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nooneelsecomesclose17 · 3 years

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I’ll leave what I’m chasing - Part 2

I hope people like the name (and that my research was right)

(AO3 link)

“How long did she say she’d be?” It’s not the first or even the second time Robert’s asked that since they stopped talking and he’s been pacing ever since Aaron had told him Sarah was bringing them home.

“An hour, but knowing Seb he’s conned her into buying ‘just one more cookie Ganma’ or an extra go on the swings. He’s got her wrapped round his little finger and she loves it. Why don’t you sit down.” He does, replacing the pacing with twisting the corner of the cushion in his fingers. “Robert, it’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that. What if Seb doesn’t remember me, or the baby hates me.”

“Now you’re being daft. Seb knows exactly who you are, he has a photo right beside his bed, and your Mum has our wedding photos on nearly every surface. We talk about you loads. As for Ana she doesn’t have it in her to hate you.”

“He calls her Ganma? Mum?”

“Oh. Yeah, we were going with Grandma weren’t we, and my Mum was Nana. R’s were a bit of a struggle for a while so Ganma it is.”

“Speaking of your Mum, I thought there’d be a welcoming committee or something. A few pitchforks maybe.” He tries to smile, but Robert really doesn’t know how he’s hit the nail on the head. Thankfully he’s saved by the sound of Sarah’s key in the lock, and Robert jumping to attention at the sound.

“Later.” He rests a hand on Robert’s shoulder as he heads to the door to see Sarah struggling with the pushchair and a bouncing Seb. “Just how much of a sugar rush are we going to be suffering later?”

“Oh hush.” She glances past his shoulder. “Everything ok?”

“Getting there.”

“Good. Right, well I’ll leave you to it. Robert, come round later, we’ll have a chat, ok?” With that she’s gone, leaving Aaron to lift Ana from the buggy.

“Seb, mate, stop jumping a sec, you’re making me dizzy.” He glances over his shoulder to see Robert frozen into place, just staring at the three of them. “There’s someone here to see you. Do you remember we talked about Daddy Robert coming home?”

Robert’s still just standing there and Seb’s pulling back on his hand as he tries to convince him to go closer. Seb’s shy with anyone new and as much as they’ve talked about him, it’s still strange for him that he’s stood in front of him and Aaron’s willing him to actually move and speak to his son.

“You want to say hello? It’s ok mate.”

“You said he was far ‘way.”

“I know and he was but he’s home now, see, and I think he would really like a hug because he’s missed you so much.”

“And Ana?”

“Yeah. So what do you say?” Seb looks between him and Robert a few times before all but launching himself at Robert who barely manages to catch him as he barrels into his legs. He watches them for a bit, pressing a kiss to Ana’s head.

It still felt slightly surreal, that Robert was here, that they were all together and he feels the tears start to run down his cheeks, Ana’s little hands patting them. “It’s ok sweetheart, I’m not sad. You want to meet your Daddy, huh?”

Robert’s got Seb on his hip, the little boy babbling away in his ear, trying to tell him everything he knows in ten seconds flat.

“Seb, can I borrow Daddy a minute? So he can say hi to Ana?”

“Ok, but he has to watch my ‘toons with me.”

“I would love to.” Seb nods, satisfied and runs off to switch on the TV. Robert’s staring at Aaron, a slightly bemused look on his face. “He’s amazing.”

“Yeah. He’s got over everything so well, better than I thought. Better than me on some things.” It’s stupid, but he feels nervous, introducing Robert to his daughter. He’d not said much as he’d told him all the little things about her before they came home, has no idea what he’s thinking. “And this is Ana. Sweetheart, this is your Daddy Robert. I’ve told you all about him eh?”

“Ba!”

“Hi.” His eyes are shining with tears as he takes her in his arms and the tension seems to fall out of him. “Hi little Ana. Aaron she’s gorgeous.”

“Eh, she’s alright I suppose.”

“Where did her name come from? I expected...well with your lot I wasn’t really sure what to expect.”

“I didn’t want the usual biblical name, although apparently it’s a hebrew name, but that’s not why I chose it. It’s also the Spanish form of Anna which was as close to Annie as I could get without actually taking your Gran’s name.” He, Vic and Sarah had gone to Spain when news came of Annie’s death and he was a little stunned to find one of their wedding photos on her mantelpiece. He’d known Robert had kept in touch but he’d never mentioned telling her about them, but clearly he had.

“Aaron...I…”

“You weren’t here, but she deserved to have part of you.” Robert doesn’t say anything for a few moments, just staring at her before he hands her back to Aaron and makes his way to the door. “Robert, wait!”

*****

“Robert! What are you doing? You can’t do that!” He catches up with him halfway up the hill behind the village, the wind swirling round them making him wish he’d thought to grab his coat as he’d hurriedly knocked on Sarah’s door asking her to watch the kids.

“Go home Aaron.”

“No! You’re not doing this again. Eighteen months I’ve waited for you. I accepted you cutting me off, I put up with it, but you’re not doing it again. Talk to me!”

“I don’t deserve it. Any of it.” He slumps down onto one of the rocks jutting out of the earth, still wet from the rain and Aaron can’t help but wince a little.

“What are you talking about, of course you do.”

“I don’t. I have a little girl Aaron and she doesn’t know who I am, because I was so stupid. I let her down. I let Seb down. The one thing I promised I would never do to my children.”

“So, what? The solution to that is to let them down again by running away?”

“No I...I just wanted some air. It’s all just...a lot I guess.” He smiles that little half smile of his that always drives Aaron a little crazy.

“Yeah, it is. It was for me and I didn’t have a daughter to meet. Maybe I should’ve waited, let them stay with your Mum for the night, let you get yourself used to being out a bit more.”

“No. I wanted to see them. I s’pose it just hit me how stupid I was. I let myself get caught up in everything even when you told me to stop. I should’ve listened, I should’ve…” He covers his face with his hands and all Aaron can do is hold him as he cries. “I’m sorry.”

“I know, and we’ll talk some more, but it doesn’t have to be right now. Hey, come on, it’s over now. You’re home, with me, and your family.” He shivers in the wind. “You had to find the coldest bit of the village to come to didn’t you.”

“Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“Want to head back? Don’t want to be late for Seb’s cartoons.” Robert nods and Aaron gets to his feet, grimacing at the state of his jeans. “I will warn you that you won’t hear any of them because he’ll talk all the way through about everything and anything. Remember when you were worried that he wasn’t talking? He got over that and then some.”

“I can’t wait.” He still seems hesitant though, a little lost.

“You know, it’s ok if you need to go off, be on your own or whatever, but just tell me. When you ran out, it scared me.”

“I promise.” He takes hold of Aaron’s hand, grip firm, and smiles as they start to make their way back to the village. “You still haven’t told me how Mum came to be living in our other flat. Last I knew she was happy up in Whitby.”

“She was, but when Ana arrived I struggled a bit and needed some help. She was early and I wanted to stay with her so your Mum came up to help with Seb. I think she was having so much fun she didn’t want to go home. She was staying with Vic, but they had a few disagreements about Luke which made things difficult so when Liv moved back to Dublin it just made sense for her to move in.”

“And she hasn’t taken over? Because I know she has trouble taking no for an answer when it comes to family.”

“No. We’re getting on fine. I wouldn’t have coped without her.” The truth was he’d asked her to stay but he can’t get into that without telling Robert everything that’s been going on with his family, and he doesn’t want to get into that right now. He’d felt so alone, a new baby to cope with and making sure Seb didn’t feel left out, without any help. Sarah had been a godsend.

“Sure you would. Your lot must’ve been there. A new baby, they’d be over the moon.”

“Yeah, well, they’ve all had a lot on.”

“Aaron, what’s going on. That’s the second time you’ve blown off my question about your family. Don’t get me wrong I’m happy my Mum’s here and that the two of you are getting on so well but there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Not today, eh? Today I just want to enjoy having my husband back.”

“And you definitely want that? Me, I mean.”

“I don’t trek all the way up here for just anybody you know. I never wanted anything else you know that.” Robert looks away, guilt all over his face. “Hey stop looking like that. I know why you did it, and I understood, I’m just saying that there was never a question whether I’d want you back.”

“So what now?”

“Now we go home, watch cartoons with our son and play with our daughter. Everything else can wait.”

#Robron fic

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leverage-ot3 · 4 years

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notable moments from The Two Live Crew Job

leverage 2.07

Sophie: I love the symbolists.

- - - - -

🥰 I love when the ot3 are together in one frame 🥰

- - - - -

the dogs playing poker painting tho

- - - - -

Eliot: Any sudden movement's gonna cause displacement of the water. It'll set it off.

Parker: Is that C-4?

Sophie: Oh!

(Nate grabs Parker’s hand before she can touch the vase)

Sophie: Parker... please don't poke at the motion-sensitive bomb.

Nate: So, uh... secret admirer?

Sophie: Well, it's no secret they want me dead.

Hardison: What do you think, man?

Eliot: I'd have to reach into the vase to disarm it. It'd go off.

eliot’s lips quivered when he said that bc he’s so nervous for her im-

- - - - -

Parker: Do you have any instant pudding?

(everyone looks at Parker in surprise. Cut to Parker pouring pudding into the vase)

Parker: The powder hardens the liquid, tricks the bomb into thinking it's not moving.

Eliot: Should give you a little wiggle room. Very little

MASTERMIND PARKER

- - - - -

(mourners are gathered around a casket with a line of black cars parked nearby. An open casket shows Sophie lying inside. Eliot is standing at a podium)

Eliot: She had a way of taking care of people, you know? She was a sister... she was best friend, all rolled into one. I'm gonna miss you, Soph-- So-O-O-O-O much, Katherine.

(Eliot leaves the podium. Hardison stands to let Parker walk by and she approaches the podium. Nate stands at the back of the crowd, Eliot joins him)

Parker: Katherine and I have known each other forever. Almost two years. Yeah, I know that probably doesn't sound like a lot to you, but it is to me. I never really had many friends. Which is why losing her is so hard. (sighs) It's so creepy. I mean, she's really dead. I was just talking to her and now she's just laying there. She was just laying there.

(Nate coughs and Hardison gets up to go to Parker)

Parker: Can you hear me?

Hardison: Parker. I'm -- I'm sorry. I'm sorry, y'all. What – What she really means is just, um, Katherine was like family. And sometimes, friends are all the family that you have. So... you -- you good? Come on. Just – let -- just keep going. You got all hysterical and emotional

- - - - -

btw there is at least one door from behind the briefing monitors which means they have at least one extra room (most likely more) from the adjacent apartment eliot knocked the wall down from

they have guest rooms or something back there for if anyone needs a place to crash

- - - - -

Sophie: We used to work together. We did the Copenhagen job in '97, the Berlin Polytech job in '98, and, Nate, remember – Remember that great run in Moscow?

Nate: "That great run"? I chased you for three months.

Sophie: Well, uh, technically, y-you chased us. Sorry.

Hardison: Are you saying that you saw other teams before us?

Parker: Really just another Nate before Nate.

Eliot: Let me ask you a question -- what bugs you more, is it the fact that he was with Sophie first or that he outsmarted you?

Nate: Moving on

eliot puts his arms over the couch and behind parker and I’ll take it + them grinning at each other seeing nate’s discomfort

- - - - -

mikel is wearing flannel in this one and you can now take bisexual mikel from my cold, dead hands

- - - - -

Sophie: Wrong place, wrong time. Starke must have seen me, and now that I’m one of the good guys, decided to get rid of me, because...why? Because... Because I know his scams. Because... I know his favorite scam.

[Warehouse]

(Stark’s team is sitting on crates looking at monitors as he goes over the job)

Starke: Cafe and a moonlit terrace.

Sophie (voice over): The Mona Lisa variant.

[Briefing Area]

Parker: Oo! (claps) That was the first one I learned!

- - - - -

(Hardison is drinking orange soda and working on a computer as Sophie watches)

Sophie: I'm not dead. I'm right here, Parker. So, this is, um, it's what you do, right? You take footage of us on cons and you -- you -- you -- download it into that?

Hardison: Yeah, I analyze it, I monitor comms, I scan for a police frequencies, I -- You had no idea I do all this, did you? Well – d-does nobody respect the van? The van is important. What -- What is that?

Sophie: It's lemon-Zest tea. I got to tell you, it's -- It's a little bit -- It's a little bit whiffy in here.

Hardison: It smells like hard work. That's what it smells like. D-- Whiffy

sophie has no idea what hardison does and does not like the van smell. hardison is ready to go off

- - - - -

Sophie: That was some nice things you said at my funeral.

Hardison: Wait. We -- We trust Nate to make sure the plan works. We trust you to make sure we’re all okay.

- - - - -

Starke: Word is on the street that you run the nastiest crew this side of the Atlantic.

Nate: Well… what?

Starke: Come on. Everybody knows. You robbed a bank and you -- you framed a judge. You rigged a jury to steal a million-Dollar settlement. I hear that you even conned the Irish mob out of a couple of million dollars just this year. Now, that's style.

Nate: That's one way of looking at it.

Sophie: Listen, Nate, if you tell him the truth about us, we're blown

- - - - -

Hardison: I know this style. This is Chaos.

(computer screen flashes signal found. Hardison grabs his keyboard and heads for the back door of the van)

[Parking Lot]

(Hardison exits his van and a little ways down the parking lot, Chaos exits his van with a laptop in his hands. They square off like an old west gun fight)

Hardison: Chaos. I heard you were in jail. Guess I was wrong.

Chaos: Hardison. I heard you sucked. Guess I was right.

(they eye each other across the lot, their fingers twitching. Abruptly they raise their keyboard and laptop and begin typing while car alarms start going off)

this wild wild west showdown tho

- - - - -

Nate: Okay, now, we know Starke. This guy goes by the name Apollo. I've chased him a couple of times -- infiltration, physical security.

Parker: People in that line of high-risk work tend to be very unstable. We could use that. Write that down.

(the rest of the team exchange glances)

🥰 she’s sitting next to eliot with popcorn between them 🥰

- - - - -

Hardison: Now, this person here's ex-Mossad, sealed records. Mikel Dayan used to work both sides as a mercenary.

Eliot: Mikel Dayan. I know that name.

Hardison: You were scared to fight a girl.

Eliot: She'd mop the floor with you, Hardison.

Hardison: I don't care.

Eliot: Seriously. She actually killed a guy once with a mop. It's a funny story, actually. (starts gesturing time parker) She broke the mop and took --

Hardison: Eliot. Eliot. (turns back to monitors) Now, this here's Colin Mason, otherwise known by his hacker handle as "Chaos." As... whatever. Hacked the pentagon, the NSA. The CIA computer guys call him the Kobayashi Maru.

Eliot: What the hell is that?

Hardison: None of y'all got that? Seriously?

Parker: Star Trek.

Hardison: Thank you

parker’s reluctant fistbumb I love them + it’s officially canon that she’s seen at least some of the movies

- - - - -

Nate: I tried to say to her I’m sorry, you know, and I don't –

Security: Because, as men, we're taught to hide our emotions. You share or you pay the price.

Nate: Yeah

- - - - -

Mikel: You wouldn't hit a girl, would you?

(Eliot walks forward, taking off his jacket and hanging it on some pipe)

Eliot (in Hebrew): Not unless she hits me first.

(they approach each other and begin to fight, blocking each other until Mikel hits Eliot in the chest, knocking him back. He touches where her blow hit.)

Eliot (in Hebrew): That counts

let me just say I LOVE that they had a woman hitter

- - - - -

Starke: What is going on, guys?

Guard: Motion sensors went off, sir.

Starke: I already checked that out. Everything's secure. And who's this?

Guard: Uh... he just got lost. No problem.

Starke: Sir, you okay?

Nate: Yeah, I’m fine.

Starke: I'm Nathan Ford. I'm with the insurance company.

(Nate gives Starke an irritated look)

- - - - -

Parker: What kind of bird did you use?

Apollo: North American Kestrel. It's small-Bodied, but its wingspan is expansive enough that it sets off the motion detectors.

Parker: I would've gone with the Scarlet Tanager. Similar wingspan, but the brighter colors are more distracting.

Apollo: Yeah. That was my second choice.

(Apollo scrambles forward in the ductwork. Parker also scrambles forward, headed another way)

- - - - -

eliot taking off his shirt too? equal rights

- - - - -

Starke: Now, why would you want to kill Sophie?

Chaos: Come on, Starke. (gathering equipment) I had set up the perfect double-cross, and then you want to go and bring in a new player at the last minute? "Oh, and by the way, guys, that new player is gonna be Sophie Devereaux." There's no way I’m gonna try to out-con Sophie Devereaux! And I hate to break it to you, Starke, but she was the one that everybody was always scared of. It was never you.

- - - - -

[McRory’s Bar]

(Parker and Apollo sit at a table with locks)

Parker: Go.

(they begin picking locks to see who is fastest. Across the room, Eliot and Mikel sit at a table)

Mikel: I can top that. (pulls her shirt aside to show a scar on her shoulder) Frag grenade, Somalia.

Eliot (pulls up his sleeve to show scar on his arm): Myanmar. Sniper.

Mikel: I was a sniper in Myanmar for a while.

Eliot: When?

Mikel: 2003.

(Eliot looks surprised. Mikel holds up the handcuffs and Eliot quickly pulls her hand down)

Eliot: Oh, no, no, no, no, no. We can't have that.

Hardison (walking by): Handcuffs. Y'all nasty

(eliot has a handcuff kink and was probably pegged within an inch of his life that night. I said what I said.)

- - - - -

(Sophie stands looking down at her grave. The headstone for Katherine has been replaced with one for Sophie Devereaux. Nate approaches and stands next to the grave)

Sophie: Starke was right. I'm not Sophie Devereaux anymore. I haven't been for ages. I... you killed her, you and your silly crusade.

Nate: It's just a name.

Sophie: No, they're not just names, not to me. All my aliases, every one of them, I -- I know when their parents died. I know when they had their first kiss.

#leverage #leverage 2.07 #leverage 2x07 #the two live crew job #leverage season 2 #season 2 #notable moments #mine

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justkindaoverhereobsessing · 4 years

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lord, help

After a little playground drama, Tony has to deal with the fact that Tali really is Ziva’s daughter—through and through.

For @why-did-you-just-lie-to-mcgee and @indestinatus, with whom I’m always getting into trouble. Also on ff and AO3

________________________

“Before I start talking, do you three have anything to say for yourselves?”

Arms crossed, Tony paces the short length of the dining room, watched closely by three dirty, nervous children. They’re sitting side by side at the table, chairs scooted close together as they huddle in solidarity, and they remain determinedly quiet.

“Alright then. Go ahead and tell me what you’ve done.”

None of them respond to this, either.

Frowning, Tony pulls out a chair opposite his daughter and sits down. “Sweetheart,” he tries again, “I happen to know that you speak no fewer than three languages. I also know that you know I spent a lot of time in law enforcement… I’m pretty good at getting information out of people. You’re smart and you’re very eloquent when you want to be, so when I ask again, I expect a reply this time: what happened?”

Tali’s expression turns at once from anxious to defiant, and she matches her father’s earlier posture by crossing her arms. Then she looks away, silent as ever.

“Well, Tali?” Tony prompts, feeling distinctly Gibbs-ish as he leans in and narrows his eyes.

Finally, Tali gives an answer, but it’s muttered mutinously under her breath and Tony doesn’t catch any of her words.

“What did you say?”

“I said,” she growls back, looking distinctly Ziva-ish, “that it wasn’t my fault.”

“Whose fault was it, then?”

“Gabriel’s. He started it.”

“What did he start? This would all be so much easier if you would just start from the beginning, baby girl.”

Tali huffs, glancing between her friends—neither girl looks particularly eager to jump in. As always, she has to do every dang thing herself! “Fine. We went to the park to practice, and—”

“Practice what?”

“Dad, you said it’s rude to interrupt! Ugh. We went to the park to practice krav maga. Gabriel saw us, and he asked what we were doing. I told him. Then he said we had to stop—we couldn’t do it ‘cause girls are weak!”

Tony files the ‘krav maga’ thing away to circle back to in a moment and focuses on the rest of the story. “And that started a fight?”

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean, ‘sort of’?”

“Well, I said ‘maybe someday you can work your way up to “weak,” too,’ and that started a fight.”

Tony has to look away for a moment to compose himself, certain that he’ll laugh if he keeps looking at her. “I see,” he manages after a moment, his lips twitching dangerously but his face otherwise kept carefully blank. “Who threw the first punch?”

“Gabriel did!” Tali’s friend Geneviève pipes up, looking braver now that it seems for the moment that they’re not going to be yelled at.

“And how did you three respond to that, ladies?”

“We just did what Tali has been teaching us, all the krav maga stuff!” This one comes from the third girl, Dina.

Tony glances back at his daughter, who suddenly looks a little shifty-eyed again. “How long has that been going on?”

Tali shrugs uncomfortably.

“Are you qualified to teach krav maga, Tals?”

“No, but—”

“Do you know how to do it safely so no one gets injured?”

“No, but—”

“Wouldn’t you feel bad if Geneviève or Dina was hurt because you didn’t know what you were doing?”

“Yes! But—”

“But you think it’s still okay to hold krav maga lessons in the park?”

Frustrated, Tali bangs her palm suddenly on the table top, making both of her friends jump. “Yes!” she cries. “Because Ima said that every girl should know how to fight! She’s been teaching me!”

Well, that’s news to Tony. “She has, has she?”

“I just said so, didn’t I!?”

It’s a pretty common consensus around the David-DiNozzos that Tali takes after her father in most things, but… every so often, on days like this, she proves that she’s most certainly her mother’s child. Her temper is usually the thing that gives it away.

“Don’t snap at me, young lady,” Tony responds sternly, but honestly, he wants to laugh again.

“Hmph.” Tali makes her displeasure known with a glower, and she thumps back in her seat.

Letting her stew for a moment, Tony glances back and forth between the other girls. “Did she tell the whole story?”

There appears to be a little silent communication that happens between the two, and then they turn back to him and nod in unison.

“You sure about that?” he questions, his tone warning them not to lie. “You had to think about it for a little too long before you answered.”

