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hutchhitched · 3 years

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The Marrow of the Story

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 17: Everlark enemies to lovers, a long-standing grudge (could be anything, even simple) but somehow it is discovered that Katniss is a bone marrow match for Peeta. If she doesn’t donate he will die. [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone]

Ratings/Warnings: E

A/N: I’m continuing to post the nine @everlarkficexchange prompts I took and then sat on throughout the early months of the pandemic and the world slowly ground to a halt. This is the eighth of the nine. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays. I wrote most of this a few months ago before getting stuck on some transitions. Since then, the teenage daughter of one of my closest friends has been diagnosed with B-Cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia and must undergo a bone marrow transplant this spring. As such, this story became much more personal than a prompt. I’m sure I’ve taken some liberties with the medical aspects and ethics of this story. They are intended for story-telling purposes only. K, I hope you enjoy my take on your prompt.

“Ms. Everdeen, I need your signature,” my administrative assistant says briskly as she enters my office.

“What’s this for?” I ask as I scribble my signature on the form.

She takes the manila folder and hands me another, indicating that I need to sign it, too. “Maintenance orders. The library and those lockers in the freshman wing that don’t lock properly.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

“Oh, and you have a call waiting on line three. I told him you were busy, but…” She shrugs as she walks out of the room, and I sigh and drop down in my desk chair. It’s been a really long day.

“Ms. Everdeen, Panem North. How can I help you?”

A rumbly, entirely masculine voice reverberates through the line, and I wrap the phone cord around my left index finger. Even before he’s spoken three words, I’m already impatient for the call to end.

“Ms. Everdeen. It’s Peeta Mellark. How are you today?”

I narrow my eyes and resist the urge to slam the phone down in the receiver. Mr. Mellark is not my favorite person. He’s the principal at Panem South, my high school’s cross-town rival, and he and I have always clashed. It might be his smug arrogance when he explains his educational philosophy, or it could be the way he surveys me and then turns away in dismissal every time I see him. Whatever it is, I’ve never been able to stand him, and it’s obvious he feels the same if our interactions at every systemwide meeting and educational conference is any indication. My greatest fantasy consists of him being fired in disgrace. A close second is his forced transfer to another school—any school, so long as it’s out of state and I never have to see him again.

“What do you want, Mellark?” I snap. I have so little patience today I’m afraid I might actually use profanity if he doesn’t hang up within ten seconds.

“Doing that well, huh? Always good to hear a friendly voice when I have to contact you.”

“I thought you were on medical leave,” I say with little compassion. It’s not my finest moment, I know that, but I really loathe this man.

“I am,” he admits. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I really need your help. I know we’re not exactly friends, but—”

“Friends?” I laugh. “Are you kidding me? I don’t even like you. There’s no way I’d be your friend. Not even if you were dying, and I had the cure.”

Silence stretches across the line, and I cover my face at what I’ve said. The words are rather unforgivable, and I open my mouth to apologize when he says something I don’t expect to hear.

“Well, I guess that answers my question. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“What question? You didn’t ask me anything,” I say, exasperated.

He sighs heavily, and I almost throw the phone across the room. “Katniss—sorry, Ms. Everdeen—I don’t really know how to tell you this, so I’ll just ask you to check your email. I think you’ll find something there from me. It’s from my personal account, so you might have to look in your spam folder. It’ll explain everything. Have a good day.”

And then he hangs up without even bothering to say goodbye. That complete and utter bastard hung up on me. I mean, I wanted him to leave me alone, but he could have at least had the courtesy to say goodbye before cutting off the conversation.

I know I’m being unreasonable, but I don’t have time to deal with it at the moment. The last bell of the day is about to ring, and I hurry from my office to oversee students loading onto buses and wandering the parking lot as cars zip in and out of traffic. It’s one of the most nerve-wracking parts of my days, and I’ve almost forgotten Mr. Mellark’s phone call by the time I make it back to my office. If I’m lucky, I can finish within the hour and get home before dark. I hate it when the sunlight hours are so short the day quits before I do.

I’m just about to shut down my computer when I remember the aggravating phone call. I consider forgetting about it and walking away, but something tells me to open my junk folder and see what that twit’s request is. And then I see it, and I want to throw up.

Dear Ms. Everdeen,

I know we aren’t exactly friends, but I’ve always admired your ferocity and willingness to give everything you have for your students. Compassion in education isn’t hard to find, but the way you fight for your school, faculty, staff, and students has been inspiring to watch over the past few years.

I mean that. It’s not a ploy to win you over, even though I have a gigantic favor to ask of you.

You might remember that I’ve been on medical leave several times over the past few years. It’s difficult doing my job when I’m ill, so I’ve tried to hide the significance of my condition. The truth is I have a rare bone marrow disease that, without a transplant, is terminal.

Since this is not official business, I’m writing from my personal email, but the favor I’m asking does require your professional approval. With the upcoming blood drive in our district, health clinics have volunteered to be on hand to administer tests for the bone marrow registry. That would streamline the process and allow potentially myself and countless others in need of a transplant a match from someone who might not otherwise volunteer to be tested.

Please consider allowing your school to be part of this. It might save a life.

With admiration, Peeta Mellark

****

Of course I end up giving approval. I’m not a monster, no matter what Mr. Mellark thinks. In good faith, I’m tested as well, and two weeks later, I get a phone call telling me I’m a match for someone in need. By a dramatic, ironic twist of fate, it’s Peeta Mellark who needs my marrow. Thankfully, I’m able to take some time to process, and it’s torture as I weigh the pros and cons.

A few days pass before I work up the courage to call him. I haven’t heard from him since the phone call letting me know about the email. I’m sure his health takes up much of his energy, but I’m oddly saddened by his absence. I’m also angry with him, but that’s not fair. It’s not his fault that the favor he asked of me will result in me giving up a part of my body and DNA.

“Hello?”

“So, what is it you have exactly?” I ask and wince at how detached and unfeeling I sound. I’m anything but that. My squeezing heart is more than enough evidence to prove otherwise. Still, I’m barely holding it together. I can’t let go of the control or I might collapse, and then what?

“Ms. Everdeen?”

“Katniss. If you can ask me to consider donating bone marrow, then you can call me by my first name.”

“Okay, Katniss.” There’s a long pause before he continues. He’s tentative when he finally says, “So, you decided to participate on top of allowing the clinic access to your school?”

“I did, and I’ll repeat. What is it you have exactly?”

The words sound just as cold the second time, and I hold my breath until he finally answers.

“I have something called aplastic anemia. I’ve had it since college. Been treating it with blood transfusions for the past decade or so,” he explains with no trace of self-pity or false bravado. His tone is pragmatic, which is almost heart-breaking considering what he’s facing. “There aren’t too many of us with AB- blood in the world, so, I don’t know. When I saw the option of getting more involvement, I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask for help. Directly, I mean. Instead of waiting for the system to work. The worst you could say was no, right?”

“I’ve already said no to you several times,” I remind him, and he chuckles in response.

“Yeah. You’ve fought me on every philosophical disagreement we’ve ever had.”

“That’s because you have really stupid ideas about what works sometimes.”

His chuckle morphs into a full-fledged laugh, and it makes my lips twitch. “You reject me with aplomb, too. Thanks for not holding back.”

A grin quirks at the corner of my mouth. He’s funny, I realize. I guess I probably could have figured that out earlier if I’d ever bothered to listen to his words instead of merely hating him.

“Well, you know. I’m not very good at making friends.”

The words catch in my throat as I say them. It’s a true statement, but I hadn’t comprehended how much it bothered me until I heard them out loud. I don’t sound matter-of-fact like he does. Loneliness and sadness echo in my voice. I could take some lessons on self-pity from Peeta Mellark, apparently.

“I’d like to be your friend,” he says softly.

I blink away tears because my insides have melted into a very unprofessional puddle of goo. It’s a good thing we’re not interacting about anything regarding our jobs.

“You just want my bone marrow,” I mumble, and my heart jumps at his soft chuckle.

“Your bone marrow?”

I inhale shakily and bite my lip. Finally, when I’ve regained a semblance of control, I answer in a quiet admission, “I’m a match.”

“You’re my match?” His disbelief echoes across the line, and it breaks my heart to hear the trepidatious undercurrent in his tone.

“I am.”

“Oh…”

“So, you want my bone marrow.”

Silence stretches between us, and I hear rustling before he responds carefully. “I’ll start with that. We can talk about what else I’d like to have later.”

His voice is warm and soothing, and I feel myself softening. I’ve known that I’m going to be his donor since I knew he needed me, but it feels more personal now. More like he’s my responsibility, my ally, and not my enemy.

“Okay.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he asks tentatively, “Okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it.”

There’s almost no sound from his end of the line, just his breath in my ear. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking or feeling. It must be a massive amount of relief mixed with a hundred other emotions. Like me, I’m sure he hates asking for help, and to have to request it from me must have been terrible for him. I don’t want him to feel beholden. He doesn’t deserve to have to be grateful for the rest of his life just because he needs something I can willingly give.

“Thank you,” he finally says, and the simplicity of it takes my breath away.

I wonder exactly what it is he’s thanking me for—his life? For being willing to grant him a favor? For not being a complete bitch to him like I have been for the past three years? It’s the least I can do for someone who’s dying. I can’t be responsible for hitting him when he’s down.

“Sure. Yeah, let me know the specifics. Or the hospital can or whatever. I’ll talk to you later.”

I end the call before he can answer, or maybe he does and I just don’t hear it. I can’t bear to listen to his voice anymore. I don’t know how much I’m going to have to actually see him to complete this process, but I’m suddenly nervous. He’s melted me with just an email and a few phone conversations. If I’m in the same room with him, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep up the façade of hating him, and I need to. I can’t afford to care about him.

The next few weeks pass in a flurry of meetings with medical professionals and preparing for the surgery. I don’t see Peeta, and he doesn’t contact me. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll change my mind, or maybe he doesn’t have any interest in actually being my friend, after all. I don’t allow myself to think about why that disappoints me. Instead, I tell myself that he’s likely dealing with his own illness and concentrating on getting as healthy as possible so he can recover quicker following the procedure. Maybe I’m just making excuses for him, but I remind myself that making a friend isn’t why I’m doing this. He doesn’t owe me anything.

Suddenly, it’s the day of the surgery, and I’m terrified. I haven’t ever been on anesthesia before, barely been sick, and never had an IV. Now, I’m about to go under the knife for my mortal enemy. Okay, that’s overdramatic and hyperbolic, but I’m allowed that on the morning of a procedure that will result in me being cut open and part of my hip scraped away. I comfort myself by imagining the simple pleasures I’ll indulge in afterward—an overly sugared hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, some of those cheese buns I never allow myself to buy, highlights from a hairdresser instead of a box. Surely, I deserve those after opening myself up to…

I shut down that mode of thinking and concentrate on getting to the hospital. As nervous as I am, I manage to stop thinking and let the medical professionals do their jobs. Before I can worry about anything else, I’m on a bed and being wheeled to surgery. When I count backwards, all I see are Peeta Mellark’s deep blue eyes shining at me.

****

I blink awake to a concerned gaze. My sister’s next to my bed when I wake up and greets me with a smile.

“Hello, sleepyhead. Welcome back to the world.”

“Little Duck,” I slur with a lazy smile. “Hiiiii!”

“How do you feel?”

“Very fuzzy,” I admit after a sporadic inventory of myself. “And my ass hurts.”

“I hear that happens when somebody cuts you open. I could be wrong.”

My bubble of laughter is almost giddy, clearly an aftereffect of the anesthesia, but I still manage to ask the really important question. “When can I go home?”

“A few hours, I think. Outpatient surgery, for the win!”

“I’m already thinking about how long I have to sponge bathe instead of showering. An incision on my rear end is a new one for me.”

“I bet the guy you’re giving your marrow to would be happy to help you. He must be pretty grateful,” Prim said slyly, and I roll my eyes.

“I’m guessing he’s more concerned about not dying, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I looked him up, you know. He’s very pretty.”

“He’s also an arrogant ass.”

“Speaking of arrogant asses…”

“Hey! I thought I’d gotten past being maligned by the Everdeen girls.” Gale Hawthorne’s deep bass booms from the hospital room door. “Hey, Catnip.”

“Gale! ’S so good to see you.”

“Well, Prim called. I thought maybe I should cut my business trip short and pay you a visit.”

I reach for him, and he crosses to me quickly. His hand wraps around mine, and the warmth grounds me. It’s been way too long since I’ve seen my childhood best friend, and his familiarity makes me feel like I might be able to handle anything. They both keep me occupied until I’m released and then help me get settled at home. Gale and I sit on the couch and catch up while Prim makes a run for takeout.

“I couldn’t believe it when Prim called to tell me you were doing this,” he says. “Especially not for the guy you’ve been bitching to me about for the past few years.”

“I haven’t been—”

“I’m going to stop you right there. You have, and we both know nobody takes up that much space in your brain unless there’s something there.”

“There’s nothing between us,” I insist and grunt when he nudges my shoulder.

