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thegoodgayshit · 3 years

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Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lillith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter 1: I Steal My Bully's Necklace

“Get up, you freak!”

Luz coughed as she struggled to breathe after being thrown into the lockers. The wind had been knocked out of her and she already felt a lump forming on the back of her head where she had smacked it.

She was having the worst day at school, and that was saying something. Somehow, by some miracle, she had made it through the whole year at this one. But she had a terrible feeling that her luck wouldn’t last. Especially if the mean girl in her biology class wasn’t going to leave her alone.

She looked up to see the girl in question standing over her, grinning sadistically at her. She rubbed her hands together like some kind of mobster villain, her dog tag necklace hanging from her neck, and Luz fought the urge to roll her eyes. Lina had tormented her all year, and no matter what Luz did she couldn’t seem to shake her. Her dark amber eyes, (Luz swore sometimes they were almost red) were watching her like the next thing she would do to her was eat her. Her posse, two other girls her age, watched with their own small smiles.

She winced as she got to her feet, trying to control her anger. Terrible things happened when Luz got upset. She didn’t like this girl, but it wasn’t worth getting expelled over. Again.

This was Luz’s fifth school in twelve years. Ever since she started kindergarten, Luz was the problem child. She always managed to land herself into trouble, and she never really knew why. Half the time she hadn’t even done anything, weird things just seemed to happen to Luz. The other kids thought she was weird, so they never hung out with her, and so Luz had never really had any real friends. Teachers didn’t really like Luz either, her ADHD made learning really difficult, and so she always got bad grades. So when weird things would happen, the principal wouldn’t think twice. She would usually get expelled on the spot.

She didn’t want to get expelled again. Her Mami would be so disappointed in her. When Luz and her Mami had to move to New York City, her Mami had threatened her really good when they finally found a school that would take her.

“This is it, mija.” She had said. “I’m not doing this anymore. You either stay at this school and graduate or I’m sending you away to camp.”

That’s when Luz knew it was serious. Her Mami had not wanted to send her away to this camp. She had always threatened it when Luz was a little kid, but her Mami had never actually wanted to do it. She was stern, but Luz was all she had.

Besides, Luz never really understood why a summer camp would help straighten her out. If the military school she had gone to when she was ten was any indication, even they couldn’t get through to her.

Regardless, Luz wasn’t going to disappoint her Mami. So she got to her feet and did the first thing she could think to do.

She ran.

Breaking through the crowds of students who had been watching Lina bully her in the hallways, Luz ducked under the crowds and made a break for the staircase.

“Run, Luz Noceda!” Lina cackled as she fled. “Run from me!”

Anger flashed through Luz. She hated running. She wanted to stand and fight, to tell Lina off and get her to stop being a jerk. But she was outnumbered, and nobody would believe her anyway when something inevitably went wrong. It’s like her Mami said, “just keep your head low, Luz. Don’t engage, don’t fight back. Don’t give them a reason to punish you.”

So, despite the shame bubbling up in her chest, she kept running. She heard a commotion behind her, and Lina saying something to her friends before there was a cry of shock. And something that sounded strangely like hooves clamping along the tile.

Lina yelled something that definitely wasn’t English, but Luz understood it perfectly. Lina was following her, and the weirdness was starting again. She had to go before somebody blamed it on her.

Tearing down the stairs and pushing open the side exit to her school, Luz bolted down the alley she uses to get to the bus stop she takes home. It was her lunch period, so she’s hoping that by the time she gets back to school Lina will have long forgotten about her and she can get to her English class in one piece.

But then there’s a crash, and a furious scream from behind her and she realizes that Lina is following her. She begins to panic, picking up speed and darting into the new alley behind 94th street. There is a chain-link fence up ahead, and she breaks into a fresh sprint, launching her body up against it and over to the next street ahead.

Luz doesn’t know when she decided she wasn’t going back to school, but she knew that she needed to get away from Lina. She spared a glance back as she darted into the trafficked street, weaving through cars. Lina was still following her, her red eyes boring in fury into Luz’s back.

Luz gets onto the first bus she sees and fumbles for her MetroCard in her back pocket, slamming it down on the pad without looking back. She breaks for the back of the bus, crouching into an aisle seat and shrinking her whole body away from the window. She pulls the hood of her cat hoodie over her head, praying she wasn’t seen. The bus starts to move, thankfully without Lina on it, and Luz tries to let her body relax.

She zones out, wary of everyone getting on the bus. After some time, the realization that she doesn’t actually know where she’s going hits her like a truck. At the next stop, she gets up and darts off the bus, passing a quick thank you to the driver. When she steps out into the street, she realizes she has traveled all the way down to 34th street, and the Empire State Building is glaring down at her several blocks away.

Luz isn’t quite sure what to do now. She wasn’t going back to school today, that was for sure. Her Mami could be mad at her for skipping later. It was the end of the year, and Luz had unofficially made it all the way through.

Deciding she should celebrate, Luz walks around the city for a little while. Her Mami would never want her to wander off on her own, but she decided after the incident with Lina at school she deserved it. She remembers the awesome candy store her Mami took her to when they moved to the city, and pulls out her phone to punch Dylan’s Candy Bar into her maps. It’s only 20 minutes away, so she begins the trek through the city, putting in her earbuds and shuffling her favorite anime playlist.

Once she’s inside and picks out five chocolate bars and a pack of lemonade gumballs. As she approaches the register, the girl working the counter likes Luz so much, she throws in an extra bar for free. Luz thanks her enthusiastically, and she pays with the money she was going to use for lunch. She leaves the store and sits, beginning to chow down on her snacks on the street curb outside, but her eyes are still wearily scanning the streets as through Lina might appear at any moment. As she does this, she catches sight of the two strangest looking women she’s ever seen.

They’re both middle-aged, the first with black hair and piercing green eyes. The second is a little taller, with huge silver-grey hair. But what catches her attention is that both women are wearing huge, cosplay style cloaks – white and maroon respectively.

The woman with the huge hair and maroon cloak has a strange bird on her shoulder. Luz thinks it might be an owl. Not only that but when she squints Luz is almost positive the one with the white cloak has a weapon strapped to her belt. Her mouth immediately drops, and she gets up off the curb just as the pair duck into an alleyway. Tucking the remaining three chocolate bars into her blue backpack, (which has miraculously stayed on through her whole fight with Lina) she weaves through the streets to follow them. Luz wonders to herself if there’s some kind of Comicon or other convention she was missing.

She sneaks through the alleyway, peering at the two behind a dumpster. They are talking in low voices, so Luz slowly creeps forward to listen in.

“- called us to Olympus, it must be serious, Edalyn.” The first one says lowly.

“Don’t sweat it, sissy. We’ve been called in by dad before. It’s probably just another one of those check in’s.” The second says, shrugging.

“You must feel it.” The first mutters urgently. “The tension between the gods is only going to grow from here.”

“We have to stay patient, Lilith.” The second woman, Edalyn, responds. “Of course I’ve felt it, but until we’re told to summon the Oracle-”

“There you are!”

Luz squeals dropping her gumballs all over the alley, spinning around the dumpster to come face to face with Lina. She is furious, her red eyes boring into her, and she snarls at her angrily. Luz shrieks, realizing that Lina’s mouth is stretching to expose a pair of vicious and sharp looking fangs.

There is a commotion from behind her as the two women have realized they have been overheard, and Luz begins to feel guilty for eavesdropping. But she doesn’t turn to look at them, she has bigger problems right now.

“I have been hunting you for months, Luz Noceda,” Lina growls, baring her fangs. “You will not escape me again!”

“Please!” Luz exclaims, holding up her hands. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Hurt me?” Lina laughs, taking a few menacing steps forward. “You cannot hurt me, little demigod. I will kill you before you get the chance!”

Before Luz can process anything that is happening, Lina shifts, her body changing rapidly. Her feet morph out of her tattered jeans into one metallic leg and one with hooves, and Luz can’t help but scream. Lina leaps at her and out of pure instinct, Luz rolls. Lina flies past her and Luz presses her back against the brick building behind her in terror.

“What are you?” She yelps, her whole body vibrating in horror.

“That’s an empousai, kid.” The woman with the red cloak says calmly, and when Luz turns her head, the two women are staring down Lina with disinterest. Luz can’t believe how calm they are.

“A what?”

And before Luz can pinch herself to make sure she isn’t dreaming, the dark-haired woman reaches under her cloaks and draws the weapon that shimmers the shiniest bronze Luz has ever seen. The blaze shifts and forms right in front of her eyes from a knife into an eight-foot sharp staff. The grey-haired woman plucks the bird off of her shoulder and it coos (Luz is certain now it’s an Owl) before the bird shifts into a seven-foot bronze tipped spear.

Lina the empousai, or whatever she is, hisses at the sight of the blade.

“Daughters of Zeus,” she says, trying to remain composed. But Luz has been bullied by Lina for months now, and she knows she looks nervous. “This is no business of yours.”

“Actually, I think this is our business.” The dark-haired witch, Lilith, says coldly. “Any half-blood we find is under our protection. What is a servant of Hecate doing hunting a child of the gods?”

Lina shuffles her legs – or…hoof and metal leg – and is now visibly nervous. Edalyn smirks, exposing a single gold tooth that sticks out like a fang.

“Unless… Hecate doesn’t know you’re here,” she singsongs, and Lina growls ferociously and lunges towards the woman.

“I will kill you before she ever finds out!” She roars, and both women sidestep from the lunge. Edalyn stabs with her spear, which Lina deflects off of her metal leg. Lilith swings with her staff, and Lina ducks. Luz has been forgotten, and she is shaking violently against the wall, trying to get a grip as to what the heck is even happening right now.

What did Lina call her? A demigod? The Lilith called her a half-blood… that was a really insulting insinuation for someone who was biracial, Luz thought. Besides, she wasn’t biracial, her Mami told her that her father had been a businessman visiting from Brazil. But those women… she had called them the daughters of Zeus?

Even if Luz was confused, she recognized what was happening. Those women had jumped to her aid despite Luz eavesdropping on them. These women were protecting her, even if she was a complete stranger. So despite her shaking body, and the fact that she was probably bordering an anxiety attack, she leaped in to help.

While Lina’s back was turned, Luz took a running leap and lunged, wrapping her arms around Lina’s neck and squeezing. Lina roared in frustration and did her best to shake her off, and Luz heard Edalyn cackling in the background.

“Alright! Get em’ kid.”

“Edalyn, focus!” Lilith snapped before she swung her own staff.

Lina tucked backward, but she wasn’t fast enough to totally dodge the blade, and it skimmed her stomach. She roared in pain and anger and finally knocked Luz away from her, and she went skidding across the ground. Coughing, Luz got to her feet and looked up at Lina’s stomach. The slice stretched across her stomach, but there was no blood. Instead, the slash seemed to be slowly dissolving her body. Lina looked down on it and hissed, glaring her red eyes up at Luz with absolute hatred.