Geneviève frowns, considering. “It’s just…” She pauses. “Gabriel plays in the park a lot. He doesn’t play like the other kids, though. He’s mean.”

“Yeah, he’s a bully!” Dina concurs earnestly.

A few feet away, the lock on the front door slides free and the door opens, but the girls have their backs to it and don’t notice. Dina keeps talking. “He pulls my hair sometimes. Gabriel, he…” she wrinkles her nose and says something else that’s definitely not in French, which is what they’ve been speaking from the beginning of this “meeting.”

Over the girls’ heads, Tony sees Ziva’s eyes widen as she walks in, and he knows that she must have understood whatever Dina just said. “Do you say words like that to your own parents, Dina?” his wife asks pointedly.

All three girls jump and turn around guiltily.

“I, um…” Dina stammers. Like Tali, she’s a multilingual daughter of immigrants, and she seems to have forgotten that Ziva speaks many languages—including Russian.

Ziva holds her reproachful expression in place for a beat before relaxing into a small, almost conspiratorial smile. “I will not tell… because I am sure that you are right. I think he did.”

Dina smiles shyly back, surprised, and Ziva joins Tony on his side of the table. It seems that she somehow knows the basics of what went down in the park, so he doesn’t bother to bring her up to speed.

“Well,” Tony continues, drawing the attention of all three ten-year-olds back to himself, “I’m glad that none of you are hurt—and I’m glad Gabriel isn’t, either,” he adds. “But while knowing how to defend yourself is a good thing, you should never resort to violence unless you have no other choice, okay? Three people against one really isn’t a fair fight.”

Dina and Geneviève nod seriously, but Tali just snorts and mutters something under her breath in Hebrew. Whatever it is makes Ziva let out a strangled noise—Tony’s pretty sure that the noise is an aborted laugh. This entire series of events has him feeling the same way, but someone has to be the bad cop here…

So he nudges Tali’s foot under the table with his own. “Okay, Tali-Tee?”

She sighs. “Okay, Dad.”

Feeling like his fatherly duty has been fulfilled, Tony relaxes a little. “Alright. Now that that’s cleared up, you can go play again, but please, Jackie Chan and co., at least try not to start any more wars.”

Tali perks up slightly. “We’re not in trouble?”

“Not this time. But if I ever hear about you initiating any fights, I’m shipping you off to live with Grandpa Gibbs. He’ll set you straight.”

Tali is well aware that Grandpa Gibbs is wrapped around her little finger, so she grins. “Okay! We won’t!”

“Yeah, no fights for us!” Geneviève agrees.

“We won’t punch anyone!” Dina finishes, and without another thought, all three girls have flounced back out the door to return to the park.

Left alone with just Ziva, Tony starts to laugh, scrubbing his face with both hands. “God... and to think I used to hate the fact that I never got to see what you were like as a kid! Now I not only know a baby Ziva, I have to parent her, too!”

Ziva chuckles as well, laying a hand on her husband’s back and drifting it up to squeeze his shoulder fondly. “You handled it well, do not worry.”

Tony lifts his head to look at her, amused. “I wouldn’t have had to handle anything if you hadn’t decided to teach her Israeli martial arts.”

Ziva shrugs, entirely unrepentant. “I think she should be able to protect herself, and besides… it runs in her blood.”

“I guess it does… Lord help me, the only mere mortal in the middle of two born-and-bred ninjas. If Tali’s already picking fights with bullies at ten, I’m not going to survive her growing up.” He rolls his eyes, but he catches Ziva’s hand from his shoulder and squeezes it comfortably. “Anyway, how’d you find out what happened?”

“I ran into Gabriel’s mother on my way into the building.”

“Bet she wasn’t too pleased, was she?”

“No, she was not. But I told her that if my daughter hit her son, she almost certainly had an excellent reason for doing so.”

“You’ve never liked that kid, have you?”

“Not at all.”

Tony snorts. “Well, maybe he’ll stay away from the girls now.”

“It will be to his own detriment if he does not!”

“I’ll say. Tali can be fierce when she puts her mind to it, and Dina and Geneviève… Those three have always egged each other on. You know they get a little crazy when they’re all together—it’s total chaos, more often than not.”

“I am glad that Tali has them.”

“Me, too. They’re good friends to her, even if they’re always getting each other into trouble.” Tony pauses for a second, remembering something. “Hey, what did Dina say?”

Ziva laughs. “To translate it delicately, she said something like ‘that reproductive-organ-of-a-male-walrus deserved to be hit.’”

“I like the creativity… very Russian. And what did Tali say, right there at the end?”

“She was arguing with you… you said that three-against-one is not a fair fight, but she said that is not true here because Gabriel is stupid enough for three people all by himself.”

That really makes Tony laugh, and in the end, all he can think to reply is a thought that he’s already expressed today: “Lord, help... that girl is going to be the death of me.”

He really doesn’t mind, though.

#ncis fanfiction #tiva #tivali #tony dinozzo #ziva david #cynthia writes stuff too #the biscuits #i just know tali and co get into shenanigans like we do #much to the dismay of their parents

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zoequeenz · 4 years

Text

Extreme Aggressor (Part 1)

A/N: Hi, so here is my Criminal Minds rewrite that I started a few years ago. I only have the first three episodes written and uploaded on my Wattpad and Quotev and I thought it would be interesting to try Tumblr out. Hopefully y’all enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Seattle, Washington

034321

Z4SALE: I’ll send you a picture of the car…

Z4SALE: New Paint. New tires. Not bad, huh?

HEATHER: Why so low on the price?

Z4SALE: Moving. Must sell ASAP. You up for a test drive?

Heather though nervous really needs that car. She quickly grabs her red umbrella and goes to the meetup spot. The red Datsun Z pulls up and honks twice to get her attention. She smiles impressed. The man gets out of the car to introduce himself. Due to the pouring rain the man has his hood over his head.

“Hey.”the seller says.

“Wow!” Heather says with clear amazement in her voice.

The man runs over to shake hands with Heather.

“Hey, I’m Heather.” She states.

“Nice to meet ya.” The man remarks.

Heather runs to the driver’s seat while the seller gets in the passenger’s spot. Once they are both in the car Heather takes off.

“It’s a 2.4 liter, 6-cylinder engine.” The seller notes in a flat tone.

“With Hitachi side-draft carbs.” Heather mentions while smiling.

“That’s right. Wanna take a look under the hood?” The man chuckles.

“Yeah!” Heather declares.

They pull over and get out to look under the hood.

“You know your Z’s. I’m impressed.” The man congratulated closing the hood of the car.

“You should have your mechanic check it out anyway.” He continues.

“Okay.” Heather says in a small voice.

“How ‘bout I leave you my number and we can set it up?” The driver tells Heather.

“Thank you.” Heather replies as he opens the door to the car so he can drive her back to her office.

As she gets in the driver removes the inside door lock and Heather is locked in the car. She points signalizing the way to go.

“So it’s just...right up here.” Heather pointing to the right.

The driver doesn’t stop.

“Oh! That was..”Heather chuckles.

“Hello! There was the right.” Heather attempts to explain.

But the man continues to drive down the street.

“Uh, maybe just...pull over here, and we can try a U-turn.” Heather says in a nervous voice trying to make the man to drop her off at the meet up spot.

As the man continues to drive and ignore Heather she starts to get distressed.

“What are you doing?” Heather questions becoming more and more uncomfortable.

The man continues to drive and ignore Heather. Heather is starting to become even more scared.

“Okay. Stop the car. Pull over now!” Heather demands in a firm voice.

The man continues to drive. Heather looks out her window then looks down and notices that the inner door lock is gone and that it is lock. She turns to look at the man with fear in her eyes. The driver hits her in the face knocking her out and continues down the road.

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Aaron Hotchner’s POV

Washington, DC

“How ‘bout Andrew? It’s Greek for ‘valiant’.” Haley suggested.

Haley and I are trying to pick out a name for our new baby. We know it is a boy, the only problem is we can’t agree on a name.

“Let’s call him..Sergio.” I suggest with a smile on my face.

“Please tell me you’re kidding.” Haley chuckles.

“Butch?” I throw out.

“How about Donald?” She asks.

“Hans.” I say quickly.

“No! Wait, wait. Um...okay. Gideon.” She states.

“Not a chance.” I say walking over to her.

“It’s Hebrew. Look what it means. It’s perfect. Gideon Hotchner. Haley says trying to persuade me.

“No.” I say raising my eyebrows.

“Yes.” she repiles.

“No.” I tell her moving closer.

“Yes.” she declared.

“No.” I murmured kissing my wife.

“Gideon.” She ended.

My phone rings. Both Haley and I already knowing what that meant we kiss and hug just as I get a fax. When I get the paper it says missing person with the picture of Heather Woodland.

Derek Morgan’s POV

(At the bar with three women at a table.)

“It’s the 1940s. He put bombs in train stations and movie theaters.” I question the three women.

“Uh, the “Mad Bomber,” George Metesky.” The woman in the blue shirt said.

“Nice. The winners sit. Losers, drink.” I exclaimed in an impressed tone.

“Hold on. Metesky wasn’t a serial killer. None of his bombs ever killed anyone.” The woman in the red dress adds.

“Well, you think all we do is serial killers? Trust me, we cover the whole spectrum of psychos. We profiled the “DC Sniper,” the “Unbomber.” We do terrorists, arsonists-” I explain before I get cut off.

“Supervisory agents trying to get trainees drunk?” The woman in the red dress questions while nodding.

Then my cell rings. It’s from the BAU. The woman in the striped shirt looks over my shoulder at my phone.

“Wow. Behavioral Analysis Unit. You work with Gideon? Were you with him in Boston?” She woman asked me.

I look back and answer “ I was supposed to be.” I turn back around to answer “Yeah this is Morgan.”

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Jason Gideon’s POV

(A Projection of various of victims)

“Anyone recognize these faces?” I ask the class I am teaching.

“Victims of the “Footpath Killer.” I female student answers.

“That’s what Virginia newspapers are calling him. We refer to him as the UNknown SUBject or Unsub.” I tell the class. As agents we don’t like to give the Unsub a name it just doesn’t seem right.

The lights come back on in the classroom. I keep on explaining how we figured it out as pictures of the victims flashed on the screen behind me.

“I told Virginia PD we’re looking for a white male in his 20s… who owns an American-made truck in disrepair. Works a menial job. I told ‘em you find him… don’t be surprised to hear him speak with a severe stutter.”

“Not to sound skeptical, but come on… a stutter?” She questions.

“Where’d the murders occur? Hiking paths. Isolated. If I’m a killer who has to use an immediate application of overpowering force, even out in the middle of nowhere, I lack confidence. I can’t charm them into my car like Ted Bundy did. I can’t because I am ashamed of something.” I tell the class trying to get them to understand how I came to this conclusion.

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Persephone Chase’s POV

I’m sat at my desk filling out some paperwork when my best friend Spencer Reid comes up to my desk.

“Spencer I have told you this a thousand times, you can’t keep showing me physics magic Hotch already warned you once.” I tell him before looking up.

“Actually Persephone we have a case.”he tells me.

I look up and notice a two files in his hands. He hands one to me and I look it over. It talks about the disappearance of a woman named Heather Woodland.

“Hurry we have to go get Gideon.”he tells me as he waits for me to get up.

“No, you need to get Gideon you just don’t want to go alone.” I state.

“ I hate that you can read me like that.”he laughs.

As we walk down he gives me more information on the case. Once we get to the classroom Reid opens the door and taps the file with his hand to gets Gideon’s attention.

“Excuse me.”Gideon dismisses himself from the class and comes with us to be briefed.

“They’re calling him the “Seattle Strangler.” Spencer informs.

“Four victims in four months.” I add in.

“He keeps ‘em alive seven days.” Spencer continues.

“The handle serves as a crank.” I finish.

“Allowing him to control the rate of suffocation.” Gideon tells us.

“To prolong it?” Spencer asks.

“To enjoy it. Seattle’s hit a wall.” States Gideon.

“He gets pleasure out of suffocation?” I ask out loud.

“I would assume so Chase.” Gideon answers.

“Physical evidence is nonexistent. There are no tangible leads.”Spencer says just as we arrive at an office.

“And another girl missing.” Gideon says grabbing the photo from Spencer.

“I looked the case file over. I’ll get some thoughts to you ASAP.” Gideon tells us as he stand behind a desk.

“You’re gonna be with us in Seattle ASAP.” Hotch says entering the room with Morgan right behind him.

“Hey Little One. How have you been?” Derek asks me.

“I’ve been good, lots of paperwork it’s like I never leave the office.” I tell him while pulling him into a hug. He then turns around to show Gideon a picture of the victim Heather Woodland.

“22-year-old Heather Woodland.” He says handing Gideon the picture and taking a step back.

“Before she left for lunch, she downloaded an email with a time-delayed virus attached. The killer’s virus wiped her hard drive and left this on the screen.” Hotch informs us handing the message to Gideon.

They look at each other for a while before Gideon walks over to the wall and begins to read “For heaven’s sake, catch me before I kill more. I cannot control myself.” When he looks up we all look over at a picture on the wall. It says the same thing and under it, it reads “ William Heirens, Lipstick Killer, 1945.”

“He never keeps them for more than seven days, which means we have fewer than 36 hours to find her.” Hotch points out.

“They want you back out in the field. Are you ready?” I ask him remembering why he took a six month leave in the first place.

“Looks like medical leave’s over, boss.” Spencer adds.

“They sure they want me?” Gideon questions.

“The order came from the director.” Smirked Hotch.

“Well, we’d better get started.” Gideon says blankly.

As we drive to the airport I get in a car with Spencer and Gideon. It is silent for most of the ride which makes me uncomfortable because is seems too quiet. Spencer looks back at me and notices my discomfort.

“Hey Persephone, do you think it’s weird that we don’t have nicknames for each other.”Spencer asks me.

“Why would you ask me that?” I ask him.

“Well don’t best-friends give each other nicknames?” he asks me.

“If you want nicknames then we’ll have nicknames.” I declare smiling.

Spencer turns around smiling. He has told me of his high school days and they were bad. I wish I could’ve been there to be his friend but sadly I lived in Indiana. A small town but a good place to grow up because it was small and everyone knew each other.

We get to the airport runway in front of the jet and jump out to meet Hotch and Morgan. We walk towards the plane and get ready to go to Seattle.

“Joseph Conrad said, “The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary. Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.”

Hotch and a female agent exit the other car and head to the plane with us.

“This girl may only have 36 hours to live. We’re not asking for a judgement of Gideon. We want an assessment. We want to know you’re there to step in if he can’t perform. Are we clear?” she asks Hotch.

“Of course.” Hotch states.

He then joins us on the plane. Hotch comes to sit with me and Spencer. As we take off I look around. There weren’t many girls on the team which kinda sucked. No one to talk to about girl stuff. Our team has always been like this, well I have Garcia but she doesn’t come to the field with us she is a technical analyst for the team. After we’ve been up in the air for a few minutes Spencer begins to read the profile from beside me.

“His first victim was 26-year-old Melissa Kirsh. Stab wounds, strangulation.” Spencer told us.

“Wait,wait. Back up, back up. He stabbed her...and then strangled her to finish her off?””

“Why would he stab her then strangle her? The stabbing itself should’ve killed her if he left her there.” I state.

“Other way around. Why do you think he started using the belt with the second murder?” Gideon asks.

“Strangulation with your bare hands is not as easy as one would believe. He tried, probably found that it took too long…” Spencer tells us.

“So he stabbed her instead.” Derek finished for Spencer.

“And realized it would be hours cleaning up blood.” Hotch adds in.

“Next time, our boy’s got a method-- the belt.” Derek shares.

“He’s learning, perfecting his scenario. Becoming a better killer.” Gideon finishes.

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Heather Woodland’s POV (Victim)

Where am I? Why is it so dark in here. There is tape over my mouth and eyes so I can’t see or speak but I can tell I’m in a wire cage when I feel around. I’m able to move my hands because the man who took me didn’t tie me up. I touch the tape on my face. All of a sudden I hear a voice that makes me gasp.

“What did I tell you about the tape?” here asks in a mincing voice.

He is getting closer to the cage I can hear his footsteps. He smacks the cage and I scream. I can’t see or speak in this state I am very vulnerable. He reaches down and unlocks the lock but leaves the chain where it is.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I sob.

He then removes the chain. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I sob again through the gag.

The door squeaks. “I’m sorry.” I sob waving my hands in front hopping it would provide me some protection from my kidnapper.

He grabs my wrist pulling me towards him with struggle due to the fact that I’m trying my best to stay in the back of the cage. He gets out nail clippers and begins to clip my nails. He continues to cut while I cry out.

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Persephone Chase’s POV

We have finally landed and are currently driving to the FBI headquarters here in Seattle. I’m sitting next to Spencer when he turns to me and asks me a question.

“Have you thought of a nickname yet?” Spencer asks me.

“I have not, I am having so much trouble with it.” I tell him.

“Take as long as you need.” he repiles.

“Why do you want nicknames?” I ask.

“Well….”Spencer starts out but we pull up to the building and he rushes out of the car.

Odd, Spencer is never this nervous around me. He is an awkward person but ever since we started working together he became more comfortable with me. He grabbed what he needed and started to walk. I quickly got out and grabbed the last of what was needed and followed the team in. We have to put our bags through metal detectors as Gideon picks his up Derek nudges Spencer and I.

“He never stands with his back to a window. When I was between him and a doorway, he asked me to move.” Derek told us.

“So.” I said not understanding what he was applying.

“That’s hyper vigilance. It’s not uncommon in post-traumatic stress disorder.” Spencer tells us while Hotch catches up with us.

“Just how much disorder are we talking about?” Derek asks.

“Morgan, it’s been six months. Everything’s okay.” Hotch tells us calming me down more.

To be completely honest I’ve been worried about how this new case would affect Gideon. He has a soft spot for the team I know it and most importantly me and Spencer, but more for Spencer. He is a very good guy and I don’t want what happened to him six months ago affect his work. I know he needs time but you’d think six months would be enough. We walk to the bull pin a.k.a the place where all the agent’s desk are. Hotch introduces us.

“This is Special Agent Gideon, Special Agent Morgan, our expert on obsessional crimes, Special Agent Chase, and Special Agent Reid.” Hotch tells the agents of Seattle.

“Doctor Reid.” Gideon clarifies for Hotch.

“Dr. Reid, our expert on, well, everything, and after two years of busting my butt in this office, I hope you remember me.” Hotch jokes making everyone in the office chuckle, believe it or not he does have a sense of humor.

Gideon looks at the boards they set up then says.

“He’s willing to travel with the body.”

“Then he drives a vehicle capable of concealing one.” Hotch adds.

“One in 7.4 drivers in Seattle owns an SUV.” Spencer tells us. “Explorer with tinted windows.” Derek adds.

“Windows that keep whatever is hidden in your car away from public view.” I say.

“Explorers rate higher with women.” Spencer recalls.

This entire time Gideon has been glued to the board with the pictures of the victims. He looks at each board with each victim.

“But how do we know it’s his car?” Derek asks.

“Ted Bundy drove a VW Bug.” answering his rhetorical question.

“What about a Jeep Cherokee?” Hotch questions.

“Jeeps are more masculine.” Spencer tells him.

“We all know how an Unsub feels about asserting his masculinity.” Gideon says turning to face us.

“When did the Bureau become involved in the case?” Hotch asks.

“ After the fourth body. He dumped that one out of state.” an agent tells us.

“On purpose.” Hotch tells Gideon.

“If so, knowledge of law enforcement does suggest a criminal record.” Spencer says.

“Not always, it could just mean he knows the cops are catching on and he is trying to get them off his trail.” I say.

“Or that he watches television. May I?” Derek as extending his hand out to take a file.

“So you wanna see our suspect list?” asks another agent.

“No, we won’t look at a suspect list until after we come up with a profile. It keeps our perspective unbiased.” Hotch tells him.

“When do we sit down your task force?” asks Gideon.

“Four o’clock.” the agent responds.

FOUR..four. How are we supposed to create a profile before four. I haven’t done much field work in a while in rusty.

“An accurate profile by four o’clock today?” Derek questions thinking the same thing as me.

“That’s not a problem.” Gideon says.

Gideon walks towards the board and we all follow. I’m a bit nervous I know that I can do it, it’s just that I am a bit rusty. Like I mentioned before I have been doing desk work for a while, the field is a stranger to me at the moment. I guess Spencer noticed my discomfort and took a hold of my hand. I looked up at him and smiled. He always knew how to make me smile.

“Agent Gideon, where would you like to start?” Hotch asks him as he walks up to the board with victim number two Anne Cushing and he points at a photo and says.

“Let’s start at the site of the last murder.”

NEXT CHAPTER

#criminal minds #criminal minds series rewrite #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x OC #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid series #best friends with a genius profiler

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tivaholic4 · 4 years

Text

NCIS High School: Chapter Eight:

The next day, Tony pulled into Ziva’s driveway. Intent on driving her to school instead of her having to ride the bus or walk. He pulled up, put the car in park and got out. As he made his way to her door he remembered last night and they’re conversation. How beautiful she looked in the moonlight. He hadn’t slept the night before as she filled his mind. Something that had been consistent in the last few days. He walked up to her door and paused for a few seconds. Nervous that she would decline his offer or that she would think it was weird.

As soon as he was about to knock, the door swung open revealing Ziva on the other side. His hand was still in the knocking position as he looked at her. Today she was wearing a pair of blue jeans with a cargo jacket and a black shirt. He assumed this would be something that she normally wore in Israel. She still looked beautiful, no matter what she wore. It was about 2 minutes of him looking at her, with his hand still in the air, that he realized that he was staring. She laughed at his facial expression and his frozen posture. His face flushed red and brought his hand down to rest in his pocket. She let out a chuckle and looked at him with her head cocked to the side.

“I..uh...I was wondering... if you wanted a...ride to...school.” He cursed at himself in his head for how much of an idiot he was. He definitely sounded like one, especially around her. He heard Rivka from what he assumed was the kitchen and then a pot hitting the floor, producing a loud bang noise. Ziva turned quickly and rushed to see if her mother was alright, with Tony right behind her. Even though he didn’t know if he was allowed into her house, he wanted to see if Rivka was okay too. His mother had told him that he had a hero’s complex. That he always wanted to help people.