“Then maybe you should figure out if there could be. I mean, you have a vested interest in the man. You have a lot in common professionally. He’s going to live a long life because of you. Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you were part of it.”

“He’s in a bubble for a few months. Recovery. No germs. All that.” I’m making excuses, and he knows it. He looks at me with pity, and I want to smack him.

“Katniss, give the guy a chance. From what you’ve told me, he’s into you. On top of the fact that he made arrangements for that massive bouquet of lilies and wildflowers over there.” He motions to the vase we brought home from the hospital. The note provides thanks for saving his life and an apology for flowers being inadequate as repayment.

“He’s not—”

“Give him a chance.”

Gale’s words wash over me, and it’s like all the painful moments and deep bouts of loneliness resurface at once. No matter what’s happened between Peeta and me, I have a connection to him now that’s deeper than our usual snipping and snark. Being forced to think about him as someone with real hopes and dreams and challenges has softened me to him, but I barely know him. Why does everyone assume he wants anything more than he’s already received?

Prim returns with food, and I’m grateful for the distraction. I promise Gale I’ll think about what he’s said as I recover, but that’s only to get him off my back. Yet, as the days pass, I can’t get Peeta Mellark out of my head. Now that I’ve saved his life, he’s got a hold on me.

****

I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I expect anything from him. I’m just stopping by to see how he is, and that’s it. No expectations, no nothing. Just an attempt to make sure he’s feeling better after the transplant. I shouldn’t even be able to see him, but I called the hospital, explained the situation, and found out I’ve been approved for visiting for the past couple of weeks. Peeta must have added me to his approved list, which makes me remarkably happy. It’s been a month since the bone marrow transplant, and Peeta’s body seems to be accepting it with no problem.

Besides, no one can fault me for checking in on a sick colleague. It’s practically expected as part of my job. Except, that’s a lie. I’m not checking on anyone else who calls into work sick, but, then again, no one else called in because they had a disease that resulted in some of my own body inserted into them.

Which sounds dirty and definitely not what I should be thinking as I knock on his hospital door and peer into the room.

“Katniss!” he says as his beautiful blue eyes light up. “Please, come in.”

“I, uh… I just thought I’d check on you. Make sure my bone marrow is behaving. Not giving you any trouble.”

Oh, hell. I sound like an idiot.

“Doing beautifully. It’s almost like it knows it’ll be in trouble if it acts up. Must be the principal coming out in us.”

“Behavior issues are the least favorite part of my job.”

“Same,” he chuckles and waves me to the chair. “Sit, if you have a minute. I’d like to thank you—”

“No,” I insist. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

“Katniss, you saved my life,” he sighs. “The least you can do is let me thank you properly. Let me take you dinner sometime or something. In fact, yes. I need to do that. No expectations, no nothing. Just dinner.”

I feel an uncomfortable pang in my stomach as I hear my own thoughts repeated back to me. It’s almost like he can see inside my brain, and that’s terrifying.

“Fine,” I concede. “Dinner, but not until you’re completely recovered. I don’t want to be cause for a setback.”

“I can handle that,” he agrees and then gives me a soft, beautiful smile so incredibly shy that it feels like he’s only ever shown it to me.

I don’t even want to think about why I’m floating as I leave the hospital.

****

It’s another few months before Peeta finally insists he’s well enough and calls and invites me to the dinner I agreed to when he was in the hospital. His recovery has been rapid, and I hear through the grapevine he’s back at work and seemingly cured. I don’t know enough about his disease to know if he’s healing faster than normal or not, but I breathe easier when I hear the news. That is, until the phone rings.

“Katniss Everdeen. My savior,” he says when I answer.

“Oh, please don’t,” I gulp. “I’m no savior.”

He chuckles at my discomfort but it’s clear it’s not with any sort of malice. “Sorry. That might have been hyperbole.”

“You think?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I would like to see when you’re free for dinner. You’ve put me off long enough. I demand satisfaction. I mean, my belly does. In other words, I need food, and now that I feel well enough to consume copious amounts of it, I’d really love some company as I do that. Who better than the woman who made it happen?”

He’s so charming it makes my toes curl, which is not at all what I want. Because how am I supposed to resist that adorable smirk I know is plastered across his face when he’s sitting across the table from me and plying me with delicious food? He’s supposed to be my nemesis, and I’m not strong enough to deny him when he’s not only good and kind but also a survivor of a rare disease. I mean, that’s not even playing fair.

“You don’t have to buy me dinner,” I start, but he interrupts before I can get any farther.

“If I remember correctly, you agreed to this back in the hospital, and I know you always keep your word. I wore you down, and you said you’d go with me. Don’t go backing out on me now,” he chides. His tone remains light-hearted as he speaks, but I detect a hint of hurt below the surface. My willingness to concur seems important to him. Why, I’m not sure, but the last thing I want to do is break the fragile truce that had somehow emerged between us.

“I’ve got some back to school things coming up, so my nights are pretty full,” I protest feebly, but he just waits patiently until I relent. “Fine. Next Thursday. Does that work?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t you have meetings, too? You haven’t resigned, and I haven’t heard about it, have you?”

“No, nothing like that,” he laughs. “I’ve just been given stringent orders from Superintendent Crane to take it easy. My assistant principal is covering anything at night until October.”

“Lucky you.”

“I have a good staff,” he deflects. “Next Thursday. I’ll pick you up.”

“No! I can meet—”

But he’s already disconnected the call. I don’t even bother to wonder how he’ll figure out my address. I don’t put anything past him anymore. Other than the life-threatening illness, he seems to have beaten, Peeta Mellark has the best luck of anyone I’ve ever known.

****

“And then I lowered my hand and answered him in the most serious tone possible. I could hardly keep a straight face because I had fake buck teeth in. The poor kid looked at me like I was insane, but he didn’t ever wear the vampire teeth in class again.”

I can’t help myself as I giggle at Peeta’s story. I never giggle. It isn’t like me at all, but Peeta’s so funny and disarming over dinner, regaling me with story after story of strange behavior modifications he’d tried when he was an assistant principal and mostly in charge of discipline issues.

“I’ve gotta admit,” he says ruefully, “I don’t really miss that part of the job now that I’m head principal.”

“No, I can imagine you wouldn’t,” I agree with a smile.

Lifting my wine glass, I look at him over the rim and take a sip of the pinot. I dreaded this dinner all week, but it’s been the highlight of a pretty rough few days. I certainly wasn’t expecting to enjoy his company so much, not even after getting to know him a little bit better during his recovery. I thought his charm might wear off at some point, but he just gets more and more disarming the longer we talk. If I didn’t know better, I might think I actually like him, but that’s ridiculous. I’m just glad to have company over dinner. That’s all this is.

My cheeks flush when Peeta grins at me and sits back in his chair. He’s kept up a steady stream of witty repartee throughout the evening, but now he merely surveys me as the soft sounds of the dining room echo around us. It’s almost intimate.

“I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying this,” he finally says. “And how grateful I am for what you did for me. I know it wasn’t an easy choice, but you… You’re an amazing woman, Katniss Everdeen. I’m in your debt forever.”

I don’t know how to answer him because I can tell he’s completely sincere. He’s not gushing or trying to butter me up. He’s genuine in his words and actions, and I’m stuck feeling guilty for treating him so poorly before his illness threw us together.

“You really don’t have to thank me anymore,” I insist. “It’s not necessary at all. I mean, what kind of an asshole would I be if I hadn’t agreed to help you? Besides, you’re a fellow principal. Administrators unite and all that.”

“Stop deflecting,” he said. “You did something really great, and it’s okay for you to take credit for it.”

Flustered, I fiddle with my napkin because I don’t want to say something stupid. He has a way of making me tongue-tied that I haven’t felt since I was a teenager. “Thanks,” I manage to mumble.

“Thank you.”

I hesitate but finally manage to choke, “You’re welcome.”

“I’d like to do this again. If you’re willing.”

His voice feels like a caress, and I lift my eyes to look at him. He’s studying me, unsmiling but not frowning, and I’m struck by how handsome he is in the dimmed light. He reaches across the table and holds his hand out to me. I stare at it for several seconds before I’m willing to reach out and accept it. He gives it a squeeze.

“How about next week? Is that too soon?”

“I— I need to check my calendar.”

“I already did. No school activities.”

“Are you—”

“I’m sure,” he insists. “Please.”

I don’t have a good excuse for saying no, so I agree. I’m still in a daze when he pulls the car to a stop in front of my house and gets out to walk me to the door. He leans in to kiss my check, but I turn my head at just the wrong time. His lips hover millimeters from my skin, and I struggle to breathe. After what feels like an eternity, he tilts his head and brushes his mouth over mine.

The earth skews off its axis. There’s no other way to describe what happens because my entire world rearranges itself in that brief moment. Much too soon, he’s backed down the sidewalk and waves goodbye to me from his car before pulling away.

****

I’m a mess by the next Friday when Peeta picks me up again for our second dinner together. I don’t know whether to call it a date or not, but the kiss the previous week indicates it could be. The night passes much the same as the previous week. He’s charming and funny and wearing the most stunning shade of green that makes his eyes sparkle turquoise. They do things to my insides. He’s a perfect gentleman as he drives me home again, walks me to the door, and kisses me softly. The situation repeats on the third and fourth and fifth time until I’m so wound up, I’m about to lose my mind. I don’t mean to complain, but my body wants more than what he’s offering.

I can’t tell if it’s deliberate or just really bad luck that our schedules don’t align for another few weeks. The days pass slowly without seeing him, although we do talk often. Some of his messages and emails make me smile when I read them, while others make me wonder if he’s flirting with me or simply being his usual friendly self.

I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out what’s happening between us. The conversation I had with Gale after my surgery flits in and out of my conscious thoughts. I don’t want to open myself up. I’ve been hurt too many times in the past, but Peeta’s wonderful—smart, compassionate, funny, respectful, and supportive. He’s also got a backbone and knows how to advocate for himself and others around him. In short, he’s exactly what I’ve always desired in a partner. It scares me to death to acknowledge that I want him to be a bigger part of my life. It terrifies me to realize I can also picture him in my bed.

Finally, we both have an evening without a work responsibility, and he asks if he can come over and make dinner when I tell him I’m simply too tired to dress up and go out to a restaurant. By the time he shows up on my doorstep with bags of groceries, my stomach’s in knots. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, it feels like we’re starting all over again.

He looks insanely good after having filled out a little since the transplant. His broad shoulders are strong underneath the soft cotton of his salmon colored sweater, and the jeans he’s wearing hug his thighs and hips like a second skin. When he turns around so I can inadvertently check out his ass, I swoon at the sight. I want my hands on that peach so badly my fingertips tingle.

He leans in to kiss me hello, and time stands still. He pauses once he’s broken the kiss, and we stare at each other for what feels like ages. Something’s changed. We’ve evolved. Our relationship’s grown while we’ve been apart. The air crackles with anticipation, and I’m beyond ready. Finally, he recovers and surveys me, taking in my black leggings, forest green tunic, and braid with a whistle. I flush scarlet at the flattery.

“Good thing I have these bags to occupy my hands,” he teases, but I swallow down disappointment. He doesn’t seem that interested in touching me, and that makes me feel like howling my disapproval.

“Maybe I should help. Give your hands a chance to…uh…stray.”

He whips his head around to stare at me, uncertainty mixing with something I can’t quite decipher. When I don’t drop my gaze, he gulps before heading into the kitchen and tossing the food on the counter. He makes himself busy while I flit around him, unsure what to do. When he finally turns his megawatt smile on me and asks me if I’d be okay cutting vegetables, I nod eagerly. If it puts me closer to him, I’m completely game. He positions me in front of a stack of carrots, potatoes, and mushrooms and turns to his own work.

We keep up a steady stream of chatter that grows increasingly flirtatious as the minutes pass. He brushes against me several times, and I can feel the electricity sparking between us. When he reaches over to take some of the diced potatoes, our hands brush, and we both jump.

“Peeta,” I sigh a second before he’s pressed against me, his chest hard against mine as he cups my jaw and kisses me.

I growl in the back of my throat at the feel of his tongue tangling with mine, and he hauls me tighter against him. He wraps my braid around his hand and tugs my head back so he can lick deeper into me. I’m shaking with desire, frantic for his hands on me. We’ve been circling each other for four years. The months since I agreed to donate my bone marrow have all been foreplay. I’m ready to give into the craving I’ve denied for far too long.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. My hands tangle in his hair, and I can’t stop the wanting whimpers that fall from me. He’s just as frantic, his hands caressing everything he can reach, until they both cup my behind and squeeze.

I realize I want to climb him like a tree. There’s no shame in admitting it. His body’s hard under his clothing, and he’s rigid as iron against my hip. When he thrusts his right hand under the waistband of my leggings, I don’t even try to stop him. Instead, I moan when his fingers stroke the patch of hair between my legs.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Katniss, tell me to stop if this isn’t okay. This is— You’re… You have to stop me now if you’re going to.”