She screamed again and charged at Luz, who scrambled backward in panic, but Lina never got closer. Edalyn spun her spear around her back and lunged, stabbing Lina right through the side. With a final scream, her whole body began to disintegrate into dust, before all that was left of her was a small pile of ashes and Lina’s dog tag necklace.

Spinning the spear, it shifted back into the owl which perches itself on Edalyn’s shoulder. Lilith spins her own staff, turning it back to a knife and clipping it to her belt. Luz was left staring at the pile of dust with a wide-eyed, and totally shocked expression. Her adrenaline was starting to fade, and it was beginning to change into full-blown panic.

“What just happened?” She said, but it came out as more of a breathy squeak. “Did we just kill her?"

Edalyn shrugged and held out her hand to help Luz up, which she took. “Yes, and no. Monsters don’t really die, they just return to Tartarus and wait to respawn.”

“They go where to do what?” This sentence was so high pitched she was surprised either of them heard it.

“Edalyn, give her a minute to process,” Lilith mumbled eying Luz like she was broken glass about to shatter.

“She doesn’t need to process, she’s probably been through it all by now.” She retorted with a roll of her eyes. Looking down at Luz with a knowing glint in her eyes, she pulled her to her feet and reached over to brush some of the dirt off her hoodie. “Let me guess, kid. You’re a bit of a problem child, always moving from place to place… weird things happen to you that nobody else can explain?”

Luz blinked. “Yeah, exactly like that. How’d you know?”

She laughed as if Luz had just said the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “Because we’re all like that. You’re an older one too, you’ve probably been on the monster's scent for a while. I don’t know how you possibly stayed alive without any help from camp.”

Luz felt a chill go up her spine. “Wait, camp? My Mami mentioned a camp… she always threatened to send me there if I didn’t straighten up…”

Edalyn and Lilith shared a look before they turned back to her.

“That monster said your name was Luz right?” Edalyn said, a little softer this time.

Luz nodded her head. “Yeah, that’s me. Luz Noceda.”

“I’m Eda, and this is my sister Lilith,” Eda said with a smile. “We’re the co-directors of Camp Half-blood.”

“Camp Half-Blood,” Luz said in a monotone voice. “Half what? I’m Latina.”

They shared another look.

“Half-blood doesn’t have anything to do with race,” Lilith said slowly. “It means people who are half-human, and half god.”

Luz’s mouth dropped open. She stared blankly between the two of them, not even sure what to say.

“God? Like…. Jesus?” she stuttered out, and Eda chuckled.

“No, like Greek God, kid. Half-bloods are kids with one human parent and one godly parent.” She reached under her cloak and pulled out a necklace that had been concealed previously. It had a gold pendant the shape of a thunderbolt. “Lily and I are sisters, but we have the same godly parent. Zeus.”

Luz’s brain began to finally work again, and she did her best to just try and process what she was saying. Nodding slowly, Luz does her best to recall her minimal knowledge of Greek deities she’s learned from books and movies.

“The god of the sky.” Luz nods, and Eda shrugs.

“Sure, among other things.”

Luz begins to pace, as she always does when her brain is moving too fast for her body. “Lina called me a demigod. Are you saying that my dad is a Greek God?”

“Well, that helps narrow down the possibilities,” Lilith said, keeping her voice calm and mellow. “A while ago the god’s made a promise to claim all of their children by the time they turn thirteen.”

“I’m fourteen,” Luz said. “Does that mean my dad forgot about me?”

“Nope, you just haven’t come to camp yet,” Eda said with a grin. “Most demigods come to Camp Half-Blood for training to defend themselves against monsters. The older you get, the stronger your scent is to them. You’re lucky you’ve been able to stay so inconspicuous for so long.”

Luz was suddenly presented with a lot of options for the first time in her life. Despite everything she had just learned, she wasn’t scared, or afraid. It actually made so much sense. All those terrible memories she could never explain, like the man with one eye who had tried to get her into his car when she was eleven. Or the women with leather wings who had watched her from the playground in first grade. All those weird things, that nobody had ever believed, finally clicked.

And sure, her Mami always told her not to trust strangers, but she figured this was a bit of an extenuating circumstance. Eda and Lilith were weird, but Luz liked it. She finally felt like she was seen and understood.

Plus, they had just killed her high school bully. She owed them one. Not that she needed much convincing anyways on what she wanted to do next.

“Will you take me?” Luz asked quietly, looking up at them slowly. “I mean... if you aren’t too busy or anything?”

Eda and Lilith shot each other a little smile, before nodding.

“Sure kid, we did have a meeting at Olympus, but Lily can go in my place.”

“It’s our job to make sure demigods get there safely, it’s our first priority,” Lilith added, clasping her hands together. “Edalyn, do you have your Pegasus whistle?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve got that here somewhere…” Eda mumbled, digging through her cloak pockets. Luz was still trying to fathom the fact that they had a meeting at the actual Mount Olympus when Eda pulled out a little bronze whistle and blew it into the sky.

After a second, there was a swooshing sound coming from above us, and the most beautiful horse Luz had ever seen glided down in the alley. It was a pure white horse with gorgeous wings that it tucked back into its sides as it came to a stop next to Eda.

“Oh wow!” Luz said in awe, and the Pegasus snorted almost bashfully.

Lilith walked over to the pile of dust that was once Luz’s bully and picked up the dog tag necklace still lying on the ground. She handed it to Luz, who took it hesitantly.

“It’s a spoil of war,” Lilith explained, giving Luz a small smile. “Your first kill as a half-blood.”

Luz didn’t really want it, she didn’t have the fondest memories of Lina. But she didn’t understand a lot of this half-blood stuff yet and wasn’t going to start by refusing Lilith.

“Err… thanks.” She ended up saying, and thankfully, Lilith laughed.

Eda leaped over the horses back, extending a hand to Luz. “Well? Are you coming?”

Luz hesitated for only a second. She thought about her mom back home, and how she was going to be wondering in a couple of hours why she wasn’t home from school. But she quickly pushed it down as she thought about what awaited her. She could call her when she got to camp.

Throwing the necklace over her shoulders and taking Eda’s hand, the women helped Luz sit behind her on the horse. Waving goodbye to Lilith with the promise to see her later at camp, Eda urged the Pegasus into a run down the alleyway. The horse began to pick up speed as they almost hit the busy street, before it leaped into the air, taking flight. Luz whooped in glee, feeling the wind blow through her face as she gripped the back of Eda’s cloak.

She looked down at the busy moving streets in Manhattan and realized with the confusion that nobody seemed to be looking twice at them.

“If I saw something as cool as this, I would have stared,” Luz mumbled to herself, almost offended nobody thought this was as awesome as she did.

She heard Eda laugh, and Luz’s cheeks flushed red. She hadn’t meant to be overheard.

“Mortals don’t see things the way we do. There’s a layer that covers their eyes from seeing our world. We call it the Mist.”

Soon, the Pegasus had left Manhattan, and the pair were flying over Queens. The view, while still being amazing, was starting to not be enough to keep Luz’s thoughts at bay. Turning to Eda, she realized she still had so many questions. Her eyes trained onto the little owl tucked onto Eda’s shoulder. Now that she’s looking at him, she realizes he looks 100% real. He coos softly into Eda and blinks it’s gold eyes brightly at her in a way that looks friendly.

“Owlbert is waiting for you to pet him,” Eda comments offhandedly, and Luz jumps back as though she was shocked.

“Owlbert?” She repeats back, and Eda nods her head. Taking that as enough encouragement, Luz hesitantly reaches forward and tickles the owl's tummy. He feels soft and warm, just like a real tiny owl. When she strokes him, he coos again happily.

“Owlbert's both a great weapon and a great companion,” Eda says with a smile, shooting Luz a wink. “A gift from a goddess after I helped her on a quest when I was just a little older than you.”

Luz lets herself process that information.

“My Mami said she didn’t want to send me to camp,” she eventually says, as though it’s some scandalous secret. “If it’s supposed to be a safe place for people like me… why wouldn’t she want me there?”

Eda hummed, and Luz picked up that Eda had been wondering the same thing. “Some parents want to protect their kids from this world. It’s dangerous, and the less you know the safer you are. That’s probably why you’ve been able to evade monsters like the empousai.”

“Lilith said the empousai was a servant of Hecate,” Luz commented, leaning over to look at Eda’s face. Her gold eyes were looking back at her playfully. “If my dad is a god, why would another god’s servant attack me?”

“Gods have been around much longer than us, Luz,” Eda said with a shrug. “They have a history that precedes any of us. Maybe your dad angered Hecate at some point.”

“But she looked scared when you said Hecate didn’t know she was there,” Luz pointed out, and Eda broke into a grin.

“You’re smarter than you look, kid. And I can’t say for sure why she was there, but a lot of weird stuff has been going on in our world recently.” She hummed thoughtfully, turning her eyes to look ahead once again. “Lily thinks it’s the reason we were called to Olympus. Your monster friend might have something to do with it.”

“She’s not my friend.” Luz retorted, biting her lip. “I don’t have any friends. People at school don’t like me.”

“You’re not the only weirdo out there,” Eda said, shrugging her shoulders. “None of us at camp fit in with the other mortals. That’s why Lily and I work so hard to keep the camp safe. Us weirdo’s have to stick together, you know? Camp Half-blood is our home.”

Luz felt her heart warm up at that, and she broke into a smile of her own. She liked the thought of that, being with people just like her in a place that genuinely felt like home. She had moved around so much, and been outcasted by so many kids her age, she had never known what that truly felt like. All she had was her Mami.

After the Pegasus left Queens, Luz wasn’t really sure where she was or where they were heading. But soon the smell of saltwater began to fill her nose, and Eda perked up in front of her.

“We’re close now. The camp is near Long Island Sound. Get ready to descend.”

Luz peaked over Eda’s shoulder, her stomach flipping in both nervousness and excitement. Eventually, the Pegasus swooped into a downward glide, and Luz got her first glimpse of the camp.

There were camp cabins stretched across what looked like a pavilion and a beach where she could see a few canoes. It looked like people eventually caught sight of the Pegasus, and when they saw Eda, they waved up at them. Most of the campers she saw were wearing orange t-shirts, and Luz noticed that a lot of them had some kind of weapon strapped to their belts.

Finally, the Pegasus touched down on a grassy field, and Luz could see a huge house with sky blue sliding sitting on top of a hill surrounded by strawberry fields. Luz breathed in a gasp. The place was beautiful.

Eda leaped off the Pegasus, and a crowd began to gather around them. Luz began to feel anxiety at the number of eyes staring at them, but then Eda extended a hand to her, shooting her a warm and excited smile.

“We're here, Luz. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood.”

