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fansformentalydistroyedmen · 7 months

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Last Names

A Malcolm Bright x Reader Fan fic

Your last name is a secret his is hidden can this love start and survive with two traumatized people. Dumb parents

Chapter 1- The Meeting

“Hold on Sam! Don’t let go! I’m trying, the rope just won’t cut. No Sam! Sam! Mom! Dad!” I sit up fast panting and hot tears running. My heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. I rub my eyes and look at the clock. It was about 5 in the morning. An hour of sleep is not too bad. I roll out of bed and straight into the shower. Trying to be as fast as possible I don’t even bother trying to warm up the shower. It’s not the day to try and get over my fear of water. As I watch my hands shake as I try to scrub my hair I close my eyes and as always, there they are just like always, haunting me. “Go away.” I whisper desperately. Opening my eyes and being blinded by sunlight as it floods my bathroom. I finish up and get out, quickly getting ready for work. I grab my phone and walk out of my apartment. As soon as the door opens I can hear the busy city of New York. The loud car horns, the screaming people, and of course the sound of construction. I wave down a taxi and get in thanking the driver. As he drives away I stare out the window letting my leg bounce up and down. It’s a bright day, the sun is way too bright, not a cloud in sight. This city is terrible to live in with constant migraine but you learn to deal with the pounding in your head. I rummage through my purse and pop a couple of my daily meds, an anti anxiety, some to help with the migrain, then a few for panic attacks, and so on and so just anything they claim will help, they never really do. The rest of the taxi ride is quiet as I let my head fall back. Once my ride comes to a stop I pay and get out. I walk into the police precinct. Immediately I am flooded with familiar sounds and faces making me relax. I walk over to my desk throwing my stuff on the table. I slump into my chair and rub my face. Soon someone taps me on my shoulder, my friend Dani.

“You look tired.” She hands me a cup of coffee. I am immediately overwhelmed with the smell of terrible coffee. I smile and take a sip, is it disgusting, yes, will it only be one of thirteen, again yes.

“Thanks.” I take another sip

“You look tired, late night?” She smirks.

“Yep you know the fun stuff, insomnia, nightmares, and the occasional attack from my cat, Penny.”

“Boring you really got me excited in the beginning.” She says with a slight frown. I raise my eyebrow.

“Really you had even the slightest of hopes my night went different. Do you even know me.” I laugh. She rolls her eyes at me and walks to her desk. I start to fill out some boring paperwork and continue with my coffee. Until my Boss and Mentor Gill walks out.

“We’ve got a case!” He yells out as he throws a coat over his shoulders. With that everyone on my team gets up and leaves. I jump into Gill's car and he starts driving while Dani and my other team member JT follow behind us.

“So how are you doing?” Gill starts with his usual questions.

“You know, fine nothing exciting.” I shrug.

“How's the nightmares?” Again with the questions.

“Preventing me from sleeping but I got a whole hour last night.” With that Gills chuckles.

“So what about the migraine?” Listen, all these questions are sweet but my answers never change.

“Painful but bearable.” Once again I reply now for the lecture.

“You know if you drank more water instead of the, what is that your fifth cup of coffee this morning?”

“6th thanks for underestimating me.” I can see his eye roll. The rest of the car ride is quiet besides the tap of my foot on the floor. Once we arrive I get out but Gill stays.

“I’ll be back, just head upstairs.” I look at him weirdly but follow his instructions. I walk up the stairs and show my I.D. I see Dani and JT so I walk up to them.

“So what do we have?”

A single homicide looks pretty straight forward.” JT claims.

“Boring.” I groan realizing that was said out loud and not just in my head.”

“Sorry I didn’t mean that I just mean it shouldn't be too bad. No no of course her murder was bad I...never mind.” I bite my lip trying to shut up as JT shakes his head. We all start examining her body. Something felt wrong with this case. It was just a feeling but something was off. A couple minutes later I hear Gill talking to Dani and JT and they do not seem happy. I must of zoned out and missed something. I look straight forward only to be met with bright blue eyes.

“Holy!” My hand goes for my heart.

“Sorry you scared me.’ I shake my head.

“Oh sorry ma’am.” The strange man says. My head tilts in curiosity. Who was he and why was he so comfortable in a crime scene. I watch the wheels in his head turn as he stares at the lady.

“Can I help you?” His eyes shoot up to look me dead in the eye.

“Oh sorry, I just haven’t seen you around here before. Normally it's all the same people. I’m Y/N by the way, not that it matters.’ I smile

“Hi Y/N, I'm Malcolm Bright, a Consultant.” He smiles softly but as soon as he said his last name something went off in my head.

“Not to be blunt but why did you just lie to me about your last name?” I ask as curiosity takes over.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry when you said your last name you blinked a few extra times, that's a tell for when people lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You just did it again, the whole blinking thing.”

“I’m not lying, you must be mistaken.” He looks down at the body again.

“Why do you keep lying, you must be a terrible liar.”

“Listen, ignore the blinking thing, why did you introduce yourself with just your first name is the question? People normally use their last name.” I bite my lip at that.

“I don’t like being called by my last name, that’s my parents name not mine.”

“If you won’t tell me the truth I won’t tell you either.” He looks back at the body, I narrow my eyes at the strange man in front of me. Who was he? Why was he here? Questions flooded my head. I was caught off guard when he stood up quickly. He looked angry, I hope I didn’t upset him. Just then he starts going off about how this was a copycat of the surgeon. He went into the surgeon with a fine tooth comb. It was crazy the amount of details he knew about this case. He later stormed out of the apartment and Gill followed. I closely trailed him. He was my ride back and if he was leaving I was too. I could see them arguing. Soon Gill caught a glimpse of me so I walked out.