I don’t stop him. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. My limbs aren’t working other than to cling to him. My eyes roll back into my head when he breaches me. His mouth works magic while his fingers plunder and stroke. I’m begging him, my voice hoarse and broken. It’s been so very long, and I don’t have the patience to wait anymore.

I’m pressed against the counter, my back bent as he fingers me. I don’t care about dinner or anything else except the feel of his calloused palm cupping me while he dips in and out in an uneven rhythm designed to stop me from falling over the edge too soon. His breaths are ragged, and I wrap my left leg around him to pull him closer. It also gives him better access, which he uses to his advantage.

I’m sopping wet, squelching as he thrusts in and out, his thumb circling my clit and forcing wrecked squeals I’ve never made until experiencing the glory of Peeta Mellark finger fucking me in my own kitchen. My whole body trembles as the tension builds. I just need a release. That’s all I care about in the moment. The entire world could be exploding outside, and I wouldn’t care. He’s driving me crazy, and I don’t want to be sane. I just need him.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, sweetheart,” he groans in my ear. “Wanted to feel you on me, hot and wet and sweet. I’ve dreamed about making you come. Imagined it so many times. Wanted to feel you fall apart because of me. You’re almost there, aren’t you, honey? I can tell you’re trying so hard not to let go. I’ve got you. I won’t hurt you.”

I’ve abandoned all sense of propriety. I’m moaning and rutting against him. I don’t know who I am anymore, but then everything makes sense in a rush of euphoria. I come with a scream that Peeta swallows with his kiss. He holds me close, rocking me through the spasms, grounding me, and cheering me on as I quake and shudder.

I blink as I come back to myself, but he’s there. His face comes into focus, and I give him a dopey grin that makes him chuckle. He welcomes me back with a kiss as he frees his hand. My pants are moist, and I wiggle at how uncomfortable it is. Still, I think it’s worth the discomfort. I feel like walking liquid.

“I think we burned dinner.”

“Don’t care,” I tell him through a kiss. “We can order pizza. Not hungry anyway.”

“Well, I am,” he jokes as he proceeds to devour me.

We haven’t talked. I have no idea where we stand, but that doesn’t matter. Right now, Peeta’s here, alive and well, and with me. We make sure the burners are off and then I lead him to the bedroom. I don’t ever want to let go. If I could freeze this moment, I would, but I also want to see about all the others he has left simply because fate threw us together. We’ll get to the deep stuff. For now, I’ll settle for him deep inside me.

#everlarkficexchange #springtime edition 2020 #prompt 17 #everlark #everlark fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #the marrow of the story

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taexual · 4 years

Text

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (8)

jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: liiiittle bit of angst (jungkook is nervous and bitter ok)

words: 3.7k

chapter eight

Just like the last time you’d attended a Parental Advisory gig, this time the club was also packed with people wasted, excited, and just all-around hot for life. However, instead of finding your usual spot by the second-floor bar – you preferred to steer clear of the crowd where a stranger could have started grinding on you any second and Inna loved the view of the stage from higher up – you and your roommate were now at the barricade.

“I really shouldn’t have told you he asked me to come,” you said with a sigh as the drunken crowd kept pushing you in every direction. You didn’t think Inna was going to hear you but she turned to you with a disappointed look.

“Yes, you should have. And I’m glad you did. Otherwise, we’d be over there, all the way across the club,” she said, swinging her hand back to point at the second floor and nearly poking the eye out of a guy who was walking past. She ignored his surprised yelp and swung her hand right back to point at the stage this time, “when Jungkook needs you here.”

“He doesn’t need me—”

“Hey, why don’t you just accept things for the way they are,” she suggested but it sounded more like an order, “and enjoy yourself a little, yeah? You can always go back to your strict routine tomorrow. You can forget yourself for an hour or two tonight.”

You wanted to get offended – your routine wasn’t that strict – but you felt like she was right and couldn’t bring yourself to argue with her further. Loosening up didn’t come naturally to you, however, so you told Inna you’d head to the bar for some drinks. but she grabbed the sleeve of your jacket as soon as you turned around.

“Are you kidding?” she asked, completely unamused. “There were, at least, ten guys who have been staring at you since we got here. There’s not a chance in hell you’re getting your own drink.”

“Inna, I’m not asking some guys I’m not even interested in to buy me drinks,” you said. You were surprised to hear how decided your voice sounded – as if there was someone you were interested in, but they currently weren’t available to buy you drinks and you didn’t want anyone else to do it instead.

Obviously, Inna noticed this, too, as she replied, “well, you can’t ask Jungkook because he’s on stage, so—”

“I’m not interested in him, either,” you cut her off, crossing your arms over your chest defensively – and childishly – while your roommate scoffed.

“Please,” she was in the middle of rolling her eyes but then she noticed – sensed him, really – a guy giving you a once-over as he walked by and, quickly letting go of your sleeve, she grabbed his instead. “Hey! My friend here was just saying how cute you were.”

Your eyes widened as the guy stopped and looked at you, a smirk appearing on his lips.

“She was?” he asked Inna.

“I—” you tried to interject – to fight for your dignity – but your roommate was on a mission.

“Yeah,” Inna told him. “She’s just not the kind of person who’d make the first move, you know?”

“Well,” the guy said, pleased. “That just happens to be my type. Can I get you ladies some drinks?”

“We—”

“That would be fantastic!” Inna beat you to it once again, looking at you with a proud expression on her face as soon as the guy walked away with a promise of ‘just a second’. You shook your head at her but she wasn’t fazed by your disapproval. “Don’t give me that look, this is what I meant when I told you to forget yourself.”

“I don’t feel comfortable using other people to get me drinks,” you said.

She understood what you were saying but she wasn’t in the mood to start a discussion about it right now, so she just patted your shoulder and said with a playful wink, “he’s the one who offered. And he’ll get to enjoy our company in exchange for the drinks. For a few minutes, at least.”

You were in the middle of a very deep sigh when you turned your head to face the stage again, and your eyes met Jungkook’s gaze. The air got caught in your throat and you started to cough violently about half a moment after you caught his sparkling eyes, and the boy on stage – proud to have this effect on you – smirked before walking away to interact with the other half of the club.

Jungkook walked back and forth on the stage a lot that night – just like any other night – but he kept finding himself on your side of the stage during every chorus of every song. His performance wasn’t meant for your exclusively – he was so good at what he did that, even if he’d have dedicated every song for you, the whole club would have still had the time of their lives – but your heart still fluttered – actually, your whole chest went through an actual earthquake, to be more precise – whenever he appeared in front of you.

This was serious. Seven years seemed to disappear with every blink of his purposefully deep brown eyes, and you were fourteen again. Fourteen and very much in love with him. Fourteen and listening to him tell you that you were his best friend, but. Fourteen and heartbroken when the “but” provided no real explanation as to why he decided to no longer be a part of your life.

And yet, you’d told him you wanted to be friends last Sunday at his house. No buts, no additional conditions, and no goodbyes without an explanation. You were starting over -- a genuine friendship, so long overdue.

And you didn’t lie. You did want to be friends. But, watching him tear himself to pieces as he performed the band’s latest song, you also wanted him in so many other ways, too.

It scared you again because you were starting to realize that no matter how much you tried to convince yourself – and him – that you’d be able to be just friends, it was next to impossible to forget all the feelings, dwelling underneath. They had been simmering slowly for the seven years that you didn’t talk – or maybe they faded away completely, but it was hard to imagine this fire ever going out – but they were full-on boiling now. You couldn’t let them spill because what if?

You survived the “you’re my best friend, but…” but you didn’t think you could survive the “I love you, but…”.

So, turning to look at the guy Inna had harassed to buy you drinks before, you accepted the cocktail he’d brought and gave him a smile. He was handsome, sure, but you didn’t feel attracted to him. And yet, faking attraction was much easier than faking indifference, as you thanked the guy for the drink and allowed him to gently touch your shoulder when he leaned in to ask you what your name was.

Because Jungkook was unable to tear his eyes off of you for longer than a minute tonight, he ended up witnessing the whole thing. He saw the guy bring the cocktails to you and your roommate – but the guy had his eyes for you only. He even saw him say something to the two of you that made you both laugh – but the guy only waited for your reaction.

And, before long, Jungkook found himself gripping the microphone so tightly, his knuckles turned white. He never missed a note – he knew better than that – but he stopped interacting with the club as much as he used to. People in the crowd didn’t notice his unusual lack of fan-service – they were fine as long as he kept singing and they kept drinking – but his bandmates saw that something was wrong immediately.

They wanted to ask him what happened – Taehyung even attempted to communicate with his eyes but Jungkook wouldn’t look at him – but they figured what the problem was as soon as the show ended, when Jungkook slipped away from the changing room and went out to find you. He caught you on your way out of the club.

“Hey!” he hollered so loudly, several groups of people around him stopped and turned. But Jungkook was looking at you. Always at you.

You were already too far from the club to hear him properly, so you excused yourself to Inna – who was more than happy for you two to talk – and went over to him.

“Hey,” you said. “Why are you still here? Isn’t there an after party you’re supposed to get to?”

He was expecting you to comment on the show, on his performance—but most of all, on the god-damn guy that had brought you drinks—or on anything else that had just happened. But, as they tended to do a lot lately – “I want us to be friends” – your words caught him off-guard.

“Uh, yeah, but I don’t really feel like going,” he mumbled and then nodded in the direction of your roommate who was now texting someone on her phone because she wasn’t sure if she should have waited for you. “Were you actually going to leave without saying goodbye to me?”

You hesitated. Because, yes, you were. And now, suddenly, you weren’t.

“Was I supposed to say goodbye?” you asked, feeling stupid.

“Well, that would have been the nice thing to do,” his voice was void of virtually any emotion, so you relied on his eyes and the way they narrowed as he said this.

“I didn’t want to invade your space,” you ended up saying even though, the truth was, you didn’t know how to be his friend anymore. Not even the cocktails you’d consumed inside would have gotten you to admit that, though.

Jungkook gave you a doubtful look. “It’s a club.”

“No, yeah, but you’re in the band and—”

“I invited you to come,” he said. “Obviously, I want you here.”

You lowered your eyes and Jungkook quickly recognized your discomfort. You probably thought that leaving was the right thing to do because you didn’t want to join him at the after-party, but he ambushed you anyway. You offered him your friendship but here he was, all insistent and most likely frustrating, too.

Maybe he was taking this too far. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to look for you. Maybe he should have—fuck, even after knowing you for so many years, he wasn’t sure what “being friends” involved. He couldn’t remember how to play this role.

“Yeah. It’s just—” you started to say but Jungkook laughed lightly – the ultimate way to relieve tension – and you looked at him again, relieved almost as soon as you heard it.

“Okay, enough with the excuses,” he said and then added, in a way that didn’t make it clear if he was teasing you or not, “I get it. You have better plans.”

You watched each other for a few seconds then – him, with a manufactured smile that he hoped looked friendly, and you, with a confused wrinkle between your brows because, even though you’d decided to be friends last Sunday, you still couldn’t figure out how to act around him – before you finally spoke up, choosing to go down the honest route instead of further trying to find a way to excuse your actions.

“I don’t. You’re the only plan I have tonight,” you said and he clearly took it the wrong way as his eyes widened just slightly, his lips stretching into an impressed smirk. “I-I mean—the show. Your show. You know—”

To ease your suffering – and to appeal to his own nagging curiosity – Jungkook deflected. “Who’s the guy who got you and Inna drinks?”

“What?” the question took you by surprise but you regained your balance quickly, “oh. I don’t know. Just some guy Inna saw while dancing and basically demanded he got us drinks. We’d have paid him back – probably – but he just sort of—”

Jungkook liked what he’d heard so he didn’t need the full story. “So, it was just a random guy?”

“Yeah, of course,” you said. “Why?”

“No reason,” he replied, turning to look behind him, at the door of the club, so you couldn’t see his relieved smile – all for your benefit, since he was just trying to be a good friend. “Hey, can we—do you want to go for a walk? Inna seems to have given up on you.”

You turned to check for your roommate but she was indeed no longer there. She must have left and you felt bad about making her wait for you -- and made a mental note to bring her back some sweets on your way home to make up for it -- but you knew she’d have slapped you silly if she found out you were thinking of her when you were with Jungkook.

“So it seems. Why a walk?” you asked when you looked at him again. The two of you had never taken walks together. In fact, you didn’t think Jungkook was ever the type to wander around aimlessly, he always acted on purpose. “I mean, sure, but since when do you—”

“Let’s not analyze since when,” he said, hands now in his pockets as he braced himself for something he’d been thinking about this whole week.

You noticed the gears in his brain come to action and gave him a suspicious look. “So, is there an intention behind this walk?”

“No,” he said as you two headed towards the road that lead behind the club and back to campus. “Okay, nevermind, there is. I have a favor to ask.”

You found that unexpected. “A favor?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Go ahead.”

Jungkook was going to go ahead but then, as soon as he opened his mouth, he realized he didn’t really know how to.

