is cunning and insidious, and it comes knocking at the door, offering business, a way to salvage the farm. it is victor, freddie’s uncle, who brings the offering: grandpa throws him out in spite, and freddie watches it all while she’s sitting on the fence outside, skin burning gold from the sun, dust sticking to her like glitter. you’re pretty, victor says: you might be your family’s only chance, you know? she doesn’t (can’t) understand, but she’ll walk any way that can save grandpa, his horse, her mother’s strength, her sister’s dreams of becoming a nurse.

turns out the way is a dark and winding one, one where she has to suck up the terror when a man touches her skin and she has to say yes, please, more, i’ll be anything you want, the key to unlocking all the dark and sick desires you’ve buried in there and can’t speak to anyone, not your wife, not your daughter, not your mother: give them to me, she whispers, let the darkness out. at night she takes hour-long showers to try and rub the darkness off of her, and it won’t come off, it never does — but grandpa didn’t have to sell the farm, and even if he was against her getting a job (said she’d be a waitress, don’t worry pops, i got it), the day he realized he wouldn’t have to sell the horse he smiled: it felt like the gates of heaven themselves would open.

she hates her job, but doesn’t mind the company. they make her work in a dismissed motel, along with girls about her age and her damage, and there is an unspoken bond of loyalty between them — the guys, too, when they’re guarding the doors they smile at them as fondly as they would their sisters (but they wouldn’t let their sisters in a place like this, no). there’s carl, who never speaks but smiles at fred each time he sees her. there’s billy, drives her home every night before victor can volunteer. there’s sonja, who teaches her how to punch a man’s throat when he gets too handsy. there’s a sense of family, while her own begins unraveling around the suspicion that something dark is going on.

the farm is saved, but mom’s not getting any better. depression sucks her up, little by little, and she drifts away more or less peacefully, doesn’t dare oppose resistance — she dies a morning of october, and neither of her daughters can speak of it. grandpa has to put down the horse a week later. she’d thought she’d saved everyone —— how come the darkness still won’t leave?

she grows sadder, dark as the clouds that won’t seem to leave their town alone. she finds an unexpected shoulder to cry on in the person of johnny, billy’s cousin and yet another one of victor’s men: johnny’s sweet, he makes her laugh. he begins driving her home at night instead of billy (his cousin’s not happy, she can see this: but he nods his agreement anyway and doesn’t protest, he can’t, johnny’s older and wiser and he’s still just a kid). the rest of it is as old and predictable as it gets: he says he’ll make an honest woman out of her, she retorts there needs to be an honest man for that to happen to begin with. they laugh, they kiss, they promise — five years later, she’s twenty-five and married, almost happy. almost.

she wants to leave her job. johnny said he can’t stand the thought of someone touching her where he should, and she tries: but victor won’t have it, no, did you think it was a temporary gig? come on girl, you’re smarter than that. he’s filthy, he humiliates her — beats her just to prove he can, he owns her. she comes home with bruises and johnny’s angry: if you couldn’t quit, he says, it’s because you didn’t really want it. his bruises are added to victor’s, perfectly symmetrical blooms to decorate her skin. she begins cracking, her very essence tearing at the seams — she was trying so hard to save everyone, how the fuck is she gonna save herself now?

billy comes over sometimes. his commitments to what he likes to call “street things” keep him out of the motel now, but he needs to check on her — she makes up excuses to keep away, hide the signs. says she’s got a bad cold one day, the other she’s just not feeling. one day he’s got enough and forces her to open the door: a busted lip, both her eyes grown purple with the blows. his anger is scalding hot but she manages to calm him down — it’s okay, she says, he just gets angry sometimes. i’ll find a way out of it somehow. he leaves in a hurry, never shows up again: the unspoken fear in her mind, that he’s gone and done something terrible he’ll regret, almost brings a relief to her sore mind. perhaps he’s killed him, she thinks. perhaps i’m free.

johnny comes back and it’s business as usual. she tells herself she’s gotta be strong, gotta leave this town, gotta make it out alive. she packs a bag and leaves it hidden under the bed, but the same day she realizes it’s been two months since her last period — surprise comes in the shape of two parallel lines on a stick. maybe this is the answer: it’s not herself, but this thing inside of her that’ll save her. when she tells johnny he’s over the moon, he’s burning with joy — says he’ll be a good man now, he’ll speak to victor himself and force him to leave her alone. the truce lasts two months: one night he comes home tired from work, bruised from a fight, and she hasn’t cooked dinner. he beats her within an inch to her death that night. in the morning, she grabs her bag and calls her sister. i’m sorry, she says through the tears. i fucked up. i need to come home.

grandpa’s dying, angie says. old age catching up to him, so all he does is lie in his bed all day and ask for movies to be played continuously on his tv. it’s an odd family they recreate now, the nurse, the dying man and the pregnant sister. there is a soft, mournful balance found, until one night victor shows up demanding to see her and when angie claims freddie isn’t there he has his men thrash the house just to get the point across: he can. he owns her.

she sits by her grandpa’s deathbed that night and weeps. i’m sorry, pops, i’m so sorry: i tried so hard to be a saint, to save everyone. perhaps he’s just exhaling, but it sounds like he’s laughing. child, he says, saints always die either virgins or martyrs. you fucked up the first — now you just gotta pray you’re good enough for the latter.

grandpa dies two weeks later, and freddie’s not there. right after victor’s visit, angie gave her money just to get her away from them, and bring her trouble with her — grandpa dies a week before her baby’s born, taken out of her and delivered into a nurse’s hands without so much as a goodbye. they ask, would you like to see your baby? freddie turns and pretends she didn’t hear. wherever the baby will end up, it’s gotta be a better fate than the child of a martyr.

and yet in the morning she wakes up and finds herself without strings. a chance, a tangible way to start over again somewhere — an ad for a wanted bartender brings her out to charming, california. not much of an eden or a promised land, but it’s far too easy to get a fake i.d. and put on a brave face — much braver than the one she’s worn so far.

#charming.intro #FILE / mine's a humble light.

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arigatouiris · 5 years

Text

revenge is a fool’s game // arthur morgan — [03]

pairing: arthur morgan x female!reader

word count: 1895

warnings: strong violence, emotional distress, mentions of torture, rape and sexual abuse, explicit sexual references, a whole lotta angst, cowboy stuff;

notes: i am so so sorry for the late af update!! things got carried away at work and i was trying to finish my peter parker story (sighhhh). anyway, this is a short chapter, but do expect an update pretty soon~

not following a taglist for this, i can’t seem to keep track of people who ask so just check on my masterlist~

masterlist in bio~

Chapter Three: Ain’t No Foolin’ John Marston

○

(y/n) woke up, just before day break, and panicked. She looked around inside her tent, and breathed slowly before realizing she was actually panting. Her hair was a mess—and she was glad she had cut it to a boy’s regular messy cut, but she wasn’t wearing her bandages.

Without her bandages, her breasts would pop out. She was big enough to alert the people around her that she wasn’t a boy but a boy in disguise. Without question, she quickly took her shirt off and began to tie the bandages around her chest, tightly. Each time, she felt she tied a bit too tighter—forever compressing her chest to one without breasts.