“Time to go back to the precinct?” Gill rubbed his face.

“Yeah, Bright gets to sit up front he’s older.” My eyes widened but I did not have the energy to argue as my head started to pound even harder.

“Fine whatever.” I exclaim as I rub my eyes and get into the back of the car. Malcolm stares at me weirdly as he gets into his seat. The car ride is quiet which I accept gratefully as it now felt like my head was going to burst open all over the backseats. Once we arrive at the precinct everyone trails into the conference room and starts talking over the case. I sit in my chair with my knees pulled up to my chest as Malcolm goes over a Profile of the killer. Once he is finished people start to trail out of the room as I stare at the board soaking in everything. Malcolm shows up behind me.

“So see anything?’ I gasp at the sudden person and noise behind me.

“Sorry, no, geez what do you have with scaring me.” I rub my eyes viciously.

“I don’t do it on purpose, just Y/N.” He says snarkily.

“Oh so that's how it's going to be Malcolm. So you're a profiler?”

“Yep and I can profile you and anyone else.”

“Ah really.” I laugh

“Yep like I can tell that either you're high on anxiety or that’s your 9th cup of coffee. Which is because you haven’t slept because of something that obviously haunts you. Family issues, financial struggle no your to put together for that, medical issues would explain the migraine you have. So what is it?” My eyes widen and my anxiety picks up as my legs shakes more viscously.

“None.” I say as I stand up way too quickly. The world starts to spin and I feel my legs start to give out. I grab onto the table as he reaches for me. I grab my head as he hesitantly places a hand on my shoulder.

“You good?” He stares with scared eyes. I blink a couple of times.

“I’m fine, sorry I stood up too quickly.”

“Maybe you should sit down or drink something other than coffee.”

“I’m fine but thank you.” I walk out of the room quickly and go to the bathroom knowing its the only place he can’t follow me. I quickly lock the door and slide down it covering my face.

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smalls2233 · 1 year

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After the hunt

#hunt showdown #lulu #Sofia #the witch hunter #the prodigal daughter #for the background I painted over a screencap of the saloon in lower desalle #it’s actually nuts how much I was able to change the vibes w the paint over

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mysterious-secret-garden · 9 months

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John Collier - The prodigal daughter, 1903.

#John Collier #The prodigal daughter #red hair

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stopthatbluecat · 1 year

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Season Seven Siskoshir: Sisko's Office

#siskoshir #julian bashir #benjamin sisko #ds9 #deep space nine #chrysalis #the prodigal daughter #inter arma enim silent leges

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opportunityarose · 3 months

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prodigal son showed you a story about a boy and the father he cannot cleanse himself of and then they show you a mother and the daughter she holds too tightly on to and then they said what if the son was too much like the mother and the daughter too much like her father. insane

#what if the daughter did nothing but lie and the son did nothing but absolve her of it!#the deleted ainsley centric episodes in s1 because of the pandemic and s2 because of budget cuts... fox when i come for you #prodigal son #og post

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compare-and-conform · 4 months

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Crashing the algorithm

#me #its meeee #panasonic #photography #raw edits #personal #photoshoot #retro #hearts #girls with tattoos #I’m not sorry these are great fuck off #prodigal daughter

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capbrie · 2 months

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root rot

some days i find it hard to remind myself that my dad is a good man.

my father is good, and he is just a man, and he is a good man.

yes, maybe he has done some bad things with his hands,

carrying around the rot,

but at the end of the day, he is a good man.

of course, it takes only mere moments for me to remember

i am talking about myself.

praying that his rot hasn’t dripped through,

hasn’t spoiled the bunch.

my hands have done bad things,

my words, even worse,

but at the end of the day,

i am good,

am i not?

my brother tells me,

we’re all terrible,

it’s the family way.

god, please, don’t let that be my way.

for so long i wished i had my mother’s name,

i guess now i know the real reason why.

the roots are rotted, my blood pumping with that scarred blood,

nothing i do ever good enough to erase it.

my knees bloody from the cragged ground that scrapes them,

hands clasped and prayers muttered,

please god, don’t let me be him,

please god, don’t make me be him.

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inmyveinsalways · 6 months

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I’m at the point in my Gilmore Girls rewatch where I’ve finished The Prodigal Daughter Returns and now have to watch the horror show that is Lorelai and Luke breaking up and Lorelai getting married to Christopher 🤮 and don’t get me started on the whole April storyline and Luke not communicating with Lorelai about it, even though in the same episode he says they shouldn’t keep secrets from each other. It just makes me wonder what the writers were thinking back in 2005 🤦🏻‍♀️

#gilmore gilrs #rory gilmore #lorelai gilmore #luke x lorelai #the prodigal daughter returns #6x09

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whumpiary · 8 months

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technically a follow on from this piece. could probably stand alone. this piece has been 80% done in my google docs for three years so if you see any big holes in it uhhh. no you didn't.

if you've ever wanted some vague exposition on cass' powers or choices, then this is for you

content warning: mentions of death, victim blaming, aftermath of violence/assault, referenced dubcon/noncon, brief mind control

The common room at Bergen Estate gets quiet at night. Most of the charges prefer their own rooms as it gets dark. Hiding from the bogeyman.

But Harley liked the large, dark emptiness of the common room.