“I need—would you, uh—” he stammered awkwardly but then stopped, shaking his head. This wasn’t coming out the way he’d intended at all. Finally, he took a breath to calm himself, and just spat it out, “I’d like it if you went to dinner at my parents’ house with me next Sunday night.”

It sounded wrong when he said it and you, watching him without replying, made it worse.

“I just—I can’t endure my father’s judgmental eyes without wanting to get mind-numbingly drunk after I leave,” he explained, his eyes set firmly on the pavement. Thousands of excuses flew through his mind, all so you wouldn’t take his invitation the wrong way. “He’ll kick-start my descent into alcoholism, I swear.”

You still couldn’t grasp what he was trying to achieve by bringing you into his house. His parents wanted him there, he’d promised he would come. It felt like a private matter. A family matter. You couldn’t see where you fit into this.

“And you think he wouldn’t look at you like that if I were there?” you asked.

“No, he probably still would,” Jungkook said. He wasn’t delusional. He knew you being there wouldn’t miraculously make his father proud of him. But he also knew several other things, too. “But, with you there, I wouldn’t want to forget about the night as soon as it ended.”

Just hearing him mention you lit your body up and you were drowning in wildfires by the time he finished his sentence. You wondered if they would go out or were you going to burn alive in them first.

“I—well, I wouldn’t mind coming,” you admitted slowly, walking a thin-line between your duties as his friend and something else entirely. “But are you sure I won’t make it more awkward for you?”

“Why would it be more awkward?”

“Well, you know,” you said but he obviously didn’t know. “I—y-you’re trying to prove to them that you’re a mature adult, right? And if you bring me there, it could seem like you’re still reckless. Like maybe you’re trying to take the heat off of yourself by bringing me along. Or, even worse, it could seem like you’re still, I don’t know, sleeping around and now you’re even bringing girls over to your parents’ place.”

He considered every one of the hypothetical scenarios you pointed out and, even though he wanted to laugh at the campus folktale of him, sleeping with anything that moved, he had to admit, you may have also had a point. However, as soon as you proposed a problem – his mind conjured up a solution.

This solution came in his father’s voice, demanding he stopped destroying himself and his family’s legacy. Insisting it was time he got himself together and started to act like an adult.

“What if I told them I was seriously committed?” Jungkook said.

You snorted. “Well, then me being there would definitely make it awkward.”

He felt stupid having to spell it out for you as he stopped walking and gave you a look. And if his posture didn’t prove how determined he was, his dead-serious eyes certainly did.

“You didn’t hear me,” he said. “You’d be the one I’m committed to. I-I mean, that’s what I’d tell them.”

Your skin prickled. Your palms were wet. Even the campus pigeons stopped pecking the ground and turned to watch the two of you.

“You’re, uh, suggesting we fake-date for your parents?” you clarified.

“I—well, yeah,” he shrugged, realizing why you were looking at him with the shocked doe-eyes, but choosing to play it off as not that big of a deal because it didn’t have to be. “I guess I am.”

You looked away, the evening air suddenly chilly as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Our parents know each other, it’d be weird.”

You could have kept going but, at the core of all reasons why you thought this was an awful plan, was the very reason that stopped you from giving in and confessing your feelings to him. You were afraid.

But Jungkook was on a roll now, completely convinced that he was a genius. He thought this was a profound idea that was going to solve a lot of his problems and maybe even make his father forget what a poor excuse of a son he’d been his whole life. Not to mention, it’d provide you both with so many opportunities to spend time together in an environment where you grew up and, thus, strengthen your friendship.

And, as he looked for the quickest way to convince you, he could also make out another advantage -- this one all about you.

“No, come on, think about it,” he said, energetic. “This deal can benefit you, too.”

“H-how would it benefit me, exactly?”

“I can make your dreams come true,” he said and, even before he elaborated, you didn’t doubt that he could. “I can get you a position at my company—well, my family company. You could intern there with me this summer, gain the experience you’d need for your own future, and then start a business of your own. Like you’d always wanted.”

You had to be honest, that sounded good. Wrong -- probably; you were never sure what was right when he was looking at you like that -- but good.

However, even despite him having this overwhelming effect on you and despite the end-result sounding so desirable, you still saw too many flaws in the plan.

“You couldn’t do that,” you said.

“I could,” he nodded eagerly. “For you.”

You cursed your heart for immediately jumping to your throat after he said this. “N-no, I mean—you’re barely a member of the board.”

“No, but that’s exactly why I need your help. My family will see how good I’m doing, how serious I am, and they’ll finally relieve some of the pressure they’ve been putting on me. Maybe they’ll even start to trust me,” he said and the more he talked, the more he believed this would work. It was hard not to get infected with his confidence. “And then we’re diving head-first into business from there. You help me turn into a very dedicated heir and I help you get something you’d always wanted.”

You were biting your lip in an attempt to save yourself from his contagious optimism. You couldn’t even look at him out of fear that you’d say yes without really thinking this through.

“That sounds too easy,” you said.

Jungkook sighed.

“Listen, I know you don’t want to date or anything and I’m not suggesting that,” he said, careful, “but can we just pretend to for my parents? Please? It’s just a friend helping out a friend, if you think about it.”

You had a feeling he was asking you to sign your death certificate as you said, “it’s really not. This will blow up in our faces, I swear.”

“It won’t! It can’t,” he disagreed, seeing how close he was to getting you to say yes. You’d been avoiding his eyes but now you finally looked at him and he put all of his hopes into the look he gave you. “You’re exactly what I need to show them that I am getting my life together. My parents know you already. They need to catch up with you so they can see how much you’ve grown but how you’re still as hard-working and dedicated as you used to be. How you’re a good influence on everyone you meet.”

“It’s—” you tried to say but he took a step closer to you and you forgot all words.

“In the end, even if they don’t end up being convinced that I’m changed,” he spoke, “they will probably still decide to ask you to join the company after they see your devotion. Your ambition.”

It was outrageous and yet you couldn’t say no because you thought that maybe it really didn’t hurt to try and see what happened -- courtesy of the cocktails you’d had before he found you -- but also because he looked like his life depended on this and it would have broken your heart to turn him down -- courtesy of a lifetime spent loving him a lot more than you probably should have.

“This is borderline ridiculous,” you tried but your voice lacked conviction, “we—”

“All the best ideas are ridiculous!” he argued.

“I can name several scientists who would disagree.”

“I don’t doubt that you can name a lot more than just several,” he countered, extending his hand, palm-up. “But come on. Give your friend a hand, would you? Please. I really need this. I need you.”

And, in the end, the reason why you took his hand wasn’t because of the position in his company that he’d offered. It wasn’t because he was so passionate about this plan. It wasn’t even because you wanted him to mature at least a little, so he’d stop hurting himself. So he’d grow closer to his family.

None of that affected you as much as his eyes did.

You took his hand because you still couldn’t say no to him. Because he needed you.

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#bts #bts reactions #bts fanfiction #bts jungkook #jungkook #jeon jungkook #fanfiction #jungkook fanfiction #fluff #angst #bts angst #bts fluff #bts au #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #college au #jungkook college au #bts college au

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

Text

((Prevously on “Quest for the Quidditch Cup”...))

[It didn’t take long for Carewyn to track down the “witness” Rita Skeeter had mentioned. Murphy had apparently caught wind of the same rumor not long after Rita, and so he, Orion, and Carewyn followed up with the student called “Face Paint Kid” (Carewyn would’ve preferred to call him by his name, but given how stubborn he was about it, she decided there was no real reason to argue the point).

Face Paint Kid confirmed Carewyn’s initial suspicion -- it had, in fact, been an accident. Although Carewyn was glad to know that Rath hadn’t injured Skye on purpose, however, she could tell Orion was anxious. She doubted anyone else would be able to tell, given that his voice never rose out of his usual relaxed, laid-back tone -- but she could still feel something faintly tense coming off of him. Sure enough, when Murphy, Orion, and Carewyn headed to the Quidditch Pitch, Orion passed the time by balancing on one leg on his broom, rather than sitting down in the stands with Murphy and Carewyn.]

‘If he’s trying to find his center, he must be worried..’

[Right on time, Skye hobbled up into the stands to meet them. Her arm cradled the left side of her chest as she walked.]

Orion: “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered, Skye.”

[Despite his detached, dreamy voice, Carewyn could see the softness in his dark eyes. It kind of reminded her of her mother Lane when she was happy -- even if Lane had never been a loud or animated person, her eyes always deepened that same way when they were happy.]

Murphy: “Try not to scare us like that again, all right? I don’t think our hearts can take it!”

[Skye grinned confidently at Murphy.]

Skye: “Don’t worry, a Bludger can’t keep me down! Not for long, anyway.”

[Carewyn offered Skye a small smile.]

“It’s good to see you back on your feet again.”

Skye: “Thanks...Madame Pomfrey won’t let me play in the match, but I can still help our team with the Quidditch Cup! And destroy Rath in the process...”

[The mention of Rath seemed to drain the relief right out of the space. Murphy, Carewyn, and Orion suddenly all looked a lot more solemn.]

“About that...”

[Carewyn glanced at Orion out the side of her eye grimly -- the team Captain took over for her very quickly.]

Orion: “Face Paint Kid saw what happened between you and Rath.”

[Skye clearly had not “read the room,” for her face burst into a big, triumphant grin.]

Skye: “Smashing! Can’t wait to show everyone what kind of witch Rath really is...”

Orion: “He says it was an accident.”

[The grin slid off of Skye’s face. Carewyn felt as though the air had abruptly chilled ten degrees.]

[Carewyn straightened up, her shoulders locking into place in her most assertive posture.]

“He’d been on the opposite side of the Training Grounds as you when it happened. He said that Rath hadn’t noticed you at all, when you walked up behind her. When you first got hit, Rath even looked surprised at first...as if she hadn’t know anybody else was there.”

[Skye took in the explanation silently, but there was no sense of acceptance or relief in her expression. Her eyes were burning with an indecipherable emotion.]

Skye: “...You think Rath hit me with a Bludger by accident.”

[Carewyn could hear upset and anger burbling under the surface of Skye’s voice like lava.]

“That’s what Face Paint Kid said.”

Murphy: “He didn’t want to tell us, which increases the likelihood that he’s telling the truth by...87.6%.”

[Like Carewyn and Murphy, Orion had kept her voice as level and patient as possible -- Skye, however, reacted as defensively as if he’d accused her of a crime.]

Murphy: “(quickly) We didn’t say that!”

Orion: “(gently) Telling the truth as you saw it is not ‘making things up.’ You merely reached a conclusion without considering alternatives. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Skye: “(belligerently) I’m not ashamed of it! Why should I be the one to be ashamed, when my own teammates won’t support me? Whatever happened to us being a family, Orion?”

[Orion’s eyes became a little smaller as his lips came together silently. Before he could come up with a response, however, Carewyn cut in sharply.]

“Family doesn’t mean never disagreeing about anything.”

[Memories of her mother telling her and Jacob about her abusive family rippled over her mind.]

“I know you’re upset about what happened, but don’t take it out on Orion -- ”

Skye: “(bitterly) Yup, here we go -- swooping in like a knight-in-shining armor and making me out like I’m the bad guy, just like before...”

[Carewyn crossed her arms reproachfully.]

“And here I thought you’d acknowledged starting those rumors about Rath was wrong.”

Skye: “(snaps) Who cares?”

“Not you, from the sound of things.”

[Skye got right up in Carewyn’s face, lording over her with her taller height.]

Orion: “Skye -- ”

Murphy: “Skye, take it easy!”

Skye: “(harshly) Yeah, well, maybe I don’t! It’s because of her that I can’t play in my last Hogwarts match ever -- the last chance I’ll ever have, to win the Cup for Slytherin! Why should I care?”

Orion: “Skye -- ”

[The Quidditch Captain’s voice sounded a bit pained in how he tried to talk Skye down, but Skye determinedly ignored him, which made Carewyn if possible even madder.]

Skye: “Just because you’re a little Fairy Tale Princess who can’t imagine having any enemies -- !”

[Rakepick’s smirking face flaring through her mind was the straw that broke Carewyn’s back. She didn’t either cower or get up in Skye’s face in return. Instead she rather coldly raised a hand and poked it right into Skye’s collarbone as she took a step back, so as to regain some personal space without looking like she was retreating. ]

“Just because you don’t care how much you hurt both Rath and your team’s reputation by starting up false rumors doesn’t mean nobody else does. Just because you don’t care that you mouthed off to Rita Skeeter about how terrible Rath is knowing it could end up in print doesn’t mean nobody else does. Just because you think Rath hit you on purpose doesn’t mean anybody else does. You are not infallible, Skye -- otherwise you’d see that we’re trying to help you...but all you can do is ignore everyone else’s feelings in favor of your own ego!”

Orion: “(forcefully) Carewyn, please!”

[Carewyn looked up at Orion. The Quidditch Captain’s usually clear face for the first time betrayed some anxiety.

Carewyn’s righteous anger flickered and died. Skye’s glare bore very coldly into Carewyn’s face.]

[Orion’s attempt at soothing, however, was met with no softness.]

Skye: “Yeah, well...suppose we aren’t much of a team, then.”