She hated that she had to do this; she hated living in disguise. She would normally love scents and everything that came with being a woman, but now—now things were different and unforgiving. Her long hair that she had adored once before was trimmed away, and her cheeks were unmoisturized beyond control what used to be soft and smooth. She missed being a woman, but now she had no choice.

After tying the bandages around her, she put her shirt back on. Through the tiny holes in her bottle green tent, she observed that it was breaking day. She had a tiny mirror using which she fixed her hair—and turned into a boy again.

Through Dutch Van der Linde, she would find Colm o’Driscoll, and through Colm she would find a slight bit of redemption. Colm was someone she would take vengeance for herself. He had nothing to do with her brother, but had done something terrible to her. Words and lies were carved carefully to sting her in such a fashion that the sting would never heal, and what remained was a ghost of a person with an inability to move on from the pain caused. She had a plan, and no sympathy and no compassion came close to bringing her down from what she saw needed to be done.

“Riley!”

She heard Susan Grimshaw’s voice call from outside. Her heart sometimes ached when she heard her brother’s name, but she was her brother now.

“Come out here and gimme a hand, boy.” She didn’t sound mean, she sounded nice, as a matter of fact.

Riley stepped out of the small tent, looking timid. He blinked a couple of times and noticed Mrs. Grimshaw smiling at him. The smile reminded him of his own mother’s, but Riley tried not to think of anything regarding his past (her past).

“The horses need feedin’, boy. Here,” Susan motioned toward the stack of hay. “Take this to them horses over there. Make yerself useful here and you’ll belong quite alright.” Susan smiled and Riley nodded.

“My,” Susan sighed and said softly. “I sometimes forget ya can’t talk. Poor soul.”

The only reason (y/n) chose to leave Riley dumb was because her voice was far too feminine to hide. She was always told that she had a beautiful voice when she sang, but it sounded too much like a woman for a man.

While Riley was moving one haystack after another toward the horses, he observed that there were eyes on him. He paused for a second and noticed a boy watching his every move—unashamedly, not looking away even after Riley caught him doing so. The boy’s name, he could recall, was John Marston. He was around fifteen years of age, and far too aggressive for his own good. Riley watched him staring at him for a brief while before tilting his head a bit and getting back to work. It had been close to a few days since Riley joined the Van der Linde gang, and while even Arthur stayed out of insulting the boy, Riley noticed John’s hesitance in talking to him.

“Give him some time,” Hosea had said, when he first observed this behavior. “The boy’s got a nasty past.”

Nasty past, (y/n) thought before piling the hay carefully in the stack where it was supposed to go. I understand nasty pasts.

A moment later, Hosea approached Riley and grabbed the boy’s arm. Riley’s face turned pink—(y/n) still not used to being touched so freely by a man twice her age, but tried hard not to show any signs of discomfort.

“Need to talk to ya, son.” Hosea’s tone scared Riley. Instantly, he knew that it was something related to the confession he had made about the o’Driscolls.

Riley blinked at Hosea, while being led inside the white tent. Arthur was standing by the entrance, no expression on his face. Arthur noticed Riley and gave him a small nod, I think he understands that I’m a member here now, she told herself. He hated me before, she thought before blinking a couple of times. Arthur grunted once before straightening his posture. Dutch was entering the tent.

“So, son,” Dutch said before continuing, “You hate Colm,”

Riley didn’t nod. She didn’t hate Colm, it wasn’t hate. It was hard to explain without telling them some part of the story, and that was what he didn’t want to share.

“And you want him dead.” Dutch stated facts.

Riley blinked.

“The thing is, we don’t like him all that much either,” Hosea said, in a calculative manner.

“We’re teamed up wit’ em right now,” Arthur said, sighing. “Dutch and Colm had a… what ya call, a ‘partnership’ o’ sorts.”

Riley didn’t understand. He made a face, which conveyed his exact emotions.

“See Colm’s got a brother, Wyatt.”

(y/n)’s blood boiled. Oh, I know Wyatt o’Driscoll damn well, she thought before frowning. Hosea noticed the sudden change in Riley’s face, but chose not to comment on it. There were some stories each of them carried, with no want or need to divulge them. What he wanted to comment on was the fact that Riley’s wish to murder Colm intersected with their own wish to end their partnership.

“Wyatt’s got his eyes set on Dutch,” Hosea said, sighing bitterly. “Wyatt is plannin’ on handing Dutch over to the authorities for the bounty.”

“Let him try! I can rip his head off his skull and still make him see the end of it.” Dutch said, sarcastically, with a weird grin on his face.

What Riley didn’t understand was why they were telling him this. He knew that Dutch didn’t like Colm, and he knew that they felt the same way about all of the o’Driscolls, so why were they telling him this plan?

“We kill Wyatt first.” Dutch said.

(y/n)’s heart picked up pace. Wyatt was fourth in her list, ending his life meant getting closer to Colm. She nodded once before taking her notebook once.

Wyatt has this horse he loves. We get to his horse and we get to him. He’s a dumbass with very little that he cares about.

Hosea laughed as he read out Riley’s note. “This is why we needed you, boy! Somethin’ tells me you’ve been on the insides of the o’Driscolls’ party!”

It’s the other way around, Hosea, (y/n) thought bitterly, forcefully blinking tears away. Arthur watched the boy, before noticing the sun fall on the boy’s shirt. There was a dark patch in his chest, which looked almost made up. It was like he was wearing another shirt inside the one that he could see. Arthur blinked before clearing his throat and looking away, it wasn’t his business.

“Alright. We get to his horse. Can you identify his horse, boy?”

Riley nodded.

“Dutch,” Arthur said, before looking at Riley. “How can we know we can trust ‘im?”

Riley’s heart dropped. This was one question that he was hoping no one would ask. It was a good question, she had to admit, because how can anyone be sure that Riley himself wasn’t an o’Driscoll?

“Actually, that’s a great point. What if Colm sent you here and if this is all a trap?” Dutch spoke out loud.

Riley’s eyes filled with tears. He wrote in his notebook.

I had a sister. Colm and his brother raped her every night after saving her life one day. They raped her and ruined her life. She is no woman no more. I’m doing this for her. And I’m doing this for myself.

I’m doing this for you, brother. Rebecca’s voice was for herself only.

“I.. I’m sorry to hear that, son.” Dutch said, sympathetically.

Hosea patted the boy’s shoulder before saying, “You don’t have to say anything more than that, Riley.”

Arthur, on the other hand, was the most shocked. He didn’t once think Riley could have gone through so much. After having cared for Mary so much, he understood so much about how hard women had it for themselves. Their torture would always, always exceed the pain that anyone can give to a man. Women were strong, and hurting them came easy.

Rape, Arthur thought, was unforgivable.

He watched Riley get back to his chores, sad face and sadder eyes, and a soft spot bore in his heart for the boy. To lose a sister the way he had, must have taken more than just anger for him to come huntin’ after them o’Driscolls, Arthur thought.

○

That evening, Riley sat alone by the fire. He was thinking about what he had shared with Hosea, Dutch and Arthur, and he wondered if it was the right thing to have done. They wouldn’t have trusted me, (y/n) thought. Arthur is suspicious of anyone new, she sighed. A moment later, she felt someone sit beside her.