#the owl house #lumity #Percy Jackson AU #luz x amity #luz noceda #amity blight #eda the owl lady #shelby speaks

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alarajrogers · 4 years

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And then one day you find, ten years have got behind you

A lot of people post hopeful, positive messages like “It’s never too late” and “You’re never too old” and I’m not gonna lie, at age 50 sometimes the only thing that keeps me going is the fact that Georgia O’Keefe was 70 before her art career began. But I’ve got a different message for y’all.

If there is something you burn to do, something that has consumed all of your ambitions for years, something you spend enormous amounts of time planning to do or thinking about doing... do it. Do it now. You suck at it? Doesn’t matter, you won’t get better until you do it. You don’t have time to do it? You’re going to be 50, 60, 70 someday and then you’ll really feel like you don’t have time and you could be a recovered cancer patient in the middle of a pandemic that kills people like you going “Oh shit, I never actually did the thing I wanted to spend my life doing!” YouTube can wait. Tumblr can wait. Spend at least some time doing it, as often as you can.

I wrote my first story when I was 4. (It was a fanfic. My OC paired up with my two favorite heroes as her best friends. Very environmentally conscious; it was the 70′s, so it was all about Pollution Is Bad.) I have wanted to be a published writer my whole life. Not just a writer -- I am a writer. I’ve written over 4 million words in my lifetime. How many of those are professionally publishable, though?... a hell of a lot fewer.

I have published four short stories in professional markets, one of which never actually went to press as far as I know and two of which were authorized fanfic. I have also been one of three authors on a published technical book that’s already out of date. I have not published any novels. I’ve made, lifetime, about $2500 on writing, which would be awesome if I was 24, but I’m 50. It would also be awesome if writing was just a hobby for me, something to do to relax, rather than the sole burning passion of my life and one of the reasons I was put on this planet and the highest ambition I have anymore. And it’d be fine if I never intended to publish original work and all I wanted to do was write good fanfic and become a niche BNF focusing on single favorite characters in each of the fandoms I join.

But it’s not fine, because I wanted to make a living at this, or at least make enough to justify not working full time anymore. And it’s not fine, because when I’m on, when I know my characters and I know what happens next and I’m focused and the flow is with me, I can write 1500 words an hour... which means if I did it 4 hours a day, 5 days a week, like it was a job, I could put out a novel in three weeks. Have I finished any novel at all since 1992 or so? No.

And it’s not fine because I’m 50, and I’m a cancer survivor, and I have diabetes, which ruined my mom’s life before cancer finally killed her, and I have depression, and I’m living in a pandemic, and not only am I not done with my life’s ambition, I’ve barely started. I spent my life writing fanfic and goofing off and letting work that really did not deserve so much time and attention from me steal my life. And yeah, we all know we could be hit by a bus tomorrow, but a pandemic that’s killed 160,000 of my fellow Americans and that our fucked-up, idiotic, sadistic, selfish black hole of leadership has no plan for fixing or even ameliorating is out there, and I could be dead within weeks. Anyone could, but I’ve got medical history here, and I’m the only driver in my family so “just stay home and self-quarantine” isn’t actually an option even though I work from home.

Most of you guys out there are young, or at least, a lot younger than me. And a lot of you are just doing what you do for fun, a hobby, a way to relax and pass time and enjoy yourself, and my message is not for you. You’re fine, keep doing what you’re doing. But if it’s your life’s passion to be a published author, or a comic book artist, or an animator, or whatever, then get out there and do it. Not to the exclusion of all else -- even your passion shouldn’t eat your life -- but don’t accept excuses from yourself as to why you haven’t done anything to move yourself forward in your ambitions in a couple of weeks. Because you just don’t have as much time as you think you do. Thirty years is forever when you’re 20 but it’s so much shorter when you’re 50. You’ll look back and think where did all the time go? and Why didn’t I do more of this when I was younger? Because no matter how hard I work right now, nothing’s ever going to give me those thirty years back. And yeah, I spent some of that time getting better at my craft, sure, but I could have been doing this twenty years ago. I’ve been planning this 52 Project for over ten years, I could have done it in 2010 instead of 2020. The novel I started in 2006? Why is it not done? If this is how I want to make my mark on the world, why did I think I had the freedom to just... not do it?

I mean... of the 19 stories I’ve published since April 3, 7 of them have been completely written brand-new since February, which works out to one complete story from scratch a month, and I’ve revised or completed 16 others (not all of which have been published yet, that includes my backlog), and I’ve got 8 more that I’ve worked on substantially this year but haven’t finished yet. I could have done this any time. I’ve written 100,000 words of original short stories this year so far and also half of a children’s chapter book. If I’d had output like this for my original work in any previous year, ever, I’d be a lot closer to achieving my dreams now.

None of us know how much time we have left, but even 80 years isn’t going to turn out to be all that much if you don’t do the thing you love and desperately want to be a success at. If you burn with the need to do a thing, do it. Do it now. Or real soon, anyway.

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worryinglyinnocent · 5 years

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Fic: Number Twenty-Six

Summary: Belle has a new crush. She met him on the bus to work. Of course she did. He was driving it.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: meeting on a morning commute.

Rated: G

Number Twenty-Six

“Tell me all about this new man of yours, then.”

Belle looked up from her rather lack-lustre salad to find Ruby flinging herself into the seat opposite and fixing her with a grin that on anyone else could probably be called maniacally terrifying.

“Well…” Belle wondered if she could get out of the conversation by pretending to have an urgent meeting. Not that pen-pushers like her and Ruby ever had urgent meetings, but it was worth a try. It wasn’t that she had outright lied about having a new man in her life. She’d simply omitted certain details, and in doing so, she had inadvertently led Ruby to believe that the relationship was a lot further advanced than it actually was. Namely, that it was actually a relationship and not just two people exchanging pleasantries.

“What’s his name, for a start?”

“Aiden.” At least that she definitely knew. “Aiden Gold.”

“Well, you’ve certainly kept Mr Gold nicely under wraps. Where did you meet him? Because I know you, you never go out anywhere, not for want of me trying.”

“On the bus to work.” This was also completely true.

“Look at you, flirting on your commute! So, I take it that he works near here.”

“You could say that, yes.” Well, it wasn’t not true.

“Perfect. You should be spending your lunch breaks with him, not stuck in the office kitchen with me.”

“Erm… Our hours don’t really line up like that.” This was pretty much true.

“That’s a shame.” Ruby leaned in a little closer and offered Belle her half-empty tube of Pringles. “So, how many times have you seen him now?”

“Five.” Again, no word of a lie. Belle was beginning to think that she might actually have a chance of making to the end of this conversation.

“So, what’s he like? What do you talk about?”

Belle described Aiden’s physical attributes and tactfully avoided the second question. Sadly, Ruby was too quick for her and raised an eyebrow.

“You have actually spoken to this man, right, Belle?”

“Of course!”

“And what did you say?”

Belle sighed; the secret could be kept no longer.

“I thanked him for waiting at the bus stop whilst I was running and asked him for a return to the Lakeside Business Park.”

“Belle! You’re seriously telling me that you have a crush on the bus driver?”

“Bus drivers are perfectly acceptable people to have crushes on.”

“I’m not saying that they’re not, I just… You told me that you had his number!”

“The number twenty-six is a number!”

“It’s the number of your bus!” Ruby moaned and rested her head against the table. “I give up on attempting to assist you with your love life. In fact, I wash my hands of you entirely, and I hope that you and Aiden Gold, number twenty-six bus driver, are very happy together when you actually ask him out.”

Ruby did have a point. How did you go about asking a bus driver out? The entire extent of their conversation consisted of daily ten second interactions when she bought her ticket. If she’d been running for the bus (she really needed to start leaving the house earlier in order to make it to the bus stop in plenty of time), it took slightly longer because she needed to get her breath back.

And after all, it wasn’t like she really knew anything about him apart from the fact he had a lovely smile, he drove a bus and he never waited until she was almost at the doors before driving off, like some bus drivers had done in the past.

It probably wasn’t the best foundation on which to start dating the man.

As things turned out, circumstances actually set themselves up quite well without any intervention on Belle’s part. She’d had to stay late at the office correcting some mistakes that a colleague had made, and she was in a perfectly horrible mood as she hurried away from the business park towards the bus stop. It was the last of the regular buses and if she missed it, she’d be waiting around for two hours for the next one. It was already standing at the stop as she rounded the corner, and Belle broke into a run. Unfortunately, there were only a few people waiting at this time of an evening and the line was not long enough to keep the bus stationary until she reached it.

“Wait!” she yelled, waving her arms around. “Please wait!”

It wasn’t as if the driver could hear her, and they probably couldn’t see her. Or, they could see her, and they were a sadist intent on making her walk home. The bus’s indicator flicked over and it began to pull away. Belle put on a final, useless burst of speed and then hurtled to a stop.

“WELL, SCREW YOU THEN!” she screamed.

The bus stopped, hazard lights flashing, and Belle wondered if she was having some kind of out of body experience. Still, she wasn’t going to spend any time standing around debating God’s will when providence was smiling on her, and she began to sprint again, flinging herself through the open doors and shoving her ticket at the driver.

She blinked as he clipped it and handed it back to her. It was Aiden, and immediately her foul mood melted away.

“Hello,” he said, flashing her a shy little smile as he closed the doors and pulled the bus away from the curb again. Belle rocked on her feet as the bus started to move and she grabbed hold of the driver’s cab to steady herself. “I don’t normally see you on this one.”

“Erm, no. Thanks for stopping.”

“My pleasure. Couldn’t leave you stranded, after all. Now, there’s a roundabout coming up, so you’ll want to take a seat.”

Still somewhat stunned, Belle sank into a seat and stared out of the window. Of all the bus drivers in all the world who could have been driving the late bus, it was Aiden. This was a sign, it had to be. It was telling her to go for it. Quite how she was going to go for it was another matter, but she had the length of the bus journey to figure that out, and to get her breath back. She didn’t have a plan, but she knew that she was not going to get off the bus without speaking to him and hopefully getting a number that wasn’t just the number of the bus.

Once her heart had returned to a pace resembling normal, a thought had begun to form in Belle’s mind. She got off the bus only a couple of stops before the end of the route, and she was already late in coming home. It wasn’t as if the cats would mind an extra few minutes whilst she walked down another couple of streets; they would already be mad at her for not giving them their dinner at the normal time. If she just waited until the last stop, then she could take to Aiden without fear of holding him up too much.

She stayed seated past her usual stop, and she glanced up towards the driver’s seat, catching Aiden’s eyes in the rear-view as he looked back at her. He’d held the bus in a morning for her enough times to know where she got on. She just smiled back at him.

They reached the end of the line and Aiden leaned out of his cab, looking back at her.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to get off now. My shift’s finished and I can’t leave the bus with people still on it.”