The curved chairs, the pillars, the rows of books and video games lined up along the shelves. The big oak tables. Bean bags in the corner. Rugs here and there. The whole place had the energy of some sort of bizarre combination between a kid’s playroom and a university library. But Harley wanted a space to think, and this was the easiest one.

Their intuition had been right and wrong in equal amounts tonight. They’d known they would be called to Christopher’s lounge tonight. And they were. And they knew that they would be fine after. And they are. But… if they were so fine why do they feel so God fucking awful?

“Harley can go, right? It’s not like we need them.”

Every time they try to push the memory from their head, it bobs to the surface again like an apple in water.

“I have to say, Harley… I really am so disappointed in you.”

They stare out the large bay window, at the leafless trees silhouetted in the mix of light from the garden and from the moon. The whole thing looks ghostly. Gothic. The dark through the glass makes the whole window reflective; a giant mirror just waiting to show them their face. But it’s dark in here too. It’s a dark room reflected on a dark night. That’s why it’s so obvious when there’s a shuffling flash of light behind them, making their heart skip.

The door opens, someone steps through, and then it closes. Dark again. Harley stiffens, freezes, trying to catch another glimpse of who it is in the reflection of the window but it's back to shadows on shadows on shadows.

They listen as the person shuffles to one of the cushioned seats. Shuffles. Like it hurts to move. They sit so carefully that Harley can barely hear them. Then there's quiet. Stillness. An exhale.

Harley doesn’t move. They know stillness. They know silence. Have known it for longer than they’ve been here.

But then there’s another exhale.

And another.

Any hitch of breath that might be happening in between is more or less silent. Which means, usually… crying.

Harley feels themself cringe. The Bergen Boys don't cry. Those are the rules. Not Christopher's rules but the deeper, unspoken ones between the lot of them. You don’t complain, you don’t ask for help, you don’t cry. Or if you did, it got beaten out of you quicksmart. Everything else was a free for all as far as Harley has ever been able to tell.

So the shadow person has come to the common room in the middle of the night. Assuming, like Harley had, that it would be empty. That it would be safe.

Guilt washes over them all at once, guttural and nauseating and they realise all of a sudden that intentionally or not just by sitting here, listening, they're imposing. Intruding. Doing the wrong thing. And then the fear beneath that, on top of that, around that, that if they wait too long and the shadow person notices them, they may well end up on the wrong side of thrown fists. Again.

Harley shifts on the couch where they sit, exaggerating the whisper scrape of fabric on fabric, and leans back on the left side where they know the leg creaks.

The shadow person's breathing stops immediately and Harley hears them stand.

"Who's there?"

Harley freezes again, regretting making their presence known. Cassius.

"I can see you. On the couch. Get over here." His voice is sharp and violent. Deeper than usual. There's a childish part of Harley, not as far beneath the surface as they’d like, that wishes desperately they’d just stay silent and hidden. Safe.

But, like they were told, they uncurl their legs. Stand. Turn. Start to walk.

Harley can see the moment that the light from the window must catch their face. Cassius' face softens, eyes fluttering closed and body sagging with what was maybe relief.

“Harls,” he says, running a hand over his face as he sits back down. Harley doesn’t miss the wince. “Jesus Christ, man, you scared me.”

“Sorry.” The apology flies out of them like a verbal flinch. “I’ll leave.”

“No, ple-” Cassius stops himself, eyes shuttering closed. Harley watches him take a deep breath, brow furrowing briefly. You don’t cry. You don’t complain. You don’t ask for help. “You can stay. If you want. I don't mind.”

Harley hesitates for a moment, glancing around half-uselessly, before choosing a seat across from the other charge and folding into it.

“What are you doing up so late?” Cassius asks, as though they’ve bumped into each other at a truck stop. At a bar. Fancy seeing you here.

Harley shrugs. “I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep. I kept…” thinking about what you were doing. They bite down on their tongue to keep themselves from saying more. It’s stupid.

They trail off as Cassius looks up at them and the dull light from the window catches the shape of his brow. At the blood smeared along his temple. The bruising already flaring up along his cheek. “Did… did Beauche do that to you?”

Cassius huffs out a half laugh, running his tongue between his teeth and the obviously bruised tissue of his cheek. He drags his hand up, knuckle brushing softly against his brow. “Yep. What a gentleman, huh?”

“But Christopher said he wouldn’t be violent.”

Cassius scoffs, “Yeah and Christopher’s such a shining beacon of truth, huh?”

Cassius sits back in his chair, eyes hard, and Harley holds their breath. With the shadows of the trees outside dancing across his face, the shading of the bruises and the swelling there, Cassius looks half monster.

Then his expression softens, his body relaxes. “Nah, it was my fault." He lets out a sigh, hand running back through his hair. "The guy wanted me to cry.”

“And did you?” Cassius’ glare is immediate. Has Harley slamming their jaw shut so quickly their teeth click together. “Sorry.”

Cassius shrugs a shoulder in acceptance of the apology and leans back in the chair. He closes his eyes and all at once it’s like some mask comes down. He looks exhausted and hurt and… young, actually. Harley always forgets that. He’s younger than them. About a three year gap between them.

“Why are you up?” Harley says, after the silence gets unbearably fragile. “Here, I mean. I thought you’d be…” They struggle for a tactful way to put it. “In the other wing.”