When they made their way to the kitchen they saw Rivka standing with her hand on her forehead. Ziva moved to her, searching for any possible injuries. She spoke in Hebrew to her mother in company as she wanted to make sure everything was good before switching to English.

“(Ima, are you alright?)” Rivka nodded. Rivka switched to English when she saw Tony standing in the doorway.

“Yes, I am alright. Just dropped the pan.” She turned to Tony and a smile made its way on her face.

“Hello, Tony. Sorry for the mess, we are still getting things put away.” She was referring to the boxes still scattered around the house.

“It’s all good. You should see my house.” He let out a chuckle. His mom and dad normally kept the house clean, but recently everybody had been busy either at work, school or other activities to really clean. Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t have a messy room. His mother had always made him keep his room straight. It kind of stuck with him throughout the years. Everybody assumed that since he was a jock there was going to be clothes and things everywhere. But that was just their assumption. Something he laughed at in his head.

At his comment, Rivka smiled and picked up the pan from the ground. Ziva gave him a slight smile and looked down shyly. When Rivka looked back up, she glanced at the clock on the microwave and her eyes went wide.

“You two need to get to school. It’s almost 8:00. Go before you get late.” She practically swatted them out of the house with one of the rags from the kitchen. They made their way out and Ziva started to head towards the sidewalk. Tony stopped in his tracks. Yes, he had a great view of her backside, something that was very much appreciated, but he couldn’t let her walk herself to school when he could drive her. When they were close to being late.

“Hey. I can give you a ride. We’ll get there faster.” Ziva turned around, contemplating her options and figured why the hell not, and made her way to the passenger side of his car. Tony turned the key and the car roared to life. They pulled out of her driveway and pulled up to the school in less than three minutes. They both bolted from the seats, closed the door to the car, and practically ran to their first-period class. Thankfully, they made it with a minute to spare and took their seats. Ziva sat in the seat right next to Tony today, something she quit doing after gym yesterday. Barnes was taking attendance and when he got to Ziva’s name, he mispronounced it. Tony looked up and looked at the man.

“It’s pronounced Dahveed.” He stretched out the name, giving no room for error so the teacher wouldn’t make the mistake again. Ziva turned to look at him as he spoke. She was surprised that he sounded somewhat offended. It was her name, why was he getting bent out of square for it? The teacher nodded at the enthusiastic correction from the student that normally fell asleep in his class, and took in the information as if it was important. He continued down the list and once he was completed, he started their lesson for the day. Several people in the class were looking in their direction. Some glaring, others laughing. The new gossip around the school was that Tony Gibbs had changed. Changed for the new girl. Now they were seeing that it was true. Nobody thought that that would ever change. Some praised him for it, while others started to hate him for it. Not that he cared anyway.

The lesson was actually surprisingly easy for Tony, as he actually made attention to the work. Halfway through the class, Barnes called out that they could complete the rest of the work on their own or they could work with a partner. Ziva was surprised when Tony turned to her and asked if she would be his partner. She gave a slight smile and nodded. They got their work done within 20 minutes, with 15 minutes of class left. They smiled at each other as they looked at each other. Tony couldn’t help but smile. Would it be too early to ask her on a date? Probably as they had been fighting the day before about him being a skirt chaser. He would wait it out. Get to know her better. Let her get to know him better as well. He could ask her to come to their game tomorrow. That wasn’t weird, was it? He didn’t think so. He zoned back in to see Jeanne in the corner whispering to EJ and Zoe and glaring at Ziva. When Jeanne saw that he was looking in that direction, she sat straighter and batted her eyelashes, as if he would drop to his knees for her. No, he wouldn’t. He knew what a real woman was like and she was sitting right next to him. He completely ignored Jeanne’s attempt to get his attention. He looked back at Ziva and smiled at her face. Her nose was scrunched up as she looked at her phone. He noticed it was one of the newer ones that were just released. He knew because he had the same one. And Tim wouldn’t shut up about it.

“You having trouble?” He asked looking at the phone. She looked back up at him with a slight blush on her face.

“Yes. I have never had a phone before. So this is new to me.” Tony looked at her like she was crazy. No phone. A teenager. A teenager with no phone until now. Tony saw this look and gave him a slightly bigger smile.

“My father said that it would interfere with training and language skills. He said it would cause me to be unfocused.” Tony could understand that enough. Apparently Ziva’s dad was a real hardass. Where was he anyway? He had noticed her mother but that was it, did her parents not live together? Was her father still in Israel? Again it was like Ziva could read his mind.

“My father died about 6 months ago. Along with my older brother Ari. It was one of the things that was easier about moving here.” Tony looked at her with sympathy in his eyes. Something Ziva normally didn’t like to see. But with Tony, it made her heart flutter. Not a lot of people have shown genuine care to her in her life. Her mother always had along with her siblings, never her father. It was all about how emotions were a weakness and to never cry as it was a sign that you were the weakest link. Something she never wanted to be.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I couldn’t imagine how hard that would be for you and your mother.” Ziva nodded.

“They were never around because of work. The last needle was when my sister, Tali was killed almost two weeks ago. We wanted to get away from the violence of our country. Get away from the death.” Tony reached over and placed his hand over hers. Squeezing it gently. Giving her a little bit of comfort. Now wasn’t the right time to correct her English. He didn’t know if now was the right time to have this conversation. At the end of math class and sitting at desks. But he let her talk. Something he found himself enjoying. Her voice was soothing. Calming. Something that he could get used to hearing every day. By the time she stopped talking they had moved closer together and were now only about three feet apart. When Tony noticed this, he blushed slightly. No girl had ever made him blush. Had never made him feel butterflies in his stomach. But this was Ziva, he learned in the past few days that she was different, in a good way. He decided he wouldn’t fight the pull that she had on him. Ziva was looking at him in almost the same way. Looking deep into his beautiful green eyes. She was lost in him. Just as he was lost in her.

The bell was what caused them to look away from each other. They both let out a small smile and gathered their things, putting them into their backpacks. They made their way to the door of the classroom, shoulder to shoulder. His shoulder was tingling from hers bumping against his. Little did he know, she felt the same tingle. He didn’t want to walk away from her. He just wanted to stay close and be in their little bubble that nobody else was allowed into. But unfortunately, they had separate classes for this period.

“Do you remember where to go for your next class or do you need me to show you again?” He didn’t want her to get lost, just like he didn’t want her to get lost yesterday. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was jealous when he saw Tim showing Ziva to her last class. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. He would never hurt her again.

Ziva knew the way to her next class but she wanted to stay near to Tony. So, she shook her head no, that she needed help finding it again. Something she learned from her father was a photographic memory and a good sense of direction. It had stuck with her since she was around six years old. He nodded his head and smiled, unaware that she was lying about her ability to find her class. They walked again, shoulder to shoulder in the hallway to her Chemistry class, and gained some odd looks from others in the hallway. The walked to her next classroom and he dropped her off and told her he would come after class so they could walk to lunch together. Ziva saw him walk down to the other end of the hallway and then walked into her chemistry class.

Unfortunately, this was the class she shared with the four girls who clearly didn’t like her. She could see them in the back of the class in the corner, whispering to each other and laughing. She took the same seat from yesterday and pulled out her notebook. Chemistry was the type of class that felt like there were endless notes to be written down and remembered. She tuned into the teacher intently and watched as she wrote down things on the whiteboard and thoroughly explained what was being drawn. She liked this teacher. She seemed very kind and seemed like she really cared about the education of her students. About halfway through the class, Ziva felt a buzz in her pocket. She pulled out her new phone and placed it to where the teacher couldn’t see it and saw that it was a text. She didn’t recognize the number. She opened the message and smiled at what she saw.

202-078-1971: Hey, this is Tony. Hope it’s okay I gave you my number. I may have snuck it in when you were having trouble with it.

Ziva (202-112-1982): That is fine, Tony. No trouble at all.

202-078-1971: Oh crap! I gotta go Jacobs saw I had my phone out. Have fun in Chemistry! Lol

Ziva (202-112-1982): See you after class. :)

She didn’t get a reply back which either meant his phone got taken by the teacher or he put it away before he could take it. She noticed that she was still in the clear with her teacher and quickly saved Tony’s number into her phone before putting it back into her pocket. She then tuned back in to see Mrs. Williams handing out a worksheet which she assumed would be today's homework. She had always enjoyed homework. Not because of the work, but because of the distraction it provided from her father. It would be a getaway from her father’s activities. She politely took the piece of paper and saw that it was front and back. Now that she was in America with more freedom, she couldn’t see a reason to enjoy homework. Maybe if it involved Tony. She smiled at that thought. Maybe they could do their homework together. Gosh! Why was she being such a girl? She had never been like this before. She had always put boys last, especially the popular ones. They were always so arrogant and needy where she came from. That seemed to be similar to America. Tony, however, seemed different after he explained himself to her.

The bell rang and her pocket buzzed again. That was...fast.

Tony: I’m in the hallway against the locker. Abby is wondering if you’ll be joining us for lunch. I told her that was up to you.

Ziva smiled at the text. It was sweet but at the same time, friendly. She walked out and saw Tony leaning against the locker just like he said. As she made her way over to him, she could sense someone behind her but shrugged it off seeing as it was a busy hallway. A shoulder collided with hers, shocking her and causing the books in her arm to fall onto the floor. She looked up to see Jeanne and her lackeys laughing as they looked at her and walked away. Tony saw what happened and rushed over to help her pick them up. They both stood up together and were face to face and closer than they expected to be. Tony looked down at her, as there was a significant height difference between them. She was looking up at him and she slightly blushed. Just like Tony, nobody had ever made her blush before. They heard the laughs around them from the fall, but they couldn’t hear them. They were in their world again. Their bubble. After about another minute they both broke eye contact and Ziva stuffed her books into her bag and they headed off to the cafeteria. They were walking closer if that was even possible. She liked being around him. Now that she could see the emotion, what she felt was the real Tony, she felt like she could trust him. She was already starting too.

#NCIS #Ziva David #Tony DiNozzo #Leroy Jethro Gibbs #Tim McGee #Abby Sciuto #Jenny Shepard #Donald Mallard #Jimmy Palmer

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docholligay · 5 years

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Love Letters (A Mother’s Day fic)

Hello friends! GOD I HOPE SOMEONE WANTS THIS IT IS SO LONG. 7,100 words of Overwatch Mom feelings, and honestly, it would have been even longer if I hadn’t cut some stuff. I hope you like it! Amari mama Drama! Flashbacks! D.va being a reluctant sweetheart! To see where this fits/the rest of the universe, here is the main post

It came every spring, as surely as the small, bright flowers sticking out of the ground, and so much less welcome. It did not matter where she went on this earth, or who with. This followed her, pursued her with twee and affected joy as the furrow in her brow grew deeper and deeper.

Mother’s Day.

The day, like most days in London, was grey and cool, but unlike her general attitude toward English weather, today Pharah was content with the grim cast across the sky. It would have been worse, if the sun shone brightly on the little children who skipped merrily down the path, holding their mothers’ hands. She wondered how many of them were blissfully unaware that their mothers would someday fail them. That some of them would never know what it was to have an uncomplicated feeling about her.

She had been that way, once. She had seen her mother as a god, as a hero, as so many things that she could never have lived up to, even if she had tried. To Pharah’s mind, Ana never really had. She had been content to let Pharah believe that she was good, and believe that she knew the right, and then believe that she was dead, and Pharah was quite don believing in anything when it came to the subject of her mother.

Which made the constant barrage of cartoon animals with bright greetings declaring how wonderful mothers were all the more aggravating.

The good news, Pharah reflected, is that it was only one day in her life, and easily enough ignored, and that she had nothing to do today, save for some paperwork down at the office.

She turned on her coffeemaker, and pulled up the newspaper as she sat down at their table.

___

She had been so nervous about her bat mitzvah.

Whenever Angela Ziegler thought of the last Mother’s Day she spent with her mother, she always remembered her nerves, the way the Hebrew letters that she would have sworn she knew so well stared back at her, wound themselves into things that could not be quite called words, and how her tongue struggled as they made their way around her mouth.

If she had known it would be the last Mother’s Day, she would not have spent it like that. She would have taken her mother everywhere, from sunrise to sunset. If she had known that only a month or so later, she was going to bury her mother, little Angela would have taken every coin of pocket money she had, and spent it on Mother’s Day.

But she did not. She only knew that in two weeks’ time, she would be reading on the bimah of her congregation, and that she felt totally unprepared.

There was the sound of a plate being set next to her and Angela looked over to it. A slice of cake, a fork tucked in next to it. The cake was her mother’s favorite, a Swiss kind of carrot cake that her father made every year for Mother’s Day, with little nuts set in the top. She did not know this, as it was set down next to her, but she would spend years looking for that cake, just as her father made it.

“Angela?” Her mother smiled down at her and softly laid a hand her shoulder. “You don’t need to spend the whole day here, sweetheart.”

“I’m not ready.” Her voice trembled as she tucked a bit of hair behind her ear.

Her mother pulled the chair from near the fireplace, and settled in next to her daughter. “And why wouldn’t you be? You have always loved to read Torah, and you’re so good at it. Even the rabbi thinks you’ve been ready, for months now.”

Angela looked over at her mother, who seemed to know everything, and just how to do it. Her father was a kind man with an easy laugh, who made everyone feel like they belonged anywhere, but her mother had the sort of calm intelligence that made you feel everything in this world contained meaning. That every moment could find its place.

“I--”

It was not that she hadn’t known she was smart. Everyone had told Angela how smart she was, from the time she was a little girl. She spoke five languages, she was in university, she was a prodigy to end all prodigies. They all spoke of things she could do, of the ways she might change the world.

And so of course everyone in her congregation would expect nothing but perfection from her. From Angela, a stutter or a tied tongue would not be a twelve year old, shaking behind that huge Torah scroll, but a disappointing genius. To be so high was to have a long distance to fall.

“It’s ...frightening.” Was all she could say.

Her mother touched the edge of the Tanach in front of her, and chuckled. “To be an adult usually is. And you are one, now. That means you must do things that are hard, sometimes.” She touched Angela's cheek. “You will do beautifully. You know that I am so proud to be your mother? Especially today, when I get to be reminded so much of it.”

Angela nodded. “Because I’m smart. Because I will do well.”

“Oh no,” she drew her arm around Angela, “Not at all. All of that is very nice, and you are, yes, very very smart. Your potential is boundless. I am so excited to see all the things you will do. But there are so many intelligent people in this world.”

Her mother was clever, and she had a way of telling a story that let you know the lesson was yet to come. From the time she was small, Angela had tried to discover the end to her mother’s riddles, to beat her to the lesson, and when she did, her mother would grin and tell her how bright she was, and how quick.

But today, whatever her mother bight be leading toward eluded her and she looked up at her in confusion.

Her mother nodded, and shut the thick book in front of her. “It is not important that you be smart, as much as it is that you be kind, Angela. That you do good, even before you do well.” She stroked Angela’s hair. “I see your compassion every day. How you help others. And so it doesn’t matter to me if you get up in front of the congregation and forget every letter of Hebrew you have ever learned. We can read,” She chuckled, “so those things we don’t need.”

“It’s important, though.”

“Oh yes,” she smoothed Angela’s hair and sat back, hands in her lap, “What is the whole of the Torah?’

Angela thought for a moment. “Whatever is unkind to you, don’t do to anyone else.”

Her mother kissed her head. “And the rest is commentary. Remember that, Angeli. To study the Torah is laudable, but to live it is a greater thing. This is true of all of your studies. Pursue justice. Believe in mercy. Heal this world. And,” she shrugged, “I won’t care so much if you aren’t the greatest reader.”

Angela hugged her mother tightly, caught between adulthood and childhood, but knowing she had her parents’ love to guide her on that road.

“Happy Mother’s Day, Mueti.”

It echoed on the air, and Mercy clipped her hair up into her usual loose arrangement, wiping a tear from her eye. God did not have to make the point about adulthood quite so aggressively, she had often thought.

The smell of coffee wafted up to the bedroom. Pharah would be downstairs, brewing a fresh pot that she could fill with too much milk and sugar. It was easier, sometimes, to be with someone who did not speak much to her mother. There were no worries about Mother’s Day brunches, loving bouquets of flowers, expressions of familial closeness. It was only the two of them, and on this day, Mercy was grateful.

She walked down the stairs to see Pharah reading the paper, sipping on her coffee, the light color of a mud puddle after a spring rain.

Pharah was a constant. Pharah was her love.

Pharah was immensely in her own head, and thinking of little else.

“I will be pleased when I do not have to hear about appreciating my mother,” Pharah set her coffee down on the table, “I envy people with mothers to be appreciated.”

“I know.” Mercy went over to the coffee pot, brimming and fresh, the way Pharah did for her every single morning, and poured into her bright butterfly mug.

“My father called me this morning,” Pharah rolled her eyes and huffed, angrily clinging to her coffee cup, her voice hardening and formalizing with each word “asking what I was doing for her. Nothing, it is midnight there, I told him, you should go to bed and not bother with our relationship. He says to me, she is still your mother. What do you owe her? I ask him, and he never has an answer for this, but every year still he calls me--”

“Schatzi.” Mercy said softly.

“Pretending that my mother is somehow worthy of praise for giving birth to me, that she is not a woman impossible to deal with. Ana has made her own grave, I told him--”

Mercy winced. “Fareeha.”

Pharah stopped, and looked to her with concern. “Yes?”

“Please. Not today.”

Pharah rose to her feet immediately and went to Mercy’s side. “I was thoughtless.” She took Mercy’s hand. “I don’t think.”

Mercy smiled sadly and kissed her cheek. “I am not angry. I am only asking.” She cradled her coffee close to her and started toward the living room.

“I made you sad. That, I think, is worse.” She sighed.

Mercy shook her head and looked back at Pharah. “You did not make it Mother’s Day.” She gave a weak laugh. “If you were deciding, there would be no Mother’s Day.”

She nodded and walked toward where Mercy stood in the doorway. “That is very true.”

“Go to work,” Mercy tugged gently on Pharah’s shirt, “tonight we will have some of the food you take from the restaurant. Just for you and me.”

Pharah kissed her cheek. “Whatever you wish.”

___

Pharah should be mad at herself, she thought, as she angrily walked toward the office, passing by the underground station despite the rain. It would feel good to walk there. She should be mad at herself, because she was the one who said thoughtless, careless things, who hadn’t considered that Mercy had a far better reason than she did to hate today. Pharah was the one who had complained about her well-meaning and kind father calling her and trying to make peace between her and her mother. A father and a mother Mercy no longer had.

And yet, for all the reasons Pharah knew that she should be angry at herself, she was angry at her mother, instead. Perhaps because it was easy. The anger she felt for her mother, that deep rage that had burned her in since the day she returned, like a coal mine under the ground, smoking and seeping, was always at hand. Wherever she was, she could reach out for it, find it, and seize onto it. There was no searching, no wondering, no worrying over the emotion. Or maybe it was that Pharah always wondered the person she might be if her mother had let her be raised by her father, if she had supported her when she joined the army, if she had not faked her own death and left Pharah with a box full of regrets and guilt and pain. That Ana had twisted her into the person she had become, the one who struggled to show the depth of her love and her caring, the one who barked at Tracer when she meant to convey worry, the one who tried to comfort Mercy using the logic she had taught herself instead of the tenderness she felt. If Ana had not been the steel rod that made Pharah grow straight, she might have learned to curl softly and gently.

But that was an excuse. Pharah was an adult. Pharah was responsible for Pharah’s actions.

The anger persisted all the same.

Happy Mother’s Day to the woman who left me in Egypt. Happy Mother’s Day to the woman who refused to come to my army commission. Happy Mother’s Day to the woman I shed a tear for on my wedding day. Happy Mother’s Day to the woman I broke Tracer’s ribs over. Happy Mother’s Day to the woman who acts as if she made a simple mistake.

The rage moved her faster than any train, and in moments, she swung open the door to the Overwatch office, and marched up the stairs.

___

Tracer stood at the window and looked out at the mothers, pulled along by happy children. Arms full of pastries and flowers and love, it didn’t matter that the day was so grey. Maybe it would clear up later. Get sunny for a bit. Sometimes, on Mothering Sunday, Tracer thought, it was sunny. It had been when she was a child, just out of school for the weekend, years ago.

She had loved the way the light moved through the tree leaves. She got distracted by things like that, sometimes, when she was small, and she was so small right now, and trying so very hard to pay attention to the important thing in her hands, and so she kept her head down as she walked in the loose gaggle of kids freshy released from school, concentrating as hard as she could.

Lena had taken such care with decorating the little cup. The hearts and flowers that marked had been drawn so carefully, Lena’s little tongue sticking out as she slowly rotated the white paper, coloring it in with all the colors of the rainbow, like she knew her mother would like. Her mother was sick, she’d told her teacher, adn this would make her happy. It would make her feel better.

Her teacher had simply nodded, and said she was doing a wonderful job.

It wasn’t far to their house, and Lena had walked it since she was small. Sometimes her father or aunt or uncle would come to get her, to walk with her and ask her how her day was, but as her mother had gotten sicker, there had been more times that Lena had walked herself home, orange backpack hooked over her shoulders, frog wellies pulled onto her feet.

Sometimes, when she got out of school, her body felt so busy and so full of energy that she didn’t know any other way to release it. Sometimes she skipped home. Sometimes she ran.She tried very hard to be still in school, to not squirm so much and to not talk so loud. It took a lot of concentration, not to be quite so odd and so different from the other kids, who sometimes made fun of the way she talked to herself or bounced when she was excited. But she tried, and she was bright and happy and a little strange, and moved a little too much, but that was okay. Her dad always said that she was the way she was made to be, and when she was older a lot of people would like her. His sister had been like her, and she’d had a lot of friends, wasn’t that true?. So it was only trying very hard for a little while, and running home to vent the steam of the day like a screaming kettle.