Belle stepped off the bus, hanging around by the stop as Aiden locked up.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said eventually, once they had been looking at each other for a few moments, because it was clear that she’d stayed until the end of the line with a purpose and she should probably make that known. “I wanted to say thank you properly, for stopping for me.”

“It’s nothing. I know that I’d be put out if I had to wait two hours for the next bus. And I recognised you in the mirror.”

“The number of times you’ve held the bus for me now, you’re becoming my personal saviour.”

“I can live with that.” Aiden smiled.

“I…” Belle paused. The age-old question of ‘how do you ask your bus driver out on a date?’ came back into her mind. She decided that the easiest thing to do would just be to ask outright. “If your shift’s over, do you maybe want to get a drink?”

Aiden shook his head. “I can’t, I have to get home to my son. But I don’t work Sundays. We could get coffee.”

“That sounds great.”

His face lit up, and within a couple of minutes numbers had been exchanged and details worked out. It was only when Aiden was about to move away that Belle realised they were being watched. The driver who was taking over from Aiden for the evening shift was standing by the bus, an amused expression on her face. Aiden groaned when he saw her, burying his face in his hands.

“Are you getting on or have you just got off?” she asked Belle politely, before turning to Aiden. “I don’t know whether to despair of you for flirting with the passengers or congratulate you for actually speaking to someone beyond asking where they’re going and telling them their fare.”

Without moving his hands from his face, Aiden made the introductions.

“Ursula, Belle. Belle, Ursula.”

Ursula just patted Aiden’s arm before opening the bus’s doors again, and Belle wondered if she’d actually see him on Sunday after all or if Ursula’s appearance had shot that idea down before it got started.

“So… Sunday?” she hedged.

“Yes.” Aiden nodded and finally looked up at her. “I’m looking forward to it, especially because Ursula will be ten miles away driving a park and ride at the time.”

“Hey, I heard that!”

They said their goodbyes and began to walk in opposite directions. As she headed towards home, Belle sent a message to Ruby.

I have his number.

An actual number this time, or still just 26?

An actual number, and a date to go with it.

Way to go, Belle! Can I make a bunch of jokes about riding the bus now?

Absolutely not.

You’re no fun.

Belle smiled to herself as she got into her apartment to be met with the frantic meowing of two hungry and indignant cats. The bus was probably the most mundane place she’d ever expected to find romance, but find it she had.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #A Monthly Rumbelling #Belle French #Mr Gold #woobie!Gold #modern AU #fluff #Fic: Number Twenty-Six

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cepmurphy · 4 years

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“Urg! He’s got a face fall of teeth!” – The Woman Who Fell To Earth

From now until New Year’s, I’m going to be reviewing S11 of Doctor Who in time for S12. Why? Because there’s various things about S11 I don’t think anyone discusses, so I’m going to do it. And naturally, we start with ep1, The Doctor In An Exciting Adventure With Tim Shaw. Chris Chibnall went into S11 with entirely new writers and directors, a new composer, the first female Doctor, and a pledge of no returning monsters in S11 (i.e. a fudge for New Year’s). It was all going to be new. Did that work? It certainly results in his first episode looking and feeling like no other Doctor Who episode I’ve seen before it. No other episode in S11 looks and feels like this either. When we open with Ryan and his grandparents, it feels like we’re watching a BBC drama. It starts with a deliberately unflashy vlog; we move into natural lighting, wide shots of the grassy outdoors, and domestic drama as Ryan loses his calm and refuses to accept Graham. Where Rose deliberately harkened to contemporary soap operas, The Woman Who Fell To Earth starts off feeling like The A Word. When the science fiction shows up, it starts as abstract yellow slashes in the very air. The lighting, camerawork, and music all presents this as something weird rather than exciting. Something is distorting the genre. And then, the train attack. A BBC drama has been invaded by a sci-fi horror. We’re in a world of darkness now; Sheffield is a city of shadows and grungy alleyways and empty streets. Our first alien is a pulsing mess of wires that flashes from within, something completely alien and faceless. When we get a humanoid villain, he’s a sinister Predator-like figure. He leaves bodies so disfigured they can’t be shown on screen and he wears severed teeth on his face. This is odd enough on rewatch. When I first saw it, I was transfixed. Was this what Doctor Who was going to be like? The answer is “no”, we don’t get this dark and horrific and completely weird after, and that’s a bit disappointing. Still, as an opening I can’t fault its confidence. This is not Moffat’s Who, or RTD’s, or the Classic Era, or even Chibnall’s previous stories. But does the story work, and does it set up the characters for later?

There are some weak points. Why did Tim Shaw’s bundle-o-wires leave the cast alive if it was planting bombs to kill them later anyway? Never explained. Ryan’s dyspraxia comes in during his climb up the crane to help Carl, treated in the story like this is the point where he tries instead of giving up, but we’ll be returning to him and the bike later anyway. And Tim Shaw comes from five thousand galaxies away, a detail that doesn’t fit in with the more grounded, grungy setting of this story.

However, for the most part, this works. It’s a simple plot to start us off: a rich dude is hunting the Most Dangerous Game, and he’s cheating. This is the key thing, the bit that the Doctor and the show flag up as the worst part, not that he’s a killer but that he’s petty. He’s a sadistic thug who taunts and dismisses people, who kills when he doesn’t need to, and then gets pissy when the Doctor notices that he’s cheating at his test. He wants to be seen as the Big Man but he’s just a cheap bully. “Tim Shaw’s a big, blue cheat!”

He’s still a threat, due to that petty brutality. He fits the dark-streets sci-fi horror of this episode – he’s an unsettling, nasty, brutal thug and he’ll kill you. (Making him a major planet-shattering ubervillain, now, that’d be silly, right….? Oh no.)

A simple plot means a greater focus on selling the new status quo, the character dynamic, and it does: the characters work by cooperating, and the Doctor is a low-key, often practical figure. Throughout the story, there are constant scenes of discussion and questioning to figure out what’s going on, and everyone – not just the Doctor figuring it out for us – gets to play a role. Crucially, the Doctor recruits them to find out facts for her, and each character has a different social group and a different method to find them out. We learn something about them when Graham and Grace turn to colleagues, and that Graham does it in person, and when Ryan checks Sheffield social media, and when Yaz tries (and fails) to use her job. Ryan’s continuing issues with Graham marrying his nan are less key than the fact Graham is mostly not pressing the issue, but Grace does; when Ryan snarks “second husband”, both grandparents look at him, but Graham looks away. Graham spends the whole thing trying so hard to get Ryan to accept him as “granddad” and putting up with a lot of guff, and we learn a lot that he’s putting up with it when it’s clearly emotionally draining.

And we learn something when despite all that, Ryan is left depressed when he thinks Graham’s blaming him for what’s going on.

And Yaz’s first bit of police stuff! On first watch, it feels like she rarely does this again – however, on rewatching them closer together, you will start to pick out numerous moments where Yaz reacts and deals with situations exactly as you’d want a policewoman to do. This is where it starts, and is the most explicit: a scene of her keeping the peace with calm authority and common-sense decisions, and asserting herself over older women.

Then there’s the new Doctor. Very, very quickly, we learn who the Doctor is – as with RTD’s debut of the Ninth, we learn about her from how she enters the fray and interacts with people. This Doctor is someone who doesn’t actually know anything on but is working it out, and working out her response, on the go. This Doctor turns to everyone around in the crashed train and brings them into a discussion, tries to form them into a group and trusts them to assist her. This Doctor doesn’t kill Tim Shaw but gives him the means to go home, so he can be saved from the DNA bombs he’s triggered. (Okay, she tricked him into absorbing them, but she’s never intending to kill him, just force him to piss off.)

The most defining thing is that this Doctor builds her new sonic screwdriver. When the Doctor was without sonic or TARDIS in The Eleventh Hour, the sonic was returned as a reward by the story at the very end. The Thirteenth doesn’t need it given to her. We see her make something, and – just as she works out what’s going on – we see her do it with what’s around her. Her new sonic looks like a thing that has been hammered out in a shed too, it’s no sleek sci-fi gizmo born from within a time machine but a piece of DIY engineering.

And that’s one of two big things in this episode that will last throughout the series: the Doctor is grounded, not a figure of great sci-fi power but someone who has to plot and make things. The second is the story is grounded as well. The world isn’t at risk, just a few people in one city. Which city? Sheffield, not somewhere with the TV glamour and loving building porn shots of London. The Thirteenth Doctor gets her new outfit from a charity shop, key intelligence comes from a bus driver, the villain’s grand scheme is to abduct one man, and the Doctor attends a funeral. The stakes are low by the standards of the show, but it’s not treated as such. “They’re not important,” Tim Shaw says about the little people, and is condemned for.

We’re not dealing with the Lost Lonely God here, we’re dealing with a smart, practical woman “sorting out fair play throughout the universe” who works with people like bus drivers and blokes doing MVQs, and who will stick around for your funeral (and a very normal funeral presented in a normal way, a coda that lasts several minutes, not a quick beat). It’s a strong, confident start, setting out a way of doing Doctor Who and saying: this is what we can do. Come along. Unfortunately, following it up with a Coming Soon montage of actors is a terrible way to build interest. It’s a bunch of people staring at the camera in different clothes. Where’s the excitement? How will kids know to care? We’ll end positively and remember the greatest man of Sheffield, the drunk kebab man who threw food at Tim Shaw. “Eat my salad, Halloween!” Legend.

#doctor who #doctor who reviews #Jodie Whittaker #doctor who s11

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sailor-cresselia · 5 years

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Zi-O 25 and 26: Oh boy is this arc a doozy!

So, over in Black Woz’s Storytime vault? That clock just advanced again.

Regulus is unseasonably bright… it’s early. Just like the Dai Mazines.

The Day of Oma is drawing near… and it seems to be closer than it would have been if the timeline wasn’t being mucked around with.

Hn. We closed the last episode with Swartz pulling out the Another Zi-O watch. And now we have… Another OOO? What are you doing here?

And why are you recreating the Another Build watch from that poor, abused, basketball player?

And using it?

And becoming Another Build?

… So Another Zi-O is, by his nature of being an Another Rider, a bootleg. Meaning he’s ripping off Zi-O’s ability to copy other riders powers.

… It’s a good thing that Tsukasa made his own watch somehow, because if we had to deal with an Another Decade? That would be a nightmare. (Will be a nightmare? There’s no saying what this season’s going to do.)

Black Woz: “Okay, I thought we’d be better off with Geiz and Tsukuyomi being around you, but I just realized that it means I have to actually let you know things are going down, without being cagey about it, so. Whoops.”

We cut to the apartment where the former Another Ex-Aid lives. In an eerie synchronicity with his initial creation, he’s being wheeled into an ambulance, as unconscious as the former Another Build.

‘Another Build’ is defeated, revealing ‘Another Ex-Aid’, and Black Woz realizes that they can’t win this right now.