“Nah, he didn’t want me to stay, thank fuck. And Christopher doesn’t like me coming in af-... Um. He doesn’t like me coming in too late,” Cassius says, picking non-existent dirt out from under his finger nails. He clears his throat a little as his face flinches in and out of a frown. “Plus, the sooner I see him, the sooner I have to… you know…”

He gestures loosely at his face and Harley frowns. The sooner he’d have to do what? Get rid of the bruises? Get rid of the pain that keeps making him flinch and close his eyes? None of them talked about it but they’d all seen it. Bruises fading on Cassius just to bloom on his brother in minutes. Always after a visit to Christopher. Always without a word spoken.

Harley can’t help their own contempt, “Isn’t that a good thing for you?”

Cassius looks at them with an expression Harley can’t place, dark eyes flicking between both of Harley’s, as though searching for something. He looks angry. Murderous. Violent. Then he snorts and it’s gone. “Yeah. Sure.”

He drops his head, hands fidgeting between his knees. With the angle and the shadows, Harley can only just make out the shape of his nose, his eyes half hidden behind his hair. It sticks out at awkward angles around his head like a terrible crown. Frizzy waves in some parts, kinked curls in others.

It'll suit him more when he leaves and he grows it longer.

The thought comes unprompted, unbidden and with the utmost certainty. Like the predictions always do. Just a slice of truth falling into the head with the right prompt. An understanding that that's just… how things will be.

It's not the first time Harley's thought something like it. That Cassius will do much better once he leaves. The notion of it is almost horrifying. Cassius has been here longer than they have. It’s hard to imagine Bergen Estate without its golden boy.

Harley chews on their cheek and “If I ask you something, will you answer truthfully?”

Cassius shrugs. Smirks. “Probably not.”

Harley rolls their eyes and looks away, annoyance settling in their gut. They don’t even know why they bother with Cassius. He’s always the exact same. They're about to stand up to leave when Cassius clears his throat and-

“I’ll trade you for it,” he says softly, dark eyes shining with something unnameable in the dim light. “You ask me something, I ask you something. No lies.”

“Promise?”

Cassius just shrugs. Which is probably as good a promise as Harley’s going to get, really. They sigh and trace the patterning of the rug with their eyes before pursing their lips together and looking back up at Cassius with a focussed sincerity.

They swallow. Inhale. Hands grip the arms of the chair. "You hate it here.”

Cass’ eyes skitter to the side and back. "That's… not a question."

"Why don't you leave?"

“Same as you, dumbass. Legally binding contract.”

“No, I mean-” Harley bites down on their cheek and tries to figure out the right words to say what they mean. “You can make him do whatever you want, right? You can make anyone do what you want. So why don’t you just… make him get rid of you."

Cassius exhales in a way that could almost be a laugh. But probably isn’t. “It’s… complicated.”

“Because of Henri?”

He shrugs, looking bored as he meets their gaze. “Sure.”

“No lies.”

Cassius sighs, leaning back slouched in the chair. He shrugs. “Just because I can make someone want to do something, it doesn’t mean they’ll do it.”

“Like… he’d resist you?”

“No.” Cassius pulls a face. “I mean yes, maybe. But no… It’s like…” He makes a sound hallway between a sigh and a groan. He rolls his neck, eyes roaming around the room like he’s trying to figure something out. He leans his chin on his hand, fingers skirting over his lips before looking back to Harley. “Hᴀʀʟᴇʏ, sᴏʟᴠᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ.”

Harley stands instantly. They turn on their foot and move to the door and for the first time in their life everything is certain. Everything is clear. Everything makes so much sense and all they have to do is… Is to…

“Um…”

Cass half smiles. There's something vicious and cruel behind his eyes. “Dᴏ ɪᴛ, Hᴀʀʟᴇʏ. Sᴏʟᴠᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ.”

They step forward, compulsively, and for some bizarre reason they start raising their arms in front of them, as though their body can’t figure out a way to solve the issue even though they want to and as soon as that thought hits them the frantic desire starts to dissipate, filling instead with deep dread and panic.

They turn their head towards him, eyes wide. Frozen. "I…"

Cassius’ gaze is dark and heavy. Hungry and calculating. His jaw sets. “Hᴀʀʟᴇʏ, ɢᴏ ᴋɪʟʟ Cʜʀɪsᴛᴏᴘʜᴇʀ.”

The feeling that floods them is white hot and immediate. Desire and rage running through them like lava. They’re not sure they’ve ever moved so fast, wheeling on a foot, making it to the door, but no sooner are they reaching for the handle then-

“Nah, ꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛ ɪᴛ. Cᴏᴍᴇ sɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ.”

All at once the desire dissipates, and the panic sets in like shame. Like failure. They come back over. They sit back down. Then their thoughts catch up and they look at Cassius with fury. How dare he do that? How dare he go into their head and make them feel that?

Cassius just smiles. Shrugs. “Sorry. Figured I’d show not tell.”

‘’I could’ve killed him.”

Cassius shrugs, unshaded and unconvinced. “Nah. You would’ve got halfway down the hall and changed your mind.”

“But what if I didn’t?”

“Then you would’ve gotten to his room and realised you didn’t know how. You wouldn’t have killed him.”

“I might’ve,” they protest, still indignant.

Cass shrugs, smile lazy and tired, “But you didn’t.”

They try, for a few moments, to hold on to the anger. The indignation. It’s so, so easy to hate him when he’s far away. When they can’t see him or only see him at a distance. It’s much much harder three feet away from him, where the moonlight show the bags under his eyes as dark as the bruise blossoming above his temple.

“He takes you away from here sometimes,” they say eventually. “You could… when you were away from here. You could leave. Make him let you leave. That’s not that hard.”