But today, she didn’t skip. She didn’t run. Today she held her little white cup with its little seedling very carefully, each step as calmly as she could. It was important to bring it to her mom, and to see her smile. She was sick, but Lena could still make her smile, more than anyone else could. That was Lena’s job, with everyone else helping out at home. She made her mother smile and she set the table and and she helped sort the washing. Lena was good at all those things, and she fed the birds too, and that wasn’t even her chore.

She was walking very carefully, but she was thinking of how happy her mother would be to see it. It was like flowers, and moms loved flowers, and her mom didn’t get flowers very often. And the cup was so well-decorated that she’d hardly be able to tell it had ever been white, only in those little spaces where Lena had gone a little too fast with the crayon. But you had to look hard to see that. And her mother didn’t look for her mistakes very often.

When Lena felt something, and this would be true for the entirety of her life, she felt it in her whole body. The delight of her mother’s joy traveled up from her toes to the top of her head, and she turned her head up to the light sparkling like spangles between the leaves, and she chatted happily to whatever bird might be listening.

She giggled to herself and did a little jump, bringing the cup close to her chest.

There was a shove behind her, a firm slam of a bookbag whirled around into her back. Lena tripped over her own feet, still holding the little seedling close to her, and slammed into the sidewalk. She felt her forehead, a scrape across it and a bruise already rising to the touch.

Amira was a regular queen of the six year old set, and only just developing the kind of natural cruelty that those childhood forms of nobility tend to create, but Lena was small and strange and easy, and other girls laughed when Amira teased her, and her desire to keep court won out over any small niggling feeling of conscience.

Amira would grow to be an alright sort of adult, and Lena would grow up to be a hero of London, but for now, Lena Oxton looked up as Amira waved back at her, shifting her bookbag to the other shoulder and shrugged.

“Sorry!”

She turned back to the group of girls who’d been walking together, and they all quietly laughed and they kept on down the street toward their homes. Lena watched as one of them imitated her little bounce as she walked, heat rising to her cheeks.

Lena pushed herself up, looking down at the sidewalk in front of her. The seedling cup was cracked and broken, spilling dirt onto the grey of the concrete. The glitter was falling away from where she’d colored in the hearts, her name with a split through it as Lena tried to cradle the little seedling in her hands.

When Lena felt something, and this would be true the entirety of her life, she felt it in her whole body. As she stumbled to her feet, a wave of sorrow hit her, sure as if she had been standing on the deck of a storm-tossed ship. She held what was left of the little seedling tightly in her hands, and ran home, as fast as her little frog wellies would carry her, sobbing as she went, ignoring every adult she passed that asked her if she was alright, only running, running.

She came to the door of her house and tossed herself against the doorknob, exploding into the living room where her mother lay, completely forgetting her father’s patient and constant instructions to take her shoes and coat off at the door.

Her mother blinked her eyes open. “Lena?”

She might have said something, if there were any words to be had. But Lena had not yet learned any sort of way to calm the storm inside her, and so she only held out the broken cup with the too-small seedling, and cried.

“Oh, Lena,” her mother struggled to sit up, but got there, in true Oxton fashion, “Shhhh, it’s only--”

“I BROKE IT!” Lena found a few words in her mind, “It’s for Mum’s--” The tears overwhelmed her words again, and she burst into a sob, her little shoulders heaving.

Her father walked into the room, a man who clearly had not slept a full night in a very long time, though Lena was too young to see.

“What’s this, then? Lena?” He knelt down next to her, “sweet’eart.” He gave his wife a look of mild panic, “Mary?”

Mary waved her arms softly. “Give her to me, Bert.”

He dutifully picked up his still-crying daughter as she buried her face into his shoulder, dirt from the seedling rubbing deep into his shirt. He set her down next to Mary, who pushed back Lena’s hair with a gentle smile and cupped the dirt out of Lena’s hands.

She looked back up at him. “I think there’s a tea cup in the kitchen we can use for now.”

He took the tiny clump of dirt and small green shoot out of her hand. “Right, bit of dirt from the yard, be good as ever.”

Mary drew her arm around Lena, who sniffled deeply.

“S’ruined.” She let out another small sob, but the might of her own feelings had tired her.

“That’s just not true, my Lena Bean,” she softly rubbed Lena’s back, “just needs help. We can make it better, can’t we?”

Bert looked down at the plant in his hands. “What ‘appened, love?”

Lena wiped her nose. “Amira knocked me down with ‘er, “ she took another deep sniffle, “with ‘er bookbag. And I--”there was a small, short cry, “I fell onto it. She laughed at me.”

“Amira?” He looked at Lena with a glance that she would come to someday know as her father’s casual consideration of murder, “Amira Evans?”

Lena nodded wordlessly.

“Think that Eric Evans and I might ‘ave to ‘ave a bit of a--”

“Bert.” Mary gave him a look of rebuke and love.

He nodded, and, with a lift of the handful of earth, hurried off to attempt to save the day, as Mary turned her attention back to Lena.

“I wanted it to be special for you.” It was a little warble out of her mouth, but at the very least, it was not punctuated by tears.

“Oh, but it is!” As tired as she must be, her eyes sparkled as she assured Lena, “It’s a lovely gift. Plants are very thoughtful, they last a very long time. But you know,” she looked down at the remnants of the little white cup, “these cups, they don’t last. I have an idea, for tomorrow. A better one. We’ll have your uncle go get us a little clay pot, and some paint, and why don’t we make a better home for my present together? It will be ever so nice, the nicest of any mum in your year.”

Lena smiled, and she could feel the general sunniness of her life overcoming the grey, the same as it always did. “Yeah!”

“I am so lucky to be your mum.”

Tracer touched the leaf of the plant that set near the window, just on the edge. Pharah hated the brightly colored pot, with clumsy hearts and flowers. But she never forced Tracer to get rid of it, nor asked why she had it, and Tracer took this as a sign that whatever else Pharah might be, she knew when to let protocol lay at rest.

The door slammed open, and Tracer jumped, the tea falling out of her mug and slopping onto the floor.

“Bloody--Fareeha--”

Pharah slammed the door shut and began to pace about the small office. “I cannot escape it. Everywhere I go there is some reminder of something I am meant to do or feel for my mother. How is this holiday so all-encompassing?”

Tracer looked down at her spilled tea on the ground, and then back to Pharah. “‘Aving a bit of day, love?”

“It did not bother me so much,” she continued to pace, “when she was dead! It would have done me better if she had stayed dead, if she wanted to be dead so much.” Pharah stopped for a moment, and leaned against her desk. “She kept me in Egypt. She kept me so I would be hers. She raised me to be like her and then was angry when I became it. I am angriest of all. And now, I am--” she struggled to find the word, “ranting, to my wife, and her mother has been dead, but I cannot think of this because Ana has--” she looked to Tracer. “And now I am doing it to you.”

Tracer nodded, but considered a moment. “Truthfully, I’d rather me mum be dead than be Ana, as well.”

“I apologize. I will be saying that many times today, so it seems.”

“I remember me mum’s dead every year with or without you, love.” She walked over to her kettle and flipped it back on, grabbing a rag from the drawer of the small cart. “Bit insensitive, it is,to complain over your living mum, but,” She waved a finger, considering, “I ‘ave met Ana, so, I sympathize.”

Pharah fiddled with the single pen on her desk. “Are you hiding out all day here? We don’t need to mention it.”

“Oh, isn’t that,” Tracer wiped up the tea from the floor, “Told ‘ana I’d give her a bit of paperwork she’s needing for tech upgrades, funding, all that. I ‘ave a Mothering Sunday tea with me Gran and all them, later.”

Pharah glanced at her a moment, her brow furrowed. “I believed your Gran was dead.”

“That’s me Nan.” Tracer set down her mug. “Me Gran, me Mum’s mum, she’s still alive. Thought I’d pop round, be a good granddaughter.”

Pharah said nothing, simply looked out the window and stared into the small street.

“You need somewhere to go, love? Win doesn’t ‘ave anyone today--Banks side of me family’s a bit less welcoming than me Oxton side, never quite took to him, sure he’d love a bit of company.”

“No,” she shook her head, “I am poor company.” She stood up, and moved toward the door. “I’m going.”

“Change your mind, be at Win’s later tonight. Em’s up back ‘ome for the day, just be two of us.”

Pharah nodded. “Thank you.”

Going down the stairwell, she hadn’t expected that she would run into anyone. She wasn’t even sure of where she was going, thought she had the sense that she had to go somewhere. This day had been full of confusion and anger and sadness since she had left home to join the army, and there was one small part of Pharah that was tired of it altogether.

She was thinking so intensely that she nearly ran into D.va as she descended the stairs.

“Geez!” D.va jumped back a moment, bunny earbuds still in her ears, “What’s with you?”

She opened her mouth to answer, and then considered for a moment how she had already said all the wrong things to all the wrong people today, and shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Wow, you’re a bad liar.” D.va poked at the game on her phone. “Good thing we don’t go undercover.” She did not look up. “It’s all this,” she waved a hand, “Mothering Sunday or whatever they call it here, right?”

Pharah gave a brief chuckle. “I should never have been in intelligence, you have that correct.” She leaned against the wall, looking up at the peeling paint of the ceiling, “Hana, please tell me your mother is alive.”

“Pharah, there’s only five of us, you should know this.” She looked away from her phone, and let it hang to her side, looking at Pharah. “I’m joking. My Umma’s alive. But,” She held up her phone again, “I won’t be if I forget to call her today.”

Pharah looked back to D.va. “It cannot possibly be Mother’s day in Korea.”

“Like that’ll stop her,” D.va rolled her eyes, but she grinned, “There’s only Parent’s Day in Korea, and no one was happier than her that here, mothers have their own day. And, to hear her tell it, it’s important that I live by the customs of the country I’m in. Be a good Korean ambassador.” She shrugged, “Weird how that doesn’t apply to anything I want to do, that she doesn’t want me to do, because then I’m Korean, and Koreans don’t do that, Hana.”

Pharah smiled. “Thank you for complaining about your mother.”

“I love her,” she said, immediately playing it off. “But it’s easy to forget how annoying people are when they’re dead. Which is why it’s a really bad idea to bitch to Tracer and Mercy, by the way. I had a lot of teammates back in Korea who lost someone in the Omnic Crisis. Sometimes I should have shut up.” She shrugged and bapped Pharah’s arm with her phone. “But I love complaining about Ana, so it's whatever with me. If you need to grab a drink later.”

“You are very considerate.” Pharah nodded. “I have promised Angela I would stay in with her, but your kindness is appreciated, as always.”

“Ugh,” she crossed her arms, “you always do this.”

“Note how you are a caring member of the team?” Pharah straightened up, and clapped her on the shoulder, “I am afraid we have reasoned out that you like us.”

D.va laughed and began to walk up the stairs. “You can’t prove anything.”

Pharah turned to go, out to a place she didn’t know, nowhere seeming like the correct destination.

“Pharah?”

She turned and D.va stood at the top of the steps, earbuds in hand.

“Yes?”

“Have you tried just talking to Ana?” She stopped for a moment, and made air quotes “talking’ I guess, but you know what I mean.”

Pharah looked up at her, and nodded. “I have spoken to her many times, given censure and--”

“Okay,” she smoothed back her hair and sighed, as if Pharah was a small child she was very patiently explaining things to, “But that’s protocol. You’re not mad about protocol. I mean,” she pointed her phone at Pharah, “that too, but, I don’t think the whole fuckup in Egypt is why Mother’s Day bothers you. Be serious.”

Pharah considered for a moment, that she was the commander, and she was the one who was meant to bring forth wisdom and leadership, and here her youngest agent was standing there, telling her something that she had known all the past years since Ana had returned, but had never made clear. The day Ana returned, they had fought. And then Pharah had simply quietly stewed, treated her with cold professionalism. She had tried opening the door, in London, inviting her over to their home, but then the incident in Egypt had closed it just as quickly. Her mother, once again undermining what Pharah was trying to build. Trying to make things go her way, instead of anyone else’s.

And Pharah had simply behaved like a commander through it all, with the precision and disconnect her mother had taught her, all of her life. Paperwork and commands and a gentle shove to the side of everything that lay beneath it.

“You are right.” She nodded to D.va. “You are right.”

She did not wait for a reply, but swung out the door, an address in her mind, finally, a destination for the journey she had been on every Mother’s Day, in one way or another, since she was a child.

Jack handed her the pink envelope, and without even looking at the name, she knew who it would be from. Sam’s wide penmanship, as open and expressive as he always had been, circled out her name and address, the envelope giving a pearl sheen in the light.

Sam had never been cheap, even when it would have been in his better interests.

Jack looked over at her, but said nothing. Little needed to be said between them, after all these years together. A flick of Ana’s brow, a twitch of Jack’s lip, and anything they desired to share was communicated quickly between them.

“He is too sentimental.” Ana broke the silence as she opened the envelope. “I’m not his mother. I have never sent him a card for being a father.”

Jack gave a weak chuckle. “You get yourself into this, Ana.”

She took the card out of the envelope, a cartoon dog holding a heart on the front of it. “What do you know about it?”

“I’ve met the men you date.”

She opened the card, Sam’s same open letters on the inside. Whatever else was true, Jack had a point about the men she found herself entangled with. Kind men with bright eyes and boisterous souls, who were not meant for the chiseled and deliberate way she lived, who did not understand ruthlessness. They could sacrifice their lives but never their souls, and so they could never understand Ana. It was a fish trying to love a bird.

Happy Mother’s Day, Ana!

Thank you so much for giving me our little pumpkin. She’s so grown up now, I hardly recognize that little girl we took fishing at Cavan Lake when you visited. Thought you might have almost forgotten too. I found this picture in some of my stuff when I was sending this, and made you a copy.

Have a great day!

Sam.

The picture slid out from the side of the card that declared her to be a pawsitively awesome mom, Fareeha tucked between Sam and Ana with a big smile, teeth missing here and there, holding her small trout aloft. She had been so excited to see him, to go to Canada. Ana hadn’t wanted to go. She didn’t want to give Sam ideas. It was easier to have him come to Egypt when he wanted to see Fareeha. It was easier to tell him she didn’t want him to move to Egypt.

But they had been happy, in that moment, though she and her daughter had both needed a jacket, even in the June weather. Sam had laughed at that, this hair still tied back in that ponytail, baiting hooks for all of them.

Vacations are fun, but they are not real life, Ana had said, on the way home.

She tossed the card to the side. “I’ll throw it away later.”

There was a sharp knock at the door, and both Jack and Ana sat up straight. Jack reached for his visor and lifted it to his face, snapping it in place as he went to the door. Ana watched as he did so, her eye on the gun she had been cleaning before being rudely interrupted by Sam’s sentimentality. They did not get visitors, and the only people who knocked on the door were deliverymen and the landlord. Neither, Ana imagined, would be expected today.

Jack swung open the door, where Pharah stood straight, her voice old and official.

“I would talk to Ana.”

It was a shoddy building, and Pharah could hear the sound of sirens echoing down the streets. The grey of the day made it seem even less cheerful, not so much, in this light, a side street in one of the centers of the world, but a desolate spot at the end of the world, where Ana and Jack belonged.

She had been briefly surprised that the door to the building was not locked, but it was not, and gave way easily under her hand. From there, she had made her way up the winding steps to the apartment she swore she would never set foot into, and she stared into it now, just as grey and austere and quietly unwelcoming as she had imagined it would be.

This was where she had been running to, all day.

Jack stepped back from the doorway with a hint of hesitation, looking between Pharah and Ana, the tension choking the room. When it came to the question of the Amaris, Jack always found himself at cross purposes. Ana was his best friend, and had been for years, one of the only people who both tolerated and understood him. But there was still a not-insignificant part of him that felt protective of Pharah, that remembered the little girl who had practiced her English with him dutifully.

Loyalties are never easy, in the kind of world Jack occupied.

But he did step back, and Ana straightened as she walked toward Pharah, a neutral expression on her face.

“Yes?” She said, standing at the edge of the kitchen counter.

“I--” Pharah had thought so many things, on her way over to the apartment, and she had been so certain of the order and the thought and the execution, but now she found those words catching in her throat. “Why did you not allow me to live with Sam? As a child?”

It was not what she had meant to say. She had not realized how many points of her life had built off of the one choice her mother had made to keep Sam at a distance, always. She was eleven years old before she even consented to let Pharah spend summers with him. She was twenty-eight before her father told her how badly he’d wanted to raise her, and how Ana would never have allowed it.

“I am your mother. Why should he have you?” Her eyes narrowed at Pharah.

“So my parent is not running off into battle for weeks at a time. So I can be raised by one person.” Pharah took a step forward. “It might have been what was best for me. I might have been different.”

“Oh,” she chuckled, “I am so sorry I made you into a powerful commander, an accomplished soldier.”

“You were a bad mother!” The English broke, unsuitable for the anger of the child she had been, and it peeled back into rapid Arabic, “ You have made me terrified to be a mother, because I am afraid I might be like you. Anything like you! It was all I wanted as a child, and now it is my greatest fear. To be anything like Ana Amari.”

Ana stepped into her face, utterly unafraid of Pharah’s rage, pleased to be in her native tongue. “You don’t know a single thing about what kinds of choices I have had to make. I am sorry, and have been sorry, that I did not tell you I was alive. But--”

“It isn’t just that, and you know it! Though that was particularly impressive, even from you.” She snorted, but did not take a step back. “It is everything you have done from the day I was born. You wanted to be a hero. I did not need a hero, I needed a mother. But you? Distant and serious, critical and cold. I learned to study and I learned precision, but you did not teach me the softer things. And when you taught me that heroics were worth leaving your daughter most of the year, worth everything, you would not allow me to do it. I went up through the Army on my own, and into Helix, without so much as a congratulations from you. I tried so hard to get your approval and acceptance, but all I ever heard from you was what I could do with my life when I quit the military. We fought, and then you died, and so yes, it is that too.”

Ana relaxed her shoulders, just a touch. “I thought it would be better for you.”

“No,” Pharah shook her head, “You thought it would be better for you.”

Jack did not, strictly speaking, know Arabic. He could know when Ana wanted him to hand her something, when she was mocking him, but this was more an understanding of Ana than of the language itself.

And it was his understanding of them both that made him nervous, in this moment.

The argument took on a different flavor than it ever had been, Pharah letting fly so many things that she must have felt, so many things that Jack and Gabe had casually mentioned to Ana more than once when Pharah was little, but Ana knew best, so she always thought. Pharah towered over her mother. It had never occurred to him, before this moment, that Pharah might actually hit Ana, but then again, he hadn’t imagined she’d snap and throw Tracer halfway across the room, either, and that had definitely happened.

Jack briefly considered stepping in, before the thought crossed his mind that stepping in between two Amari woman was a good way to die.

Instead, he tapped his glass of whiskey too hard on the counter, and they both looked over to him for a moment. He simply shook his head and walked over to the couch, but the anger of the moment had been broken, the only diplomacy Jack had to offer.

Pharah looked back at Ana, the anger dissipating and leaving her with a great sadness, though she still could not find the English words to say what she meant, and had to give Ana the satisfaction of her Arabic. “Your choices have always been, about you. You taught me to be strong, and to be strict with myself, and you taught me that this was the only way to be. Because it is the only way you know to be. You criticized every decision I made that was not yours. You trained me, more than you raised me. This has always been true. “ she nodded and tapped the counter. “I am raising myself now. I have learned to be the things you did not teach me. I am more than a soldier, or the teacher you wanted for me. I am a friend, and I am a wife, and I can show these things to others. You have made me clumsy. But I will not be like you. I will not let myself be only stone.”

“Fareeha,” Ana said softly, “I have done my best.”

Pharah nodded. “I know you love me. In your way. But it was not enough. It is not enough.”

She stepped back, and slipped back into the comforting strangeness of English. “I am going. Don’t call, not tonight. Not for some time.” she gave a flick of her chin toward the couch. ‘Jack.”

“Fareeha.” He rumbled softly.

She left as quickly as she had come, and shut the door, and Ana simply stood for a few moments at the counter. She wordlessly walked to where she had dropped the card, and picked it up as she walked silently to her room, to tuck it in next to the ones Sam had sent her every year since Pharah was born.

#HON HON HON #I totally 86ed the parts about Winston and McCree because TOO LONG #and the original ending with Pharah and Mercy again #anyway I hope you like it!#Doc you're projecting your childhood onto characters again #SHUT UP HOW BOUT

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furiousqueenmarmaroth · 5 years

Text

Angel’s Vanity (Part 2)

WARNING: It’s still hella fluffy.

It wasn’t too bad, helping an angel preen. Tedious though it was, it felt incredibly intimate. You would dip your fingers in a special oil and then ever so delicately expend it by pinching and straightening each individual feather from tip to base. Azrael was quite a bit faster than you, unsurprising since he had millennia to practice.

The talks were pleasant enough. He asked about human culture, human literature, or even just your human opinion on nonhuman topics.

“Why are you asking me all of this?” You laughed nervously after having inadvertently opened up the can of worms that was you vague understanding of Christianity.

“I find your perspective,” his face drifted softly in the direction of the painting of the White City, “sui generis.”

“Pretty word, but I don’t think a short person’s view of the City qualifies me as unique as you might think.”

“More than you might imagine.” He once again turned to pinching his feathers, clearly all he was willing to say on the matter, but he had ceased to ask his relentless questions.

The eternal day of the city distorted your fragile human sense of time. After awhile you could only tell the passage of time by the faint sound of Azrael’s massive heart and his slow, steady intake of air. It finally started to dawn on you just how vulnerable he had made himself to you, allowing you behind him, nay, allowing you to touch him.

It had to mean something for him to allow a human to do this.

“Hey, Ezra?” You started, heart in your throat, ready to ask the damning question.

“Yes?” He mumbled into his cup of tea.

“Do you,” you chickened out, “have any nicknames for me? Like how I call you Ezra?”

“Maoffas. It means “not to be measured” in the ancient language.” He admitted. “You never did tell me what “Ezra” means.”