Whoever this man is, the one who was just Another Build/Ex-Aid? Well, aside from presumably really being Another Zi-O, he also seems to know Sougo. By his full name. No, that’s not ominous at all.

!!! We’ve finally got a location for where those stairs from Episodes 2 and 21 are! They lead down from a shrine, which appears to be where Geiz and Tsukuyomi are currently staying. And apparently there’s an Another Woz? I think you messed up your translation there, O-T. I think that you might have meant ‘Another OOO’.

(Yeah, that’s an error on O-T’s part. I’m starting to use their MKVs at this point, instead of the 720’s, so they didn’t catch that until after that was encoded.)

Geiz goes to stop the casualties from piling up, but Tsukuyomi doesn’t seem to think that he’ll be able to do what he has to if he encounters Sougo. Doesn’t think that he’ll be able to defeat Zi-O. She says that, specifically: he’d encounter Sougo, but have to defeat Zi-O.

And I’ve noticed that Geiz still hasn’t used Sougo’s name… even in the last arc, he sort of just… dodged referring to Sougo by any name.

That is some poor green-screening to put Sougo against the night sky, there. Granted, it’s one of his dream sequences, so that doesn’t help matters.

A dream sequence with Regulus shining brightly overhead, as Zi-O II has a very one-sided fight against Rider!Geiz.

(Have we found where our ‘into the drink’ battle is going to take place?)

Sougo’s not wrong when he says that the fight was ‘peaceful’, though, is he? It seemed a little more like they were putting on an act than, say, whatever The Day of Oma is actually supposed to be.

Although, the first thing it reminded me of was the Eiji vs Ankh fight towards the end of OOO… remember? When Eiji was quickly losing himself to PuToTyra, and Ankh, in one of his rare Full Greeed appearances, was essentially trying to bring him back?

A purple rider, at risk of becoming his own enemy, fighting a red ally-of-convenience turned friend, huh?

… D’ya think they were trying to get at least some people to draw that apparel – er, parallel, by using Another OOO specifically as the first copy to show up in the episode?

Ohhh. Another Fourze/Faiz is working at an observatory now. That’s so fitting… especially since it lets us know that other people are noticing the strange happenings in the night sky. And that Another Riders don’t remember being Another Riders, either, much like the Real Riders.

(Which I’m still basically praying isn’t actually true, mind you, but regardless. Not actually the topic at hand. Yet.)

Man, the CG in this episode so far is not good! There’s the blatant haloing around Sougo in that dream sequence, around Geiz in his transformation here, and base form Zi-O was painfully obviously CG when he was putting on the Build Armor earlier.

Sougo: “Geiz, wait, the finisher won’t work, he’s not actually-”

Geiz: “Shut up and give me the watch!”

Poor communication gets people knocked out of their transformations.

White Woz’s attacks are as brutal as ever – including somehow using Kikai’s powers to make satellite dishes fire lasers at ‘Another Ex-Aid.’ His battle theme does not help in the slightest. It’s creepy and ominous and I always get nervous when it plays.

Kakogawa Hiryuu. He definitely knows Sougo from somewhere, but the question is where?

Or, maybe that’s not the question. Because while he says that he and Sougo are fated to cross paths over and over… Sougo doesn’t recognize him.

Sougo doesn’t seem to be able to keep Hiryuu, as a person, in his mind as soon as he leaves the area.

Not if his reaction when Geiz asks if Sougo knows who he is is any indication.

“Uh, who?”

Hm. The Geiz Revive form is designed to defeat ‘the overlord.’ It won’t awaken unless Geiz shows the will to do that.

…Can that refer to just ‘defeat Oma Zi-O, the evil ruler’, or does it have to refer to ‘defeat Kamen Rider Zi-O, civilian alias Tokiwa Sougo’?

Aw, Another Wizard is performing magic still, in the fixed timeline! Good for him! I mean, less good than usual, since Hiryuu’s on his way, but still!

GASP.

Uncle Junichiro Tokiwa is going to tell us the forbidden Sougo Backstory!

(I’m so pumped about this I actually bothered to look up his name for once.)

Sougo’s been living with his uncle for ten years, since 2009. His parents are ‘no longer with us.’

The piano version of Over Quartzer just started up again.

At the magic restaurant, Sougo admits that he’s kind of looking forward to the Another Rider appearing, because he might get to see Geiz and Tsukuyomi again. He’s lonely, and he knows that’s an awful way to think. Black Woz is encouraging of thinking that way though.

Sougo is the only one on his own side. Everyone else has an agenda for or against him.

There was a bus accident in 2009, and the newspaper article that Tsukuyomi pulls up mentions something about ‘unknown number of families’ being missing. Sougo and Hiryuu were the survivors. Going into a quick ‘camera based google translate’ look at the article… Looks like there was a large bus fire, something about a tunnel, black smoke obscuring everything, geez, this is brutal.

The piano version of Over Quartzer stopped when the shot changed from ‘Geiz and Tsukuyomi talking’ to a shot showing the article.

Oooh, the ‘tense atmosphere’ music noticeably cut out immediately after White Woz asked Geiz what they were going to do. With a discordant beat and everything. There was a silent shot of Geiz, and then the scene changed to Sougo and Black Woz in the restaurant.

Welp, Hiryuu’s after Another Wizard, and might have gotten his powers? Or at least a portion of them. He seems disappointed, but not surprised that Sougo doesn’t remember him. He’s already got Another Gaim, as well.

So that accounts for Build, Ex-Aid, Faiz, Wizard, OOO, and Gaim. Notably, we only saw the Faiz watch appear, not Fourze. That leaves Fourze (maybe), Ghost, and Ryuga completely unaccounted for. ...Ryuga’s a bit tricky, sir, I don’t think that’s a ‘remnant of power’ that you’ll be able to get your hands on.

Toei: “Look, we had to cut down the budget for the transformations this week, since we’ve had just SO MANY in this one episode.”

(AKA, the Woz and Geiz transformations are both poorly greenscreened.)

OKAY THEN. The Quiz finisher failed explosively, leading to ‘Another Gaim’… dissolving into four black, smoky, parka ghosts, which fuse into ‘Another Ghost’. So that leaves Fourze and Ryuga… and possibly the three future riders, but I can’t be sure there.

I still really like Another Ghost’s appearance.

OOF. ‘Another Ghost’ became… well, Another Zi-O by placing his personal Another Watch near where Ghost’s driver would have read an Eyecon… at which point he becomes Another Zi-O, with a barely corrupted version of the Ziku Driver. His watch is still visible. Just like Actual Zi-O’s.

The teeth are creepy, as is the fact his face looks like it’s showing muscles. But what’s most unsettling is that I don’t see the lenses/dials/gadgety bits that, thus far, each and every single Another Rider has had as eyes.

He’s the closest we’ve had to the real thing, actually. And, true to the Zi-O design labeling everything? He’s got 2019 written three times. One on his right eye, one in the center of his chest, and one on his belt. You know, where the real Zi-O has it. (The name Zi-O is on his right eye, for the record.)

Heure sees the two Zi-O’s about to face off… and seems to be booking it the heck out of there. Don’t blame ya, kid, run! Before Swartz and Hora use you again!

Nope, wait, never mind, he’s running straight to them. (Please develop some self preservation instincts. You may be a slightly sadistic little punk, but I’d prefer you not have to die.)

Ohhh. That ‘getting the others out of the ring’ theory I had for Swartz’s motive wasn’t quite right, but the ‘choosing the new king’ motive he gave wasn’t quite true, either.

It looks like he’s long since picked his horse for the race – Kakogawa Hiryuu, alias Another Zi-O, alias “The one to unite all Another Riders.”

He can’t take powers that didn’t exist, after all. What better way to create a Dark counter to someone who uses his predecessors powers… than to make someone who does the exact same thing?

Heure and Hora didn’t know that was the plan.

Geez, Another Zi-O has the ‘label ALL the things’ aesthetic down to a tee. ‘2019’ is on his left shoulder blade, and ‘Zi-O’ is on his right. And the year is on his forehead, where for Zi-O it has ‘Kamen.’

And, uh, Sougo, buddy. I don’t think you’ve thought through this ‘I can see your future’ announcement? I mean, nobody else has been able to do the same before now, but maybe don’t let people know you’re predicting their movements? Just as a general rule?

Especially when they’re copping your skillset?

But! As a bit of fodder for ‘power copying doesn’t actually work the way they’ve been told’?

We have Another Zi-O right here, and Regular Zi-O isn’t having any of the issues that Build, Cross-z, and Ex-Aid did with regards to sparking and losing their transformation while fighting their duplicates.

Oooh, but we do have it happening to his watch in the closing screen. It goes from Ex-Aid and Geiz on the sides, and Zi-O in the center… to the glitching effect of a rider losing their powers happening to the Zi-O watch, replacing it with the Another Zi-O version.

SPOOKY.

… ON TO EPISODE 26!!!

...Black Woz? Why do you have a copy of the Orange Geiz Revive armor in your storytime vault? (The clock continues advancing visibly)

Oh. Wow. Sougo got knocked out of his transformation. By a copy of his own finisher, and the person who dealt it is nowhere to be found.

White Woz continues to be awful… “The Revive watch not activating is all the proof I need that you’ve lost the will to fight. You’d better hurry and find it… how else could you face Tsukuyomi again?”

(The OP still refuses to give music spoilers, but I get the feeling I’m going to be hearing “Future Soldier” toward the end of this episode.)

(Spoiler alert from 8:30 am Sam to 7 am Sam: You did not get to hear “Future Soldier.”)

Hm. While Sougo’s propped himself up on the lamppost, incredibly passed out, he has the ‘premonition’ of that fight on the beach again. It seems like more of an actual fight this time… but the biggest difference is that the first time hew as there, the sky was crystal clear. This time, there’s a thin cloud cover forming over the stars… including Regulus.

The Time Jackers are watching while Tsukuyomi heads to April 24, 2009. But, um, completely off topic question… Are those three just, like, renting a penthouse apartment? Because I’m starting to get the impression they live there, with the chairs and such on this roof, and Hora and Swartz relaxing inside last episode.

See? SEE?! Heure’s with me! Swartz hasn’t told them everything. Maybe hasn’t told them anything.

He has a whole other motive here… but what is it?

(History is told by the winners, and nobody has won yet.)

But why does Black Woz recognize Hiryuu’s name?

OH NO, IT’S BABBY SOUGO IN DINOSAUR PAJAMAS.

Oh… Jeez, the bus accident happened literally days before his 9th birthday. The accident is April 24th, and he was born April 28th. (Thanks, episode one! Now we have ~two~ main Neo-Heisei riders with exact canonical birthdays!)

Oh, this is incredibly painful to watch. Junichiro said he’d take Sougo in pretty much immediately, and Sougo came out of that accident a lot better off than Hiryuu did.