It was John. He had a scowl on his face, and his hair was a mess. From the past few days, she’s noticed that John was what they’d call, ‘a problem child’. He was naughty and barely did any chore around the camp. Susan would have to scream at him repeatedly to have him eat.

“I know you’re a girl.” John said, glaring at Riley.

Her blood froze. She suddenly felt very exposed, but this was a fifteen year old child and this old jibe was thrown off the window by Arthur the first time it had happened. Riley turned to look at John and glared back, trying hard to keep the glare on and not let the fear show.

“You’ve got breasts, and you ain’t got no penis.” John said, softly.

Riley shook his head and turned away, red faced—but in front of the fire, one couldn’t tell. She hoped John wouldn’t be able to hear her rapidly beating heart.

“They might think I’m some stupid hillbilly,” John said, “But I ain’t gonna ever call a woman a man.”

Riley took out his notebook and hoped John could read.

Go away, John. I don’t have to prove shit to you.

“Alright, ma’am. I know no one ain’t gonna believe me, but I know yer secret. Riley or if that’s what your name is. You ain’t a man. Yer a lady. A lady dressed like a hillbilly. Don’t know why an’ I don’t care. But you ain’t foolin’ me.” John said, before getting up and walking away.

Riley waited for a moment. He hoped no one heard this conversation, and he hoped no one cared for John’s words. Because of the way he behaves, no one took him seriously. However, John’s hunch, if it was a hunch, was right. Riley was no man.

(y/n) was scared for her life now.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #john marston #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #colm o'driscoll #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption spoilers #red dead redemption #red dead redemption community

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likeshipsonthesea · 5 years

Note

If you're doing prompts, 19 and 24 for nurseydex

for au mash up 19. Summer Camp AU and 24. Soulmate AU

okay so in this universe, as per any soulmate universe, soulmates are A Big Thing. the way that soulmates work–let’s have some fun here– when you touch your soulmate for the first time, they leave a color in the spot they touched you. it has to be skin-to-skin. this will become important later.

so in this world, since soulmates are such a big thing–almost everyone finds their soulmate, the only typical cases that don’t are people that die young or people who are aro, though there are platonic soulmates and poly and such, bc we’re inclusive here boyos– but because they’re so big and common and everything, there are a lot of industries around them

psychics and palm readers have specialized skills to tell you what your soulmate is like, bio-medical companies sell drugs that tell you how long it will be until you find your soulmate (sketchy, but people are desperate) and the weirdest one, imo, is the send-away summer camps for children to find their soulmates young.

yeah. weird.

there’s science to back it up, saying kids who kind their soulmates at younger ages live longer, healthier lives, and the matches between those soulmates is much stronger and, now, with the advent of social media, kid soulmate findings always go viral

so now onto our story; nursey’s parents all have very big work summers coming up (his parents are one of the few poly soulmates in the world, his dad is aro and platonically bonded to nursey’s mom and mama, who are v gay and v in love, and they all live together happily in a beautiful brownstone) so they ask him what he wants to do for the summer and he shows them the brochure for the Summer Soulmate Camp in the rural part of maine.

why did nursey choose this one? he’s a romantic and thinks the greenery is the perfect place to fall in love, it won’t be too hot for the summer, he can go swimming, and they have a hockey rink. it’s perfect.

(also, sidenote, i imagine he’s about ten or eleven here, dex is the same)

so though nursey’s parents are a little hesitant, they also want their son to be happy, so they buy him all the gear he’ll need, drive him up to maine, and kiss him goodbye on the first day of camp.

nursey takes to the camp immediately–the food isn’t great, very bland, but the people are so nice and there’s so much to do and he can’t wait to find friends, even if he doesn’t end up finding his soulmate. his roommate is a great guy–named chris, but goes by chowder– and he’s so enthusiastic and he tells nursey he plays goalie in hockey so when the day comes to join the hockey group on campus, they both head down to the rink, bouncing and excited.

this is, of course, where dex comes in.

dex, a sullen, tiny, perpetually frowning little dude gets matched up with nursey for d-man. despite nursey’s initial hesitation at such a little guy being a d-man, dex soon shows his worth by checking the opposing forward hard.

“will, buddy, we’re not checking in this league, okay?” the coach, a well-meaning woman with smile crinkles next to her eyes.

dex stares up at her. “if i’m not checking anyone why am i even here.”

there may or may not have been an expletive in there somewhere. we’re not going to mention it if you won’t.

and you might be wondering, “hey why is dex being such a dick” or maybe you’re just like “mm in character” (ur wrong but whatever) but here’s the story. these summer camps are usually reserved for people who have the money–there’s only so many spaces and aside from the soulmate thing, they still have a bunch of amenities and it’s for the whole summer. by all rights, dex shouldn’t be here.

but then last winter happened, and he fell down during hockey practice, and the doctor explained to the poindexters–little mama p standing tall, resolute, her husband holding onto her waist in support, dex’s older brother j, finally not wearing an asshole’s smirk– that dex was sick. badly.

and see, dex is fine. like, the chemo sucked and his hair falling out sucked and everyone looking at him like he’s a weak little useless fucking– it sucks. but that was months ago, and it’s sort of in remission now, and though the doctor says it’s probably going to come back and they’ll have to do another round of chemo– dex is fine okay. the buzzed hair doesn’t look too bad and he’s stronger now, he can play hockey again.

but the cancer scared his parents, and his extended family, and though they all believe in the natural meeting of your soulmate, they all silently agreed that dex didn’t have the time to wait. the only thing sadder than dying young was dying without a soulmate.

so they scrounged up the cash through all the branches of their family tree and sent dex to Summer Soulmate Camp, and now here he is, angry and isolated and ready to check any rich prep kid that looks at him funny on the ice.

as you can imagine, nursey and dex don’t get along well at the start.

dex isn’t much into soulmates and doesn’t keep his opinion to himself, and nursey is so wholeheartedly romantic that he can’t imagine not thinking about your soulmate every day. “they’re the one person who can make you the best you can be,” nursey says, one day after practice, and dex scoffs.

“if you’re not good enough on your own, how the hell is your soulmate being chained to you gonna make it any better?”

they also argue about money things, but mostly brand names that dex doesn’t know, or international trips nursey doesn’t realize is a luxury. to be fair, none of the other kids know this either–nursey at least tries to listen

(he’s too young, really, to understand how his blackness has affected him in a similar, possibly more visible way. later on, he’ll read books about slaves “given permission” to marry their soulmates from masters, the interracial couples that ended in mobs driving the black man out of town–or worse– and the history of black soulmates being restricted and demeaned and made to feel less than. now, now he only notices being the only mixed boy in the room some of the time. now, at least, is a calm before the bliss is broken.)

but the thing that comes along with all of nursey and dex’s arguments is that they come to know each other better than anyone else at the camp. even chowder, who tags along with them all the time when he isn’t following after the girls’ volleyball team (he hasn’t touched farmer yet, so he can’t know, but he really likes her smile and she’s the best at doing handstands), even he doesn’t know how nursey feels about books the way dex does, after the late-night talk around the bonfire when nursey got rambly and giddy and dex just.. listened

and it takes a while before dex talks about the cancer. back home, everyone knows, but here he could pretend. nursey doesn’t tell everyone–dex almost expected that he would, but that was more on him than nursey– but he listens and nods and doesn’t pity dex, respects him maybe, cares, but no pity.