[Her voice dripped with passive aggressiveness as she turned on her heel, grabbing her side gingerly.]

Skye: “Have fun at your match. Bet you’ll win...now that I’m not there to muck everything up, like I always do...”

[Carewyn watched her go. Once Skye had left the stands, Carewyn closed her eyes, bowing her head and exhaling heavily through her nose.]

Murphy: “She doesn’t mean it -- winning means far too much to her for her to really bow out. (lowly) ...She’s just upset.”

[He gave Orion a reassuring look. Orion interlaced his fingers in front of him as he balanced on his broom, his dark eyes very dark and unreadable.]

Orion: “I’d hoped the truth would allow Skye to heal emotionally -- that it would bring our team together...”

[His eyes absently rested on Carewyn’s bowed head.]

Orion: “...But instead...our team’s been torn apart.”

[Carewyn felt a cold pit in her stomach as she opened her eyes, staring down at the floor of the stands.

She wanted to feel bad for Skye -- but in order to do that, she felt like she’d have to give Skye credit for how she felt -- and Skye was just too objectively wrong for that. Even so...Carewyn knew how much the situation hurt Orion. Orion and Skye had played together nearly from the beginning...and Carewyn knew how much Orion loved his team. Orion had told her about his home life -- how he’d been raised in an orphanage with no structure and little affection, and how Quidditch had become the home he’d so longed for.

With some difficulty, Carewyn forced herself to look up at Orion and meet his eyes.]

“(softly) ...I’m sorry, Orion.”

Not for what I said...but I know I could’ve said it better, if I didn’t lose my temper.

[Orion’s dark eyes softened slightly.]

Orion: “As always, your inner fire dwarfs that of a Fire Crab. It’s merely that, right now, that blaze was the last thing we needed, in a field already on fire.”

[Carewyn fixed Orion with a sharp look.]

“Maybe...but I couldn’t stay silent while Skye hurt you -- even if you are a good enough person to turn the other cheek.”

[She was again reminded of Ben’s words in Jacob’s room.

“ -- putting everyone else’s needs and feelings before your own, even when it clearly hurts you – blaming yourself for everything, letting your friends hurt you and never making any move to hurt them back – I’m grateful for it, Carewyn – but I hate it! I hate it, because I’ve seen how much fear and pressure all of that’s put you through – and I’m sick of having to watch you suffer, silent and alone, especially when it’s pointless!”]

It’s something we have in common.

[There was an odd, startled flicker in Orion’s usually detached dark eyes -- something deeper and almost a little more fragile. Before Carewyn could try to get a fix on his feelings, however, the gleam had vanished and he gave her a more usual wry smile.]

Orion: “...It’s little wonder your name includes the word ‘care,’’ Carewyn Cromwell.”

[His face then grew much more serious again.]

Orion: “Nonetheless...”

[Carewyn got to her feet.]

“(firmly) I’ll go. I set Skye off, so I’ll take responsibility for this.”

Hopefully I’ll have better luck smoothing things out with Rath than with Skye...

((OOC: Carewyn’s always been closest to Orion out of the three Quidditch-exclusive characters -- and honestly, given that Orion’s philosophical bent reminds Carewyn of her brother and the lack of love and support in his childhood reminds her of her mother, it’s little wonder why. Orion’s always nurtured a soft spot for Carewyn too, even after she left the team -- she remains one of the few people he’s ever told his life story to, alongside Skye and other select players on his team.

I tried to keep Skye’s overall attitude pretty close to how she acts in the game despite the changed timeline and relationship dynamics...but I’m sorry, Carewyn’s sentiment is the same as mine: Skye doesn’t deserve sympathy right now. If you’re more fond of Skye as a character than I am, I totally understand -- but I guess from a personal perspective, Skye just reminds me of some very toxic people I used to know, in how she disregards other people’s feelings and attacks anyone’s attempts to “check” or “correct” her, even when the person is being as sensitive as possible. There’s no reason that Murphy, Orion, and MC had to walk on eggshells about telling Skye this, or that this revelation should’ve ended with Skye being upset -- there is no sympathetic reason at all for her to be upset that it was an accident. She thinks her team thinks she’s a liar? No, they made it clear they don’t think that. She’s upset because she was wrong? No reason to shoot the messenger. She’s upset because Rath can’t get shunned and/or kicked off the team for hurting her? That would make Skye the sort of person who’d want to punish someone for having done nothing wrong. If you feel sympathy for Skye being wrong, I can understand that, and I truly am a bit sad Jam City has so effectively robbed Skye of character development -- but the way Skye’s written, I just can’t justify Overly-Sensitive!Mama-Bear!Empath!Carewyn being friends with her. Just like in the game, the two ladies will come together to figure out a way to deal with Rath and the Ravenclaws, and I do plan on writing Skye as a gray character rather than a completely one-dimensionally awful one -- but she will not be counted as one of Carewyn’s friends.))

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #roleplaying #gameplay #quest for the quidditch cup #anti-skye parkin #tagging just to be safe #carewyn cromwell #orion amari #murphy mcnully #skye parkin #ben copper #erika rath #face paint kid #lane cromwell

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caffeinechic · 4 years

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Good Omens Fic Recs 1/?

I went to fix a link in this post and managed to delete the entire thing like an absolute fool.

But my complete annoyance with myself won’t be bested with my determination to post this lot. So here I go again. I am so sorry if this has shown on your dash a million times. And sorry for the double links / tagging as I honestly went half mad over even the basics. This is where I am with life.

I have about 300 Good Omens fics bookmarked at this point to trying to pull out my absolute favourites sent me down a re-read (and in many cases a re-re-re-re-read) rabbit hole, which was an absolute joy so no complaints here!

These are just some of the ones that have just really stuck with me for one reason or another so I’ve gathered them up under the cut

4 Authors I just need to do like a HUGE rec for as they’re life ruiners. How dare they be this good. HOW DARE THEY.

@princip1914 @princip1914

Yeah I started pulling out the bookmarks I had for @princip1914 and realised it was...everything they’d written. All of it. Just...all of it.

But my particular favourite out of an outstanding batch is the following - which I have read approximately 70 squillion times. It stuck with me for so long in a way that I don’t think many fics have, ever. I actually can’t recommend this enough:

Doubt Thou The Stars Are Fire

“But how,” Aziraphale gasped, agonized and close to tears. “How can you be sure. Crowley, dear, you got thrown out of heaven for questioning everything. How can you be sure about this?”

Crowley loves and Aziraphale doubts. God intercedes. A groundhog day kind of situation ensues wherein Aziraphale has to fall in love with Crowley over and over again as a human until he gets the point. Highlights include: delivering medical care in rural Louisiana, stargazing in Vegas, strangers on a train, and teaching middle school.

@bestoftheseekwill @bestoftheseekwill

Same “problem” with @bestoftheseekwill - READ EVERYTHING. Oh my god, the human AUs, THE HUMAN AUS.

Special shout out to Acts of Service which was the first Human AU I’d read and got me completely hooked and now whenever seekwill posts I immediately read.

Acts of Service

"You seem very familiar to me. I can’t say why that is." As Aziraphale spoke, Crowley turned away from the fire, and Aziraphale was momentarily concerned that the spell had been broken, that he had crossed some invisible line. But Crowley smiled and brought his beer to his lips.

"Maybe we met in a past life. Does your lot believe in that?"

"Past lives?"

"Yeah."

Aziraphale smiled into his wine. He was sure Crowley was poking fun, ever so slightly, but he liked it. "Not strictly speaking. No."

Crowley shrugged, taking another long sip of his beer. “A mystery then."

After receiving direct instruction from God, village reverend Aziraphale leaves his countryside congregation to serve the underserved and in-need at an urban church in London, a transition made all the more complicated by the mysterious and handsome Crowley, who always seems to appear when Aziraphale least expects him.

OH!! but also

That this could be the kingdom

- this one sat with me for a while. Stunning

I have lived my whole life with a wrecked heart. Fr. Aziraphale Fell’s present mirrors his past, as long ago roommate, classmate, and former friend Anthony Crowley reappears in his life in an unexpected and disarming way, challenging Aziraphale’s choices, and bringing him back to the breaking point, when he made a decision he couldn’t take back. It isn’t temptation, it’s revelation.

@mygalfriday @mygalfriday

Ah here, listen - I went to get my bookmark list for @mygalfriday and just ended up re-reading all 12 fics this week.

i can't say the words, so i wrote you into my verse

Aziraphale blinks as it slowly dawns on him exactly what he’s looking at. Crowley has a tattoo. Well, another one anyway. Unlike the small serpent curled just beneath his temple, this one takes up far more space.

And listen if you don’t read the blind date au series then I don’t know how to help you!

I couldn’t find Rend_Herring Found @rendherring @rendherring on Tumblr but I had to put my phone and my head down after I read both of these.

The Lightness of You

God should not have built them with such discrepancy, made them need for love, and long for wholeness, then left them to their own devices.

This Soul Outstreaming

“Why did you come here?” Aziraphale interrupts. “Why do you keep doing this?” All the saving, he means, all the chasing after Aziraphale he does. It can’t only be that he’s not keen to endure a replacement. That can’t be it, not anymore. He’s going to get himself in trouble, and then it’ll be Aziraphale’s fault.

Crowley’s mouth shuts with a click. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, reaches for the handle of the fork and taps his fingertips against it before setting his hands in his lap.

When he speaks, it’s very soft. “Don’t you know?” he asks.

Aziraphale, unaccustomed to his heart refusing to translate why it throbs with such haste, shakes his head.

Fics that, to me, are just stunners. I love them so much.

Slow Show - @mia-ugly @mia-ugly Honestly if you’re seeing a rec list WITHOUT slow show...I’d be legit surprised In which temptations are accomplished, grand romantic gestures are made, and two ineffable co-stars only take four seasons of an award-winning television program to realize they’re on their own side (at last, at last.)

Barriers, and the breaking thereof - @cardinaldaughter @cardinaldaughter Ezra Fell has long been comfortable in his loneliness. He’s content to simply run the Soho Public Library and otherwise keep to himself. However, when a handsome stranger bursts in one evening with a baby, frantic and in need of help, Ezra finds those carefully constructed barriers he’s long maintained begin to crack.

Perhaps it’s time to let them fall.

Anthophilia - @fortinbrasftw @fortinbrasftw Anthony J. Crowley's life seems like it's finally falling into place: his floral shop has begun to gain an undercurrent of appreciation in the design elite of London, and he might have even finally found a boyfriend who looks just right lounging on his Tenreiro sofa. Things seem almost perfect, until one day the empty shop across the street is leased to frumpy fellow Oxford alumni, who doesn't seem to remember Crowley nearly as well as he remembers him, which really shouldn't bother him as much as it does - it was ten years ago after all, and it wasn't even that good of a kiss.

The road to rapture has a lot of pit stops - @emmagrant01 @emmagrant01 Five times they kissed over four thousand years, and one time they actually meant it.

Demon and Angel Professors - Ghostinthehouse - not 100% sure that this is also their tumblr handle so if anyone can confirm that would be great! They're professors. They're married. Their students don't realise. Cue shenanigans.

Multiple short arcs with one-shots (and often pauses) between them. Characters continue from one arc to the next. It's marked as complete, because each short arc is complete in itself, but there will be more arcs and one-shots in the future.

The Grinch Who Sold Christmas - @forineffablereasons @forineffablereasons Anthony J. Crowley, a big-time attorney from London, is sent to small-town Tadfield to close a deal before Christmas that would sell out half of high street to a fancy developer and put him up for partner at his firm. The deal will run the local businesses out and change the landscape of the town forever, but that’s none of Crowley’s business; he’s just doing a job.

But as the town invites him to share in their lives and their hopes and their holiday celebrations, and as the enigmatic Aziraphale invites him to share in something more, Crowley starts to wonder: if everything has its price, is he still willing to pay what this deal will cost?

Slow - write_away It started like this: A boy with the ability to warp reality met an angel and a demon and he made assumptions.

You might say it started like this: An angel and a demon found a marriage contract hung on the wall of the angel's bookshop. They didn't question it.

It also could have started like this: Once upon a time, the angel told the demon he went too fast. The demon took it to heart.

Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

You, soft and only - @thehoyden He hadn’t expected a sudden lapful of angel.

“Very sorry about this,” Aziraphale said, and kissed him.

A Bushel and a Peck- @thehoyden Sometimes, a family is a demonic nanny, an angelic cook, and a kid who isn't actually the Antichrist.Or: Crowley helps Aziraphale secure a different position at the Dowling Estate.

Long is the way, and hard - Kate_Lear The first time Crawley meets the angel, the celestial being is twisting its shining white robe in its fingers and looking wretched. It hardly spares him a glance as he shifts from snake to human, and Crawley is a touch put-out. It’s taken some practice to be able to do it so fluidly.

A story of Crowley's thoughts about Aziraphale, from the Beginning to the present day.

And also of temptation, and want, and whether - for a Fallen Angel - redemption is possible after all.

the 21st century, in which they finally work it out - @fieldbears @fieldbears This is light speed in comparison to the last few centuries of their relationship, but Crowley is barely holding on to his patience.