(Yeah, fine, Uncle Junichiro’s earned his name. I still don’t entirely trust him, but I’ll start using his name.)

The Piano version of Over Quartzer starts up when 8!Sougo says his parents are dead… and Hiryuu’s looking out his hospital room at the whole conversation. The part that would be the lyrics kicks in when the nurse starts talking to a fuming Hiyruu. It continues through to when Geiz and Tusukyomi hang up the phone from updating each other.

I just like that Tsukuyomi parked her Time Mazine in a regular garage. That’s just one of those little touches that’s really cute.

On the less cute, more worrying side… we didn’t see her reactions to Geiz saying he couldn’t use the Geiz Revive watch.

Geiz, justifiably, doesn’t tell the clearly anxious, clearly scared Heure where Tsukuyomi went. That’s fair – Hora played everyone like a fiddle just last arc… including Heure.

I really do think that Heure wants out… but I was thinking the same about Hora, so, maybe he doesn’t? But I don’t think he’s nearly as good of a liar as she is, so this is more likely to be real concern. Heure doesn’t know all of the details, but he wants to.

He’s sick of all of the misdirection.

Ohhh. Hayase quite Magic Cafe Aqua, and went to go see Magic House… the theatre he used to work at. The one he became Another Wizard to save. And now he’s starting to remember his days as Another Wizard.

(Also, it’s really sad to see this place abandoned like it is now.)

Another Wizard… is now accounted for.

Okay, so Hiryuu is flat out planning to kill Sougo. That’s… ‘nice.’ Even ‘nicer’ is his reason.

They were both on the bus – apparently a field trip, judging by the number of small children in the other seats. They were sitting near each other. “A woman in white shouted his name, and pulled the trigger.” The visuals are a Faiz Phone X, a white sleeve, and Tsukuyomi’s voice shouting ‘Sougo’. The hand holding the phone has nail polish, though… does Tsukuyomi wear nail polish? It’s a dark color…

Him telling Sougo about this is intercut with Geiz traveling to 2009. “What if it wasn’t an accident?”

What if it was a pre-emptive assassination attempt?

He’s no stranger to those, after all.

Geiz pulls up along the wildy swerving bus… and Tsukuyomi is on it. Holding a Faiz Phone X, yelling Sougo’s name… and pulling the trigger. The back corner of the bus is on fire as it enters the tunnel.

… Geiz doesn’t catch up before the bus seemingly hits the wall and explodes.

… there were two survivors of the bus accident. Two eight-year-old boys.

There was no mention in the article of an 18-year-old woman.

I think we’ve just found Geiz’s driving force to use Geiz Revive.

How does he interrupt the Zi-O vs Zi-O battle? A flying punch to Another Zi-O’s shoulder. Which stops him from attacking a downed (albeit still transformed) Zi-O II. But this is while Geiz isn’t transformed.

That punch had the ‘superpower force’ effect, too. The one that we usually only see when the two boys are suited up… or that one time, after Quiz, when they were finally explaining exactly (approximately) what the Day of Oma is, with the chess metaphor.

Oooh, those studded shoulderpads left Geiz’s knuckles bloody. Ick.

A Woz is a Woz, and they both just love to soliloquize their announcements. IWAE.

Geiz Revive Fury is scary. A tranquil rage, and he just used a buzzsaw (!) to punch Another Zi-O through at least four (!!) stacks of construction materials – the heavy cement kind. (!!!)

Swartz gets his candidate out of the way of another blast from that buzzsaw. “We’ll see you on the Day of Oma.”

So now, it’s Geiz Revive versus Zi-O II.

Geiz: “I’m going to beat you. That’s the future we’re heading towards.”

Sougo: “...Okay.”

Geiz Revive Fury is the Mighty Glacier trope in action – High offense, High defense, low speed.

Geiz Revive Typhoon, on the other hand… High offense, ludicrous speed, and I can’t tell what his defense is, but it doesn’t really matter if you can’t see him long enough to hit him. Could be Fragile Speedster meets Glass Cannon, or it could be Lighting Bruiser, but without knowing how well Typhoon can take a hit, I can’t say.

So, while Sougo’s getting his ass handed to him by a rapidly form-switching Geiz, Black Woz is off investigating the accident… by having sent everyone in the bus companies office to dreamland, so he can get into their records.

Clever. I like it.

Casual reminder that the Wizard arc told us that Woz has a Faiz Phone X as well… and. Wait. Those things are a stun gun. They knock people out. When Tsukuyomi was using hers to stop Another Build’s attacks, it paused them. But the first time we saw her use it?

Was against Ryuuga, Sento, and Sougo in Cafe nascita. As a knock-out gun. They all fell asleep.

Unless that thing has other settings that we haven’t seen… it shouldn’t be able to blow up the end of a bus.

That news article… looking again, the google translation isn’t great, but I think it’s trying to say that the two kids were the only ones who were found.

Why do I mention that? Because Woz goes straight to the passenger list. Kakogawa Hiryuu and his parents are there, as expected… and… Well then. So is one Kadoya Tsukasa.

2009 was his year, too, after all.

And how exactly does he travel between worlds? He makes his own portals, which look like walls.

After all, nobody could see anything through the smoke covering the tunnel, including Geiz and the television audience at home.

Decade, you tricky little bastard.

… I’m just going to stick this little snippet from a potential fic in here, since it seems to have just become incredibly relevant.

“The kid’s stealing my whole gimmick. He’s basically ripping off my ability to copy people, and I just had to give him the ability to copy me copying other people. It’s absurd, and I’m basically stuck playing the bad guy again.”

#kamen rider zi o #sailorcressy says #seriously zi-o got good you guys

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everlarkficexchange · 7 years

Text

Unexpected

Prompt #1: I’d like an AU with Peeta as a single dad with a kid who’s always getting in trouble. Katniss is the kid’s teacher. Love follows :) [submitted by Anonymous]

Written by: @xerxia31

Notes: This is part one of what will likely be a three part arc. This chapter is rated T for strong language.

——

I rap my knuckles against the doorframe, more out of habit than necessity. Haymitch has an open door policy, at least where I’m concerned. He glances up from his desk, looking more haggard than usual, but when he sees me his eyes soften. “Sweetheart,” he rasps. “Come on in.”

If anyone else dared to call Katniss Everdeen sweetheart, I’d probably punch them. But Haymitch Abernathy is my late father’s longtime friend, and the closest thing to a parent I have.

He’s also, as principal of District Twelve Elementary School, my boss.

I slide into the chair across from him, shaking my head as he tilts his towards the desk drawer, an unspoken offer of a drink. Instead, I wait. Haymitch and I are long past small talk. With a smirk, he pushes a manilla folder across the desk. “New kid for your class,” he says.

“What’s the catch?” I ask. Mid-year transfers aren’t uncommon, certainly not worth actually calling me into his office to talk about. I pick up the slim folder, weighing it thoughtfully. I teach first grade, so my student files are never very thick, but this one seems to have a few more pages than typical. Curious, I flip it open. Stapled to the first page is a small picture of the new student. He’s cute. Most of the kids that filter in and out of my class are cute, six-year-olds usually are. But this little guy is cuter than average, an over-long mop of golden curls over pale blue eyes, chubby cheeks and a gap-toothed grin. “Max Van Allen,” I read aloud.

“He comes with a bit of a reputation.” Haymitch says. I raise an eyebrow, and he continues. “D-Two calls him a troublemaker.”

I glance back at the wallet-sized picture. It’s hard to believe the little cherub pictured could be a hellion. But flipping through the pages of incident reports gives a very different picture. Doesn’t listen. Doesn’t play well with other children. Disruptive. Then again, District Two has a reputation for being a somewhat stricter school, located as it is in the most affluent part of the state.

“You dragged me in here at lunch just to saddle me with a brat? Why don’t you put him in Beetee’s class? I’m pretty sure it’s his turn.”

“I got you out of playground supervision, Sweetheart,” he growls, and I smirk because it’s true, and he knows supervising the kids post-lunch, when they’re antsy and hopped up on juice, is my least favourite activity. After a moment he shrugs. “Besides, you’re a better fit for this one.”

My smartass retort dies on my tongue as I skim little Max’s contact information. Mother: deceased. “Oh,” I say softly, understanding, and he nods.

“Happened last summer. Figured you’d remember how that felt, maybe understand the kid better than Beetee could.”

I was a little older than Max when I lost my father, but I remember the pain and confusion as if it were yesterday. And I’m sure Haymitch remembers how sullen I was back then. How disruptive my sister Prim was. How long it took us to get over his loss.

Not that we ever did. Not fully anyway. And Haymitch knows that too. I sigh. “When does he start?”

“Monday.”

——

Max turns out to be a charming, gregarious little fellow. He marches into my class his first day with a smile and a single sunshine-frosted cookie in a glassine envelope, ‘for my new teacher’. He enthrals the school bus driver and the lunch lady too, effortlessly. And for the first few days it feels like District Two and Haymitch have exaggerated the potential for trouble.

But the bloom is off the rose quickly.

Though he can be sweet, he’s clearly not accustomed to compromise. He’s bossy and demanding, doesn’t like to share, is quick to throw tantrums and lash out when he doesn’t get his way. By the end of week two, the staff are throwing around words like ‘spoiled’ and ‘menace’.

I try partnering him with different kids every day, trying to ease him into our routines, find a comfortable fit for him, but each choice is less and less successful. Soon enough, he’s spending more time in time out than actually interacting with the other students. And as his behaviour deteriorates, the other kids stop wanting to play with him, which makes things worse. Max becomes progressively angrier, often brooding. Refuses to do his seatwork. Refuses to engage in the lessons. A few gentle notes home suggesting that Max is having trouble integrating come back with vague scrawled promises of talking to him. But if anything, the situation worsens. He becomes belligerent, seems to take a sadistic pleasure in pushing buttons - mine and the rest of the staff’s. I’m forced to send him to Haymitch repeatedly.

“I don’t know what to do with him,” I admit to my mentor one lunch break over turkey sandwiches (for me) and scotch (for Haymitch). “He can be really sweet sometimes. But he’s so angry, so mad at the world.”

“Sound familiar, Sweetheart?” Haymitch laughs. He’s right, of course. I could be describing myself fifteen years ago.

“What can I do?” I don’t like to seem incompetent, but I’m truly at a loss. And I know Haymitch placed Max with me because he thinks I can help.

“Kid doesn’t have a mother. Maybe he needs a mother figure in his life, at least for a few hours a day?”

I snort. “Haymitch, I’d be shitty at that. You know I don’t want kids.”

“I also know that’s because you love them, and are too damned afraid of seeing them get hurt like you were.” It’s hard to argue with that. So I shrug. But I’m no closer to figuring out what to do with Max.

