snst: e2

Send me Anons as my muse's child(ren)- Harrison “Harry” Wells

Harry Wells - You are his eldest daughter.

Originally posted by acewest360

“They aren’t that bad.” You picked lint off of a STAR labs hoodie, “They’re actually really nice if you get to know them. Like Cisco he’s really smart and funny.”

Harry turned to you quickly snapping, “We are not here to make friends.”

“No we’re here because you decided that some science project was more important then making time for your family.” You snapped back at him as you pointed, “Now because of you, you created some monster, you helped create Zoom! Now, Jesse is trapped and we’re here in a different reality!”

“Universe.” He corrected you with out hesitation something he always did. He was always so much harsher with you, “And I know that I have made some mistakes, but there is no way for me to have known…”

“I know!” You shook your head tearing up as so much anger began to surface. You had begged him to come home so many nights to just spend time with them. To at least see Jesse, but his work always trumped them, “But you never do…you never know anything…when mom died you didn’t know anything either…and now…”

“Dad if Jesse…” his heart began to break as he watched big tears fall down your young cheeks.

He stepped forward pulling you into a tight hug, “I’m going to get her back…I’m going to save her and we are going to go home…and I’m going to be better.”

You’d heard it before, you pushed him away after a moment, “Just…get her home…these people can help…let them.”

Harry watched you walk out quickly. He hung his head putting his hands over his face as he tried to get his composure back. He knew he’d pretty much lost you after his wife died. He put too much on you…and now…

He cleared his throat as Cisco walked in, “Hey I just saw Y/N…she seemed upset. Is everything okay?”

“She’s fine.” Harry glared at him a little, “She’s strong…”

“I know.” Cisco smiled, “Probably gets it from her mom right?”

“Don’t.” Harry turned back to his board of calculations. He heard Cisco make some sly remark before leaving. This is how it had to be. This was how he needed to keep his family safe.

3

part 1

“Harrison Wells on this Earth betrayed all of you?” Earth-Two Harrison Wells, or Harry, as Cisco dubbed him, asked.

“In different ways yes,” Barry replied, a little hesitant to let a Harrison Wells into their lives, no matter what Earth they’re from. “But it was never really Harrison Wells. It was a person from the future who took over Harrison Wells’s body.”

“Okay.” Harry said, “So what’d I do to that girl?” He was referring to (y/n). When (y/n) had taken a look at Harry, she had shrieked and ran. No one blamed her for acting that way. Harrison Wells was her father. If the person you knew as your father happened to be a supervillian from the future, wouldn’t you be scared too?

“Harrison Wells was (y/n)’s father. Eobard Thawne, he had taken over her father’s body and pretended to be her fayher for over a decade and she only found out when we had a DNA test done on the real Harrison Wells’s body.“

“Oh.” Harry spoke, softly. He was suddenly reminded of Jesse. “Where did she go?”

“Probably to the Pipeline,” Barry said, almost immediately, knowing (y/n) very well. “Since all the metas we catch go to Iron Heights now, it’s empty. She goes down there to think.”

“I’ll be back,” Harry stated, leaving the room. Cisco and Barry stood in confusion as Harry went off. Harry did not seem like the kind of person to console someone, but they didn’t question it. 


You sat on the ramp that goes to the cells in the pipeline. You were crying, trying to get over the fact that your father, or someone that looked like your father, was back. You were grieving your father’s death and you had just come to the point to accept it and this happens.

“I’m sorry if I had scared you.” A voice said behind you, your father’s voice, but you knew it was Harry, not your dad.

“I didn’t mean to scream,” you said quietly, “It’s not everyday you see someone who looks like your father in every conceivable way.”

“I have a daughter on my Earth.”

“Another me?” You asked, wondering where he was going with this. Harry had made sure to stand far away from you, as to not make you any more uncomfortable than you already were. You took it as a kind gesture.

“No, no, my daughter is in her teens still. Her name is Jesse.”

“Jesse? That’s my middle name.”

“Really?” Harry took a few steps toward you and sat down next to you. You had no idea what he was trying to do, whether it be console you or just have a conversation. You didn’t mind it though. It was weird, sitting with your father from a parallel universe. Maybe this Harrison Wells will be more like a father to you than Eobard ever tried to be.


I have no idea where I was going with that sort of ending, but here it is. I hope this is what you wanted.

requested by: anonymous
*gifs are not mine* (REQUESTS ARE OPEN-READ IMAGINE RULES)

CotR Timestamp

(This occurs probably about a month or two after where the story leaves off, and Emma has signed up for classes at the University of Minnesota.)

When it rained in Minneapolis, it rained.  The Mississippi would rise up in its banks, turning into a brown dragon of thundering rapids.  Emma stood on the bridge that ran through campus, hair and clothes plastered against her face and body.  She leaned over the railing, holding onto it, watching the river as best she could with raindrops stinging her face.

