ibecamelikeyou (ibecamelikeyou) wrote in jurassiccitylog, @ 2016-08-02 20:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | eobard thawne / reverse-flash, hartley rathaway / pied piper, lydia martin |
WHO: Eobard Thawne & Hartley Rathaway (w/ bonus Lydia Martin)
WHAT: It's been a few weeks since Hartley made his horrible life decision. And it's actually been going rather well. Of course, Eobard has a tendency to fuck things up when he gets bored.
WHEN: August 2nd
WHERE: Eobard's apartment
RATING: PG-13 (character death)
It hadn't been quite the game that Eobard had been aiming for when he'd started out. He'd expected more hurdles, more difficulties, more things to struggle through, more anger to be thrown his way, but Hartley had crumbled after a few well placed words, admitting to things that had left Eobard more than a little confused. He'd never had anyone who cared about him genuinely. He was a Thawne. Family familiarity and togetherness wasn't exactly an aspect that came with his family, and relationships had never really been something he'd been interested in, much more occupied with his studies and science than any aspect for having... well, a life. It was why he'd gotten much more attached to Barry, Cisco, and Caitlin than he had intended to. He'd even become particularly fond of Joe in the time that they had interacted. It had been... nice having actual people around. And this was... also nice. It was normal.
A little too normal.
The last few weeks, his time had been occupied almost entirely with Hartley in this... peaceful domestic sphere, his agitation to get revenge on Barry or try and get at all of them interrupted by, well... normality. Something almost akin to contentment.
The issue was, Eobard never did well with contentment. A perspective of time like his left a being anxious, on edge, paranoid, and assured that things were temporary and fleeting and that anything that even resembled a stable space was going to eventually fall apart. It was why, despite the companionable silence between him and Hartley as they sat on the couch in his apartment while staring idly at the swivel chessboard set up on the coffee table, Eobard was feeling every muscle in his body twitch, his mind buzzing with ways that things could (and probably would fall apart) as well as insisting that this had just been a game to pass the time and try to get back at them all. And he hadn't even told them about it yet.
Why was he keeping it up? There were so many more productive things he could be doing, so many, many more. And yet, he just kept sitting here, wasting his evenings on being... content. To be content was the death of striving to be better.