Cassius just looks at them, chin resting on his hand, fingers covering his mouth. He raises his eyebrows at them expectantly, foot bouncing like a motor. He’s probably trying to look annoyed. Sarcastic. But he just looks like a sad little boy.

Understanding clicks in.

“But Henri…” Harley voices for him.

Cassius shrugs a shoulder. A tear manages to make it all the way to his cheekbone before he swipes it away with the side of his fist. The Bergen Boys don’t cry. “Told you. Complicated.”

This isn’t how things are meant to be. Cassius is meant to stay in the other wing, up on his damn pedestal and away in Christopher’s bedroom. He’s not meant to cry in the common room. He’s meant to be the golden boy in his golden room. It’s meant to be easy to hate him. He’s meant to be arrogant and selfish and mean and rude and-

“Your French isn’t better than mine,” they say suddenly. They can’t quite say where the compulsion to say it comes from.

Cassius blinks, “What?”

“In the office before, you said your French was better than mine. It’s not.”

He looks at them for a moment, frowning and annoyed and then suddenly he’s laughing, eyebrows shooting up in exhausted amusement, “You’re weird as fuck, you know that?”

“What? No I’m not,” Harley spits, suddenly self-conscious and antsy.

“Yes you are,” Cassius says. “I did you a fucking favour and a half tonight-“

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“And you know what, you’re welcome by the way.”

“I never asked you to-”

“Oh, save it. Yes you fucking did. You know what I can do. You know what I can feel. You were basically fucking screaming at me.”

And that, they do remember. Closing their eyes. Drowning Christopher’s voice out in their head. The huge loud static of I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this.

The air stills. The atmosphere between them settles like dust in the shadows and darkens again. Guilt creeps over Harley's shoulders and rests with heavy claws. They shouldn’t have said anything.

“My French is more usable than yours,” Cass mutters.

They’re truly unsure if he’s being genuine or just trying to break the ice that’s frosted over. They try for the latter, “Your grammar sucks.”

“Yeah, well we didn’t get much further than ‘voulez-vous coucher avec moi’, so I don’t think I did fine,” he gives them a dead-eyed smile that they assume is meant to cast the comment in humour. They don’t really find it very funny.

After a few awkward beats, Cassius gives up the ghost. He clears his throat, “Alright. My turn,”

Harley readjusts in their seat, straightening their spine, tucking their hair behind their ears to listen for the question. They wait one moment. And then two. The whole time the golden boy seems to scrutinise them, looking into their eyes as he sizes them up, makes some sort of assessment.

Cassius’ voice is low and jarringly sad as he finally lands on a question, “Why do you hate me so much?”

If it was possible for Harley to feel every cell in their body crystallise… that was what this feeling was. “I don’t hate you.”

Cassius smiles. Tilts his head. The blood along his temple catches in the light. “No lies.”

Harley frowns and looks away, turning their head to look out the window across the other side of the room. They wonder if he remembers the day they met as well as they do. It was in this room. Just a few feet from where they were sitting now. He’d been sitting on the arm of the couch making some smart mouth comment to someone and they’d thought he looked friendly. And then his eyes had met theirs and prediction hit like an epiphany:

You’re going to kill me one day.

Unprompted, unbidden and with the utmost certainty. A slice of truth falling into their head.

You’re going to kill me one day to save yourself.

They knit their fingers together in their lap, pressing knuckle to knuckle. They press their lips into a thin line. Something with wings — a bird or a bat, they can’t tell — takes flight from one of the trees outside the window. Darkness reflects darkness back.

After it becomes clear they’re not going to answer, Cassius prompts again, “Was it something I did?”

They shrug one shoulder. Like he does. Look down at their hands. The shadows across the room dance and shimmer.

“Is it because of…” out of the corner of their eye, Harley sees him wave a hand at himself. “You know. What I do.” A pause. They see his Adam’s apple bob. “The way I do it.”

Harley frowns, ducks their head lower so they don’t have to look at him, even in periphery. They manage to shake their head this time.

“Is it…” Cassius stops and starts. Stalls. Clears his throat. “Is it something I’m going to do?”

Harley finds themself looking up, despite themself.

They meet his eyes. Time stops for a second.

Cass looks so full of grief for a moment that Harley’s certain the rest of the world must’ve been robbed of it. All shoved into one person to hold for a second. His voice sounds wrecked, “I’m sorry.”

They almost believe him, too. And they hate him all the more for it.

Did he have to be so perfect at this, too? Did he have to be forgivable for this, too? Can’t they just hate him? Can’t they just hate his guts and let him get whadt he’s owed for the things that he’s done, does, is going to do? They want to ask him. They want to tell him. All of it. They want to see his face as he tries to figure out how to respond. They want to know how he feels when he finds out he’s gonna be a murderer.

“It’s okay,” is what tumbles out of their mouth instead.

“Yeah,” Cass laughs and another tear makes it out of him. They hate him for it. He swipes at it with the side of a closed fist. “No it isn’t.”

They hate him as he stands up.

They hate him as he cuts the conversation short.

They hate him as he passes and gives the back of their chair a pat.

“See you around, Harls.”

They watch the window for the flash of light as the door opens, a yellow glow spilling into the room for a moment like blood from a cut. And then the door shuts with a click. And the room is back to its inky darkness. And the golden boy is gone. And Harley isn’t.

And their hatred is an unspooled ball of yarn in the middle of the floor.