——

It’s a Wednesday morning, just about a month after Max arrived, and I glance over at his desk. The other children are all happily colouring and cutting out drawings of clothing for our vocabulary lesson, and chatting among themselves. But Max is staring out the window. Instead of the angry face he’s been wearing almost constantly, what I see now is a sad, lonely little boy. And my heart breaks for him.

So when lunchtime comes, I ask my classroom helper to walk the other children down to the lunch room.

But I keep Max behind.

He sits as his desk, head hanging, tearing a piece of paper into tiny scraps. “I’d like to talk with you, Max,” I start. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” He shrugs. “It seems like you’re not very happy here,” I start and his blue eyes snap up to mine.

“Are you going to send me away now?” He’s wearing his typical defiant expression, but his bottom lip trembles. And though I’ve taught over a hundred kids in the four years I’ve been with District Twelve, there’s something about this little guy in particular that tugs pretty hard at my heartstrings. Maybe it’s because I see so much of myself in his tough exterior and tender heart.

“No Max, I’m your teacher and this is your classroom until you’re ready to move up to second grade. You’re going to stay here with me for the rest of the year.” I hope I’m telling him the truth, I’m uncertain of the reason for his mid-year move, though I assume it has something to do with his mother’s death. But I think what he needs, more than anything, is some stability. And if I can give him that, I will.

“But I’m a bad boy,” he says.

“You’re not bad,” I tell him, but he’s looking out the window again. “Max,” I say gently, then wait until he turns to me. His soft blue eyes shimmer. “You’re not a bad boy. Sometimes you do things without thinking carefully, but you’re not bad. Okay?”

“Papa says I’m bad. That’s why I’m here.” The tears overflow and I instinctively open my arms to him. He clings tightly, crying on my shoulder.

“You’re a good person, Max.” My voice is a little rough and I have to speak around the lump in my throat. “You’re a really special kid, and I like you a lot.” At those words he pulls back a bit, utterly perplexed, and I wonder if no one has told him that they like him? How could that be?

But then I think back to my own childhood. When my father died I desperately needed an adult to tell me everything was going to be okay. And for the longest time, there was no one. My mother fell apart when she lost her husband, incapable of supporting her children emotionally. Until Haymitch stepped in, Prim and I were tetherless, angry and so very afraid. I can see in little Max a lot of the same fear and confusion. And I vow to help him.

——

After our talk, there are some improvements in Max’s behaviour. Not a lot, and they’re subtle, but I see them.

He looks to me more and more frequently for guidance, when he’s struggling to get along with one of his peers. And because I’m keeping a close eye on him, I’m able to encourage him in a way that doesn’t look like an intervention.

He comes to me for comfort too. I do what I can, but my hands are a little tied by the school board and by regulations and by the simple fact that with twenty-six children in my classroom my time is limited. But he gladly takes what little I offer, blossoming like a dandelion under a few words of praise.

All of which makes me angrier and angrier with his father, this man who tells his son that he’s a ‘bad boy’, who clearly isn’t offering the child what he needs, emotionally.

The day that the children draw family portraits, and Max’s shows just a single, tiny figure in front of a large house, I know I have to do something more. The only thing I can think of is to meet with the asshole father, to try to reason with him in person. So I ask Effie, our secretary, to set something up.

——

Mr. Van Allen and his son are a study in the power of genetics.

Standing in my classroom doorway, they could be the same person, twenty-some years apart. Blond hair, fair skin, stocky builds. Both wear identical expressions of unease.

When Max notices me, his little face lights up, and he runs across the room to hug me. I ruffle his hair and grin, but then I glance at his father, who looks stunned. I turn my attention back to the important person in the room. “Hello Max,” I say, and he beams at me. “Would you like to show your papa where your desk is?” It’s an easy way to make the parent more comfortable, and to give the child a modicum of control over the situation. Most kids love it. Max scowls.

“He’s not my papa,” he grumbles, not even sparing the blond man a glance. “That’s Peeta.”

I glance up in confusion. The man shifting uncomfortably in the doorway is obviously related to little Max, they’re virtual clones. “I’m Max’s father,” he confirms tightly, his neck and cheeks flooding with colour. He can barely make eye contact as he walks towards us. I wonder if he has a bad temper.

“Miss Everdeen,” I say, reaching out to shake his hand, which is huge and clammy. “It’s nice to meet you Mr. Van Allen.”

“Oh, it’s uh, Mellark,” he says, and the flush deepens. “Peeta Mellark. Max has his late mother’s name.”

Oh.

I take an absolutely inappropriate glance at Max’s father’s left hand. Bare, not that the lack of a wedding band means anything. “I’m sorry,” I tell him, confused. “I thought it said Van Allen in the record.” Mr. Mellark nods.

“Max was living with his maternal grandparents until fairly recently. Their names are probably still in there.”

Oh.

“Right,” I murmur, and vow to kick Haymitch in the shin tomorrow morning. Jerk could have warned me. “Max,” I say, turning my attention back to the moppet who is now holding my hand. “Will you show your father your desk?”

So not only is Max’s dad an asshole, he’s a deadbeat asshole.

But even as I think it, I can’t reconcile that with the man standing in front of me, blue eyes wide and wary, shoulders hunched in defeat. He looks nearly as frightened as a kindergartener on the first day of school.

Letting Max show his papa - no, his father - his desk also allows me to observe them, watch their interactions. I’ve left a folder of Max’s schoolwork on the desk, Mr. Mellark seems genuinely interested in Max’s creations, smiling, offering praise. But Max shows him the papers mechanically, not engaging with the older man in anything other than a superficial manner. Hostile, even.

I’m completely bewildered.

“Max,” I call gently when the silence has stretched between them too long. Two pairs of blue eyes swing to mine, shining with frustration. “I set up a new story at the music station for you.” A huge smile stretches across his face, story time is his favourite and while audiobooks aren’t as much fun as sitting on the carpet listening to a book read live, they’re still pretty great.

While Max listens to his story, giant headphones perched on his golden head, I sit at my desk with his father. Before I can start, he speaks. “I know Max can be difficult, but underneath he’s a really good kid, I promise you that.” His face is earnest, almost begging me to see his son as worthy.

“I know,” I say, confused. I wasn’t expecting him to defend Max, and so vehemently. Startled blue eyes meet my own.

“You do?”

“Well yeah, of course.”

Mr. Mellark’s shoulders sag in relief. At my expression, he continues. “The staff in District Two, they completely demonized the poor kid, made it seem like he was incorrigible.” He clears his throat.

“Is that why you switched schools?” It comes out a little more terse than I mean it to. But if this guy is accustomed to just running away from his problems I want to know, and I want to ensure he’s not going to do that to Max again.

“Uh, no.” Mr. Mellark won’t meet my eyes, staring out the window in much the same way his son often does. “District Two is close to Max’s grandparents’s house, but I live in Victor’s Village.” It’s a community not far from where I myself live in the Seam. “And now that he lives with me…” he trails off, shrugging.

It doesn’t make any sense. I know Max’s mother died over the summer, why did they have him start first grade at District Two if his father lives here? But it’s not my place to debate their choices, only to ensure that Max is getting the support he needs.

“Max is having a lot of trouble adjusting,” I say, switching tack. “He’s generally unhappy, and he’s not bonding with any of his classmates. I’m worried–” I cut off my sentence abruptly as Max comes running across the classroom.

“Miss Everdeen, guess what?” he says, nestling right up to me, and I can’t help but grin. Away from the other kids, from the stress and confusion of the classroom, he really is a sweetie. Without conscious thought, I push his over-long curls out of his eyes as he animatedly tells me what Mouse is doing in the book so far. His gap-toothed grin is huge. After a quick accounting, he agrees to go back and listen to more of the story, and skips back across the classroom.

I’m still smiling when I turn back to his father, but my smile falters a little at the pained expression on his face. He’s looking over at his son with such sadness, I’d almost call it longing. Only then do I realize that Max hadn’t shared anything about the book with his father, hadn’t even spared Mr. Mellark a glance as far as I can tell. Clearly, something is fundamentally shattered in the relationship between father and son, and that’s far beyond my abilities to address.

“Have you thought about maybe taking Max to talk with a grief counsellor?” It’s always dicey, suggesting professional help to parents. Far too often what they hear is ‘your child is broken and it’s your fault’. But Mr. Mellark doesn’t go on the defensive. Instead, he smiles ruefully, his eyes still fixed on Max.

“We’re on our third psychologist since the move,” he sighs.

“I’m sure his mother’s death has been very confusing for him,” I say. He grimaces, still watching Max. “And, uhm. And for you too,” I add awkwardly. At that, Mr. Mellark huffs out a laugh, though there’s no mirth in his expression.

“Can I be frank with you?” he asks, sliding his eyes to mine. For the first time, I see the anger I was expecting. It somehow centres me, makes me remember that this douchecanoe is failing his kid in every way.

“Sure,” I offer, leaning back and crossing my arms.

He turns his attention back to Max, oblivious in his headphones. “I don’t think Max had much of a relationship with his mother. I don’t know for sure though because…” he trails off, his jaw tensing, as if it’s physically painful to talk. I wait him out. Finally, he continues. “Because I didn’t know Max existed until after she died.”

What?

He’s silent for so long that I’m sure he isn’t going to explain. Finally, he sighs, and it’s as if the anger flows out of him with that sound. “Glimmer - his mother - she and I went to college together. I didn’t know her very well, but we had some mutual friends. We hooked up once, at a party in junior year.”

“And she got pregnant.” I want to slap myself for saying it out loud because duh. But he’s not looking at me anyway.

“Yeah, apparently. But she didn’t tell me. I never saw her again, never spoke with her again. Her parents have been taking care of Max since he was born.”

“How did…” I gesture helplessly between him and where Max sits, blessedly unaware of our conversation.

“The Van Allens tracked me down. Thankfully, Glimmer had at least named me on Max’s birth certificate, even if she never told me.” His voice drips with resentment. “They’re elderly. Mrs. Van Allen has a lot of health concerns and Mr. Van Allen has no patience. They just weren’t up to the task of caring for Max. I think they believed Glimmer would eventually give up her party ways and be a mother to Max. But that didn’t happen. And it never will now.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, because I am, and because I have no idea what else to say. So Max isn’t reeling from the loss of one parent, but of two; his grandparents. “Does Max still see his grandparents?”

“He’s seen them a few times, but they just can’t keep up with him now that he’s older and more active. He tires them out too quickly.” He sighs. “They love him, I know that. But they never set any limits for him, he never had any rules. And Glimmer wandered in and out of his life, she wasn’t around enough to parent him. He ruled the roost.”

“So Max is having trouble adjusting to your authority?” He shakes his head sadly.

“He barely even acknowledges my existence,” he admits softly. We both fall quiet, I’m forced to examine the assumptions I’d made, both about Max and his father, and see how wrong most of them were. Armed with this new information, I can’t help but feel awful for both of the blonds sitting in my classroom.