A Few More Rescues - @poetic----nonsense @poetic----nonsense 5+1 Times Crowley Rescued Aziraphale According to the Romantic Tropes of the Era, and One Time Aziraphale Turned It Around on Him (plus Prologue)

The Cottage, the Husbands (series) - Dragonsquill A demon and an angel fall in love and decide to take on the monumental task of living together in a cottage by the sea.

#good omens fic recs #good omens fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #my recs

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girl-in-the-library · 4 years

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Rambling about Doctor Who? In this economy?

I’m in the process of catching up with Doctor Who. I had stopped a while ago most of the way through Capaldi’s second season, after having stopped for a long time before watching his first season and a half.

Well, I just watched Capaldi regenerate into Jodi Whittaker and I have some things to say. This is primarily focusing on the end of Clara’s run as a companion and Bill’s story, because it’s been a while since I watched that first part of Capaldi and Clara, and even longer since I watched anything before that. I came back to catch up because I’d been seeing gifsets of Nine and Ten, and I miss them so, so much. But I decided I wanted to catch up before going back and doing an entire rewatch of New Who (I have no idea anything about Classic Who, honestly...and there’s so much that’s missing and I have no idea where to get the rest of it anyway).

Point is. I have feelings. Some good. Some bad. And they’re going under the cut.

First things First: I hate Steven Moffat.

All his episodes are the worst! Whenever his name would come up as the main writer credit, the episode was trash! Of course, some were more trash than others, and some were good ideas, but they all got the Doctor so, so wrong.

Two egregious examples that I hated, both from Moffat written episodes:

In “The Husbands of River Song,” River gives this whole big speech about how she’s the woman who loves the Doctor, but he will never love her, because that’s like looking at a sunset and asking it to love you back...or something like that. The Doctor would never come for her, because she wasn’t important enough.

That’s wrong on two big levels. 1! The Doctor is the Doctor because he loves. Nine was broken because he was so hurt, and he had forgotten how to love. Rose taught him to love again, and brought him back from the brink of self-destruction. I dislike the idea of the Doctor and River being a couple because I think Steven Moffat wrote it very, very badly (just like...a random woman comes out of nowhere and claims to be the Doctor’s wife! And then she is...because she is?) However, she is, in fact, the Doctor’s wife, as written, and he /does/ love her. She /is/ important to him. And the fact that she doesn’t think so just proves a misunderstanding in character and out of character. The second point? That she’s not important enough? She’s obviously important enough for the Doctor...but the other point is that that shouldn’t matter.

Nine once said that he had never met anybody who wasn’t important. But later on in the episode about the Monks that had taken over, Bill asks why the Doctor puts up with humans if he finds them so ridiculous. And the Doctor says something about “every so often I meet one like you [Bill]” and that makes up for putting up with the rest. No! The Doctor loves humanity! AND EVERYONE IS IMPORTANT TO HIM.

The thing about the Doctors that Moffat has written...both Eleven and Twelve (and the War Doctor, I guess too) is that specific people are important to those Doctors, and the Doctor would do anything for them. Anything for Amy, for Rory, for River. For Clara. For Bill. And they fail, but they fail doing things to save these specific people, not necessarily for their sakes, but for his own. And then they would die, and he would be sad, but there would be no consequences for his actions.

Nine and Ten loved Rose, but Ten left her behind /twice/ because he needed to. Martha got herself out. And Ten erased Donna’s memories to save her life. He lost them, in the end. And it hurt him. And he continued on, learning because of it. He died and regenerated twice because of his love for people. But there were still consequences for everyone around him, as well as himself. Sad things happened.

But Amy, Rory, River, Clara, and Bill? He hung on to them until they were burned away, but they were all fine in the end. Amy and Rory were there for a long time, but then the weeping angels sent them back, and the Doctor couldn’t see them anymore, but they were totally fine and grew old together. River died the first time the Doctor met her, but he clung to her for centuries (without proper character development, I tell you!) until she eventually died, but her whole life was centered around the Doctor. Clara he did everything he could to save, including break the laws of time. And he still lost her but also she was totally fine at the same time, traveling across time and space with Asheildr/Me in their Diner TARDIS. And Bill? Bill literally was turned into a Cyberman because of the Doctor’s hubris. He couldn’t save her. But she ended up okay anyway.Why? Because after she died as a human, then died as a Cyberman, she lived as something else, along with Heather, and got some sort of happily ever after (until she ultimately died again, but that’s off screen, we see her memories.) And then the Doctor got HIS memories of Clara back! So there were no consequences!

The Doctor as Moffat wrote them had no regard for life. They loved specific people, and specific conditions, except when Humanity was in Danger, and then he was The Big Damn Action Hero. But he also turned all of humanity into murderers when he basically brainwashed them into killing the Silence on sight, because otherwise they wouldn’t remember seeing them (this happened in Amy and Rory’s time, but it’s relevant).

In one episode, he tells the executioners to look up the Doctor under cause of death, and they flee out of fear for just how many people wound up dead because of him. In the next, he berates Missy for just how many people has she killed? It’s inconsistent.

The Doctor is a Perfect Hero, when he needs to be, and a Perfect Killer, also when he needs to be. “The Doctor of War” - as the glass memory people call him (I can’t even remember what they were called even though I just watched the episode) - isn’t who the Doctor is...but it’s who Moffat made him.

And of course, almost every major plotline ends up with Moffat’s favorite trope: The Big Friendly Reset Button. Because what does it matter if things happen? There’s time travel and everything will be okay for Earth in general and the people we care about, even if it’s not actually okay.

I hate Steven Moffat. I do think he has some good ideas! The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances were some of my favorite episodes! I just think he can’t be allowed to be in charge.

I also hate Clara’s Magic Tears that make the Doctor do something he wasn’t going to do (that it would have made sense for him to do) just because she cried. Like...in the 50th. When she cried and told the Doctor that pushing the button wouldn’t be like him. That he couldn’t do that to his entire civilization. But the thing is...he already did. His character development was based on that. And it changed him. But then, Clara cried, and he didn’t. And it was like the Time War never happened. (What I think would have been great would have been if the three Doctors decided to push the button together. They had made the decision in the past as Eight/the War Doctor. Now, together, as the War Doctor, Ten, and Eleven...knowing everything they had been through and everything the universe had been through...they pushed the button to make the decision they knew needed to be made. But they didn’t do that. Clara cried and they didn’t do that. And then it wasn’t like the War even mattered anyway, because literally nothing changed). But I digress. There was another time or two that Clara cried and the Doctor did something stupid, but I forget the specifics right now.

Now, from the bad to the questions.

Why are the Time Lords? Where are the Time Lords? If they’re back, how come they’re not interfering more, especially as they were looking for the Doctor? If they’re not back, then why are they there?

What was with the orphanage thing on Gallifrey? Is that where the Doctor grew up? Is this a question that was answered in Classic Who, or earlier New Who that I just don’t remember, or did Moffat just shove in a confusing backstory then not answer questions about it?

Why was Missy being executed? And speaking of Missy, why couldn’t she still call herself the Master, just because she was female?

Who was that child in the picture on the Doctor’s desk in the office at the university? The one in the frame next to River’s frame? I feel like this is something I just don’t know...not something that wasn’t explained.

How old is the Doctor? That’s been all over the place for a long time now.

How did Bill survive the mind-thing with the monks?

I had more questions but I forgot them.

And from the questions to the good.

I liked Bill! I liked Bill a lot! I feel like I never got the sense that she developed any sort of relationship with the Doctor, that it was just like...she was a student and then suddenly they were super important to each other, but I guess that’s how it goes sometimes.

I actually really loved Capaldi! I thought he could be a great Doctor if he wasn’t hindered by the writing. But I definitely enjoyed this run and will miss him, which is honestly more than I can say for Matt Smith. Not that I don’t think Smith did a good job. I like Smith well enough, but not enough to miss him as the Doctor when he left.

The episode Hell Bent was really, really good.

And overall, I just enjoyed it.

I know I listed a lot of problems up there, and not a lot of good stuff down here...but I was having fun watching Doctor Who again! I was just taken out of it sometimes by the Moffat garbage fire.

But I cried when Bill died. I cried when the Doctor died. I cried when he said, “What about me? Don’t I get to rest?” I cried when he regenerated, though his speech to himself was stupid.

I liked Bill better than Clara, but Clara still had a lot of good moments!

I am /happy/ that I got back into Doctor Who. And I can’t wait to see what comes next.

#doctor who #the twelfth doctor #this is not a pro-moffat blog #I'm gonna catch up on Doctor Who #then I'm going to rewatch Doctor Who #I'm gonna watch Doctor Who until I puke #oh the inanity!#review of sorts

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roman-writing · 5 years

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A Study in Hospitality (1/?)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses / Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Marianne von Edmund

Rating: T

Wordcount: 8,395

Summary: There’s a new student at camp half-blood. Hilda, daughter of Aphrodite, has been tasked with showing her around. A Percy Jackson and the Olympians AU

Author’s note: I’m so predictable for writing this…..

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

“The assignment was to fall in love.

The details were up to you.”

-Louise Gluck, ‘Averno’

–

Everyone was always excited whenever a new batch of half-bloods rolled into camp. Not that many of them would admit it, Hilda included. Mostly they pretended to be bored at the concept of introducing new students to the grounds, in the hopes that they would come off as cool and aloof.

Unlike the others however, Hilda didn’t have to try very hard. She could pull off cool any time, any day. And everyone knew it.

So, when a sleek black limousine rolled up, students idled around the camp’s main square in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the new blood. The windows of the car were darkly tinted, which meant that nobody could get a good look inside. Honestly, it looked more like a hearse than anything else.

Hilda leaned against a pillar, and twirled a lock of shockingly pink hair around one finger. She arched a curious eyebrow at the limo as it rumbled to a halt with a high whine of brakes.

It could use some new brake fluid. Technically speaking she could do it, but she wouldn’t be caught dead beneath the hood of a vehicle. She had an image to uphold. Not to mention the havoc it would wreak on her manicure.

“My money is on Ares,” Claude said beside her.

Hilda rolled her eyes. “You say that every time.”

“Because I’m right.”

“I hope not. The last thing we need is more meat-heads.” Hilda scrunched up her nose at a few other students loitering nearby, who were all clearly in Ares Cabin. One of them was challenging another to do push-ups. Hilda watched as the challenge was accepted with gusto.

Shirts came off, and the two boys dropped to the grass of the central field. For all their faults, at least the children of Ares had some rockin’ bods.

Claude nudged her, and she dragged her reluctant attention away from the Ares boys.

The driver had stepped out of the vehicle. An honest to god butler-looking guy, complete with waistcoat and spotless white gloves. He rushed to one of the passenger doors, and opened it.

An old man unfolded from the bone-white leather seats inside. His suit was ashen but impeccable and pinstriped. He had silver hair and a hatchet face. When he stood to his full spindly height, he seemed to loom despite his heron’s stoop and the silver-headed cane clutched in his hand.

He was no god – at least none that Hilda recognised – though he could not have been fully mortal. Mortals couldn’t cross the camp lines.

Seteth stepped forward. When he nodded his head, it was like a bow of deference. “Margrave Edmund, thank you for joining us. You are most welcome here. I will look after your daughter personally.”

Hilda and Claude exchanged puzzled glances. Generally Seteth preferred a more hands off approach, letting professors Hanneman and Manuela take charge of lectures and whatnot. Seteth only ever dealt with individual students for special cases. Like delivering punishments, or handing out missions.

The Margrave had eyes like pale and tarnished coins. He bowed his head in return. “Thank you, Cichol. I entrust her to your care.”

A strange shiver ran through the earth at the sound of Seteth’s true Titan name. Seteth himself seemed unperturbed by the casual use of it. Meanwhile Hilda was left wondering how the hell this guy – fancy titles or no – managed to get away with using that name without being struck down by spears of light from the heavens.

“What daughter?” Hilda whispered.

Even as she spoke, another figure stirred within the shadows of the limousine. A girl stepped from the vehicle after her father. Hilda blinked in surprise. Most newcomers were young. They tended to be anywhere between ten and fifteen years of age, when they first arrived at camp half-blood. But this girl could not have been under the age of twenty, or Hilda would eat crow.

She was tall, thin, and gaunt as a blade. She wore a dark dress that made her dark eyes appear even larger and more lustrous. There was an odd quality to her pale hair, like the sheen of blued steel. Hilda might have thought it were dyed, if this girl didn’t look like the least likely candidate for hair dyeing. Her skin held a pallor as though she rarely saw the sun, and she seemed to shrink away from the bright early afternoon light.

The driver pulled a black suitcase from the boot of the limo, and deposited it at her feet. When he got a bit too close to her, she shied away from him. She tried to mask it as though she were reaching up to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. It did little to help her overall bedraggled personal appearance. Next to her sleek half-mortal father, she appeared disheveled, and not in an artful way. Honestly, Hilda probably could have tied a better messy bun in her sleep.