and that night, sitting on the end of the dock in a rare unsupervised moment, nursey nearly reaches out to hold dex’s hand in comfort, and dex nearly hugs nursey when he says, “fuck cancer” in the most emphatic, simple, comprehending way dex has ever heard, but neither does. they’ve learned, in this culture, the importance of touch, and both boys are too scared to find out, to break that last barrier. this could be enough. this should be enough.

the rest of the summer is spent in a haze of friendships and salt water and trees and scraped knees and laughter, and all of them swear that they’re gonna text, call, facetime, whatever. they’re going to keep this up. they’re going to be friends forever

they’re not allowed phones at the camp, so they write down each other’s numbers– just dex’s, actually, because he’s the only one who can remember his home phone number– and nursey and chowder swear to call when they get home and give dex their number (chowder also has farmer’s number, now, and her mark–smudgy and bluish purple on his shoulder from where she tackled him trying to spike the ball in a game on the beach last week. his, teal, is on her palm almost in the shape of a heart)

on the day of pick up, dex’s family shows up first–closer– and he and nursey are forced to say goodbye. “i guess this is it,” dex says, hefting his duffle bag strap onto his shoulder.

“no it’s not,” nursey insists. “i’ll call you. i will.”

“yeah right,” dex says, but he’s smiling anyway, and something about the moment–two boys, from such different worlds, somehow so similar in all the important ways, stand in front of each other, having never touched but knowing every little thing– something about the moment makes it so, suddenly, being soulmates doesn’t matter.

they’re friends. no matter what their colors say, that can be the most profound relationship they ever have.

“see you, nursey,” dex says, impulsive, and reaches his arms up to hug nursey close. nursey, startled, wraps his arms around dex. the hug is so unexpected, so quick, that neither of them feels dex’s forearm brush against nursey’s neck, neither of them notice the spread of green–on dex’s arm– or orange– nursey’s neck

later, after dex’s dad pulls in the driveway of their house, dex shoves open the door he’d slumped against when he got in the car and absentmindedly goes to wipe off the mossy-green stuff on his arm only to see it and freak

nursey, since his is behind his head, isn’t the one to notice his mark. it’s only when he’s going up the stairs in front of his mama that she yells something about “papito why didn’t you tell us you found your soulmate?” and nursey drops all of his bags and races up the stairs to the bathroom to try to use a hand mirror and the bathroom vanity to see the sunset dex left on his neck

but here’s the drama, right, nursey goes for his bag to find dex’s number and call–and he can’t find the paper it was written on. he scours his stuff to no avail. his parents call the summer camp, but they legally can’t give out information, and nursey doesn’t know the name of dex’s town and– you get where i’m going. they can’t find each other. they lose touch.

and both boy wonders what could have been, dex wonders why nursey didn’t call (probably develops a complex, whatever) and nursey wonders why dex never tried to look him up, and nursey hopes that dex’s cancer didn’t come back and dex hopes that nursey is still the romantic he’s always been, but they don’t see each other for another seven years.

what happens then? well, these hockey nerds go to take a tour of this cool college called samwell and, well. the rest i’m sure you can figure out from there.

(excerpt from the aftermath; a frequent fight

“i can’t believe you lost my number”

“i can’t believe you gave me a mark i can’t even see”

“i can’t believe you wanted to go to a summer camp to find your soulmate when you were ten”

“i can’t believe you didn’t–”

“nursey, dex, please can we just pick a place to eat and go?” poor baby chow

boys; “well, i had cancer, so i think i should get to pick–” “hey, you can’t pull the cancer card every time you want to eat at the grill, it’s not fair!” “i lost my hair, derek!” “so? you shave it all the damn time–”

chowder’s stomach rumbles. he texts chowder frowny faces and she sends back a cry-laugh and a wink. he gets no sympathy for his plight.)

#nurseydex #dexnursey #check please #nursey #derek nurse #dex #william poindexter #my writing #sort of fic #this was fun #the ending is a bit meh #but i liked the story

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ficdirectory · 6 years

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Somewhere Inside (Disuphere series #4) Chapter 19

(To listen, click here) - 14:08

Pearl’s walking back to her cabin, when she notices her mom’s car pulling in the drive.

Really?

“Cleo, come on. This is serious business. Your first experience with Mom, in the flesh. Brace yourself,” Pearl warns, breathing deeply.

“Mom,” she acknowledges coolly. “What are you doing here?”

“You called me, Pearl. Don’t act like this is such a surprise.” (Mom’s clearly out of patience, too. This will be fun…)

“Yeah, I did. I didn’t invite you here. I called you months ago. You never got back to me.”

“I was working. Maybe you’d know something about that if you did it, too.”

“Did you have a reason for coming out here?”

“Do I need a reason to see my daughter? You’re asking questions about Paris. Your living with his son. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“How do you think it makes me feel that for years, my father was alive? For most of my life, I could have known him. He used to stop by the house and try to see me. Because you invited him. Because you told him I’d be there.”

“I don’t remember that,” Mom insists. “He was trying to make up for not being there when you were growing up. I was trying to protect you.”

“Sounds a lot like you remember…” Pearl ventures. “I don’t need your approval to get to know my own family.”

“That Levi? He is not your family. I’m your family!” Mom’s getting angry now, or finally letting it show.

“Family doesn’t treat each other like this. Family doesn’t lie and isolate someone.”

“This is unbelievable…” Mom scoffs. “I didn’t raise you to be this way…”

“No, you raised me to disappear! To blame myself! To have no friends! To be a doormat! Don’t come back out here, Mom. You’re not welcome.”

Pearl turns and walks back to Frank’s cabin. The last thing she wants is to be alone at home right now, where Mom could knock and harass relentlessly.

“That’s not where you live!” Mom shouts. “Who’s over there? I’ll call Stefanie and find out.”

“You do that…”

“I should’ve moved up here years ago to keep an eye on you!”

“I’m an adult,” Pearl calls.

“Age is just a number. I am your mother. I expect you to respect me!”

Pearl turns on her. “You earn respect, Mom. You make yourself worthy of it. It’s not handed to you.”

She walks into Frank’s cabin and has to stop herself from slamming the door.

“That screaming lady is your mom?” Francesca asks, her eyes big.

“Yeah. I’m sorry you heard all that.”

“Is your mom friends with my mom?” Francesca asks, warily.

“Why?”

“‘Cause they kinda act the same…” Francesca ventures, wrinkling her nose. “Hey, can I see Levi? I wanna ask him something.”

Pearl takes a deep breath. Lets it out. “What did you want to ask him?” she wonders. Pearl figures talking to Francesca is a good option right now. She’s probably too wound up to be around Levi without it rubbing off on him.

“If he wants to watch Moana together… He said that was him and his dad’s favorite thing to do together. I thought it might make him feel better from whatever’s wrong.”

“I didn’t know that,” Pearl ventures.

“You said you guys have the same dad. How come you didn’t know his favorite movie?”

“I didn’t get the chance to know him like Levi did. My mom kept him a secret from me.”

“Levi?” Francesca asks, confused.