“Oh, well,” you cleared your throat and prepared to tell him the story, “I misheard your name as Ezrael, and I had a friend on Earth named Ezra so it kinda just stuck I guess. “Ezra” is Hebrew for “to help” if you’re still curious.”

“I shall like it all the same.” You couldn’t see his face, but you could have sworn you heard a smile in his voice.

More comfortable silence as you finished the last of the feathers. After what seemed like a day, you honestly wondered if you would grow old and die before the angel could fly again, even with Azrael’s speedy fingers. You did have to admit that they looked really nice now, though.

“Who’s the angel that usually helps you?” You inquired as you wiped your sticky and wrinkled fingers on a cloth.

“Oh, they’re a pair of twins, I’m not sure if you would know them.”

“Wait, you usually have more than one person helping you?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t they come today? They could have shown me a thing or two.”

“I,” he cleared his throat, “wanted to be alone with you.”

Whoop, there it is. You held your hands to your hot face in an attempt to hide the violent blush. It was a weird first date to have. Unless this really was the start of a horror movie and he wanted to turn you into a book cover as you had originally feared.

“Why-why would that be?”

“Um.” One of his long hands rubbed a line in his sternum , “Well, our courtship is going well-”

Wait, what? “As in this isn’t the start of it?”

“No?”

“Okay when do you think it started?”

“Were the paintings not a gift?”

“They were...”

I was just trying to be nice...

The events of the past months suddenly took on a different tone: humming the same song as him, swaying in nerves and thinking he was swaying to not make you uncomfortable, offering pastries. Suddenly you realized what you had originally thought was being a good host was just a more human specific version of a bird mating ritual. And now he had taken you to his nest, and shown you is chest. You were pretty sure you had encroached upon endgame territory without even knowing it.

“And how far do you think we are in this courtship?”

“Um.” His arms locked in a cage around his chest. “You seemed very eager with your gifts, I assumed you were unhappy with the slow development. So, um...” A short cough escaped him as he glanced towards the bed.

The weird looks from the other angels made sense now. It was the same reaction people had to two people groping each other in public, which seemed to be the angelic equivalent of what you two were doing. You prayed as you covered your face in shame that you could just slither into a hole and stay there.

All that being said, you were a little flattered. You hadn’t thought of Azrael as just a friend for quite some time, but you certainly didn’t mean to force yourself on him so relentlessly.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, humans really do just bring gifts to their friends with no strings attached. I really didn’t mean to... flaunt myself in front of you and I certainly didn’t mean to make things weird between you and the other angels.” Grateful that your hands were still firmly covering your face, your inner turmoil started to leak free.

The angel was silent for quite some time before he finally muttered, “I hated these paintings, you know.”

When you looked up, he was facing away from you with his hands clasped together behind a straight back. Looking at your paintings.

He’s being honest now. Awesome. I totally needed to hear how another one of my friends actually thinks of me.

“You’re a talented woman, [y/n]. They’re beautiful pieces of art, but I couldn’t help but hate them immediately. I couldn’t understand how the simplicity of flowers could be more appealing than the White City. I still can’t. But now I can’t unsee this,” he tenderly stroked the rim of the painting in question, “this sadness, these empty attempts at meaning.”

“And this,” he walked over to the one on the opposite wall, the one of the tulip farm, “is a farm that grows flowers that last little more than a few weeks. So why does it seem so much more purposeful? Why is it that something that stands as an eternal monument to all of Creation pale in comparison to tulips? I couldn’t rest until I knew the person that sent them was deranged.”

Those pale eyes turned on you once again, “I will put aside all conventions, all that I consider to be social decency, and tell you true what I feel: I need you to know what it means when I call you Moaffas, I mean that your mind is worth more to me than all of the knowledgeable texts under my care. If all else perished and you remained, I should continue to be; and if all else remained and you were annihilated, the universe would turn into a mighty stranger, and I should not seem a part of it.” He placed his hands on either side of your face, meaningfully wiping away the tears as they fell, “I would be honored continue courting you, with your permission.”

“That’s beautiful, Ezi.” You touched his cool and still slightly greasy hands, “Too bad you stole that line from Wuthering Heights.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. I was nervous and that was all that came to mind.”

You laughed anyways, “You can continue “courting” me. How about a movie night at my place?”

With a smile he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, “I don’t know what that means, but I’ll accept anyways.”

#hes an awkward boi #angel crushes are still cute tho #darksiders #azrael #fluff #angel courtship

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queercapwriting · 6 years

Text

Taking Lena Home to Midvale (aka Lena getting the mothering she deserves)

Night 4 of 8 Nights of Danvers Chanukah

Last Year | Night 1 | Night 2 | Night 3

It doesn’t help her nerves that when she shows up to their apartment -- her bag packed and bulging with a combination of books and clothes in her definitely not shaking hand -- she can hear Alex and Maggie... preparing... for the trip on the other side of the door.

It makes her chuckle to herself, sure -- the sound of her sister-in-law whimpering her fiancee’s name, the sound of bare skin coming together, the sound of Maggie murmuring something Lena can’t hear, but can definitely imagine, and the sound of her sister-in-law coming completely undone, a litany of curses and declarations of love and Maggie’s name spilling out of her lips -- but it also makes her even more nervous.

Because, she thinks as she waits in the hallway to knock -- waits for Alex to come down from her high, waits for her and Maggie to cuddle a bit, for them to, hopefully, put some damn clothes on -- they’re engaged. They’re engaged and they’re so far along in their relationship that Maggie is helping Alex work through her going-home-anxiety with what sounds like really amazing sex.

She and Kara are still... beginning.

Lena hasn’t even met Eliza yet, for crying out loud, whereas she knows that Eliza calls Maggie to check in from time to time.

And, she knows the family is close with Superman. Obviously.

What if Eliza just sees her as a Luthor, even more than most?

Kara swears she won’t, but Kara believes the best in everyone, and it’s what Lena loves about her, but what if she’s... wrong?

She doesn’t exactly have a good track record with mothers.

“Neither do I,” Maggie had told her at the bar the other night. “I mean, sure, Emily’s mom loved me -- until she hated me -- but that was just because of the badge and the workaholicness and all that, nothing super personal to me. But before that? It was all, ‘how could you corrupt my daughter’ and ‘stay the hell away from her’ and... worse.”

“What if Dr. Danvers thinks I’m... corrupting her daughter?” Lena had taken a long sip of wine before asking.

“Because she’s with a woman?”

“No, because...”

“A Super and a Luthor?”

Lena had nodded with lowered eyes, and Maggie had sighed and taken a long swig of her beer.

“I don’t think she will, but she is... really protective of Kara. In a way that she’s not protective of Alex. The opposite, for Alex... but listen, what I do know, Lena? Is that Kara loves you. And Eliza has every reason to love you, too. But if she doesn’t? We all know the way right back to National City.”

Lena had smiled at that, unsure of what to do with the casual solidarity, the nonchalant loyalty, the unwavering certainty that Lena... belongs.

But now, standing with her crammed overnight bag outside Alex’s door, all her anxiety is flooding back to her.

“Hey baby!” Kara’s voice jolts her out of her stupor. “You can go inside, you know, it’s okay -- “

“Oh, Kara, I wouldn’t -- “

“Oh Rao, I did not need to see that! Why is it always me? You can put a sock on the door or something!”

“We’re not in college, Little Danvers. You could always knock or something.” Maggie’s voice is playful and post-orgasmic and Lena lets Kara bury her appalled face into her shoulder and pats her head in teasing consolation.

“I tried to warn you, darling,” she says, opening one of her eyes to check if Maggie and Alex are decent. They’re not, exactly, but Alex waves them both inside anyway.

“Were you waiting outside, Luthor?” Maggie asks as she tosses Alex a t-shirt.

“Aww, Lena, you’re too sweet.”

“And you’re too gross,” Kara whines, still with her eyes buried.

“Kara, sex isn’t -- “

“No, it’s not, hooray sex positivity! Doesn’t mean I want to walk in on my big sister like... like that!”

Lena snorts and Alex hurries into the long t-shirt Maggie had given her and rushes over to hug her sister.

“I love you, sis,” she reminds her, and Kara can’t help but smile.

“Are you even packed yet?” she asks.

“All ready!” Maggie declares, yanking up their bags.

And so -- a quick shower and many soft kisses to Lena’s face later -- they set off in J’onn’s borrowed car, Britney songs blasting the entire way to Midvale.

Lena gets quieter the closer they get, and Kara, with her in the back seat, promises not to let go of her hand.

“I’m proud to be bringing you home, Lena,” she assures her with a kiss on the mouth.

When Alex glances at them in the rear view mirror, she awwws and Lena blushes, but happily.

She tries to hang on to that feeling as Alex pulls into the driveway, Eliza coming out of the house to greet them with a smile.

Lena lingers back, and Kara, as promised, keeps a hold on her hand while Alex hugs her mother; while Eliza tugs Maggie in for a long, long hug that ends in her cupping Maggie’s face in her palms and telling her, “our home is always your home, sweetie”; and even while Kara reaches out to hug her foster mother.

“Eliza, this is my girlfriend, Lena Luthor.”

It’s Lena who finally lets go of Kara’s hand, then, to extend her own to Eliza.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Dr. Danvers,” she tells her, and Eliza’s smile is questioning.

“In this family, we hug, Lena. Especially on the holidays. If that’s alright?” She holds her arms out tentatively, and Lena swallows a sob as she nods and steps forward into her arms.

Kara beams and Maggie lowers her wet eyes while Alex kisses her temple.

Lena trembles slightly when Eliza offers her a tour of the house -- of Kara’s childhood on Earth -- and she doesn’t quite know what to do with her hands when, a few hours later, Alex murmurs the blessings over the menorah, Kara helping her even after her (apparently annual) ‘offer’ to light the candles with her heat vision was turned down.

She nearly jumps when she feels Eliza take her hand, softly translating the Hebrew for her and Maggie. Softly telling them about how much Alex had struggled with the blessings after Jeremiah... well.

It’s on the back porch that she takes a moment to breathe, a moment to take in the casual way Eliza had made sure she’d eaten enough latkes, had made sure Kara didn’t eat all the jelly donuts to make sure Lena was able to have as many as she wanted, too.

That she finds a moment to process the way that not once had Eliza mentioned her last name, or her brother, or the fact that her mother was directly responsible for ripping her husband away from her and leaving her with two teenagers to raise.

It’s also on the back porch that she and Eliza get to have their first conversation alone.

She feels eyes on the back of her neck as she looks up at the sky, listening with a soft smile on her lips to the sounds of Kara laughing with Alex and Maggie in the kitchen. She turns to find, sure enough, Eliza’s gaze on her, two steaming mugs in her hands.

“Kara accidentally heat visioned some gelt when the girls were children,” Eliza holds a mug out for her. “Apparently, as long as you actually take the foil off before the melting happens, heat vision plus gelt can make for excellent hot chocolate.”

Lena laughs softly and accepts her mug gratefully as Eliza comes to stand next to her, both of them leaning out, looking at the stars.

“Thank you for having me, Dr. Danvers.”

“Eliza.”

“Eliza. I know... I don’t imagine having me in your home is easy. What my mother’s done to your family...”

Lena’s eyes lower in shame, and she hears Eliza’s deep breath next to her.

“Drink it while it’s warm, honey,” she tells her. “It’s best that way.”

Another long silence. Lena sips and she tastes Kara’s earth childhood and it makes her heart both soar and ache.

“You know, Lena, on Chanukah, we don’t blow to candles out. We let them burn out on their own.”

They both turn to look inside, at the girls and at the menorah in front of them, the candles petering down to their last flickers.

“Kara loves you. That’s clear. And Alex trusts you with her sister, which is... which is enormous. Did the girls tell you about the first boy Kara brought home from college, what Alex did to him?” Eliza chuckles. “I’ll leave that story for them to tell. But honey... I know it’s easier said than done, but I don’t see... you are not your mother. And I don’t see any reason not to let this burn out on its own. This... this idea that you somehow are responsible for hurting my family... you aren’t. I want to let that burn out, Lena.”

They watch as the first candle -- reduced now only to its wick -- flickers one final time until a thin line of undulating, gorgeous smoke is all that remains.

“You belong her, honey. Just like Maggie, just like my girls. And you deserve... this. A family that loves you.”

As if on cue, Kara catches eyes with Lena and blows her an enormous kiss with both hands as Alex and Maggie cheer.

“Thank you, Dr. -- “

“Eliza.”

“We’ll work on that,” Eliza smiles, wrapping her arm around Lena’s shoulder and kissing her temple gently. “We have all the time in the world.”

#supercorp #supercorp minific #supercorp holiday #8 nights of danvers chanukah #danvers sisters

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mysticdrabbles · 6 years

Note

hi, could i get RFA/V/Saeran when they find out MC is jewish? maybe they come home and she's preparing for shabbat (sabbath) or something? recent antisemitism (*cough cough* the "are jews people" segment from CNN) has been really getting me down and making me nervous and i'm just so tired lol i'm sorry if you want me to elaborate on shabbat i totally can, i don't mind

Eyyyy guess who’s a year late to this T_T I hope every Jewish person reading this is having a wonderful day. (Also, I learned all I know about this stuff via Google so if I got anything wrong please, please feel free to correct me!)

Happy Hanukkah! ^^

Zen:

The first time it comes up is about a month into your relationship.

Once you reach the point where you’re spending practically every day together because his day isn’t complete unless he gets to see your beautiful face~

(insert Zen wink emoji)

You’re a little nervous the first time he comes over on a Friday evening

Not that you’re ashamed of your religion, of course! It’s just that the news lately has you kind of worried that he might be… you don’t know, but you’re worried.

When he gets to your place after his rehearsal is over he finds you cooking.

“What’s the occasion, babe?”

“Just preparing for shabbat.”

The word sounds kind of familiar but he can’t quite place what it is please don’t be offended by his ignorance.

You explain to him that it’s the Jewish day of rest.

He’s basically kicking himself now, because he knew that.

(He played a Jewish character once, he can’t believe he forgot!)

He listens respectfully to the rest of your explanation

And he’ll be as involved with this and other traditions as you feel comfortable with.

He personally isn’t religious but he has nothing but respect for you and your religion.

His own ignorance has also made him realize that he doesn’t really see much of the Jewish faith in films and musicals?

Congrats, Zen is now an official advocate for proper Jewish representation in media!

If ever he’s in a play or film where a character is Jewish, he’ll run everything by you to make sure it’s both accurate and non-offensive.

And when a director refuses to change something after you explain that it’s a not only a false stereotype but a harmful one

He quits the play on the spot.

His agent warns him that it’s not a good idea to get publicly involved in any kind of political argument, but he doesn’t care

“There’s nothing political about whether or not to be a decent human being and respect others.”

Yoosung:

When he cooks a meal for you, he doesn’t think to ask if you have any dietary restrictions, religious or otherwise.

And of course, tonight he decided to try a pork bulgogi recipe he found online.

Which is… sweet and all.

But unfortunately, you have to explain to him that you’re Jewish, and you don’t eat pork.

He immediately regrets the oversight,

He’s sorry he didn’t ask first.

Honestly, he didn’t even think to ask you about your religion.

He isn’t really religious himself and he just doesn’t think of this stuff most of the time?

Now that he knows he asks you a bunch of questions to make sure he doesn’t do or say anything wrong.

(boy’s sitting on his computer googling “how to not offend my Jewish s/o”)

He looks up Jewish recipes and practices them until they come out perfect.

He also makes a list of the foods that you don’t eat.

He’s sitting at his computer taking notes as though there’s gonna be a test or something.

It’s not just fear that makes him want to learn about your faith though. He also actually likes the religion?

Jewish religion and traditions all sound lovely? You sound like such great people? And he already knows you specifically are a great person, so that’s one point in their favour.

He’s absolutely terrified to meet your family.

Are they going to hate him because he’s not Jewish?

Should he convert?

(You assure him that he doesn’t need to do that.)

He’s also super fast to jump on anyone who makes anti-semitic comments, both online and in real life.

Someone on LOLOL makes a gross, offensive comment and he gets his guild to literally destroy the guy

The jerk can’t go anywhere without Yoosung’s guildmates immediately killing him

Yoosung and his guild are savage and they do not tolerate this kind of hatred and disrespect.

Jaehee:

Jaehee has come in contact with all kinds of people from various parts of the world during her time working for Jumin.

So she respects all faiths and all cultures.

Your faith in particular comes up one morning, when she hears you praying.

She asks what it is you were just reciting

(She waits until after you’re finished, of course. She would never interrupt you.)

You tell her that it’s a Jewish morning prayer.

Unlike the last two guys, Jaehee doesn’t need to ask many questions. As mentioned before, she’s met with other Jewish people before.

She doesn’t know everything, of course.

Just the basics.

And she’s more than willing to ask you about the details and things she’s not sure about.

Not because she’s worried about messing up or getting anything wrong

She just wants to know more because your faith is a part of you, and she takes interest in every part of you and your life.

And despite her being Catholic and you being Jewish, there won’t be any conflict. She has nothing but respect for your religion.

She finds devotion to faith admirable regardless of what faith it is.

Each of you follows your own traditions and beliefs and you respectfully support each other.

She’ll accompany you to the synagogue if you’d like, and she’ll invite you to her church as well though it’s certainly neither an expectation nor a requirement for you to go.

Basically she just… understands

And engages in healthy communication whenever possible.

Because Jaehee is like a pro girlfriend.

Jumin:

Like Jaehee, Jumin has come across people of all cultures thanks to his work.

He’s even been to Israel on a business trip before, so he knows a bit about what Judaism is.

Actually, Jumin finds it quite fascinating to learn about other cultures and beliefs. He loves meeting different kinds of people with different ways of life.

He honestly finds everything about your faith interesting

And you can bet he’s going to ask tons of questions.

He wants to know everything.

He wants to know about all of your traditions and ceremonies and symbols…

Everything.

He’s not trying to interrogate you, or be intrusive.

He just wants to know, both because of his personal interest in other cultures and his personal interest in all things related to you.

He offers to hire you the best cooks he can find to prepare you meals for shabbat

But you tell him that you’d rather do it yourself because it’s more meaningful to you.

He nods thoughtfully

“I see.”

He then calls Jaehee to clear his schedule for the day so he can stay home and help you personally

He’s not the greatest help

Read: he can’t cook for shit and he somehow set the deep fryer on fire

But he can do menial tasks and keep you company while you work.

He just wants to be with you and be part of your life.

Of course, he can’t take a day off every week.

(Jaehee would die of stress)

But he tries to at least come home early enough to help if you need him.

He doesn’t interfere or anything, especially if you don’t want him to.

Mostly he just sits with Elizabeth the 3rd and watches you.

He also likes being present during the Kiddish, when you say prayers over wine.

(He likes anything that involves wine.)

His father might be a little concerned at first about him being in a serious relationship with you.

(He has nothing against Jewish people. He’s just worried there will be conflict since you’re Jewish and the Hans are Christians.)

But you win him over with your respectful attitude and your love for Jumin.

And if anyone else comments on Jumin Han having a Jewish significant other, Jumin is cold and savage.

(“How can you be dating someone who believes that?”

“You shouldn’t speak about others beliefs as absurd when you’re the one who has the ridiculous belief that I care at all what you think.”)

No one messes with his love and gets away unscathed.

Seven:

Literally the first thing he says to you when you tell him you’re Jewish is “that makes sense, I always thought you Israeli great.”

(*finger guns*)

There will be cheesy jokes whenever he can fit them in

(When he finds you cooking in preparation for shabbat he comes up and kisses you. You ask why. He grins. “Just wanted you to know that I like you a latke!”)

And then there’s the sweater he buys for the holidays that features a menorah and the words “It’s Lit”.

But in all seriousness, he absolutely respects you and your beliefs.

I know it might not seem like it, since he’s so nonchalant and joke-y about his own religion sometimes

But he actually has a huge amount of respect for all religions.

Well, all religions that aren’t cults.

After all, he lived a pretty miserable, hopeless life before he found his religion. In a way, that church saved his life.

So he definitely understands how important religion can be to people.

And honestly, Saeyoung loves hearing about other religions and beliefs?

He thinks that every religion has valuable teachings.

He’s not the type of person who’s going to argue the details of which religion got everything right.

For him personally, identifying as Catholic is more a show of loyalty to the church that saved him as a kid.

Not that he doesn’t believe in Catholic beliefs! He does, for sure.

He just personally believes that it’s unlikely any one religion got every detail right.

(But he respects people who do believe in their religion 100% too! Again, his beliefs aren’t law. Maybe he’s right, maybe you’re right. He’s not going to argue about it.)

Also, can you speak any Hebrew? He’s not perfectly fluent but he’s decent and he always loves finding foreign language buddies.

(And let’s be real he could become a master at it if he wanted to just give him like a week or so he really likes languages)

If you can’t speak much, maybe he could teach you if you want?

He’s also pretty excited to celebrate Hanukkah with you.

(He’s super excited because he was planning on building you something for Christmas but since Hanukkah has eight days that means that he can build you eight things!)

“Saeyoung, no.” “SAEYOUNG, YES!”

This is after checking with you that you wouldn’t be offended or uncomfortable if he does, of course.

If you don’t want him to participate at all he will politely and quietly sit on the sidelines until you’re finished with your prayers and ceremonies. He’ll follow whatever rules you chose to impose on him.

And as for antisemitic news stories…

Whenever a headline like that appears he hacks the tv station to change the words to say things like “New Study Finds that Jewish People Are 70.7% Cooler Than News Anchors”

Saeran:

Saeran walks in one day to see you putting out candles around the room.

“What are you doing?”

If it comes off as a bit snappy, it’s just because not knowing things makes him nervous sometimes. He’s not annoyed, he’s just confused and curious.

You explain to him that it’s shabbat tomorrow and you have to prepare.

He’s heard you say that you’re Jewish before but he doesn’t really know what it means other than the general fact that it’s a religion?

It’s never really come up in his incredibly sheltered life

And he hasn’t gotten an opportunity to ask you yet, until now.

You explain the concept of shabbat to him, and answer his occasional questions

(Things like ”What are the candles for?” and “Why Saturday?”)

Saeran is…

Wary about religion, to say the least.