#harley #cassius #bergen estate #implied or referenced noncon #victim blaming cw #death mention cw #violent cw #wip to wob #this is your reminder that you can go back and finish an old piece and post it #for free #may your abandoned wips be more of a prodigal son to you #im mixing metaphors like cake batter babeyyy #we are the daughters of the wips you forgot to burn

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renegadesstuff · 7 months

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Ainsley Whitly in S1E20, “Like Father...” ❤️

#prodigal son #ainsley whitly #prodigal son series #prodigal son rewatch #prodigal son edit #save prodigal son #renew prodigal son #prodigal son season 1 #1x20 #like father...#like father like daughter

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greghatecrimes · 7 months

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not to be overdramatic but i’m going insane over the framing of this shot. how thirteen is completely shaded by the trees (completely overwhelmed with her grief and and guilt and fear). her posture, how her body is angled away from house and she has her arms over her chest, shoulders slightly curling in— she feels vulnerable and afraid and is trying to protect herself. she looks like she wants to turn and run, yet she’s letting herself linger instead of fully turning away. letting herself stay so she can look specifically to house, who stands tall and straight and strong despite being nearly consumed by the trees’ shadows (his own pain, emotional and physical). house, who picked her up from jail, and who continuously refuses to be pushed away or leave her alone (“shut up, i’m not leaving.”) whose face is the only thing in the frame bathed in sunlight. she’s up looking at him from absolute rock bottom, and she’s facing him instead of running. when she shows him her tears, when she meets his eyes… she’s letting herself open up the tiniest bit. she’s risking emotional safety and comfort to reach out to him… her speck of light among all the shadows.

#house md #i can’t put this into words properly but this is as close as i’ll get #he’s her dad and they both know it #this moment for her (the way she looks at him how she doesn’t run) is the emotional equivalent of the way a scared child reaches for their #parents for comfort and safety #he’s her secure base. she hasn’t had that since at least before her mom died #my analyses really always circle back to attachment theory huh?#greg house #remy thirteen hadley #maybe i will start busting out that ‘essay’ soon #houseposting #meta #7x18 #100 #200 #the prodigal daughter #my meta

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fansformentalydistroyedmen · 7 months

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Last Names

A Malcolm Bright x Reader

What could go wrong at a dinner with a nosy mom?

Chapter 3, Part 3- Disaster Dinner

Suddenly I was in a gorgeous dining room, I was stunned until Malcolm pulled my chair out for me. I quickly sat down and thanked him awkwardly, not being used to such gentle men like actions. Lets just say I haven’t been on a date since I was 17 and now I’m 25, not that this is a date of course. The first few minutes of dinner was quiet as everyone slowly nibbled on the roasted ham that was being served. Slowly things started to dissolve into an argument between Malcolm and his mother. Arguing about how he saw his dad in prison to solve the previous case. I just sat quietly as they continued to argue about this topic. I could see where she was coming from but I definitely can see where he is coming from. Ainsley looks at me and rolls her eyes, “Guys why don’t we argue about Malcolms poor decision making later when we don’t have a guest.”

“Your right Ainsley even though Malcolms actions were totally reckless, Y/N I heard you and Malcolm work together, both profilers I believe?” She questioned.

“Oh yeah I am a profiler, I have been for a good eight years I believe.” I answered

“Oh wow, umm what a young age to start in such a gruesome job.” She looked at me strangely.

“Yeah, I graduated college young so I decided just not to wait to pursue my dreams.” I responded as she nodded her head. Slowly we all finished eating and Malcolm and I were preparing to leave.

“Hey Malcolm, can you come help me with something upstairs?” Ainsley asked.

“Oh yeah sure, Y/N I will be right back.” He said as I nodded. I watched as they headed upstairs as I stood there awkwardly. His mom looked at me as if she was examining me.

“I know who you are Y/N.” She said blatantly, my eyes widened in shock as I was taken aback.

“Excuse me?” I questioned.

“You are Y/N Scott, daughter of the serial killer duo and experimental child abusers.” She stated as my breathing started to hitch and speed up.

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” I lied.

“Stop with your lies, I can see right through you. This is what's going to happen: stay away from my son. He does not need any more dark things in his life. Let alone a whole trauma basket case, or else I will tell him.” My mouth opened but nothing came out. I heard Malcolm walking down the stairs.

“Alright let's get going,'' he stated. He quickly hugged his mother and opened the door for me. I was speechless, blinking away tears trying to hold myself together. I slowly walked out the door and down the steps.

“Hey, whatever my mom said to you, just ignore her, she can be very intense sometimes.” He looked at my eyes with pure care. I nodded slowly as he opened the passenger door for me as I slid in. Almost the whole car ride was quiet which I was grateful for because my voice would have broken if I said anything. As he pulled up to my apartment and parked his car, he looked at me. “What did she say?” He looked concerned.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” I nodded, blinking back tears. I quickly opened the car door and got out.

“Have a goodnight Malcolm, thanks for everything.” I closed the door before he could say anything and ran up to my front door. Quickly opening it and closing it to hide myself as I crumbled.

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takiki16 · 1 day

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The way that the Flint - Eleanor foil link is CRYSTAL CLEAR. The way that they both have visions for Nassau that competes directly with Blackbeard’s, and that both of them force Charles Vane to choose between them.