Emily stood a few yards away, unseen, hanging onto her umbrella desperately, and hoping it wouldn’t turn inside out.  Emma pulled something faded and blue out of her backpack and zipped the bag back up quickly.  She leaned back over, holding the sweatshirt gently. She ran her thumb across the places where the lettering had been.  As it got wet the faint shadows started to be visible again.  She brought it to her face, breathing in, but probably getting more water than scent.  And what else would it smell like but herself?  She held it out, her hand tense, and Emily suddenly realized she was going to throw it away.  She let go of the edge of the umbrella, and stepped forward, and the wind caught it and whipped it out of her hand. Emily yelped and ran after it.  It sailed over the railing and floated down to the river as if Mary Poppins had suddenly decided to commit a very stately respectable suicide.

Emily sighed and glanced over, pushing her quickly dampening hair out of her eyes.  Emma was staring at her, clearly shocked and slightly offended, clenching the faded Columbia sweatshirt to her chest.

“What are you doing here?”

Emily shrugged embarrassedly.  “I was going to walk you home from class.” She didn’t mention the tragic rite of passage she had almost witnessed.

“You’re getting wet.”

“Yeah,” said Emily uselessly.  “I lost my umbrella.”

Suddenly Emma grinned and shook out her sweatshirt.  She draped it over Emily’s head and slung her backpack back up onto her shoulder. “There, that should help,” she said, and hooked her arm through Emily’s elbow.  “Take me home?”

“Of course.”

The day was warm if wet and windy and they bypassed the bus stop.  Emma’s fingers tangled in hers and they walked like that, hand in hand.

“Have a good first day?”

“Yeah,” Emma said.  Emily glanced over, surprised but pleased at the honest positivity in her tone.  “Arabic is going to kick my butt though. I’ll need tutoring.”

“You know I’m available.”

Enneagram Centres

The three centers (gut, heart & head) are sometimes referred to in terms of a dominant emotional response.

ANGER TYPES (Behavioral Domain) – 8, 9, 1

Anger can be thought of as an energy of will that pushes against obstacles.

  • For type 8, this energy arises in service of making things happen in the world.
  • For type 9, this energy arises as resistance when pushed into unwanted activities.
  • For type 1, this energy arises when correcting behavior and actions.

SHAME TYPES (Affective Domain) – 2, 3, 4

Shame can be thought of as a sense of self-deficiency in the eyes of others.

  • For type 2, there can be a feeling of not being lovable unless they are attending to the needs of others.
  • For type 3, there can be a feeling of not being worthwhile unless they are successful in the eyes of others.
  • For type 4, there can be a feeling of not being significant unless they cultivate their own unique qualities.

FEAR TYPES (Cognitive Domain) – 5, 6, 7 

Fear can be thought of as an anticipation of future negative uncertainties.

  • For type 5, negative uncertainties are prepared for by attaining knowledge.
  • For type 6, negative uncertainties are prepared for through doubting and questioning.
  • For type 7, negative uncertainties are prepared for by generating pleasant alternatives.

Since it can sometimes be difficult to see how types 9 and 3 fit their centers, another pair of labels are sometimes used to describe their centers.

  • Types 8, 9, and 1 are sometimes called the self-forgetting types.
    Type 9 is often described as the least self-aware type.
  • Types 2, 3, and 4 are sometimes called the image types.
    Type 3 is often described as the type most aware of image.

notovoluta  asked:

I've never seen a prompt that screamed e2 more than 20.

(Two requests for the same prompt with the same pairing definitely says something. :) I did my best.)

Kiss Meme #20: Kisses because everything hurts right now including being loved by you but you’re also the only thing that makes it feel better

“I’m sorry,” Emily said. “There was nothing we could do.”

Emma didn’t care for her words. She ripped through her head, ripped through the shields that tried to fight her. And she knew. She knew it all now. Emily had known from the start that sending him–her poor boy–to prison was a death sentence. Inhibitor collar plus the worst sapiens thugs–mutie scum–and she’d done nothing.

Oh, she’d thought, she’d looked for ways out, but nothing was without risk or consequences and she’d weighed the consequences over Emma’s boy’s life.

Stay out of my head

You’re a murderer

I don’t need a second conscience, thank you. Get out.

The boy buried near the dad he’d loved and accidentally killed. Buried by the school who had been supposed to protect him and failed him. Buried by the woman who had taken his murderer–involuntary or not–to bed, who had trusted a sapiens when she’d known better. She’d always known better. She’d killed him as much as Emily had, letting them take him away.

Still, she went to Emily.

The red flush on the woman’s face, the scent of wine on her breath said she’d been having her own wake. But she did not buckle. It was Emily through and through, made of wire, always taut, always ready to spring back with force until she was irrevocably bent.

“Here to curse at me again? Punish me?” She dragged her hand back through her dark hair, forming a brief sleek ponytail, shaking her head. She tried to take a sip of her wine, but the glass was empty, so she left the door open as she headed back to the bottle. “You’re right. I could have done something. I could have done more.”