Unlike his brother, he has no positive associations with religion. Definitely not enough positive associations to outweigh the negative ones he had with Mint Eye.

Don’t get me wrong, he heard nothing but nice things about it from Saeyoung when they were younger

But even that might have also caused a bit of jealousy-based resentment?

So organized gatherings of religion are a pretty hard no for him. The very idea of churches (or synagogues) scares him.

He’s sorry…

And… he��s not sure about big family get-togethers either. He doesn’t know if he’s ready for something like that yet. Or if he’ll ever be.

He’s sorry he’s sorry he’s sorry

He won’t stop you from doing anything, of course.

And he’ll help out around the house as much as he can with any cleaning and cooking.

And once he stops panicking at the thought of being surrounded by people considered “believers” again

(He knows it’s different, he’s sorry again)

He finds the whole thing… calming?

He sits quietly while you light candles and pray and just… soaks up the positive atmosphere.

As long as he’s not expected to participate in everything and you respect that he might not always be up for joining you for things

Then he’s perfectly fine with it.

V has mostly positive memories of the holiday season.

And the negative ones he as are mostly only negative because they were the years he spent alone.

The years that everyone he loved was too busy working to celebrate with him.

But for the most part, he associates Christmastime with good memories

Having a rare sit down dinner with his father

Sneaking out to exchange gifts with his mother (she would usually buy him art supplies, of course)

Attending mass with Jumin and his family

Exchanging gifts with Rika…

So of course he wants to share those positive memories and make new ones with you as well, no matter how new your relationship may be.

So he asks you what you usually do for Christmas

(Jihyun it’s October.)

(Yeah, but he has to start planning now if he wants to find you the best gift possible ^^;)

And he asks if you would be interested in celebrating it with him, maybe going to mass together?

(He’s slightly ignorant, yes, he grew up in a Christian neighborhood, he’s used to just being right with this assumption.)

You take this as a perfect opportunity to tell him that you’re Jewish

…oh. Oops.

He feels like he’s messed up or offended you.

That was never his intention, he swears.

Has Luciel invented a time machine yet because he could use one right now

The invitation to go to mass with him is still open, of course, and in return he could join you in attending your synagogue if you’d like.

But if you’re not comfortable with that, that’s fine too! He can go to church with Jumin and meet up with you after.

He offers provide you with anything you need.

Ingredients for food, the nicest wines he has, the most ornate and beautiful menorah money can buy, literally name anything you want and it’s yours.

He’ll also buy you small gifts for each day of Hanukkah.

A book he thinks you’ll like, a puzzle with a picture that reminded you him of you…

Nothing too big.

Until the last day of Hanukkah, when he hands you a large frame-shaped gift

As you’re opening it, he tells you that it’s the first major painting project he’s completed since becoming a professional photographer and trading his paints for a camera.

“So bear in mind that I may be a little out of practice.”

(He’s nervous)

“Not to mention I technically specialize in landscapes and scenic paintings. I haven’t drawn something like this in a while, let alone painted one.”

(He’s so worried it’s not good enough, you want to open it faster just so you can assure him that it’s great, whatever it is.)

And boy is it great.

It’s a portrait of you lighting a candle on the menorah

And it is beautiful

The expression of pure peace on your face, your slight smile softened further by the gentle glow of the candlelight

The warmth that both your skin and your expression radiate

The reflection of the flame dancing in your eyes and making them sparkle

It’s incredible.

He calls it “Faith”

Aside from the obvious reason, he says it’s because you restored his faith in both love and himself.

He’s actually debating making it his first public painted work, if that’s something you’d be comfortable with.

If not, then you can keep it and do what you like with it.

He just wanted to capture the feeling of happiness and… well, faith, that he sees in you when you practice any of your religious traditions.

Because it’s beautiful.

And so are you.

Vanderwood:

Vanderwood isn’t really religious

But they also couldn’t care less about what other people believe

(As long as it doesn’t hurt or otherwise negatively affect those around them, of course.)

So when they come home to find you lighting candles and praying they’re not really all that concerned?

(Well, their first thought is “where do we keep the fire extinguisher again?” but that’s mostly just an instinctive reaction to seeing fire after working with 707 for so long)

They listen to your explanation about shabbat because they respect you and therefore respect your beliefs

And they will absolutely make sure they don’t do anything that could offend you

(Not that they would say offensive things in the first place.

Mostly they’re worried they might misunderstand something or read false information.)

They actually kinda like the whole shabbat thing?

It’s nice to have something that’s a guaranteed fixed schedule.

It makes them feel… stable.

In their old life patterns like that could be a weakness, since they make you predictable.

But now it comforts them to know that every Friday night and every Saturday they know where to find you and what you’ll be doing

Oh, but there is one thing that they definitely need to discuss

They read that you’re not supposed to do certain chores on the day of shabbat.

Does that apply to them too? Is it rude if they do those things? What if they only do it when you’re not in the room?

They absolutely will refrain from all cleaning if you would find it disrespectful in any way

They’ll sit down with you and make a list of the things they are and aren’t supposed to do.

Even if you say you don’t mind if they do it as long as you don’t do them yourself, they’ll still try to get most of the cleaning out of the way on Friday night

And it becomes a weekly tradition for them to come over and help you by cleaning up while you’re preparing and cooking

(They’ll help with cooking too, especially if you’re not good at it. They’re not a chef or anything but they do know the basics.)

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listenbang · 5 years

Text

TO THE KINDNESS OF GOD

It was with high expectation and emotion that I began my first listen-through of Michael Card’s latest record, To the Kindness of God…

I discovered the music of Michael Card when I was six years old. It was on my father’s CD rack, a compilation album called Joy in the Journey. I remember listening through that CD and being enchanted by the songs. It was the beginning of my adventure with this awestruck troubadour, encountering with him the wonders of God’s Word. Michael has a gift for songwriting: a unique way of weaving the truth and beauty of Scripture into a song. But Michael has given us more than individual songs. He has given us albums; a discography covering nearly the entire Bible, Old and New Testaments. Concept albums, in which the songs are able to tell a greater story collectively, than each could on its own. The beauty of a concept album is that it can approach the subject organically, from multiple angles, taking time to explore and develop an idea.

So why was this particular concept album such a big deal for me? Word has it that To the Kindness of God may be Michael Card’s last album. Listening through it felt like a goodbye of sorts. But if this is Michael’s last album, it definitely makes for a grand end to an era. There is grandness in its soft yet sweeping musical landscape, and in its lyrical theme, hesed: an untranslatable word denoting the inexpressible kindness of God. A theme that spans all of Scripture and in fact, all of history.

A word on hesed (kheh'·sed): it appears in the Hebrew Scriptures nearly 250 times, mostly in the Psalms. In English it’s often translated mercy or lovingkindness, yet these words fall short. King David, in Psalm 23, described hesed as a mercy that would follow him all the days of his life. A mercy that would never let go. Hesed is used in Psalm 136 in the recounting of Israel’s exodus. The phrase “His love endures forever” is chanted over and over again. The Christian Standard Bible translates hesed in that passage as faithful love. Elsewhere, I’ve also seen loyal love.

In To the Kindness of God, the listener is drawn, song by song, into the glorious story of hesed: how God’s matchless might has been revealed in his transformative, covenant love toward his broken creation. Can there be a more epic theme on which to write an album?

Come as You Are

Hymn to the Kindness of God

The Shelter of the Shadow

That Kind of Love

When Dinah Held My Hand / Jesus Is on the Mainline

Gomer’s Song

This Is My Father’s World

I Will Be Kind

Why Not Change the World

The album opens with ascending piano chords, and an invitation: “Come, come as you are, Broken and scarred…” There’s a quiet boldness in Michael’s voice. “…Surrender your fear, It is safe, there is comfort here.” The instrumentation embodies the call. The refrain gives the purpose in the call: “For the LORD is good, And his love is everlasting… Won’t you come?”

A simple message, yet deeply profound. This is what Michael has been approaching in his songwriting for all these years. Hesed is the heart of “El Shaddai.” The power behind the prayer, “Jesus Let Us Come to Know You.” The object of “Joy in the Journey.” This album is the culmination of decades of study in Scripture.

* * *

"Come as You Are" is followed by "Hymn to the Kindness of God." In this delicate piece, Michael seeks to express the inexpressible. Attribute after luminous attribute is named, filling out the nature of hesed. The nature of God. "Relentless tenderness, Hope of humankind."

There's a graceful wind and string arrangement (real instruments!) blending with voice and piano. It hearkens back to orchestration on early work such as The Final Word and The Beginning. Beautiful and, for me, nostalgic.

“Who you truly are, we hardly can believe; You know what we are, yet you refuse to leave.” Read the Scriptures and you will be confronted by a God whose goodness and love are so much purer than ours that he may seem, at times, too good to be true. Or maybe as Andrew Peterson says, “too good not to be true.”

* * *

“LORD, please show me your glory.” What a request! What was Moses thinking when he asked it? But there’s a desperation in his plea. To know God in a closer way, he disregards the danger. “The Shelter of the Shadow” recalls the history of hesed, starting before history: “From before the beginning Was a Word that was living…” Next is recounted the event portrayed in the book of Exodus; God revealing his glory to Moses on the mountain in the wilderness. A grand and soaring orchestral and chamber choir arrangement accompanies. Fitting for the events being portrayed…

“The LORD descended in the cloud and stood with Moses there, and proclaimed the name of the LORD. The LORD passed before him and proclaimed, ‘The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in hesed—steadfast love and faithfulness.’” (Exodus 34:5-6, ESV)

That shadowy cleft: what peril, and yet, what safety. For God’s glory was shown through his kindness. And that was just the beginning of God’s revelation…

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth… For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.” (John 1:14, 16-17, ESV)

* * *

“That Kind of Love” is by singer-songwriter Pierce Pettis. It’s a beautiful song, musically and lyrically, and a natural fit among the other songs on the album. The lyrics are capturing. Michael’s voice is clear and bright.

“It can’t be kept unto itself, It spreads its joy, it casts its spell, Till no one’s safe this side of Hell—That kind of love." The last lines of the song brought the message close to home for me: “So how can anyone deny That kind of love, Knowing every heart is measured by That kind of love…”

“He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love hesed—mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8, ESV) “…O may we be remembered by That kind of love.”

* * *

Not often will Michael share a personal story in one of his songs, but “When Dinah Held My Hand” is quite personal. Listening to it, I felt like I was right there. It’s an important song because it addresses the issues of pain and evil. It does so looking through the lens of God’s kindness. The God who showed kindness to Moses and the people of Israel is still in the business of kindness. A banjo and a fiddle start out this simple story-in-song: “She was haloed ‘round in kindness, I was nervous and alone…”

Here, hesed takes on flesh and bone, and the kindness of God is seen on a common face. I’ve known people who shine that way. When with them, I felt safe. Ofttimes, the sweetest and kindest people are those who have gone through deep suffering. Instead of the hurt hardening them, by God’s grace, it makes them kinder, more able to comfort and help others who are hurting. Here we see the art of God’s providence: it will take what evil intends for a destructive end, and make something beautiful.

“She reached across three hundred years of suffering and pain, She reached across the great divide of the color of our skins; When she reached across that empty pew, then I understood, That all the hate that meant to harm, The Lord had used for good.”

At the close of the book of Genesis, Joseph says to his brothers, “You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good” (Genesis 50:20, ESV; emphasis added). What a comfort it is, that the Lord is working all things for the good of those who love him. Whether Joseph’s slavery, or the slavery of African Americans, no evil or injustice of man can thwart God’s good intentions.

“Life is made of moments we don’t always understand, Sometimes the meaning isn’t clear, there’s no specific plan; Each moment has been set in place before the world began, Like the time that Sunday morning, when Dinah held my hand.”

“Jesus Is on the Mainline” makes for a perfect outro to Michael’s story. Three instruments—a bluesy piano, a bass guitar and a tambourine — back up the vivacious singing of an African American choir! I love the diversity in the choirs featured in the album; international, like God’s hesed which reaches out to all mankind.

* * *

“Gomer’s Song” is from Michael’s Ancient Faith Trilogy, but it’s found a new and fitting home on this record. Gomer is graceless. Even her name sounds unattractive. But is this not the story of every Christian? Where would any of us be if not for the love that called us out of our shame and darkness? Hosea’s love for his unlovable wife is one of the clearest illustrations of God’s love for his rebellious people. Gomer’s story is my story. “Gomer’s Song” is my song.

* * *

“This Is My Father’s World” highlights yet another important facet of God’s hesed. Look around you. The trees, the animals, the blood in your veins—all creation tells of a sovereign, loving and faithful Father. “This is my Father’s world: He shines in all that’s fair; In the rustling grass I hear Him pass; He speaks to me everywhere.”

Those beautiful words are by Maltbie D. Babcock. Many who love this hymn have never heard of the hymn writer. Still fewer know of his tragic end by suicide. I don’t know what darkness brought Maltbie Babcock to take his life, but this I know: No dark demonic power can overshadow the covenant kindness God has for his children.

Michael introduces a couple small yet meaningful changes to this classic hymn text. I first heard Michael sing his version of “This Is My Father’s World” at a concert a few years ago. I was moved by the profound tenderness he had brought to the song. “This is my Father’s world, Why should my heart be sad? He is just and kind, he’s love defined, His grace all the hope that I have.”

This album arrived on the heels of a profound event in my life. In January of this year, my wife gave birth to our first child, a girl. Almost overnight, my understanding of God as Father—as my Father—was transformed. I now see how little I understood dependence, and how far I have to go to be broken of my pride and self-reliance. I see more clearly the pure joy it is to be a child of God, and to rest in his love. The other day we were going for a walk—my wife, our daughter and I. As I was looking up at the sky and the trees overhead, all at once, a thought entered my mind: “this is my Father’s world. My Father.” And it astounded me.

Again I must mention orchestration: the strings on this song are breathtakingly beautiful, like a towering cathedral forest of fir trees. I sense dedication and passion behind its arrangement.

* * *

“I can’t explain the mystery, Before I called, you answered me, And showed so great a love That set me free.”

As the album comes to a close, the mood becomes one of reflection. God has shown me kindness. Given his own precious Son, for me. What now? In the stillness, this kindness compels a response. “I Will Be Kind” is that response.

“So now I come and ask of you, To speak the word, to tell me true: In light of all you’ve done, what should I do?” The question is asked, and the response is given. It comes from Jesus’ sermon on the mount, and specifically his instruction to God’s children, on how they are to react to evil.

“You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if anyone would sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who begs from you, and do not refuse the one who would borrow from you.” (Matthew 5:38-42, ESV)

My first reaction to Jesus’ words is to recoil. To give up all my rights, to basically let my enemy run all over me—it seems too much to ask. But this song, “I Will Be Kind,” has helped me better understand the heart behind Jesus’ words.

“I’ll forgive as I’ve been forgiven, I will love my enemies, I’ll be gracious to the ungrateful, That’s the grace you gave to me.”

Christ has set the example for loving my enemies, in loving me while I was his enemy. He loved the unlovable. He died for the unlovable. The greatest act of kindness. This is what it all comes down to. This is hesed. How can I not love as I've been loved? I must love my enemies.

To the proud and selfish heart, Jesus’ way is utterly abhorrent. But when that heart is broken by the love of Jesus, it gladly lays down all its rights. It becomes a conduit of his love. I will “turn the other cheek.” Jesus did first, and he did it for me.

“I gave my back to those who strike, and my cheeks to those who pull out the beard; I hid not my face from disgrace and spitting.” (Isaiah 50:6, ESV)

* * *

To the Kindness of God goes out with a paradox of a song. A light and cheerful melody carries these weighty words: “Why not change the world? Why not set it free? Why not let the change Begin with you and me?”

And so the album ends like it began: with an invitation. We’ve come full circle, and the one invited is now extending the invitation to those around him. A chord modulation, then a choir picks up where Michael left off—a Korean choir! Their voices are warm and so beautiful. “…Why not change the world, Why not make a start?”

* * *

To the Kindness of God is a joy to listen to; lyrically and musically, it’s insightful and refreshing. Just over 30 minutes, this album is short yet so rich in meaning. Truly, if not for the kindness of God, I do not know that I could bear to live. How I long to know it more!

“Who is a God like you, pardoning iniquity and passing over transgression for the remnant of his inheritance? He does not retain his anger forever, because he delights in steadfast love. He will again have compassion on us; he will tread our iniquities underfoot. You will cast all our sins into the depths of the sea. You will show faithfulness to Jacob and steadfast love to Abraham, as you have sworn to our fathers from the days of old.” (Micah 7:18-20, ESV)

* * *

Michael Card's new record, To the Kindness of God, can be found here: http://store.michaelcard.com/preorderhesedcd.aspx

And here’s where you can find Michael’s accompanying book, Inexpressible: Hesed and the Mystery of God's Lovingkindness (which I have now begun reading!): http://store.michaelcard.com/preorderhesedbook.aspx

And Michael, thank you. Here’s hoping for more music…

#christiany #hesed #bible #music #folk #orchestral

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kaoruyogi · 7 years

Text

How to Win Wars and Influence Nobles (Ch. 9)

Rating: E for Explicit/NSFW Content! (Eventually)

Check it out on AO3!

You’d think a video game lawyer could just drop into a pseudo-medieval universe filled with magic and demons and be totally okay with it, right?

Nah.

In the wake of her brother, Spencer’s, disappearance, Belle dropped into Thedas with luggage, but without a clue. After a brief but memorable panic attack, she resolved to be the best goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. Even if she was the only goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. And even if that obstinate asshole, Cullen, wouldn’t stop giving her the side-eye every time she walked into a room…Or every time he walked into a room with her in it…Or every time they walked into a room together…Or–Fuck it. You get it.

Chapter 9: Training Day (Love that Fucking Movie)

Too hot. Belle was too hot. Never in her wildest imaginings would she have thought she could have been too hot in Thedas. Granted, she had not seen much of Thedas. There were probably deserts somewhere. Was Thedas the name of the continent or the planet? How big was the planet? How many countries were there?

All of these questions were stupid. They were stupid because they did not matter just then. Just then, she was too hot. The only part of her body that wasn’t too hot was her right arm. She reasoned that it must have been the only part of her not under the massive blanket weighing her body down. She felt that familiar tight and widespread heft that could only be a too-thick comforter during a warm season, untucked only enough to slide one person beneath it.

Part of her hand was warm, though. Warm from two other hands. Large hands. Those two large hands held onto her, calloused fingers against her palm and calloused thumbs rubbing soothing little circles. She recalled the sensation of those soothing little circles.

“Though all before me is shadow,” Cullen’s soft voice said into the void created by her eyelids, “yet shall the Maker be my guide.” She felt the warmth of his breath across her fingertips. “I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.”

It reminded her of Psalm 23. The one everybody recited when they thought someone was about to die, be it the speaker or their loved ones. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,” and “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” and all that. Cullen was saying it over her.

Belle remembered the sensation of being stabbed. It must have been a sharp blade, because she hadn’t felt it until after it was pulled out. It hurt like fuck. It was like a papercut multiplied by ten thousand. It stung and burned when her blood began to leave her body through the newly opened point of egress. She had vague memories of coughing up blood. The blade had probably punctured a few vital organs, a lung chief among them.

In theory, she was still alive. Hypothetically, if she opened her eyes, she would see Cullen and whatever sweltering blanket was covering her to the neck. She postulated that she would be in one piece, having been healed with magic before she died. No one else knew CPR, after all.

She decided to open her eyes all at once. No pussyfooting around or taking a peek at her surroundings. It made no difference whether she did it fast or slow. It would not change where she was or who was around her. She snapped her eyes open, only to be blinded by a beam of light over her face. She hissed in an achy breath, turning hear head toward her cool right arm.

Her eyes opened again, less blinded. Cullen’s face was closer to hers than she’d anticipated. He was close enough to kiss her. She tried to decide if she would hate that. He looked startled and relieved, his mouth just a bit agape, an expression only a bit different from the one he’d borne when she fell bleeding into his arms. That scar of his was right in her eyeline. She factored it into her considerations, and decided it was possible she wouldn’t hate it if he kissed her.

“Jesus fucking shit, dude. Who puts a bed right under the fucking morning sun?” Belle sniffed in another deep breath. Something was constricting her chest. Bandaging of some kind or another, most likely.

Cullen stared at her, dumbstruck and watery-eyed. Maybe he really did want to be her friend. It was hard to believe he would look so relieved if he didn’t. But his silence and expression were making her nervous. She didn’t know why. It might have had something to do with the close proximity of his face to hers, of his lips to hers.

“I’m feeling a freaky, backwards kind of déjà vu right now,” she said.

A fraction of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His voice came out quiet and gentle. “I must confess, I have no idea what that is.” His thumbs had yet to cease their soothing little circles.

“Oh.” Belle rolled onto her right side, a movement requiring no small effort on her part. She was more sore than she’d anticipated. She supposed that magic must not have been the cure-all she’d perceived it to be—more of a boost than anything. Her head came to rest on the loose fist of her left hand. Being this close to Cullen without him shouting at her was surprisingly comfortable and pleasant. His eyes were like that honey whiskey she’d tasted once in Scotland, all sweet and warm. It was the only whiskey she’d ever enjoyed.

“It’s the sense you get when you feel like something has happened once before,” she said. “Like watching the same dog cross the street in the same spot at the same time of day. Your mind sets off all these alarm bells to tell you something weird is going on. And I’ve just realized what a long time it takes to explain that concept. I guess that’s why they shortened it to déjà vu.”

Cullen chuckled his low chuckle, and she felt a nervous tickle in her gut. Like butterflies. There was no reason for her to have butterflies. She figured the magic that had been used to heal her was still floating around in there. Physics. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, blah blah blah.

“Thank the Maker for that,” he said.

“Is that who you were praying to just now? That’s, like, your God, right?”

“He is,” said Cullen. “And yes, I was praying to him.”

“Have you found that praying helps much here? I don’t mean to sound dismissive, it’s just that it doesn’t always seem to work out so well where I come from. More of a mixed bag.”