“No. Well, yes, technically. But I meant, my dad. When I was little, she told me a lie about him.”

“You wanna know a secret?” Francesca whispers. “I don’t know my dad either. Moms say the other kids, you know, Jesus and Mariana and Callie and Jude? That they can always talk about their bio parents. Brandon can talk about his dad. But if I ever bring up mine? Crickets chirping. Nobody talks. I don’t even know his name or anything.”

“So...you’re their biological daughter?”

“Mama had me. You know Lena?” she asks, curious.

“We met a couple times, yeah.”

“So...I’m hers for real...but I don’t know my dad. I don’t know why they won’t tell me anything about him. Do you think he doesn’t want me? Or is it like your mom? Are they tricking me?”

“I’m not sure. But do your brothers and sisters know anything? They’re older? You might ask them.”

“Jesus doesn’t. He didn’t get to be there when I was born. So he doesn’t know. I maybe could ask Mari. She knows a lot. And she tells the truth.”

“Good idea. Hey, can I watch Moana with you?” Pearl asks. “I’ve never seen it. I’d like to.”

“Seriously? It’s the best. I’ll get my IPad.” She glances up, sees Levi looking down from the loft. “Hey Levi. If you want, me and Pearl are gonna watch Moana. You can watch with us…”

“Thanks, but I gotta call somebody. Maybe in a little bit.”

“Should we wait?”

“No.”

“Will it make you sadder to hear? We can go in another room,” Francesca offers and Pearl’s touched at her sensitivity.

“No, it makes me happy to hear. You can watch it wherever,” Levi tells her.

His gaze travels to Pearl. He raises his eyebrows.

“She knows she’s not invited back.” Pearl tells him.

“Did she leave?”

Pearl checks out the window. There’s a knock on the front door. “If that’s my mom again…” Pearl mutters under her breath.

“It’s Jesus, probably. He took Dudley out,” Francesca insists.

“Oh, and I locked the door behind me. Brilliant,” Pearl slaps her forehead. She checks out the window and opens the door for Jesus.

The minute Levi hears the knock, he bolts from the loft into the bathroom behind him. He knows Mariana can see him. He didn’t have time to close the door. Dominique had gone out with Jesus to walk Dudley. But before they left, Dom had given Mariana a hand up the stairs so Levi wouldn’t be alone up here.

Levi’s braced over the sink, sick as a dog. His nerves were fried before hearing the second knock. And that? Just sent him over the edge.

Even though it’s nasty and Levi feels nauseated, he cleans up after himself impeccably, using the cleaning supplies he can find under the sink to be sure none of them get his germs. He’s glad no one seems to be living up here for the time being.

He walks out, unsteady. Mariana offers a hand. Levi takes it without thinking.

“You’re sick. Now you can call in,” she tells him matter of factly.

He raises his eyebrows, but figures she’s right. She sits on the footstool and him in the chair while he calls into work.

“Hey, this is Levi West. Can I please speak to…”

Mariana sits by, listening. He realizes mid phone call that he’s still holding her hand. He’s struck by how she just stays. Not grossed out by him at all. Not afraid to touch him. Not acting like she’s gonna hurt him.

Like he hopes, the mention of vomit has the boss telling him they’ll figure something out for his shift. Telling him not to come in.

He hangs up and breathes. He feels gross.

“You can lie down if you want. There’s a bedroom,” she gestures. “No one sleeps up here. No one will bug you.”

“Thanks. Let me give you a hand down the stairs first.”

“Oh. Thanks…” Mariana says, seeming surprised.

They don’t talk as she descends. But once they’re safely at the bottom, she turns to him. “If you need us, just yell. Or come out by the railing. Or Jesus or someone can check if you need anything. So you won’t be alone.” She opens her arms.

Levi’s so touched, he blinks back tears. “I’m all disgusting, though.”

“Please. That was trauma-puke. You’re not gross. Come here. You know, if you want.”

Levi bends down to hug her. Despite her small size, and general unsteadiness, her hugs are solid. Warm. Strong. They feel 100% safe. Like Jesus’s. But this is even more remarkable because Mariana’s female. And Levi generally has a harder time with female affection.

He feels himself breaking a little bit, but she holds on until he backs off. Waves over his shoulder. Retreats upstairs, and falls into a bed with an old fashioned headboard and a quilt printed with moose. He falls asleep in minutes, tears still on his face.

Dominique and Jesus stop in for lunch and sweatshirts and to check in on Levi. Mariana says he’s sleeping and that he called into work. Pearl and Francesca are watching Moana still, because Francesca keeps pausing it to explain things to Pearl or to tell her something random. Pearl doesn’t seem to mind. Mariana joins them.

Jesus is checking in with Francesca to be sure she’s feeling included. She is.

Dominique runs upstairs to listen at the one closed door. The light’s off and she doesn’t hear anything. Safe to assume Levi’s all right for the time being.

She and Jesus go back outside with Dudley. They sit at the picnic table.

“So, are you okay?” Jesus asks her.

“You know I never know how to answer that question. Are you?”

“Not really…” he admits.

“Not really either,” she echoes.

“It’s hard. Like...when someone’s dealing with a lot?” he starts. “Like, trauma stuff? I find myself reacting the same.”

Dominique cocks her head.

“I do things the same,” he tries again.

“Like, what things?” she asks.

“Like, I always cover the person. And bring food,” he shares, almost reverent.

“You see to their basic needs…” Dominique fills in. “That’s good. That’s necessary.”

“But it reminds me...of Isaac…”

Dominique flips through her mental files. The name sounds familiar and soon she knows why. She’s able to fill the gap with the face of a kid from Santa Barbara. Brown hair. Grey eyes. Freckles. Big smile. Cute dog with a ridiculously adult sounding name: George, or Winston or something.

The Dateline special, where Isaac’s mom was interviewed? Well, Dominique had watched it. Hoping for more clues about Jesus (who she only knew then as her invisible friend and emotional support, through her own ordeal.) A year after her own escape, he got away, too. She had to deal with a strange betrayal, knowing their circumstances had not been identical as she needed them to be. Another year passed, around May of 2012, and there was the other little boy’s mother. Interviewed for an hour.

Dominique had watched, hoping for a mention of Jesus.

“Do you find comfort knowing that your son wasn’t alone in that house?” Dominique remembers the interviewer asking.

“I do. I do find comfort in that.” The woman blew her nose.

“Jesus Foster was a 9-year-old from San Diego, when Chris Mitchell kidnapped him back in 2007. He was still missing when, 2 years later, Allison Martin’s son, Isaac, was taken, as well,” a reporter narrated off screen. The picture from all the Missing posters of Jesus was on the screen. Then, video of a few seconds of the back of his head. Long hair. Before he covered it with a blanket.

“Do you wonder what Jesus knows? About your son? How close they were? Have you spoken to him? Asked for details?”

“No,” Allison wept. “Jesus has been through enough. He needs to be home with his family. He needs to have privacy. To heal. If the situation were reversed, and Isaac came home, I know that’s what I would want for him.”

Dominique blinks. “The other kid.”

“Yeah,” Jesus nods.

“You took care of him the way you’re taking care of Levi?” Dominique wonders.

Jesus nods again. “And that feels…like a lot?”