Claude leaned over and whispered to Hilda, “My bet is rich heiress of old money.”

“Hmm…” Hilda took a moment to consider her best guess. “I’m going to go with: orphan adopted by screwball philanthropist.”

“Twenty bucks?”

“Oh, you’re on, pretty boy.”

They shook hands.

“Marianne,” Seteth said with another of his pseudo-bows, “It is lovely to meet you. Please, if there’s anything I can do to improve your stay, let me know.”

For a moment she said nothing. She seemed afraid that Seteth was going to bite her or something. When she did finally speak, her voice was soft and tremulous. “Thank you.”

After speaking, she looked to Margrave Edmund as if for confirmation that she had said the right thing. He gave her none. Indeed, he did not so much as put his hand on her shoulder for comfort before nodding towards Seteth and folding himself back up into the limo.

The driver – butler? whatever – shut the door behind him, then trotted around to his own door. Marianne did not turn to watch the limo go, though at one point her dark eyes flickered in the direction of the dust plumes that rose in its wake. Immediately however, Marianne lowered her gaze to her own feet.

When the limo had gone from sight, Seteth gestured towards the suitcase. “Allow me.”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll take it.” Marianne picked up the bag before Seteth could even reach for it. She spoke so softly, it was difficult to hear her over the raucous noise of the nearby Ares boys.

Claude hummed a contemplative note under his breath. “Either the heiress has something in that bag she doesn’t want anyone to see, or she isn’t as pampered as I’d originally thought.”

Hilda shot him a dirty look. “Why do you always think someone is hiding something?”

“Because they usually are.”

“Well, newsflash, but it reflects poorly on your own character. Just - y’know - an FYI.”

He shushed her, craning his neck as though it would help him better overhear what was going on further down the field. Seteth was leading Marianne across the centre of the field, the exact opposite direction from cabin eleven.

“Not an undetermined, then,” Claude muttered to himself. “Aphrodite?”

At the sound of her own mother, Hilda snorted. “Aphrodite? Not likely. Look at her, and then look at me.”

“Alright, point taken. So, Athena, then.”

“I dunno,” Hilda tongued at the inside of her cheek. “She seems a bit dreary, even for the Athena kids.”

Hilda and Claude watched from beneath the shelter of decorative white-marble pillars, as Seteth led Marianne across the field. A number of other curious faces also turned to follow their path, eager to learn of where this newcomer fell into their ranks.

Seteth stopped before the Demeter cabin, and knocked on the door.

“Wait, really?” Claude said. “She doesn’t seem like a child of Demeter.”

“Wow. Prejudiced, much?”

Claude pointed towards a small cluster of the Demeter kids that had emerged from the cabin to greet their newest member. “Just look at them. And then look at her.”

Hilda pursed her lips at having her own words thrown back at her. But she had to admit, he had a point. She didn’t tell him that, though. His head wouldn’t fit on his shoulders otherwise. Children of Apollo were almost always predisposed towards a certain cocky arrogance, and he had it in spades.

But the new girl definitely didn’t look anything like the other children of Demeter. Where Marianne was narrow and gaunt, the Demeter kids were homey and apple-cheeked. When Mercedes, the head of Demeter cabin, stood beside Marianne, the contrast could not have been more stark. Mercedes held out her hand to shake, but Marianne backed away a step as if the thought of being touched repulsed her.

Claude gave a sympathetic wince. “Oooh, chilly.”

“Okay, okay if you’re so sure that she’s undetermined, then why doesn’t Seteth just put her in with the Hermes kids like all the others?” Hilda asked.

“I don’t know,” Claude mused. He had that look on his face he always got when he stumbled across a particularly convoluted puzzle. “But I intend to find out.”

Hilda patted him on the shoulder. “Well, good luck with that.”

When she turned to walk away, intent on heading back towards the arts and crafts centre to work on her latest jewelry piece, Claude called after her. “Wait -? You really don’t care about getting to the bottom of this?”

“Nope!” Without looking back, she waved at him. “Later!”

–

Before the day could end – heck, even before dinner – Hilda ran into Seteth on the path between the mess hall and the cabins. She only caught sight of him at the last second as she was rounding the bend and humming to herself, when it was far too late to leap into the bushes and hide. Just her luck.

Raising her hand, Hilda greeted him with a cheeriness that was way too over the top. “Oh, Seteth! Good day to you, and farewell!”

And with that, she turned heel and began power walking in the opposite direction. Screw dinner. She could sneak into the dining pavilion later.

“Just a moment, Hilda. How are you feeling?”

With a low groan, Hilda stopped in her tracks. She closed her eyes, and took a moment to gather herself before she could turn back towards him with a forced smile on her face. “Oh! Ah, fine! I’m - I’m doing just fine. Thank you so much for asking!”

His eyes were a piercing green. He never seemed to need to blink. “Is that so? I’d heard you had fallen ill to a headache, and one of your fellow colleagues took over your duties of sweeping the armoury for the day. How thoughtful of them.”

“Well, you know how it is.” Hilda rocked back and forth between heel and toe. “My friends are just so kind and helpful like that.”

“Indeed. You should count your blessings that you have been so favoured.” His stare bore into her as though he were balancing her very spirit on the bronzed edge of a sword.

“Oh, I do! I - uh - I definitely do. Count. Every day.” A nervous little laugh escaped her at that. She could hear her voice strain slightly beneath the charmspeak laced into her words. She never could refrain from a bit of hypnotism when she was angry or nervous. It was a bad habit from her younger days.

Of course, it did nothing to Seteth. The magic washed over him like water from a duck’s back. “Excellent. I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “In fact, now that I know you have recovered, I have an assignment for you.”

Hilda’s heart skipped a beat. An assignment? She hadn’t been given an assignment in, like, years.

Okay. Maybe it had only been six months. But that was forever ago. This camp was only so big, and even if she wasn’t a year-rounder, she was so bored.

She immediately brightened. “Well, why didn’t you say so! Let’s hear it, then.”

Seteth’s hands were clasped behind his back in an officious pose. He looked like a statue. One of those stiff Egyptian ones. “I take it you, along with the rest of the camp, have heard about the newest addition to our ranks? Marianne von Edmund?”

“Yes,” Hilda said slowly, wondering if this was some sort of trick question. “Is she going to be joining me on the mission or something?”

“Hardly. Marianne doesn’t know anybody here, and I need you to do what you do best.”

“Which is -?” Hilda made a gesture with her hands, implying that Seteth should expand upon that topic. She was very good at a great many things. He was going to need to be a bit more specific.

“Befriend her, of course,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. She frowned in puzzlement. “What? Why me?”

“Because you are one of the camp’s most senior students -”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“- And because you know everyone, and everyone knows you. Which means that you can be a conduit for her to the rest of the camp. Introduce her to others. Make her feel at home.”

“Uhhhh everyone knows you, too. Why can’t you show her around?”

Seteth’s brows drew down. “I am the camp overseer. I have many duties to attend to, and while I hate to admit it, I cannot be everywhere at once. I am asking you to do this because I know you are the most capable for the job.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to expect too much from me?”

“At least once more.” Something like the faintest hint of a smile touched the corners of Seteth’s mouth before vanishing once again. “Truth be told, I have always harboured high hopes for you. Especially after having trained your brother.”

It was true. Holst used to be the head of Aphrodite cabin. Everyone expected Hilda to do the same, which is exactly why she didn’t.

Head of a Cabin? Yikes. Way too much responsibility.

Hilda made a face. “No, thank you. And why can’t Mercedes have this assignment? She’s the head of Demeter cabin. She’s the one who should be showing her newbie the ropes.”

“It is important that Marianne is made to feel at home here. Unless you would like to excuse yourself from the sacred duties of hospitality?”

At that, Hilda’s blood ran cold. If there was one thing you did not mess with, it was xenia, the sacred concept of hospitality. She’d heard stories of those who broke the rules of hospitality, and she rather liked keeping her organs arranged in the way they currently were, thanks.

With a huff, Hilda crossed her arms and accepted her fate. “Ugh. Fine. Whatever.”

“You are disappointed,” Seteth said. It was not a question.

“Well, yeah,” Hilda mumbled. She scraped the toe of her shoe against the ground, sketching out a misshapen heart in the dirt. “When you said ‘assignment,’ I thought you meant with, like, weapons. And monsters. And going out there."

She gestured towards the treeline in the West, which demarcated the camp from the rest of the world.

Seteth looked in the direction indicated with a heavy, thoughtful expression. "Trust me when I tell you, Hilda, that this assignment is the most important you will receive during your time here.”

Hilda snorted. “What? Showing around The Marquise Mopey?”

At that, Seteth’s eyes flashed. He looked at her, and she paled. In his face she could see the blood-drenched earth, the frenzied clash of spear and shield from time immemorial. Sometimes it was easy to forget that he was not in fact the soft-spoken gentleman façade he wore, but one of the five Kouretes. Ancient, Titan-born, and brother of the Furies. A deity of wild mountainsides, an inventor of rustic arts, the first of the armoured warrior-gods.

His voice was soft yet dangerous; it bore the weight of millenia when he spoke, “If I hear that you have been anything but kind and generous to our guest, you will answer to me personally. Do you understand?”

Hilda held up her hands as if to fend off a physical blow. “Woah! Relax. I wasn’t going to be all mean girls towards her, or anything. I love making friends!“

In an instant, the intensity faded from his gaze as though it had never been, though the air around him still seemed too warm. Or perhaps that was just the early summer heat. "Good. Then you’ll have no issue attending dinner with her.”

“Wait, you mean, like, right now?”

He arched a cool eyebrow at her. “Is that a problem?”

“What? No! Not at all! I’m going to crush this assignment. You’ll see. I’m hospitality incarnate.” Hilda ran a hand through her hair, and lifted her chin. “Hell, I’m the most charming person in this place! How hard can it be?”

–

As it turned out, it was hard. Very hard.

For starters, Marianne was difficult to even track down. Hilda looked everywhere. Demeter Cabin was empty, but for Ashe, who was watering the plants out front even though he could make them grow just by snapping his fingers. He claimed Marianne hadn’t spoken more than two words to him since her arrival, before she promptly vanished like smoke. The last he heard, Mercedes and Seteth had been giving her a tour of the camp.

It took Hilda over an hour to find her. By the end, she had given up on asking people if they had seen a tall, morose newcomer since her arrival, because nobody had. Not a single soul. It wasn’t until Hilda had well and truly given up – honestly, screw this; she was hungry and it was dinner time – that she spotted her. Hilda was emerging from the armoury, having given up all hope, when she blinked.

There, wandering at the edge of the forest, was Marianne. The dark blue of her long dress blended into the shadows of the woods. She looked like a lost spirit, the setting sun chasing her footsteps but never truly reaching her. As though the light were afraid to touch even the delicate gold embroidery of her hems.

Hilda lifted her hands to her mouth, and yelled, “Hey! Hey, you by the forest!! Yeah, you!”

At the first sound of Hilda’s voice, Marianne had stopped. She pointed to herself, then looked over her shoulder, as though there were the off chance Hilda was actually addressing a tree behind her or something.

“Don’t move! Just stay right there!” Hilda started jogging over, and boy if that wasn’t dedication then she didn’t know what was. These heels were not made for running. Seteth had better give her such a good fucking score on this assignment.

Hilda slid to a halt, nearly tripping as her heels caught on a loose stone in the ground. But she made the recovery as gracefully as she could manage. Which was super graceful. Divinely graceful, even. Well, semi-divine anyway. Close enough.

Luckily, Marianne followed instructions. She had not moved. Now, she blinked languidly at Hilda, her expression guarded, her stance tense, as though she were ready to bolt at any sudden movements.

Hilda pointed into the thick darkness of the forest. “You really shouldn’t go out into the forest alone. There are all sorts of monsters in there. Didn’t Seteth or Mercedes tell you that? Honestly!”

Marianne glanced towards the woods, but she seemed curious rather than afraid. “What kind of monsters?”

“I dunno. Minotaurs. Dragons. Hellhounds. All sorts.”

“Right,” Marianne said slowly. “And those…are bad?”

Hilda stared at her. “Yes. Yes, those are very bad.”

Marianne’s shoulders caved inwards as she seemed to shrink away from her. “Sorry.”

Oh, geesh. As far as first exchanges went, they were off to a bad start. Shit. Dazzle time.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m being very rude.” Hilda straightened to her full height, which barely reached Marianne’s chin even when Marianne slouched like she was now. Hilda smiled as brilliantly as she knew how – which was Very Brilliant, let’s be honest – and held out her hand. “I’m Hilda. You’re Marianne, right? Nice to meet you!”

“Oh. Um - Hello.” Marianne did not take her hand. Instead, she lifted her own to her chest, and gave a nervous flutter of her fingers before clenching her hand into a fist beneath her collarbone.

A long moment of silence passed. Hilda lowered her hand. She tried to think of some way to break the ice, but each time a topic came to mind, it sloughed out of reach as though Marianne’s very presence rejected friendly conversation. Like trying to push together a set of repelling magnets.