Glass full, red, she turned. There was no regret on her face, no guilt or sorrow, just anger, and it echoed loudly in her mind. To Emma it was a relief. “But I didn’t. And I can’t fix that.”

Emma shut the door behind her, locked it. Emily still stood, a little forward, like she was ready to fight, like she wanted this to be a fight.

That sort of fight where one person is a knife, and the other runs into it over and over again.

Emma smiled, letting it be cold. It was as if Emily always knew just what she wanted. “Put that down,” she said, dismissive. “You’re too drunk to be holding glass.”

Emily, still set, flexed like a bowstring, stared her down, and then set the glass on the counter.

“I can’t fix it.”

Emma didn’t give that a response, she walked instead, careless of the boots that Emily always made her remove, her stride long, her gaze sure–she circled Emily, seeing her shift like hunted prey, her gaze crossing over her shoulder to track Emma, through the curtain of dark hair.

“What sort of thing are you? A tool, a machine, to weigh a life and find it not worthy?” She scoffed. “To place yourself above an innocent?”

Emily smiled at that, a breath escaping from her nose as if the comment made her laugh.

Emma forced her way into her head, her mind like a fist, gripping it as if to crush it, as if to wad it into the garbage it was. Emily’s shields–trained by her–flicked up, into place. But not before she tasted it– such a familiar flavor.

How could anyone hate themselves so much?

Emily had no instinct for survival. She’d die for any child in her path. She kept herself alive through practice and logic, nothing else. This had been logic. And the game had been played so many times she could not even let her heart ache for the outcome.

So when Emma called her self-serving she laughed.

Emma released her, the noise coming from her throat incredulous, disgusted. Emily rubbed her temple, swaying slightly on her feet. She breathed out.

“I can’t fix it.”

“I know.” No more could Emma fix this, fix herself, for choosing to come here again, to make this her place of weakness. But she wanted to.

Emily–human flimsy and already broken–weak and a failure–her heart like a wound, raw and open in her chest. But with all her open wounds, her strength–rigid, brittle, still cut like shards of diamond.

“Come here.”

Emma snapped it, a command. Emily took a breath, watching her, and then stepped forward, into range. She held her shoulders straight, still unflinching. It would be easy to hurt her, to rend her apart, make her the target when she was not the culprit. This broken world was the culprit, and no matter how hard Emma tried, how many hearts and minds she changed with the blunt scalpel of her telepathy, she had not been able to change this.

She bent under the weight of it.

“Hey,” Emily murmured, reaching up to touch her head, trace fingers through her hair, making patterns on her scalp.

It burned. All of it still burned. “You could have done more.”

Her fingers stilled, the weight of it tasted like iron in her mind. “I know.”

Emma took her chin, tipping it up and to the side, and kissed her. Emily’s fingers went tight in her hair. She pushed into it, hard and hurt, and her mouth tasted like wine, her mind echoing with those same metallic sour notes. I could have done more; I couldn’t have done more.

Don’t think.

Shields like safety nets, like protection–and then it was just the press of Emily’s hot mouth, her narrow hard body in her arms, and the touch of her hand on Emma’s face. Emma saw her own reflection in dark eyes–and felt something else, warm and angry and stable.

Emma had looked and looked–she had found all different thoughts and feelings inside peoples heads: affection and anxiety and confused desire. She’d looked for love, and found nothing that matched that name. But this, this mix of anger and resentment and loyalty and protectiveness, this was close enough.

She touched Emily’s cheek, nudged her chin again, and then pressed a soft kiss to her lower lip, then another to the corner of her mouth. Emily’s eyes fluttered shut and her hands gripped onto Emma tight. And Emma slowly turned the key and let the hurt inside herself crack open, to leak out in manageable drops, here, only here, in this space.

She kissed Emily again, and Emily met her halfway.

This was close enough.

On the left 95 Hackney Road E2, apparently this “fantastic new development is full of Shoreditch cool.” Oozing chic sophistication and dripping with meticulous detail. There may be “outside space” & “ porcelain stone flooring throughout.”

Maybe a” hotel-style bathroom?” Imagine that!..

This development is Perfectly located… FACT! for the best of London Living

Ideal starter home for probationary primary school teacher, recently married fire fighter or Tony who drives the 55 Fashion bus into town 6 days a week. Prices start as low as £745,000. Equally well suited for Ukrainian aluminium oligarch looking to “clean”up some dirty roubles in London property market..

I need help from the MBTI/Enneagram community

could you explain to me the differences between ESFJ type 2 and ESFJ type 6?

also, if you could explain de differences between ESFJ type 6 and ISFJ type 6 i would be very happy

i have a hard time seen ESFJs as type 6. Type 6 screams “ISFJ” to me. and ESFJ screams type 2. i want to understand how a ESFJ type 6 works.

Thank you!