“Well, it would, I suppose, yeah.” Dominique nods. There’s a pause. Jesus still looks distressed. “Listen, Levi’s gonna be okay. It feels the same. But it’s not, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jesus answers softly. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Dominique presses, guard firmly raised.

“You said you’re not really okay either.”

“You’re Jesus Foster,” a new voice interrupts.

It makes goosebumps raise up under Dominique’s sweatshirt. She turns, to see a white lady in a navy jacket. Jeans. Dressy shoes.

“And you are?” Jesus asks, not giving this presumptuous lady an inch. (Dominique’s glad.)

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Pearl West’s mom. I knew Frank. And Stef.”

Dominique’s face sets into a hard mask. She steps back. It’s either that, or jump across the table and grab her by the throat. This woman. This is the woman who hurt Levi. Who assaulted Levi, when he was just a kid. Younger, even, than Dominique had been.

“We gotta go,” Dominique tells Jesus, not dropping his name. Not giving Pearl’s mom the satisfaction.

Jesus doesn’t need to hear an out given twice. He gets up and walks around the table.

“Pearl said you were visiting,” the woman calls at Jesus’s back. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Tell your mom I said hi,” she calls.

Dominique shuts the door firmly at their backs. Moves aside so Jesus can lock it himself.

“Pearl, I don’t know if you know...but your mom’s outside. She just...I don’t know...tried to start a conversation with me? Said you told her we were visiting?”

Jesus seems doubtful.

“Oh. My. God. Why can’t she leave, and stop lying to people?” Pearl insists. “She’s infuriating. I’m so sorry she approached you. Are you okay? I didn’t tell her you were here. I would never tell her that.”

Dominique isn’t sure what to believe. She doesn’t know Pearl well, and the two of them don’t get along well. But she does trust Jesus and Mariana and their judgment. They wouldn’t be friends with someone they couldn’t trust. It’s been a while since Dominique’s been around someone so manipulative. The fact that it’s a woman does throw a wrench in things, temporarily. She’s always functioned under the belief that women were more trustworthy than men. But this woman, Pearl’s mom? Clearly cannot be trusted.

She’s obviously a liar. She’s proven that much with Pearl. She’s abusive. She’s proven that much with Levi. Just seeing her, makes Dominique want to be sure he’s okay. She goes upstairs and sits on the landing.

She likes being able to see everything. Everybody. All the comings and goings. She takes a picture through the thick wooden railings. Then over the railing to all the open space below.

Eventually, she moves to the head of the stairs and sits. If Pearl’s mom knows she’s here, she might try coming in. And if she even thinks about trying anything with Levi?

She’ll have to come through Dominique first.

#fic: somewhere inside

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sceawere · 7 years

Text

another time pt.14 | alfie solomons

[STORY BIO + PREVIOUS CHAPTERS HERE]

“Holy fuck” you whispered, leaning forward to see through the rain spattered glass. The house had appeared out of nowhere, it seemed, hidden by the high trees from the road. You hadn’t even seen the gate until you were through it. The driver had turned in and there it was. You assumed that was entirely on purpose.

Alfie cleared his throat next to you, waiting with the open door in hand.

“Yeah, it’s alright, ain’t it?” he replied, fixing his hat to hide his face from the last sputters of rain.

You stepped out and tried not to go flying on the slick stone beneath your heels. That vintage film star grace that tinged your understanding of this age unfortunately wasn’t something you could borrow from Esther’s cupboards. Alfie hovered his hand around you elbow just in case you tipped. He slammed the door after you and sniffed, letting you admire the view.

“What the fuck, Alfie?” you spat after a few moments, eyes trailing over the windows in succession.

“Yeah” He agreed in a proud voice, his own eyes trailing over the building.

“You live here?”

“Sometimes”

“Some…times. Sorry, did I miss-are you an Earl of somewhere?”

He chuckled, bringing his hand back up to the small of your back this time, leading you towards the building.

“You own this?” you questioned and he turned his head to you, almost offended.

“Yes, I own it. Why d’ya sound so surprised?”

“No, I just-“

“You’ve seen my accounts!”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?”

“I still don’t really know what money means here”

He stalled, staring down at you.

“You don’t know what money means?”

“No. Not in terms of-“

“I have you…you’re in charge of the club accounts, what are you-?”

“No, I know what it means! I just…I’m not sure what it…I don’t even know what this would cost in my money! Inflation! Conversion! You know?”

He stared you down for a few moments with a look that was becoming tiringly familiar, before turning and continuing up the driveway.

“I know what money means, Alfie!” you shouted after him, trying to keep up on the wet ground.

“Fucking hell” you whispered, suddenly feeling very aware of whether or not you were dripping onto the (what was probably very expensive) rug. You pulled the skirt of your coat a little closer, peered down to your shoes.

A continuous roar, accompanied by thundering steps, came towards you down the hallway and you threw your head up just in time to see Alfie tackling the advancing child to the floor. The little girl screeched in laughter, slapping out at the nearest shoulder as he rose, lifting and spinning her.

“Right, little miss. You’re going in the bin” he winked to you as he trundled past with her towards the door. You scowled, bent back and swerved around her flailing arms as he passed. Her hair was flipped over her face as she went but you could hear the giggles from under the curls.

“Nooooo!” she screeched through the laughs, the sounds jumping as Alfie’s steps bounced her on his shoulder. Your smile fell a little as a thought hit you. He was a dad. Why the fuck hadn’t he told you he was a dad.

You broke out of your realisation as she smacked her little hands down on his back and he groaned, dropping her to the floor as he doubled over.

“Oh, fu-” he whispered before biting into his lip to silence himself, leaning against the entryway.

“Uncle Alfie?” the little girl asked, flipping her tangled hair away from her face. Her eyes were wide as she looked him over, toeing a little closer apprehensively. Alfie remained leaning against the wooden pillar, face bent and hidden. The girl reached out slowly but Alfie snapped to grab the hand and pull her in, turning her upside down in a moment.

You exhaled, rolling your eyes as you realised the fake, and leaned against the closest wall.

“Got ya! You need to stop being so damn soft, it’ll get you in trouble one of these days” Alfie told her, slowly turning her and putting her down carefully.

“But charging into people won’t?” you asked, mostly ignored by the both of them.

He combed her hair back with his fingers as she looked up at him with a flat look you’d seen before but couldn’t quite place. Not Alfie’s. Wait, she’d said-

“Uncle Alfie, huh?” you asked and the pair turned to you. Your arms crossed over your stomach, leaning back against the wall. The girl looked you over, smiling up at Alfie with a knowing look.

“Is she your girlfriend?” she teased and you rolled your lips into your teeth, eyes flicking up to Alfie. He stared down at her, face flat, before he flicked her square in the forehead.

“Mind your own business, Bucket”

“Bucket?” you mouthed to him with a frown as he passed but again, you were mostly ignored.

“It’s rude not to introduce people!” the girl shouted after him and he waved a hand over his shoulder. The way he brought it down to run the back over his spine made you think maybe she had done a slight bit of damage. Regardless, you liked her style.