And Vane gets dickmatized both times into leaving his dad for his bad choice romantic fling I mean what

#CHARLES VANE having to go ‘but daddy I love him!’ I love this show #black sails #my post #vane literally sits next to Blackbeard like a prodigal daughter and says ‘you weren’t there!’ to flint #what in the fucking romcom is this #and ELEANOR. OOOOOOH ELEANOR in the GOVERNORS MANSION

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blueiight · 8 months

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LOUIS: calls claudia to her face ‘ sister ‘ even tho he regards her as his redemption baby

LESTAT: me, your brother? your cousin? your aunt? LOL NO Bitch I Made You. I am your Creator™️

#hereditary comp is crazy lestat is more tyrell to claudia’s roy batty 😭🦗 s/o the bible & the prodigal son/daughter #claudia was calling lestat uncle the same way i call him or any man way older than me ‘unc’ or ‘sir’. shes just a southern lady.#Dont forget how he told louis ‘i put you on this earth’🦗🦗🦗 LOUIS HAD A FATHER AND A MOTHER MY DEAR UNCLE LES.#claudia shouldve lived to the 60s to where sister took on that problack connotation so id belly-laugh aloud #im going to write that . somehow. based off anne’s first drafts #yn.#iwtv #family from hell

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sshbpodcast · 1 month

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Character Spotlight: Miles O’Brien

By Ames

Though he was introduced in The Next Generation (in the pilot episode, no less!), Miles Edward O’Brien doesn’t really get to stretch his legs until he gets promoted to chief engineer in Deep Space Nine. Not much room in the transporter room, I’m afraid. As Star Trek’s most epitomic everyman, the chief isn’t some magic-powered alien or augmented human or even a pinnacle of futuristic ethics. Hell, it’s his flaws that make him more relatable than most other characters in the franchise, and he remains one of the most popular crewmembers all around!

Is it Colm Meaney’s approachable yet nuanced performance? Is it the strength of the writing of DS9? Or do we just love watching a grown man suffer in the way only O’Brien can? Find out below as your hosts of A Star to Steer Her By shine this week’s spotlight on the chief, and listen to this week’s banter over on the podcast (beam over to 55:13). Jaysus!

Best moments

They say you will be doing this manually, sir. No automation. O’Brien shows up in the first TNG episode, “Encounter at Farpoint,” though he doesn’t get a name yet. And even though Picard orders Riker to reattach the saucer section as a test of his skills, frankly O’Brien does almost all of the work. Riker really only tells O’Brien to reattach the two sections and he just goes and does it while Riker gets all the credit. No respect, I tell ya!

The minstrel boy to the war has gone For most of TNG, O’Brien is stuck in the transporter room, but he gets to use those abilities to beam over to the Phoenix in “The Wounded”! Even through shields! Now that’s impressive on its own, but there’s more. Despite his predilection towards hating the spoonheads, he talks Captain Maxwell out of destroying a Cardassian supply vessel and surely inciting another war.

I’ve been doing this for twenty-two years and I haven’t lost anybody yet One more great use of transporter chief O’Brien comes when Barclay is exhibiting transporterphobia in “Realm of Fear.” Though most of the crew view Barclay’s eccentricities as irrational, O’Brien remains understanding and patient throughout, and works with Reg to figure out what’s really going on in the pattern buffer and save the crewmen trapped in there.

Now you are Tosk as well, O’Brien Our overall favorite Miles moment from the show is probably how he stands up for Tosk in “Captive Pursuit” and helps him escape from his hunters. In one of our best examples showcasing when it’s a good idea to disobey the Prime Directive, O’Brien makes a statement by taking off his combadge to go do what’s right, saving the life of a subjugated person.

I’ve met some Cardassians I didn’t like, and I’ve met some I did O’Brien starts off “Cardassians” being racist about letting Rugal play with Molly or share their table, but it’s commendable how he warms up to the boy. They find common ground. Granted, it’s in how much they hate Cardassia, but it’s something. But it’s truly a great moment when he bonds with Rugal: someone who’s had no choice in life and whose future is being decided for him.

I want to die on my feet Here’s a quick badass moment from O’Brien. When he’s already dying from the bioweapon in “Armageddon Game” and the T'Lani and the Kelleruns are about the execute him to get rid of all people with knowledge of the harvesters, Miles requests that they allow him the dignity of dying on his feet instead of slumped in his own filth. There’s something powerful about that.

He’s their commander. They trusted him. He can’t leave them. This one’s controversial since “Hippocratic Oath” is so multifaceted in a lot of ways. Last time, we commended Julian for his humanitarian (Jem’Hadaritarian?) attempts to save our Dominion enemies from their ketracel-white addiction. Well, O’Brien is there to save Bashir from himself when the doctor’s attempts fail and a bunch of rabid alien soldiers are ready to tear the humans apart.

That boy’s life is in our hands and I won’t let anybody give up on him O’Brien’s friendship with Quique Muniz culminates in some beautiful scenes in “The Ship.” Muniz is dying a whole lot and O’Brien never gives up on him, even battling (verbally and physically) with Worf over how to handle his approaching death. And when the inevitable does occur, it’s all the more heartbreaking when Worf joins in the ritual ak’voh.

This is how an engineer plays kotra You don’t see a lot of scenes between Garak and O’Brien throughout the show. Now some of that is probably that they don’t like sharing Julian’s attention, but the rest is that there’s no trust between the Cardassian spy and the hero of Setlik Three. We get to see them stand off in “Empok Nor” and O’Brien impresses by outsmarting the homicidal Garak using his engineering skills!

Good cat, Chester! Even when infiltrating the Orion Syndicate (for reasons), O’Brien tries to do the right thing. He tries to tip Bilby off in “Honor Among Thieves” when he has entrapped him, though that does neither of them any good. But even more importantly, Miles agrees to take in Chester, who is a pretty cat and a good cat, and your SSHB hosts here have to give him credit for that.