“Max, ah. He seems to like you very much.” Mr. Mellark’s quiet assertion snaps me out of my reverie.

“I like him too.” I glance over at Max, who is again absorbed in his audiobook.

“He hasn’t really bonded with any of my family, with anyone at all, really. And we’re working on that with the psychologist. But I wonder, if. Well…” He trails off. His ears are pink-tipped again, and he won’t meet my eyes. “You’re the only person he seems to have any sort of attachment to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Max talks about you, Miss Everdeen. You’re the only thing he’s mentioned about school at all. And I wonder…” He trails off as Max, clearly having listened to the entire thirty minute run time of the audiobook, takes off the giant headphones and wanders back over to us. Again, he approaches my side of the desk, not his father’s. Mr. Mellark looks stricken.

I had intended on speaking with them about behaviour rewards, but I can see that adhesive stars aren’t going to make any difference in this case. Though I’m not a psychologist, I have a strong feeling that what they truly need is each other. And maybe that’s something I can nudge along. “We have a class parent program here,” I start, keeping my voice light but willing Mr. Mellark to understand. “Volunteers who come in for a couple of hours a week to help with arts and crafts, or story time.”

His blue eyes shine with understanding… and gratitude. “I could definitely spare a couple of afternoons from the bakery,” Mr. Mellark says. “Would that be alright with you, Max?” Max shrugs, but I catch a hint of interest behind his indifferent mask.

——

This man is made to be a parent.

Mr. Mellark - Peeta - has spent ninety minutes in my classroom each Tuesday and Friday afternoon for the past two weeks. And he is so, so good with the children. He’s boundlessly patient, even when Lila knocked her jar of paint water over for the fourth time. His smiles and gentle words have charmed every kid in the class.

Well, every child but one.

Max sometimes glances at his father with curiosity, but resists interacting directly. But Peeta tries, over and over.

My heart hurts for both of them.

After today’s art project, the kids line up to file outside for recess with my teaching aide. Peeta tries to say goodbye to Max but, as usual, Max is having none of it, refusing to acknowledge his father at all, shrugging off the gentle hand Peeta sets on his shoulder, and marching away.

I stay behind, watching Peeta gather up papers and supplies, stacking them neatly for me. He’s so considerate, so unlike what I was expecting. And I don’t think it’s just an act for the classroom. I’ve spoken with him on the phone a few times, planning for his classroom visits, discussing Max’s behaviour, and, yeah, just chatting. He’s nice to talk to, always calm, steady, kind. I don’t make friends easily but Peeta, like his son, crept up on me.

Today though, I can see in the way his shoulders are hunched that he’s completely dispirited.

“Hey,” I say, coming to stand beside him. He glances away, sucking in a shuddering breath.

“He hates me. My own son hates me.” There’s no self-pity in his voice. Just resignation.

“He doesn’t hate you, Peeta,” I tell him, and reach out to gently touch his arm. “He’s afraid to love you. Because everyone he’s ever loved has left him.”

Peeta lifts his eyes, holding mine in a way that makes every hair on my body stand up; makes me feel like, in that moment, he can see straight into my soul, read the fear and loneliness of my own early years as clearly as the chalkboard behind us. But instead of calling attention to my history, dissecting my pain, he merely sighs and asks, “What can I do?”

“Show him that you’re not going anywhere, and neither is he. Make sure he knows this is permanent, that you’re his daddy forever.”

“I’ve missed out on so much already, Katniss. His first smile, his first steps, his first word. I can’t get that time back. To him, I’m just some stranger who stole him away from his home.”

“You’re doing everything right.” I slide my hand up to his shoulder, rub comforting circles on his back. “Just be patient. He’ll come around.”

“I hope so,” he says. “It’s all I want. I love him, I truly do, and I hate seeing him so miserable.”

It’s so perfectly Peeta, to be worried not about his own bruised feelings like so many other people in this situation might be, but instead he’s worried about Max. I can’t help but be angry on his behalf, angry that he was denied an opportunity to be a father to Max for so long. I know he carries so much guilt about it too. Max could have - should have - had a loving, supportive parent all along.

But it’s not too late, I’m certain of that. These two need each other. I really believe they’re going to figure that out. And I’ll do anything I can to help.

We stand side-by-side in silence, each lost in thought as I rub his back, completely oblivious to the passage of time. Then the bell rings, warning me that recess is over and my room will soon be overrun by six year olds again. “Shoot,” he says. “I’d better run. I’m sorry I wasted your whole break.” He shoves the last of the supplies onto the shelf, and turns to leave, but I catch his hand.

“Hey, no, you didn’t waste my time. I, uh, I’m glad we can talk. I mean–” Ugh, I can talk to little kids for hours at a time, but I can’t articulate a single thought to this man. “I like talking with you, Peeta.”

He smiles, just a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I smile too. He squeezes my hand, but already we can hear the clomping of children filing back into the school. With a little wave, he slips out of the class before the kids return.

It’s only an hour later that I realize that in his hurry to get out before the kids came back, he left his messenger bag behind. I send him a text, offering to bring it to him in the morning, and he gratefully accepts. And okay, I admit it’s not just that I’m a super nice person. I also kind of like the idea of seeing him again, away from the classroom.

——

Mellark’s bakery is a charming old storefront on the corner of Victor’s and Main, an area I’ve never really frequented despite it being no more than ten minutes from my house. Even before I’m close enough to read the sign, I can smell the hot yeasty aroma of fresh bread, and a faint hint of cinnamon underneath. It’s mouthwatering. Huge old-fashioned glass windows glint in the morning sun, and the front door is propped open, beckoning me in.

The inside is just as nice, black and white checkerboard tiles and warm wood everywhere. Pristine glass cases filled with utterly delectable-looking goodies. A few tables are scattered by the large windows, the perfect place to sit with a coffee and a treat and watch the world go by. It’s a good thing I didn’t know this place existed before now, I might never have left.

Equally attractive is the trifecta of blond men in my midst. Two stand behind the counter, engrossed in low conversation. Peeta, looking even more more appealing than usual in a simple white tee that emphasizes his broad chest and muscled arms. I had no idea he was hiding that under the button down shirts he usually wears to the school. Beside him, a man who can only be his own father - same height, same build, same golden curls, though the elder Mellark’s are shot with silver and cropped a little more closely. Clearly the Mellark genes are strong. Either that, or they’re cloning themselves in the bakery kitchen.

The third Mellark sits at one of the tall tables, busily colouring. The morning sun filters through his hair, haloing him. If this was your only impression of Max Van Allen Mellark, you might think he was an angel. But his brows are drawn together in more than just concentration. Anger, annoyance, and frustration are all painted on his features.

Peeta looks up, catches me standing in the doorway and smiles gently. “Hey,” he says. “You found us.”

When Max hears his father’s voice, he too looks up, and the angry expression melts away. “Miss Everdeen!” he yells, clambering down from the high stool. “You came to visit!” He skips across the bakery and hugs me tight.

“I came to see you, and to bring back your daddy’s bag. He forgot it in our class yesterday.” Peeta has moved from behind the counter, smiling as he approaches us. Behind him, Max’s grandfather just looks stunned. Peeta’s mentioned before that Max hasn’t bonded well with very many people, but I don’t think I appreciated until now just how special the bond he and I have developed is.

“Thank you, Katniss,” he says softly, those stunning blue eyes warm and welcoming. I know he’s not just talking about the satchel. “Will you stay and have breakfast with us?”

I don’t have a chance to answer before Max is hopping up and down, yanking on my hand to guide me over to the table where he was sitting. “Yes, yes, stay, please!” he chirps. And I can’t help but laugh. His enthusiasm is adorable, and all too rare.

As I get settled, Peeta asks Max if he’d like to get something for me from the pastry case. Max looks surprised, wary but a little pleased too. It might be the first time I’ve seen him look at Peeta with anything other than contempt. “What would you like to eat, Miss Everdeen?” he asks. I can’t help but grin at his formality. He might not show it, but he’s clearly been listening to Peeta serve customers.

“What’s your favourite thing to eat here, Max?” I ask, and he shrugs, but I’m undeterred. “I’d like to try whatever you like best.” He nods, just once, and turns to run behind the counter.

“Get one for yourself too, Max,” Peeta calls as he walks to the fancy coffee machine, laughing quietly.

Peeta returns with two mugs of hot chocolate, and a cup of tea for himself, and Max carries two ceramic plates with all of the precision a six-year-old can manage, proudly setting one in front of me. “What’s this, Max?” I ask. It’s golden and flaky, covered in a thick layer of bubbly cheese.

“Cheese buns,” he says, climbing onto the stool beside me. “Hey, you like hot chocolate too?” He gestures to my mug. “It’s my favourite!” Peeta watches with amusement as Max nimbly slurps the melting whipped cream from his own mug.

Grinning, I pull a corner off the treat sitting in front of me. It smells fantastic. And as the rich, buttery pastry melts on my tongue I can’t suppress a groan. “This is fantastic,” I sigh. Why didn’t I know about this place sooner? “Did you make these?” I tease Max. He shakes his head solemnly.

“Would you like to learn how?” Peeta asks his son hesitantly. “It’s a very old recipe, my father taught me and your uncles when we were about your age. I’d love to teach you, too.” Max looks at him warily. But then he nods, tentatively but still, a nod. Peeta’s smile is brighter than the sunlight streaming through the windows, and so much warmer too.

“Look Miss Everdeen,” Max says shyly. “This is how I like to eat my cheese buns.” He tears off little pieces or the bread, dipping them in his hot chocolate before eating them. I do the same, to humour him, and it isn’t half bad.

I spend another half hour in the bakery in pleasant conversation. Peeta’s father wanders over in between customers, he’s just as kind and charming as his son. Max continues to act mostly indifferent to his father and grandfather. But I know what I saw. A little flash of hope.

——

“Miss Everdeen!” Max practically bursts through the classroom door, charging at me excitedly. That’s a good sign I think, especially for a Monday. “Look what I made you!” He’s clutching a white paper bag and I know what I’ll find inside.

The cheese bun is just perfect.

“You made that?” Leevy Richards is staring inquisitively over Max’s shoulder. He stiffens, but instead of lashing out at her like he typically would, he just shrugs. “Like by yourself?” Leevy can be a little pushy.

“My dad helped with the oven, but I did everything else.” There’s a small, proud smile on his face. Leevy grins too. “He’s going to teach me how to make cookies next.”

My heart feels like it’ll pound out of my chest. Max is interacting with one of his classmates in a non-confrontational manner. Maybe even friendly. And even more that that: Max referred to Peeta as his father, for the first time.

#Everlark Fic Exchange #Springtime Edition 2017 #submission #xerxia31 #prompt 1

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