“What is your name?” she asked and you turned to her. She was sat on the stairway now, peering through the bannister at you. Inquisitive eyes that framed a freckled scar across her nose. Ruffled hair that at some point had tried to be constrained in the ribbon that was now trailing loosely down by her ear. She didn’t look much like Alfie, you reasoned. You took a breath, strangely comforted, and stepped towards her a little. You let your arms loose as you crouched beside the bannister, grasping the rung either side of the ones she did, and gave her your name.

“And what’s your name?”

“Harriet”

“Harriet. Lovely” she squidged her lips to the side, not quite a smile, something a little sadder.

“My dad picked it. Alfie calls me Bucket sometimes”

“I noticed that”

She smiled for real this time and you joined her. In spite of the dramatic entrance she seemed quite quiet, reserved. Perhaps it was the disappearance of Alfie that had left you both alone together in the vast stairway.

“You said Alfie was your uncle?”

“I didn’t” she shook her head and the ribbon danced.

“You called him Uncle Alfie” you insisted and she tilted her head, the start of a shrug.

“That’s not saying he’s my uncle. He called me a Bucket, it don’t make me one”

“Oh God, you really are related” you whispered to yourself and she giggled again, your smile pulling back.

“I didn’t know Alfie had siblings” you continued, reaching through the rungs to tug the ribbon free of its last tenuous hold round almost a single strand of hair. You passed it to her and she took it from you, gripping it between her teeth as she pulled her hair back between her hands.

“Ye aske lotto kestuns” she mumbled out before freeing the ribbon and re-wrapping it around the bun she’d formed.

“Don’t she just?” Alfie said from behind you and you jumped. He’d come out of an archway right behind you, and you turned to look down the hallway where he’d originally left. Oh, you hoped this place wasn’t a maze. It didn’t look that big inside, well, big yes. Space wise. But not like there were a ton of rooms. Apparently they all looped into one another though.

Alfie came to lean against the bannister between the two of you and you looked up. He rested his arms over the polished wood, looking behind you to the entrance.

“It is pissing it down again”

“Alfie!” you scolded and Harriet laughed again, kicking her legs out from under her to rest against the steps. He turned to you as you stood.

“What?”

You nodded your head towards where Harriet sat and he sighed.

“Oh, she’s heard worse”

“A lot worse” She added.

“That’s no reason to do it again” you explained and they looked between each other with the shared ghost of a smirk, “Stop it! The both of you!”

“Where’s Rosie?” Alfie asked down to Harriet and you sighed.

“Changing the sheets”

“Whose Rosie?” you sidled into Alfie a little, whispering to him.

“My housekeeper. There’s Rosie – she’s the boss lady. And then there’s her daughter Rachel - that’s her mum” he nodded to Harriet “You’ll get to know them quick enough, don’t worry”

It took you a moment to unravel the connections.

“Wait, you have a housekeeper?”

“Yeah” he nodded as if it was nothing, sniffing as he tucked his hands into his pockets.

“Ok” you agreed, resigned to the fact that this was happening. You set about shimmying off your damp coat “So, are you Harriet Solomons, or…?”

“Nope”

“She’s Harriet Kolski” Alfie added, taking your coat off you and draping it over the wood to dry “But her name’s Bucket”

Harriet exhaled from the stairway, not quite a sigh, and pushed herself up. She was still shorter than him, even four steps up.

“If I’m a bucket, you’re a brush!” she said with conviction, leaning into the bannister. You liked this girl; you admired her a little more every time she took Alfie on. He leant into the bannister too, hands gripped either side of hers like yours had been before.

“That doesn’t even work! It’d be Brash and that don’t make no sense”

“What’s happening here?” you questioned, leaning between the both of them. They turned to you and you raised your eyebrows, eyes flicking between the both as you searched for an explanation.

Harriet leaned in and whispered conspiratorially “Abrasha”, which answered nothing for you.

“It’s my middle name, alright? There, you’ve broke the bubble. Ruined the secret. Taken the mystery out of the-“

“Ahhh! ‘If I’m a bucket, you’re a’-brasha, brush…no, that’s good, actually. I like it, Harriet”

She smiled up at you and Alfie groaned.

“I don’t need this” he pointed between the two of you “I don’t need women ganging up on me. No”

“What’s the ‘Bucket’ bit?” you questioned.

“We used to put her in a-“Alfie motioned with his hands “Bucket. When she were a baby. Carry her about the place”

“For…any particular reason?” you squinted back at him.

“None in particular. Fun” he sniffed.

“Hang on, her name’s Kolski?” you questioned, pointing towards where Harriet was lifting herself up onto the banister slightly. She placed her chest against the wood, kicking up as if she was trying to swing herself over but not getting the right balance. Alfie scowled and stepped to grab the back of her dress at the right moment, yanking her over in a slightly more controlled way than she was about to do, and helped wrangle her to the floor. She groaned, and groaned, and groaned, raising the tone as she continued to let him know she was not happy with his ruining her fun. He scuffed the bun that was already coming loose and turned her towards you, marching her off down the hallway. You followed after, still seeking an answer.

“It is indeed. Bane of my bloody-“

“Alfie!”

“Oh, bloody ain’t barely swea-“

“Toby/Aaron Kolski, Kolski?” you questioned, ignoring his argument. He was leading you into a little stairway, down into a warm kitchen. Once there, he let Harriet free and she tore off, grabbing a paper that was at the table and finding a seat.

“Yes indeed”

“Oh”

“Yeah”

Harriet set about drawing while Alfie rooted round the kitchen, gathering supplies for tea, you realised. The kettle was beginning to bubble and it came to you that he’d disappeared before to set the water going. You realised why you knew the name, dropping yourself into a chair.

“Harry…Kolski”

“That’s me” Harriet replied, eyes focused on the tree she was drawing.

“I thought you were a grown-up man” you reached out to twirl a pencil on the table top.

“Nope” she popped the ‘p’ sound, swapping out her pencils.

“Only you’re on the registers at work” you pointed to her, tapping on the table as you looked up at Alfie.

“Yeah, that’s a bit of a joke between us all” he confirmed, placing the cups of steaming liquid down before he joined you at the table. He reached for a discarded pencil and added a bird to the sky on Harriet’s drawing. Only, because he was in the seat opposite her, it was upside down.

“That’s upside down” she noted.

“No, it ain’t. They’re just…doing turns, aren’t they? They’re showing off, is all” he defended, lifting his cup to blow over the surface. You smiled to yourself, tucking your head down to hide the sight a little.

“So, are you Aaron’s or Toby’s?” you asked.

“Aaron’s. I’ve got Uncle Toby and Uncle Alfie” she explained, searching for what you presumed was the red that was hidden behind a book. You reached and passed it to her and she thanked you, carrying on with her drawing.

“Well, that actually explains some things”

“It does?” She added, brow furrowing as she concentrated on a twirling line.

“Yeah. Your dad isn’t quite sure of me and now I realise he’s looking out for you”

“Yeah, he doesn’t like new people a lot” she agreed, eyes still to her work.

“No”

Alfie sat back in his chair, letting the two of you talk.

“He’s just being a good dad” you explained.

“It’s why my dad picked him” she explained and you squinted a little, her words confusing you. She looked up for a second when you didn’t reply “Dad always said if anything happened to him he still wanted me to have a dad, and he wanted it to be Aaron”

“Yeah, he used to work with us when we were first coming up, din’t he? He was a smart man, your dad was” Alfie sniffed, giving you a little wink.