The cause of death was the Orion Syndicate In fact, O’Brien was so dedicated to his sorta father figure that when Bilby’s widow has vanished in “Prodigal Daughter,” he goes looking for her. Without asking or informing anyone, which probably wasn’t the brightest move, but this is Miles we’re talking about. And without him, we’d never have solved her murder case at the hands of Ezri’s messed up family’s business.

You gotta friend in me Just as we did in the Julian spotlight, we’ve got to close out on O’Brien’s sweet friendship with the good doctor. Bashir, who never looks before he leaps, frequently finds himself needing the constant support and level head of someone like Miles when he does asinine things like leap into Sloan’s head in “Extreme Measures,” even when it’s a bad idea, as we've discussed before.

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Worst moments

Don’t phaser the messenger I’ll avoid citing marriage to Keiko as a Worst Moment because that’s mean, but the way they got married in “Data’s Day” was painful to watch. The audience’s first impression of their relationship is one in which both parties refuse to communicate over something as important as their marriage, and make Data (of all people!) act as their middleman. What a terrible start!

Sweetheart, I’m not a fish Don’t worry, there’s more to drag about how Miles and Keiko’s relationship was depicted in TNG. In the very next episode, “The Wounded,” we see just how they clearly didn’t know each other before deciding to get hitched. Neither likes how each other eats. Guys, you can hate each other’s food because, ya know what, food replicators exist! Order your own potato casserole!

I hate what I became because of you We give Miles a lot of grief on the podcast for his systematic racism. Which is fair – he certainly is quick to hate on other races on occasion. We see this explored interestingly in “The Wounded,” for which we already gave him credit for transcending his racism above, but not before he snaps at Daro and blames the Cardassians for Maxwell’s actions before knowing if he was even right or not.

Grapevine says Chief O’Brien and the missus are having problems But let’s move on to when Miles makes it to the main credits in DS9. As expected, we’re starting off with more Keiko drama. We learn in “A Man Alone” that Keiko was none too pleased about being uprooted (cuz she’s a botanist, get it?) from the Enterprise, and they argue about it publicly at Quark’s. In front of everyone. Do they never communicate before major life changes?

I suppose you’d be happier if I was miserable? I’m sorry that there’s more Keiko drama to include. I didn’t do this on purpose. In “Fascination,” Keiko is finally doing actual botany work and feeling useful doing a long term study on Bajor, and yet she and Miles end up fighting (again, in the middle of Quark’s!) about extending her assignment. And to make matters worse, Miles insinuates she’s having an affair! Dude! Stop.

They call me Smiley Smiley O’Brien is almost indistinguishable from our universe’s Miles (they’re both inherently good guys who suffer enormously), so I’d say it’s safe to include kidnapping Sisko in “Through the Looking Glass” and coercing him into pretending to be mirror Sisko on the naughty list. What a bold move! The Terran Resistance is lucky to have him even if we the audience are getting sick of mirror land.

They’re killers. That’s all they know how to do. Jake may have included saving Dr. Bashir in “Hippocratic Oath” on his Best Moments list, but we’ve also got to reprimand O’Brien for sabotaging Julian’s attempt to cure the Jem’Hadars’ addiction. It’s not just in order to save his friend’s life. Miles states up and down that Goran’Agar is not to be trusted because he’s a Jem’Hadar and starts spewing all the old propaganda again, like a racist.

Just leave a Yelp review, dude While it’s always sadistically fun to watch O’Brien suffer (Colm Meaney does it so well!), it’s also rough to see just how poorly he recovers in an episode like “Hard Time.” Miles is suffering hard from PTSD and guilt and he takes it by attacking Quark. Even worse, he nearly beats Molly when she’s annoying him, which is shocking coming from Miles. Please, seek professional help.

All the time you were holding out on me Later in “Hard Time,” we learn what was on Miles’s conscience the whole time. While in his memory jail, he gets paranoid enough of his cellmate Ee’Char that he murders him in cold blood over a couple orts of food that Ee’Char wasn’t even hoarding for himself. Even though none of it was real, the knowledge that Miles could be pushed to kill an innocent man is a huge blow for him.

It gets worse. There’s a view. We ragged on this plotline in the Kira spotlight as well, but there’s enough discomfort to go around. Those weird, unnecessary feelings Miles develops for a pregnant Kira in “Looking for par'Mach in All the Wrong Places” are just a bad plot device. It feels forced to make two people get romantically awkward just because they’re in proximity with each other. Just lazy.

There’s no hiding from the Syndicate Does it make a ton of sense to force O’Brien to infiltrate the Orion Syndicate in “Honor Among Thieves”? Especially in the middle of the Dominion War? Maybe not, but he does a decent job winning the trust of Liam Bilby using his engineering skills and general good nature. In fact, he does such a good job that he certainly gets Bilby killed in Starfleet’s scheme, like a little rat.

Molly and the Hendersons It is just deplorable how “Time’s Orphan” treats the developmentally stunted Molly O’Brien, and the most shame belongs to Miles and Keiko. What parent would give up on their trauma-ridden child after just a few days and release her into the dangerous wild to live like an animal? I am appalled that not once did anyone float another option to aid in Molly’s rehabilitation, but even more appalled that getting rid of her was the proposed solution.

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And that’s the way the Alamo crumbles. Keep your eyes here for more character spotlights! DS9 certainly has a lot more to cover, so make sure you’re subscribed to our Tumblr, follow along with us on the podcast over on SoundCloud or wherever you get your podcasts, sing us an Irish ballad on Facebook and Twitter, and replicate up a nice potato casserole!

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