“That is a difficult question to answer.” He still rubbed those soothing little circles. He still sat so close. “It likely bears similar effectiveness to your prayers, if I’m answering honestly.” He paused for a moment, his eyes wandering a slow journey over her face. Her gut fluttered again. Fucking magic. “Who is your god?”

“God is what most of the world calls him—or her, I guess—in one language or another. We really just needed something to call the thing we worship without understanding. In Hebrew, the language of Judaism, my religion, there are a few other words we use. Hashem, Adonai, Yahweh. Lots of people believe in the same God—that he created the universe and everything—but they believe in different teachings. It’s kind of weird.” Like their conversation, it occurred to her.

“Do you think he followed you to Thedas?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.” A little part of her wanted to boop his nose. It might have made her less nervous. She remembered how hot she was only because a bead of sweat slipped down her lower back and across her hip. “Could you help me pull this blanket off a little?”

It was as if the question jolted some sort of sense back into Cullen. He moved away from her. His thumbs stopped their soothing little circles. With the new distance between them, Belle saw that he still wore his formal attire from the previous evening. It was covered in her blood. His entire left arm was stained that thick, dark cherrywood color. His fine and satiny azure sash bore finger-sized streaks and spattering that seemed to have originated near the center of his chest.

How could she still be alive after losing so much blood? She wondered it as she watched him pull up the corners of the blanket and tug it down from her torso. There was a delicacy and deliberateness in his every movement, like he thought he might break her. When he’d freed the blanket’s edges from beneath the mattress, he folded the top away from her neck, revealing her bandaged body.

The bandages were tight, and they squeezed at her from her breasts to just below her waist. Below that, all that was left of the clothing she’d been wearing were her lacy pink panties. Cullen, in some form of divine mercy, had not folded the blanket far enough down to see them from where he was standing. Her ass was out a little on the other side. Nonetheless, he tensed up immediately, eyes locked on her, until he shook his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. He wouldn’t look at her after that.

“I—I’m certain you would like to see your brother,” he said, staring at some invisible thing high up in the corner of the room. It was kind of adorable how befuddled he looked. “I’ll go and see to it that he is relieved of his guard duties.” He was walking out the door before he finished saying it. Before Belle could stop him.

Spencer was all “holy shits” and “what the fucks” and “that fucking bitches” when he barged into the room. He was scared to hug Belle at first, but did it without hesitation when she reached for him. He apologized for things for which he owed no apologies. He ruffled her hair in that way she hated. He told her she looked like shit. Her makeup got all fucked up, he said.

Why, then, had Cullen looked at her like he was seeing a rainbow for the first time?

“Leliana’s people caught that fucking bitch,” he said after he helped her sit upright. “That fucking bitch who stabbed you. She was screaming something about ‘damn the Lavals’ and ‘she ruined everything.’” He shook his fist in the air as he played the part of Belle’s would-be assassin.

“What?” Belle sifted through her mental files. “Oh. Oh Christ on a cross, that stupid bitch.” Spencer widened his eyes in a silent request for explanation. “It was Mallory Asselin. I kind of fucked over her betrothal to this guy, Damien, when I set him up with this chick, Nanette. Thing is, before you get all ‘what the fuck’ like you do, Damien and Nanette are in love, and Mallory is obviously a crazy cunt who stabs people. I mean, I basically saved Damien’s life, if you think about it.”

Spencer did not look convinced. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it. But next time you fuck up someone’s weird arranged marriage thing, Bete, just make sure they’re not in a position to fucking stab you, kay?”

They shared a short laugh. “Yeah, fine. Hey, how come you weren’t in here this morning?”

“I love you, but I have a job to do too, you know? I’m responsible for making sure Max is safe, and after you got stabbed, this whole place went on high alert. I had to stay with him for the night in case this Mallory chick was some sort of ruse for Corypheus. I asked about you every time someone came by, but they all told me the Commander wouldn’t let anyone into your room after Solas and Vivienne left. Dorian and Sera tried to come in, and he told them to kick rocks.”

Belle’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Spencer crossed his legs at the edge of the bed where he sat beside her. “Yeah. He was all, ‘Raaah! If anyone interferes with Lady Dolan’s rest, I shall see their head on a spike!’” His impression of Cullen was atrocious, and included a splay-fingered imitation of bear claws. It was hilarious.

“I’m sorry, what did he say?” asked Belle, inwardly impish.

“He was like, ‘Raaah! If anyone interf—” He dropped his hands into his lap, a look of realization painted on his face. Belle laughed despite the pain in her chest. “You dick,” said Spencer. It only made her laugh harder.

“You know, he almost killed that chick when Leliana brought her past your room to question her.”

Belle’s laughter died in her throat. “He what?”

“Yeah, Aldridge and Kier—” Claire two point oh, “were following Leliana down the hall, and I guess the Commander was sitting out there while Solas and Vivienne were in here with you. And when they walked her by he saw the blood on her hands and fucking lunged at her. It took all three of them to hold him back. The only reason Mallory didn’t get away was because she was too busy pissing herself in the corner. Literally. She literally pissed herself.”

Belle was too stunned to speak. She had given out her fair share of bladed and cutting remarks to those who harmed her friends, but she’d never attacked them. Thedas was a world and a time apart from home, she understood, but Cullen’s reaction was still extreme. She’d seen him bite his tongue during Max’s judgements, no matter how much he hated the person being judged. He trusted their system. For him to seek his own vengeance seemed outside his sense of duty by a stretch.

She’d been staring. Spencer gave her shoulder a gentle nudge with his own. “What’s on your mind?”

She would not be asking her twenty-two year old little brother, of all people, for his opinion on the behaviors of men. She needed to change the subject. She remembered the thing she’d been remembering for weeks. “It’s my birthday today.”

“Shit! It is?”

“Yeah, I think so. I counted a couple of times. All things being equal, it should be October thirtieth back home. So I guess my birthday here is the first of Firstfall.” She thought about it for a moment. “God that’s weird. I have a different birthday now.”

She could tell by the look on Spencer’s face that he didn’t know how to respond, so she smiled a wan little smile at him. “Well a fuck of a ‘happy birthday’ it is like this,” he said. “I bet Lady Montilyet could pull some strings and get you some—”

“No. No, it’s fine. I don’t need anyone but you to know, I think.” Belle was confused about it. She’d had plans to go out dancing on her thirtieth birthday. She and a few of her friends from work and law school were going to dinner and then going out. They’d planned it well in advance to accommodate everyone’s busy schedules. Their work calendaring had invaded their personal lives.

This was not the thirtieth birthday she’d imagined. Recovering from a near-fatal stab wound in some random bed in some random palace in some random dimension was not her idea of a good time.

“You don’t want anyone to know? You? You, who thinks her birthday should be a fucking national holiday?” Spencer put the back of his hand against her forehead, and she swatted it away with a look of warning. “I’m just checking. It’s really unlike you.”

“I don’t know, P. I guess it’s…I don’t know, it’s fucking real if someone knows. My birthday isn’t October thirtieth anymore. It’s the fucking first of Firstfall. That sounds made up. First of Firstfall.” She made a disgusted noise worthy of Cassandra. “I think I need to lay back down for a little while.”

Spencer knew she wasn’t tired. It was written all over his face. He knew his sister. “Okay, Bete. Just…Just tell someone if you need anything, okay?” He stood and headed for her door. When he reached her doorway, he leaned back inside and said, “Happy birthday, Belle.”

“Thanks,” she said.

The days’ long ride home began the next day. Celene’s “handmaiden,” Briala, had stopped by Belle’s room while she packed early that morning to check in and reassure Belle that the Asselins were no longer welcome in Celene’s court. Belle thanked the sly elven woman, but asked her to reconsider. One silly girl’s stabby meltdown was hardly enough reason to strip an entire family of its titles. Briala reminded her that much worse had been done for much less, and crept out of the room to go on with her shady business.

Belle felt ill at ease the rest of the morning. She’d felt off since the stabbing, or since waking up from recovering from the stabbing. It was not quite the off-day general malaise that struck alongside her little bouts of depression. Something felt awry, like something was missing. Maybe it was her twenties, gone with a night’s fitful sleep and nary a word from anyone. Maybe it was the now untrue fact that she had never been stabbed before. Maybe she was just lonely.

The Winter Palace had done everything it could to separate everyone from each other, isolating her most of all. She’d spent her whole birthday languishing in her room, producing blood to replace the volumes she’d lost and being checked on in passing. Everyone else had their bits of business to take care of before leaving Halamshiral. Sera had Red Jenny shenanigans in town. Dorian and Bull went shopping for God knows what. Varric signed books. Cole and Solas went down to see the infirm. Blackwall and Cassandra sparred with chevaliers in the training yards. Max and Josie schmoozed alongside Vivienne. Leliana recruited. Cullen…Well, Belle didn’t know what Cullen was doing. She didn’t even know why she wondered what he was doing.

She saw him coordinating with the soldiers and drivers before their journey home began. He was back in his ridiculous mantle, alternating between barking orders and murmuring in close confidence. She watched him as a passel of servants—whose welfare she’d pondered since their arrival—rushed around her with luggage and sundries. Only when his eyes locked on her did she realize she’d been staring. She did that thing people always do when they’re caught staring, and her eyes darted about to see random sights until she gave up and walked back inside.

Belle came back out when everyone decided it was time to leave. Josephine had already gotten into the carriage to pout in privacy after finding out that Max would be riding on horseback. Spencer was with his battalion near Max’s horse. Leliana was whispering to a dark and voluptuous woman with a petite figure and impressive head of dreads that swayed and bobbed each time she nodded. Everyone else was milling about, getting on their horses, laughing with their friends, or conducting final checks before the march was called. Belle stood still in the center of the subtle chaos, feeling that edge of unease.

A large gloved hand on her bicep startled her. She gasped and clutched at her heart as she turned—no jumpier than usual, she told herself. Cullen’s bewildered eyes stared back at her. She let out a puff of relief that made her lungs and back ache. “Jesus, Cullen you scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” He meant it.

“It’s okay.” Belle sighed again, slower this time. “What’s up?”

Cullen pressed a small something into her hand. Even gloved, his hands were so warm. The small something was box-shaped, though it felt soft against her palm. She looked down at it. A little box covered in satiny red fabric with a sloppily tied yellow ribbon. It looked like a gift. She turned her gaze back to Cullen with a little shake of her head and a little crease in her brow to mark her confusion.

“For your birthday,” he said.

Cullen walked away before she could respond. He returned to his task of barking and murmuring for a few more minutes while Belle looked on, stunned. How had he known? Had Spencer told him? Would she be forced to beat her own brother to death for breaking her trust? More stupid questions.

A beckoning tap on the shoulder from Leliana reminded her that it was time to take her seat in the carriage. Belle cradled the little box covered in satiny red fabric with the sloppily tied yellow ribbon against her chest.

She held it there until they were miles away from the Winter Palace. Miles away from the den of iniquity where she had to flirt and tease to get anything done. Miles away from the place she’d danced with Cullen. Miles away from the place he’d been close enough to kiss her.

Her every move was tentative and careful when she opened her gift. She pulled at the sloppily tied yellow ribbon in tiny increments until it fell limp against her thighs. She untucked and unwrapped that satiny red fabric with the kind of meticulous attention she gave her most important contracts. She opened the light wooden lid cautiously and with her fingertips.

The world froze around her. The carriage no longer rocked and rolled in its rhythm. Vivienne, Josie, and Leliana no longer chirped and prattled about the effects of shoes on an empire. Soldiers no longer marched outside her gilded window. Everything stilled but her trembling fingers clutching the gift Cullen had pressed into her hand.

Three tiny chocolate cakes.

*****

“You’ll have a bit of a scar, but everything else seems to have healed quite nicely,” said Eudora, her tired and gentle hand running over Belle’s back a final time before setting down the hem of Belle’s Fereldan frock. “Solas is a very skilled mage, dear. Better than anyone I ever met in the Circle. You were lucky he was with you all.”

Belle turned to face the healer. They shared warm smiles as she straightened out her dress. “I can probably count the times I’ve been that lucky on one hand. And one of those little fuckers is a wobbler.” She waggled her pinky in the air.

Eudora set to work pulling refills of Belle’s potions and herbs from the shelves. “Wobbler? What in the Void is a wobbler, you strange girl?”

“It’s something that could fall one way or another. Felony or misdemeanor was how I used to use it in my old job, but here I guess I just mean good or bad.”

“Oh? Which piece of luck could wobble, then?”

“Getting sucked into Thedas,” said Belle. Eudora threw a quizzical glance over her shoulder. “On the one hand, I was unlucky because I’m not from here, and this could have ended very badly. I’ll probably never see my parents again. On the other hand, I did find my brother, and well, I survived the whole thing, right?”

The healer chuckled, setting the medicine filled basket down on her desk. “For now. But you just keep stomping on the dreams of power hungry little girls with sharp knives. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

They shared a laugh. Belle took up the basket in the crook of her elbow. “Who knows? I’ve always been pretty fucking crackerjack at pissing people off.” She started toward the door.

“Oh, before you go,” said Eudora, “did you need any more of those other herbs I gave you?” Her eyebrow lifted to give Belle the hint.

Belle waved her hand between the two of them with a look of mild perturbation on her face. “God, no! I told you, no romping. No romping whatsoever, crazy woman.”

The healer looked surprised. Her forehead wrinkled and the lines around her brown eyes smoothed. “Really? You’re certain?”

Belle’s eyes rolled so hard they ached in their sockets. “Uh, yeah. I think I’d be the best person to ask about what the fuck is going on down there.”

“That wasn’t to say you’re not, child. It’s only…” Eudora paused for a few seconds too long.

“Only what? Spit it out.”

“To tell the truth of it, it’s the way the Commander looks at you. To see him watch you, anyone would think something’s on between the two of you.”

Belle huffed out a hollow and humorless laugh. “Pfft! You’ve officially hit looney toons, lady. Crazypants. I hope you have something on those shelves to keep you out of the psych wards. Cullen and I are only just starting to become friends. He—He doesn’t look at me in any kind of way, except maybe irritated. You’re off your nut.”

That same pewter brow arched again, less a hint than a judgment this time. Eudora raised her hands in front of her in a gesture of surrender. “Whatever you say, dear. Nothing at all between you and the Commander. Fine, fine. Just don’t hesitate to let me know if you do need more of those herbs. We don’t need any babes weeping around Skyhold while a darkspawn magister’s trying to destroy the world.”

Belle turned and waved over her shoulder as she walked out of the crazy woman’s office. “Bye, Eudora.” She called it out behind her, letting her sarcasm flow free.

She’d only walked a few feet when “Belle!” shouted from nearby scared her. An uneven noise jerked out of her at the same time her body jerked, jostling the glass bottles in her basket. Her free hand grasped at her chest again—no jumpier than usual, she told herself.

“I’m sorry,” said Cullen, approaching in his strong and steady stride. He bore a look of sheepish contrition in stark contrast to his confident footfalls.

“You’ve been saying that a lot lately.” Belle dropped her hand away from her chest. She closed the distance between them with a few steps of her own.

“And you have been rather jumpy lately.” He arched a brow at her. The skeptical expression was becoming the theme of the day. “Which is the reason Leliana and I came to the decision that we should train you to defend yourself.”

It was Belle’s turn to lift a brow. “I’m not going to start carrying a sword, Cullen.”

“No one said anything about a sword, Belle. The only place you are unguarded is up close.” He moved closer, and for the first time since she’d met him, Belle had trouble looking him in the eye. “We thought it best to instruct you in close quarters defense.”

“Okay,” she said. “I can meet you tomorrow to start.” She dropped her head and turned to leave, but Cullen’s warm, gloved hand stopped her. She looked back up at him to see a sort of firm consternation on his handsome features. Handsome features?

“No, Belle.” He shook his head twice and only twice, once in each direction. “Today is your training day.”

She felt the laughter puff out of her nose as the corners of her mouth rose. All she could think of was Denzel Washington badgering Ethan Hawke. “You gonna teach me to see and taste the streets? Help me learn to be a narc?” Cullen squinted at her. “Sorry, you just made think of a—You reminded me of something. We can do it this afternoon, just let me set this stuff down and change into something a little more battle-ready.”

He snapped his gloved fingers, making more of a muffled thump than a snapping sound. “You there!” He pointed to a passing scout. “Come here.” The hooded man trotted over with an eerie eagerness in his eyes. “Take Lady Dolan’s things to her tower and set them on her desk. Disturb nothing.”

“Yes, ser!” The scout thumped his fist on his chest before scooping Belle’s basket from her arms and running off.

“So you just snap and people do whatever the fuck you tell them, huh?” She put her hands on her hips.

“Yes. Now come with me.” Cullen started for the sparring ring in the courtyard.

“At least let me change first.”

“You will not be wearing ‘something more battle-ready’ if someone attacks you again. You will be wearing this. Follow me.”

Belle swallowed down a thick lump in her throat. Something about his demeanor made her feel both petulant and obedient. She did not like being told what to do, but he was right. If someone tried to kill her again, she would not be wearing jeans or yoga pants or one of her loose tee shirts. She would be wearing Thedosian clothes.

She followed Cullen to the sparring ring, and walked inside when he opened the flimsy wooden gate for her. The entire ring consisted of a wide almost circle made of a meager fence constructed with half-logs. On the far end stood two dummies and a weapon rack covered in blunted, sharpened, and wooden swords and knives. There had once been grass growing in the miniature arena, as evidenced by the few tiny blades that jutted up out of the dirt. Bright and defiant little survivors.

“Where’s Leliana? I thought you said you both decided to train me.”

“I did say that, but we also decided that I should be the one to carry out your training.”

Belle blanched when she saw him remove his mantle and drape it over the fence. Her whole body tensed, her hands closing into slack fists at her sides. He unbuckled the two straps on the front of his cuirass before reaching up and over his shoulder to undo the final buckle with his fingertips. So, that was how he did it by himself. He tugged the piece over his head and set it on one of the dummies.

“What are you doing?” asked Belle.

He did not look at her while he answered, choosing instead to focus his attention on the straps along the sides of his breast and backplates. “No one would be foolish enough to attack you in full armor. The imbecile would find themselves on the end of an Inquisition blade before they could get within arm’s reach.”

Belle kicked at the beleaguered dirt around her feet, muttering an “I guess so” while she watched him strip down to his off-white tunic. He set every piece of his armor on that dummy with a reverence he reserved for so few things. Bull once mentioned that Cullen had been a Templar since he was a boy. He’d probably been wearing one set of armor or another for most of his life. It had probably saved his life a time or two, as well.

Once he’d removed his gloves, Cullen picked up four knives from the weapon rack. Two were wooden, and two were sharp and steely. He held all four toward her. “Which would you prefer?”

“Neither, honestly. I’ve always been nervous around knives. I can never stop thinking I’ll accidentally cut myself and bleed to death or lop off a fucking finger.”

He smirked, handing her one of the wooden blades. “We shall try to remedy that today, then.” Instead of walking back to the rack to put the sharpened knives away or tossing them into the dirt to be returned later, he turned back toward the unarmored dummy. Holding the blade of one of the knives between the pad of his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger, he swung his arm back and hurled the thing into the dummy’s head. The second blade flew just as true, landing with a thunk next to its brother.

“That was…impressive.” That was an understatement. Her heart was pounding hot blood through her ears.

“Perhaps you can learn to do it with some training.” Cullen faced her again, squaring his stance and gripping the hilt of his wooden knife so the blade pointed down.

“Ha! That’s a fucking laugh. I can’t even throw a baseb—”

Belle’s words were cut off by the sudden force of Cullen’s body. She hadn’t realized he was coming at her until his chest was pressed against hers and her back bowed over the roughhewn fence. The smooth wood of his practice blade ghosted across the skin of her neck, and his amber eyes bore down into her. She trembled and panted, stuck, confused, and electrified. He smelled of spiced herbs and soft powder.

“Where would you put your knife if someone attacked you like this?” His voice was a quiet rumble. That was all it needed to be, as close as his face was to hers.

“I—Um—I’ve heard between the third and fourth rib, then push up.” She had to clench her jaw to keep her lower lip from quivering.

“That’s right. Do you know how to find that without looking?”

Belle couldn’t tell if she shook her head or just shook. Cullen reached between them and grabbed her free hand with his. His thumb rasped along her palm as he pulled her hand up and pushed her fingers into a spot on the lower part of his chest. Under the lambswool of his tunic, he was firm and unyielding. She felt the hard planes and gentle curves of muscle, and the supple give of his flesh when he pressed her fingers in further. Again she was forced to swallow down a thick lump in her throat.

“Do you feel that?”

She trembled harder. “Uh huh.”

“Put the end of your blade there and thrust up, and you’ll pierce the heart.” His breath was warm and slipped over her lips before crawling down across her throat and over her earlobes. “Go on.” He let go of her hand.

Belle brought up the tip of her wooden blade in her shaky hand, and put it where her fingers had been. She angled it up, but thrust it no further. “Like this?” She could hear how hard she trembled in the noisy breaths that left her lips.

“Yes. Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.” Cullen’s gaze softened, and a whisper of a smile passed over his lips. His scar moved in smooth unison.

“I’m not afraid.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m not afraid,” she said again. It was not fear that made her body quiver against him.

“Good.”

She stared up at him, their bodies frozen in a choreographed dance of death. His nearness, his scent, the honey in his eyes, the silken and shiny and pink skin of his scar, the sensation of his breath against her lips, the weight of him bending her to his will. Rationality began to flee her mind in an exodus, a conflagration. She wouldn’t hate it if he kissed her. She wanted him to.

“Cullen!” Max’s voice came in a shout from halfway across the courtyard, startling Cullen away from Belle like a little boy who’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Inquisitor?”

“You have to teach me to swordfight,” said Max. It was more growled than said, really.

“Why?” Cullen’s tone was tinged with a kind of irritated confusion he’d mastered over years of command.

“I have to duel against Josephine’s fiancé in Val Royeaux next week when we’re on our way to the Western Approach, and I have not held a sword since I was a child.”

“Fiancé?” Belle asked. “Josie has a fiancé?”