“Oh” you added, realising what had happened “Well, if he picked Aaron to look after you, he was”

You licked at your lips, not quite sure what to say next. You reached out for a spare piece of paper and took one of the pencils, starting on your own drawing.

“He looked after me, your dad did. Aaron, I mean” you attempted, throwing it out carefully like a line into water.

Her hand slowed a little, meeting your eyes, before she looked down to your paper.

“He did?”

“Yeah. It’s how I met Alfie” you tilted your head towards where he was sat, scribbling colour into the shape you’d just drawn “I was…lost. And not feeling well. And your dad made sure I was alright. He did a really good thing that night”

She hummed, focusing on her drawing. You looked up to Alfie, not sure if you’d done the right thing. He gave you a little nod and you went back to colouring. The wind was whipping up again outside and you listened to it howl. The house was lower at the back, or rather the garden was, and so while you were technically under the house, you could see out onto the lawns. There were trees and flowers, benches and boxes scattered about.

“Are those apple trees at the back there?” you questioned.

“Your nana Rosie makes nice pies, don’t she Bucket?”

“We put the raspberries in with them” she turned in her seat, using the pencil to point out a box near the window “see?”

“Oh yeah. You help grow them?”

She nodded, but didn’t turn back to either you or the drawing.

“Do you work at the bakery as well?” she questioned and you panicked. How much did she know? You imagined that to her, bakery meant bakery.

“Umm…” you turned to Alfie, searching. When he didn’t warn you off, you told the careful truth “No, I work at the club”

“I haven’t been there” she finished, tucking her knees back under her on the seat as she came back to drawing.

“No, I shouldn’t think you’ll be going anytime soon either”

She smiled, swapping out for a fresh piece of paper.

“Hey, Harry” you tapped her wrist, drawing her attention. When she was looking you held the paper up to her and she burst out laughing. Alfie leant forward, looking at the paper. He rolled his eyes and sat back in the chair, taking another swig of tea.

“Here we go, ganging up on me”

You turned it back to yourself, surveying your work.

“I don’t know! I think I got your hair just right, Alfie” you defended, shooting him a smirk. He shook his head at you and you winked.

“When did…” you trailed off later, when night had fell and Harriet had gone to bed. You weren’t quite sure how to finish the sentence. You were tucked up in a chair by Alfie’s desk, your damp hair trailed over the armrest closest to the fire as you watched him work. He looked different to how he did at the flat – probably just the sight of him working at a proper desk, but still at home. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows, at home.

“Just after she were born. Rosie already worked for me, that’s how her parents met” he ticked off something, the pencil scraping.

“Right old matchmaker, you are”

He sniffed and smiled.

“Anyway, he knew the job. He wanted his kid to have a dad. Aaron stepped up, I brought Rachel on, had ‘em move in. I’m not always here anyway. Seems stupid letting the place go to waste. Nice having some people around me who aren’t complete reprobates - considering my day job, yeah?”

“Did I fuck up…did I put my foot right in it?” you worried, turning a damp strand over in your hands.

“No, she’s fine about it. Well, she’s not but you know she can talk about it and that” he flexed his hand, looking across the desk “She don’t know much different. She’d have grown up with us all around anyway. Even if her dad hadn’t died, she’d still be family”

You watched him work for a while, fingers twirling. He added the paper to a pile, lifted from the chair, and came to sit on the floor before you with a tired groan.

“You want the chair?” you questioned, abandoning fidgeting with your hair in favour of smoothing out his over his scalp. There was a section at the back that seemed to not agree with the rest and needed tending every so often, lest it continue to rebel in the opposite direction. He lifted the glass he’d poured but never drank from off the table and settled a little further back, getting comfortable on the rug.

“No, you’re alright” he took a swig, resting his arm on his bent knee as he watched the flames in the fireplace. You chuckled to yourself and he bent his head back, looking up at you.

“What?”

“Us. The gangster and the girl out of time. Being domestic and chatting about the kids at night” you joked with a smile.

He chuckled, rolled his head back right way, and took another drink. He lifted the glass over his shoulder and you took it from him, swallowing a little of the burning liquid.

“Oh, God” he laughed as you handed it back “That’s worse than the shit at the flat”

“Uhh, this is the damn good stuff, actually, missus”

“Oh, sorry!” you teased, shifting up in the chair a little, before returning to tracing your hands through his hair “Lord of the fucking manor”

He laughed again, in the back of his throat as he swallowed the last of it. The glass clinked as he returned it to its place on the glass top.

“You understand why I didn’t tell you about her, don’t you?”

“I understand”

“You’re not…”

“You’re worried I’m pissed?”

“A little bit”

You smiled even though he couldn’t see it, letting it sit in the air. The thought of what you hadn’t told him came to mind.

“No, it wasn’t you holding back something I needed to know. You were protecting her. If it was something I needed to know, I might be. But I didn’t need to know so I didn’t”

“I was there when he went,” he looked off into the fire again “took too fucking long”

You hummed and dropped your hand to rest by the side of his throat, trailing the back of your fingers lightly over his pulse.

“I want to say something like ‘at least he died with friends’ or something but…I don’t really think it’d land, would it?”

“No, not really”

“Yeah” you rolled your head to look up at the ceiling, letting him have his thoughts.

“It was my fault, I think” his voice was smaller when he continued and your hand slowed. You searched for something to say. Anything to reply. “That one still sits with me”

“If he’s anything like his daughter, then he knew what he was about” you tried and he scoffed a laugh, dropping his head.

“He made it through a fucking war and I got him killed in a backstreet, how fucked is that?”

“Is that why she lives here?” you questioned.

“What, you think it’s about absolving my guilt?” he turned across his shoulder, not enough to look at you, but enough that he could probably see you out of his periphery. You turned and shuffled in the seat, bringing your arm up so you could lean against it.

“I don’t know. I’m still learning and working you out, Mr Solomons”

He hummed, staring off.

“It’s not about guilt. She’s family, that’s all”

“She’s family, then” you traced a finger around the shell of his ear.

“I could do it, so I did. That’s all” he defended.

“I think that’s what you’re about. Doing what you can do. Doesn’t matter about what you should or shouldn’t. It’s easier that way.

You don’t have to worry about hypotheticals and options and…you could make booze, so you did. You had money to help Esther, so you did.

And you did what you could do and you did what you could do until fifty decisions down the line you could give the boys a job, so you did. You could give her a home, so you did. You could help me, so you did”

“Yeah, my life’s simple” he snarked, not maliciously and you pinched at his ear. He whined and grabbed your hand, pulling it down to rest safely at the juncture of his shoulder and chest. You weaved your fingers into his, settling down into the chair.

“I’m trying to be all deep and emotional here. I’m trying to peer into your soul”

“Well, bugger off” he rested his head back against your knees and you hummed, squeezing his fingers.

“I’m sure you did what you could do and nothing less, Alfie. It’s not like you to do otherwise” you assured. He stared up at the ceiling, the only sign he’d heard you the fluttering blinks that followed. You joined him, thumb tracing over his chest, and let your eyelids flutter closed to the sound of the crackling fire.

#|writing #another time verse #alfie solomons #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders imagine

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