“I do not want to discuss it anymore right now,” Max said as he pulled a blunted sword from the rack. “If you wish to know more, I suggest you speak to the Lady Ambassador.” He was fuming.

“Okay, I will.”

Belle dashed out of the sparring ring, away from Max and away from Cullen. Cullen, who confused and bewildered her. Fresh, cool air cleared the fog of him from her mind as she ascended the stairs into the main hall.

Josephine stood hunched over the front of her desk with her head down, her hands balled into fists over a small mountain of paperwork.

“Josie, are you okay?” Belle asked.

“I am alright, Belle. Thank you for asking. Although, I would prefer not to discuss the engagement my family has arranged. I am certain you’ve just seen Maxim seething about it.” Josephine was the only person who called him Maxim—the only person he would allow to call him Maxim.

Belle approached and put a hand on Josie’s back. She rubbed shapeless patterns into the ambassador’s ruffly silk dress. “I’m sure it will work out okay, Josie. If it’s meant to be, it will be.”

Josie hummed in reply. Just as a comfortable silence had settled between them, she said, “Vámonos lejos, vámonos lejos. Donde nadie me prohíba tu amor.”

Belle froze. Her hand stilled on Josephine’s back. “Where did you hear that?”

“Commander Cullen,” said Josephine. “He told me he read it in a book and asked me to translate it for him, though I’ve yet to find this book myself. In fact, I have never heard the poem before he asked me to translate it.”

“Let’s go far away, let’s go far away. Where no one keeps me from your love.” Belle almost whispered it.

“Why did you not tell me you spoke Antivan?” Josephine sounded a bit excited.

“I thought Antivan was only Italian. Italian where I come from, anyway. That’s the only Antivan I’ve ever heard you speaking. I speak enough Spanish—um—enough of the other dialect to understand, but not to negotiate.”

“Still, that could prove quite useful should Leliana ever need your ears. Incidentally, have you heard that poem before?” Josie had perked up. Belle, however, felt like someone had come to steal away all the breath from her lungs.

“It’s not a poem,” she said. “It’s a song.”

*****

#cullen #cullen rutherford #commander cullen #cullen x belle #belle dolan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #fanfic #mgit #modern girl in thedas #self indulgence au #htwwain

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rantsaboutponies · 7 years

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Equestria Girls: Legend of Everfree

Can they please stop making these? I don’t budget my time well, it’s 2:30 in the morning, I want to go to bed. Just remember, I’m doing this for YOU guys. For YOU guys.

For the record, I wait until the last minute to write these reviews because they usually take almost three times the length of the movie to write. It’s also why I can’t watch them on TV; I have to pause constantly.

First of all, I didn’t hear jack shit about this movie. I think the viewership for each one really is dwindling. I barely even saw any porn of it! That is surprising!

Second of all, was this one ever available on Netflix? I swear I streamed the third one there, but now it doesn’t even have a listing (nor does the fourth one). Hopefully the version I got is the uncut version (it’s not a TV rip, and the runtime does match), but if I left anything out, be sure to tell me. Oh, and I’ve given up on that list of “things that all these movies do that directly contradict the fact that this universe intersects with the pony universe” that I tried to carry over into the second movie’s review, so keep that in mind.

Oh, and can anyone let me know if they see a trailer for My Little Pony: The Movie in the theater? It comes out in four months, and I’ve been at almost all of the kids’ movies this year (yes, even Rock Dog, which actually wasn’t half-bad, and The Boss Baby, which was not as bad as the trailers made it look but was still the worst of the kids’ movies I’ve seen this year [which isn’t actually surprising, since there have only been three]; I’m still not seeing Smurfs, though, and I’m sure as fuck not seeing Spark: A Space Tail), and I’ve seen nothing about it. I’ll make a separate post about that closer to October.

All right, the review proper starts...NOW!

I said it before, and I’ll say it again: DO THESE HIGH-SCHOOLERS HAVE PARENTS?! SERIOUSLY, WHERE ARE THEY?

Thirty seconds. Thirty FUCKING seconds. That’s how long it was before Pinkie Pie made me want to strangle her. Literally. Thirty seconds. Her first line. Fantastic impression you’re making on me, movie.

All right, Rainbow Dash throwing a picture of herself into the suitcase is certainly part of the annoying one-dimensional writing that she (and really, all of the characters) has had in these movies, but...I’m sorry, I still laughed. Forgive me.

Wow, the...uh...plot just started right away, didn’t it? I’m so confused. I sure hope this is a dream sequence because otherwise this is really stupid. Oh, okay, it was. Never mind.

Ah, the indie rock craze has finally hit Human Equestria. You guys are, like, five years behind on that, you know. I gotta be honest, though, I kinda like this theme song. I feel like it would sound better with different singers, but I’m digging this so far. Maybe this movie won’t be so bad? Ah heh heh heh...

I briefly forgot that Human!Twilight’s Spike was magically given the ability to talk at the end of EQG3, so I was thrown off there for a second. I just realized, though, that that means that they don’t ever have to have any connection to Pony!Equestria ever again. Smart idea, but Pinkie’s summary of the previous three movies immediately afterwards negates what you were going for there (especially since none of that has anything to do with the plot of this movie directly).

“You’ll get used to it.” Yeah, you’d better get used to your “friends” talking shit about you to your face. The second movie was full of that. *sigh*

Oh, goody, Professor Umbridge is the camp director. Please tell me she gets dragged off by centaurs at the end of this movie, too.

“Stay away from the rock quarry. That’s off-limits. Unless, of course, you’re a main character, in which case the plot will facilitate that you go there at some point during this movie, probably somewhere near the end. Just a heads-up.” (Also, “rock quarry” is redundant, dumbasses.)

Actually, the word “sapphire”’s link to the Latin “sapphir” (or “sappir” or “sapphīrus”) links to the Ancient Greek “sáppheiros”, meaning “precious stone” or “gem”, which probably linked to a Semitic source (similar to Hebrew’s “sappī́r”, referring to lapis lazuli), but may be related to a non-Semitic source such as the Sanskrit “śanipriya”, meaning “dark-colored stone” or, literally, “dear to Saturn”. And, as an interesting sidenote, the Ancient Greeks didn’t even have a word for “blue”. Also, rubies are not just sapphires “with chromium”; rubies are corundum with chromium. Sapphires contain other impurities like titanium, iron, or magnesium (which give them any of a number of non-red colors) that rubies may not contain at all; since chromium is what colors them red, chromium is the only impurity required to make a ruby. So, in other words, shut your fucking face, you smug dipshit.

By GOD, I hope Gloriosa is the villain because I really hate her.

See, even though Filthy Rich is, well, filthy rich and could very easily be an upper-class dickhead, the show never made him one. He’s clearly not aware what an utter bitch his daughter is, since he punished her for it the one time he found out, but he has always been depicted as someone who cares about his community and acts kindly towards the other ponies in the town without being condescending or displaying any obvious class distinction. It is something notably unique about the show and is something I’ve actually admired amidst its recent waning quality.

The people writing this movie apparently didn’t know that and just went, “His name is Filthy Rich? He must be the VILLAIN!” Goddamnit, you fucking worthless TV movies.

Oh, man, oh, man, please tell me that Princess Celestia is holding a flute there in the background because she’s telling a “This one time, at band camp” story. I’ve already made that joke at least five times in my head by now, so please tell me I’m justified.

Holy shit, look at that setup! These girls get massive tents with only two people in each and with FULL-SIZE BEDS! So much for “roughing it”! How big is this camp again? This must take up a ludicrous amount of space.

Please tell me they’re not going to do Sunset Shimmer’s storyline again with Twilight. Come on.

No, Sunset, if there’s anyone you should be nervous around, it’s Pinkie Pie.

Okay, Fluttershy’s line about “birds that land on your finger” WAS funny until you felt the need to explain the joke with Rainbow Dash’s “I think that only happens to you.” Rule #1 of comedy: Don’t! Explain! The joke!

Does Vinyl Scratch have an amazing wireless connection, or do her headphones themselves contain an MP3 player? I don’t see those working any other way.

Can I punch Timber in the face yet?

How the hell would you make that dock into a catwalk? The only way that would work would be if either the models entered from or the audience were seated in the water. Otherwise, the models will be walking away from the audience and not easily visible for the majority of their time on the runway. You’ve gotta think about logistics, Rarity!

PUNCH.

Hmm...Gaia Everfree’s story is kind of weak. And arbitrary. “YOU CAN’T STAY!” “Oh, please let us stay!” “WELL...OKAY. BUT YOU’LL HAVE TO LEAVE! EVENTUALLY! AT SOME POINT IN THE FUTURE!”

25 minutes in is a little late for your first song, guys. I was starting to think this wasn’t going to be a musical.

Oh, thank GOD, Timber is a villain, too. That means we’ll get to WATCH HIM DIE. ... Okay, fine, wishful thinking. Hell, being the villain in these movies (or on the show) pretty much guarantees that you’ll get even more screentime in later installments. (Also, he apparently can’t hear anything that’s right next to him as long as he’s offscreen. Right.)

Of course, the scene in the cafeteria reminded me of this.

And in the next scene, it’s impossible not to think of this.

So... Rarity’s just...useless. That’s been established, right?

Goddamnit, Pinkie, stop being a menace! You almost killed all of your friends! Again!

Hmm...this song sounds like a really lame, low-rent version of this.

Wha? You mean the obvious villain is obviously a villain? NO. (Except I guess that means that Timber isn’t a villain as well. Damn.)

Boy, it’s really convenient that Gloriosa is having these extremely lengthy and detailed flashbacks while they all just stand there, totally unbothered by Sunset zoning out and holding onto her arm.

I do like that they made dummies of Twilight and Sunset just because they weren’t there for the dress rehearsal. How long do you think that took?

“I GOT THIS!” That’s got to be one of the weakest things I’ve ever heard that someone tried to turn into a catchphrase.

Well, looks like someone really liked Maleficent.

I gotta ask...has there ever been a good villain song in the MLP movies or the show?

“Oh, no! She’s forming a wall that clearly has an upper bound! If only we had some sort of appendages that we could use to project our bodies upward! No, I think we had better wait until the vines completely form a dome over us. Surely that will work.”

I think the writers are trapped in this paradox of knowing that they have an actual interesting character in Sunset Shimmer but being forced to focus all their efforts on the Mane Six because they’re the main characters, despite having no personalities to speak of.

“What are these?” “I’m not sure! But clearly they will be in stores alongside the release of this movie!”

Ah, so you got out of the logistical failure of trying to figure out how the dock could act as a runway by canceling the fashion show altogether! Wow.

Okay, this song is definitely one of the better ones in this movie series, but holy crap, get some stronger singers. I mean, all right, I know you can’t, but...can’t you, like, release an official cover of this song recorded by an actual singer, like Disney does with their animated musicals?

I do always love the moronic cliché of the villain showing up at the ending celebration for no logical reason other than to scowl at the protagonists and storm off angrily.

You know, there are only so many features and accessories and superpowers you can add to these characters before you start running out of places to put them.

*GASP* OH MY GOD THAT ENDING CLIFFHANGER MEANT NOTHING! Seriously, fuck off with that shit.

And of course, the stinger has to show that Pinkie Pie always ruins everything. ALWAYS. ALWAYS.

All right, so in conclusion...these movies are all the same. I mean, I think we kind of established that already, but man...

Can we just give Sunset Shimmer her own movie? One where she just fucks off by herself and finds better friends with actual personalities and they all do something interesting? Can that be the next theatrical movie? Please?

#my little pony equestria girls legend of everfree #my little pony equestria girls #equestria girls legend of everfree #my little pony #mlp #equestria girls #legend of everfree #mlp spoilers #spoilers #equestria girls 4 #eqg #eqg4

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trickstersantana · 7 years

Text

Para: You're so vile, in denial, and I know just what to do

Who: Santana, Puck,Quinn, Spencer (and whoever wanted to be on the fight and came to see it, even if they weren’t at the chatzy they can say they were watching!!) Location: Undique Stadium Time: 11th January 2017 (after classes and before MM) Summary: The New Age Slayer and the Trickster finally fight one on one. Triggers/Notes: Violence, snake mentions

Santana arrived at Undique as she said she would. All prepared for the most important battle of this month. Beating the others was cool, but the idea of humilliating Puck was priceless. She really hoped she success on this, of course. Backpack ready, cookies ready. She entered to see if the slayer was already there.

Puck walked into the stadium at the stated hour, a can of soda in one hand, his Grimoire on the other. He smirked as he saw the trickster and walked up to her. Puck wasn't nervous at all; this was supposed to be a piece of cake for him. Still, he knew if he let the trickster win over him, his rep would definitely suffer a big blow. Yet, that only made him want to win this even more. His stance oozed confidence as he towered in front of her; "Santana," he greeted. "Always a pleasure to see you..." he said, irony dripping from his tone

Santana was surprised he called her by her name, but she wasn't going to show it. "Noah" she returned. His name was Noah rigth? She should had called him by the wrong name god damn it. Wasted opportunity. She smiled though inside she was thinking Well that's it I already showed him I know his name this is basically a lost battle . Thank God she was good at pretending to be in control. She cracked her knuckles. "Always a pleasure to see me. I agree." She just answered looking directly to his eyes. She won every battle, this one was just one more for the list. "Are you ready to be a complete and crushing dissapointed to everyone when you lose?"

Puck glared at her. "It's Puck," he corrected with a stern voice. He didn't know where she found out that name, but he didn't like it. However, he snorted sarcastically with her words. "That's funny, 'cause I was about to ask you the same thing." He put his soda can in the ground and put his grimoire on his pocket, then cracked his knuckles and his neck. "Let's get it over with. I don't have much time, I got homework to get back to."

Santana smiled, this time for real. Ok chill Santana, he was bothered by it, in the end it was a good move, you got this. Success. She was about to reply 'jokes on you I can't dissapoint anyone because they have 0 expectations on me' but she wasn't that big of an idiot and just keep her mouth shout and smiled more. "Then let's begin"

Santana rolled a die. The die showed: 1

Puck rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 1

Santana started with a simple blue fire illusion around Puck. God Damn it stupid trickster you are ALREADY FUCKING IT UP WHY DIDN'T YOU THINK SOMETHING BETTER. Outside she was smiling like she was in control, but she was screaming inside, and she would be like that the whole battle probably.

Puck positioned himself in the arena, feet set on the ground and rubbed his hands, his magic circle glowing. He would start with something simple, just a few fire bullets that aimed at the trickster and make her move a little; he didn't want her to think this was gonna be easy on her. "Bullet shower!" he said in Hebrew, and the bullets were fired towards the trickster.

Santana dodged the bullets. Guns and fire weapons was somehow slightly familiar. She keep her illusion going.

Santana rolled a die. The die showed: 5

Puck was reached by Santana's blue fire in the shoulder, making him wince and curl his hands into fists. She had already done all the damage he was gonna let her do. "Aw, dammit, you ruined my shirt," he growled. "You're gonna pay for that."

Puck rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 4

Santana smiled. OHMYFUCKINGGODICANTBELIEVEITWORKED. She keep moving just in case and was kind of annoyed at Puck probably making fun of her fake fire illusion not being able to burn shirts for real. But it as ok she always coult burn shirts with a lighter. She added to her fire illusion fire spears coming from the ground to go against Puck.

Puck the spears got his leg, making him even more mad than before. His fire bullets had not worked, so he decided to go a bit bigger. "Circle of fire" he shouted out as he tried to trap Santana in a ring of his element

Santana rolled a die. The die showed: 2

Puck rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 3

Santana make a quick smoke illusion in front of Puck eyes to make him harder to look where she was and quickly run away from the REAL FIRE.

Santana rolled a die. The die showed: 1

Puck rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 2

Puck was hit in the face by Santana's illusion and had to move. His vision got blurry with his own tears. He tried his enchantment again as he saw her through the smoke moving away

Santana rolled a die. The die showed: 5

Puck rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 7

Santana vanished her current illusions to make it look like the ground around Puck was cracking and about to break.

Santana rolled a die. The die showed: 4

Puck rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 4

Puck watched the blue fire disappear and felt like the earth benath him was shaking, but knew he was not in danger yet. With glossy eyes still, he aimed at her general direction. "Fire canon ball!" he called out as it formed before his hand, his magic circle glowing and turning around his wrist

Santana tried to dodge the next fire ball but it hit her shoulder. WELL THAT'S IT I'M GOING TO DIE NOW . She though while keeping running circling Puck and making some illusory explosions around him.

Santana rolled a die. The die showed: 2

Puck rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 5

Puck lost his balance due to the earth shaking, falling to the side. However, he rolled on the ground and, in the motion, took out his shoe, transforming it into a bow in his hand and aimed at her leg as he used his magic to create an arrow, "Fire arrow, aim to hurt!"

Puck rolled a die. The die showed: 1

Santana rolled a die. The die showed: 1

Santana fucKING HATED ARROWS SO MUCH. SPECIALLY IF THEY WERE MADE OF FIRE. It hit her leg and fucking shit it this sucked so much. She made anothe smoke illusion around Puck because if she couldn't dodge faster is what best to make him aim worse.

Puck was hit by that damn smoke in the face again, blurring his vision and making him cough. "Fire arrow!" he tried again, but couldn't see anything as he fired.

Puck rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 3

Santana rolled a die. The die showed: 1

Santana rolled a die. The die showed: 4

Puck rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 1

Santana didn't get hit by the arrow, but the fire did almost burn part of her t-shirt. God damn it she loved fire but not when it was burning her. She made the smoke around Puck bigger and created a little illusory thunder storm, with annoying flashy lights and noise. If it worked on Madison it could work on Puck

Puck was unable to see anything as everything around him went black, except for the effect of the thunderstorm Santana added with so much precision it took him back to that FS when they were on the clouds. Puck couldn't do nothing but fire aimlessly. "Fire of the great, protect me!" he said as he pressed his hand to the ground, some threads of fire spreading in every direction.

Puck rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 3

Santana rolled a die. The die showed: 2

Santana rolled a die. The die showed: 3

Puck rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 6

Santana didn't had to dodge much because Puck was aiming at random. She started to laugh until a fireball hitted her. "Fuck" she whispered.

Santana rolled a die. The die showed: 1

Puck rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 3

Quinn is certainly not in the stands somewhere silently rooting for Puck,

Puck could hear Santana laughing through the storm, which only made him more mad that he already was. He could break all of her illusions with something he had bought in the black market, but dind't want to blow up the Undique Stadium and have to pay for it. Instead, he turned to the all watching eye that was always following him and had become more amicable with time. "I need a location," he told it, and the eye pointed to the trickster with discretion. "Thanks," he said with a simple smirk as he sent another fireball Santana's way. "Fire, stop her!"

Santana rolled a die. The die showed: 2

Puck rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 1

Santana got hit again and just made her thunder illusion around Puck way louder and flashy and more and more annoying.

Puck was unable to hear anything from the thunder Santana had created. One of the lightnings hit him on the back and made him fall on all fours. (OOC MENTION OF SNAKES?? IDK) "Snakes of fire, find my enemy!" he called out as he created fire reptiles to go after Santana for him.

Santana rolled a die. The die showed: 4

Puck rolled a die with 7 sides. The die showed: 1

Santana freaked out a little about the fire snakes coming to her. HOW DID PUCK EVEN KNOW SHE WAS AFRAID OF THEM? She run as fast as she could to dodge them and just made more chaos and more noise around Puck in the heat of the moment.

Spencer was working out nearby, but decided to sit down and catch the duel between Santana and Puck. So far it proved to be interesting....He would make sure to congratulate the winner, and poke fun at the loser. He watched, while munching on some granola.

Puck shrinked as the storm grew, unable to see even his feet. Another lighting hit him, making him fall. "Alright!" He called out as he coughed from the ground. "Alright, I'm done!" he screamed in rage. "I can't fight like this, trickster! You win this time!"

Santana didn't hear what happened for a moment, and then she vanished the illusion just to see Puck. If this was a fake surrender trick she had totally fall for it. But she just looked at him. Surrendering. "Joder..." she keep looking at him, not really believing what happened. "Oh my, my" she started laughing THOUGH SHE STILL DIDN'T BELIEVE IT. "I hope you can send me a recorder of you surrendering from your little camera!" She just couldn't stop smiling SHE BEAT PUCK.

Puck stood up from the ground as soon as the illusion washed off, glaring at Santana as he walked up to her. "You can ask for it in the security office," he said. Then, he put a hand on the air for her to shake. "Good fight, Santana", he said through gritted teeth.

Santana looked at his hand, trying to be civil. For a little second she though of actually shaking it, but then she remembered she passed 4 hell days in her animal form for his fault so fuck him. She put her hands in her hips and just nodded and smiled at him. "I don't know if I call it good, honestly, Madison did it better" She just let him hanging and keep smiling at him

Puck let his hand fall and smirked. "You're lucky we're not in the real world, I wasn't really trying that hard," he shrugged. "Still, this isn't over." Puck looked back at her, his smile growing. "I want a rematch."

Santana giggled "Is that what you say everytime you lose?" Something inside her was saying 'Please stop don't mock him or he will get us again' but she didn't listen. "My my, and you expected to be the next leader of the Slayers for your 'skills'" She did the quotation marks and make it sound like a really ridiculous word. Santana pLEASE STOP YOU ARE GOING TO GET MURDERED SOMEDAY FOR DOIGN STUPID SHIT LIKE THIS. "If you really want to lost so miserably again, of course!" But first she had to go and heal herself cause she was really pretending nothing hurt but also NOTHING HURT SHE BEAT PUCK. "But now I must do more important things" She said with a smile while going away.She took a time for making a selfie of her and Puck in the background while she was at it.

Puck rolled his eyes at her and shrugged. "It's not like I can fight freely inside these walls, y'know," he pointed out, smile never leaving his lips even when he felt his blood boiling. She always knew what to say to get to his nerves. But the eye was watching. He needed to be civil. "Oh, sorry to see you're chickening out already, but, yeah; I got homework anyways," he said. As he saw her taking a selfie, he put bunny ears on her

#apuckcalypse #spencerportagram #wingedfabray #para: puck #chara: puck #para: spencer #para: quinn #chara: quinn #chara: spencer

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