It was the first time Hilda had ever been at a complete loss in a social situation. She wasn’t sure she liked it.

Eventually, Marianne said, “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at interacting with people.”

“What? No! It’s fine. You’re fine,” Hilda lied. “I’m just glad I found you when I did. Next time you come out here, be sure to bring a friend. That’s all.“

Marianne stared at her as though she were a hydra and had grown an extra head. "I don’t have friends.”

“Well, that’s very rude of you. I’m right here, thank you very much.” Hilda grinned, and brushed some of her long hair over one shoulder with a flounce.

If anything Marianne appeared taken aback. Her head jerked as if she had been struck, and she looked Hilda over. “What -?”

“No, no, you don’t need to say anything. A simple ‘thank you’ will suffice.”

“Th - Thank you?”

“You’re very welcome. Hey. It’s dinner time. Want to walk with me to the dining pavilion? I’ll point out everyone to you, so you know names and stuff. Sound good?”

“Um -”

“Great. C'mon! It’s this way.”

Gesturing for Marianne to follow, Hilda started walking in the direction of the dining pavilion. For a moment she heard no movement behind her. Then, hesitant footsteps. Marianne walked silently; Hilda could barely hear the rustle of leaves and the press of earth in every step. Hilda talked as they walked. She pointed out various landscapes and features, revealing hidden information about them that absolute squares like Seteth wouldn’t have told their newest member.

“If you want a really good time,” Hilda said as they strode along the pathway that followed the lake, “Take a dip in here at night.”

“What monsters are in the lake at night?”

“Absolutely none. It’s just fun!” Then Hilda amended, “Well, that’s not strictly true. I mean, there are totally monsters living in there. But the point is that at night the water is still all warm from the day, so it’s really nice. Plus it’s about the adventure of it, you know?”

That only seemed to puzzle Marianne all the more. Still, Hilda glanced over to find Marianne studying the lake with a faint gleam of curiosity in her eyes.

Hilda winked. “I’ll take you out one night. It’ll be fun!”

Ducking her head, Marianne mumbled, “I’m not a very good swimmer.”

“No time like the present! Am I right?”

“I guess.”

“Don’t worry. I’m a great teacher. And I definitely won’t let you drown, or get eaten by a monster, or die, or - y’know -” Hilda shrugged. “- whatever. Because that’s what friends are for.”

To that, Marianne made no reply. She offered no further comments, allowing Hilda to carry the conversation all the way to the pavilion perched over the edge of the lake. Hilda was all too happy to do so; she filled up the silence with idle chatter. And yet, she never once got the impression that Marianne wasn’t listening. Quite the opposite, in fact.

The sun was setting over the hills by the time they arrived at the pavilion. Their shadows lengthened along the ground. Hilda noticed but made no comment on how Marianne’s shadow was nearly twice as long as her own. Marianne was taller, after all. That must have been the reason why.

The dining pavilion had not walls, only pillars lined with torches, but rain and wind never seemed to be able to get inside. Other students were already crowding the large tables that surrounded a central brazier bearing a bed of red-hot coals. Hilda stopped at the edge of the pavilion, and turned to Marianne.

“Alright, first thing’s first. You can’t sit at another god’s table. That’s just the rules. So, you’ll be over there.” Hilda waved her hand towards the Demeter table, where Mercedes and Ashe were already seated.

For some reason, that made Marianne shrink a bit more. She tugged at the ends of her long sleeves so that her hands were partially covered. The action reminded Hilda of a turtle trying to retract into its shell. “What if there’s nobody else in your Cabin?”

“Then you sit alone, unless you get special permission. It sucks. I know. But it’s only for meal times and sleeping. And luckily you and I don’t have to worry about that. Anyway, that brings us to our next point.” Hilda began to tick off names on her ringed fingers. “Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades Cabins are all empty. The Big Three haven’t had kids in, like, centuries, because their kids are always too powerful and kind of a pain in the neck or whatever. Hera Cabin and Artemis Cabin are also empty because goddess of marriage and goddess of virgins. Don’t like philandering, blah blah blah. You know the drill. Then we have the rest.”

Hilda pointed out each group in turn throughout the mess hall. “You already know the Demeter kids, so I won’t bother. There’s Hermes Cabin over there. Wanderers and thieves and lost souls. Undetermined kids go there, too. Anna is their leader. She’s the oldest student here. Don’t take bets with her. You’ll lose every time.”

Hilda moved along to the next group. Two of them had their noses in books while eating. “Athena Cabin. Nerds. All of them. Edelgard’s the boss there. Don’t let her pretty face fool you; she’s always calculating something behind the scenes. Or at least I always get that impression.”

“Then there’s the Apollo kids.” Hilda waved at Claude, who had caught sight of her. “That’s Claude. He sucked up the arrogance and charisma of all the other Apollo kids, but he’s not a bad guy at heart.”

“Next to them is Dionysus Cabin. Always check any food or drink they serve you. Enough said. There’s Hephaestus Cabin over there. Messy and creative. My people at heart if not by blood.”

Hilda’s hand drifted towards the next table along, the largest of the bunch filled with rowdy teens and twenty-somethings all with more muscles than sense. "And of course Ares Cabin. Just a bunch of guys being dudes. Dudes being guys. And also Petra is there. She’s pretty nice actually. Just don’t get on her bad side. She loves a fight more than anyone else I know. And if anyone gives you any trouble, you tell me and I’ll kick their asses for you. Got it?”

Marianne nodded, wide-eyed and attentive.

“Which leaves Aphrodite Cabin, full of the greatest people you’ll ever meet, including -” Hilda gestured to herself with a stunning smile, “- yours truly.“

At that, Marianne asked in a faint yet curious tone, "Are you the leader of Aphrodite Cabin?”

Hilda scrunched up her nose as though at a bad smell. “Gross. No way. I leave that job to Lorenz, thanks.”

“Oh,” Marianne ducked her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you, or -”

But Hilda waved her away. “Nah, you’re fine. Don’t worry about it. Let’s go grab some food. Oh! Before I forget.” Hilda pointed out the central firepit. “Remember to leave a bit of your food, so you can offer it to the gods after we eat. Very important. Don’t skip that step.”

Marianne nodded solemnly. Then again, solemn just seemed to be her natural state of being.

“Okay! See you later, then!” And with that, Hilda flounced off towards her own table.

Behind her, Marianne floundered for a moment, before drifting over towards the other Demeter kids, who greeted her with smiles. Hilda watched as Marianne did not return them, just sat as far away from the others, so that she was perched on the very corner of the bench.

This was going to be a lot harder than Hilda had originally thought.

With a resigned sigh, Hilda tucked into her own meal. No sooner had she picked up her knife and fork however, than she felt something soft smack into the back of her head. A rolled up napkin landed on the table by her elbow.

Hilda looked at Sylvain, who was sitting directly opposite her. “Don’t tell me. It’s Claude, isn’t it?”

Sylvain grinned around his fork, pulling the utensil out of his mouth to answer, “Well, if you want a break from the guy, I’m always free.”

“Funny,” Hilda replied in a complete monotone. She twisted around in her seat. Sure enough, Claude was trying to catch her eye.

He lobbed something else towards her. This time, it was a little origami paper airplane with a wedge-like arrow shape. It flew straight and true, landing directly by Hilda’s plate. Groaning, Hilda unfolded the paper and read its contents.

‘I thought you said you weren’t interested in the newblood?’

“Do you have a pen?” Hilda held out her hand towards Sylvain.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he handed her a tube of unused lipstick. She arched an eyebrow at him.

Sylvain shrugged. “It’s all I’ve got. Take it or leave it.”

Shrugging, Hilda uncapped the tube, gave its base a twist, and wrote her reply in bold scarlet. “Who even uses this shade?” she muttered under her breath. “I mean, I could totally pull it off, but -”

Sylvain had returned to his meal, but he said firmly, “I want it back.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

Hilda finished. She capped the lipstick and handed it back over to Sylvain. Then, she turned to toss the paper airplane back towards Claude. Whatever magic he had infused in it while folding its edges still remained, for it ducked and dipped around other students right for him like a bird in flight. Hilda did not wait to see his reaction to her reply, which read:

‘Seteth asked me to look after her. And no, I won’t help you with whatever you’re planning.’

She was a few bites into her meal, when the airplane returned. She crumpled it into a ball, and chucked it into the brazier, where it burned. Behind her, Hilda could hear Claude’s sound of outrage. Sylvain snickered into his cup.

From where Hilda sat, Marianne was just within view. Her slouched shoulders, her head bowed. Hilda watched with mild interest, as other students at her table attempted to engage her in conversation. Even those from other tables who were near enough tried to lean over and introduce themselves. They were all rebuffed. One by one. Without fail.

Eventually, Marianne had finished with her meal. Or perhaps she was simply finished with being in so crowded a space. She was a slow eater, but she was one of the first to rise from her seat. She picked morosely at her food, as though everything tasted like ash. And when she approached the brazier in the centre of the tables, her plate was still mostly full.

Marianne scraped her food into the brazier, and murmured something under her breath. The coals leapt to life with a dull roar, like the sound of distant waves against the shore. The flames burned a hot, pale, hungry blue, searing the food to white ash.

The entire dining pavilion fell silent. The clink of cutlery faded. People turned to stare. Marianne stood before the brazier, clutching her plate and knife, glancing around at all the stunned faces. She set the plate and knife down, then scurried from the pavilion, her head lowered.

After she had gone, people resumed their eating, but slowly. Over the heads of the other tables, Claude mouthed to Hilda: ‘What the fuck was that?’

Hilda shrugged at him, and then pretended to ignore the rest of his gestures for the remainder of the night.

–

Hilda did not think about Marianne for the rest of the evening. She went back to the arts centre, and finished off a new bangle she had been working on for the last two weeks. Even then, she was not completely satisfied with it, and tossed it back into the forge for one of the Hephaestus kids to re-smelt into something.

After giving up on that piece, Hilda went back to the drawing board. She pulled out a notebook and pencil, and began sketching out ideas for a brooch. Or maybe a hair pin. It could have been either. The forge blazed on the other side of the room. This area of camp was always populated, even in the earliest hours of the morning or the latest hours at night. Someone could always be found tinkering away on something. And tonight that person was Hilda.

She eventually wandered back to her cabin, but only when the designs all started bleeding together. Rubbing at her eyes with a yawn, she went about washing her face, changing her clothes, and crawling into the top bunk that had been assigned to her years ago. She could hear Sylvain snoring on the opposite side of the cabin, and was tempted to throw a pillow at him to get him to roll over.

At some point, she had fallen asleep. The next thing she knew, a pinkish light was filtering through the tinted windows right into her face. To make things worse, Lorenz was swanning about, handing out that week’s chore list to everyone.

He reached her bunk bed. “Hilda.”

Hilda pulled a pillow over her head, and rolled over.

Lorenz circled around to the other side of the bunk bed, so he could wave her chore list in her face. “I know you’re awake.”

“No, I’m not,” Hilda groaned, her voice muffled beneath the pillow.

He swatted at her pillow with the folded up piece of paper, until she gave up and snatched it from his hand.

“There,” he said smugly. “Was that really so hard?”

“Not all of us are up with the larks every morning,” Hilda grumbled, but he was already striding away to dish out everyone else’s responsibilities.

Not bothering to sit up, Hilda hung her head over the side of the bed so that her long untidy hair fell over the side. She rubbed at one eye as she read over the week’s chores.

Monday - 0900 to 1100 - Cooking Duties - Hilda Goneril and Marianne von Edmund

Tuesday - 1100 to 1430 - Pegasus Stable Duties - Hilda Goneril and Marianne von Edmund

Wednesday - 1500 to 1700 - Gardening Duties - Hilda Goneril and Marianne von Edmund

…Now, hang on just a damn second.

Hilda rubbed at her other eye to make sure she was reading everything right. She frowned at the page, and held it a little closer to her face.

Okay. She was definitely reading that right. Apparently hospitality homework extended to more than just a quick Intro to Camp 101. But really, Seteth didn’t have to go out of his way to pair them up for everything. It wasn’t like she was going to try to wriggle out of her assignment. That was just insulting. And completely untrue.

Hilda let her arm flop to the side, and the page of chores fluttered to the floor from her grip. She covered her eyes with her other hand, and groaned. Honestly this should’ve been the easiest assignment ever. If not for the fact that Marianne was so much work.

“Is something the matter?” Lorenz asked from across the room.

“No,” Hilda sighed, dragging her hand down her face. “Everything’s just peachy.”

–

The first chore was cooking. Or rather, it was preparing lunch meals for a group of younger students going out into the forest for the first time with Manuela.

It went poorly. Neither of them were very good in the kitchen. Which was odd, because Demeter kids were all great at cooking. It was one of their Things. Right alongside having a greenthumb that would make an eighteenth century English landscaper cream himself.

The food wasn’t disastrous, by any stretch of the imagination. They got the meals ready and packaged in time. But nothing tasted that great, and there was an awful lot of mess left over afterwards, which meant that Hilda moaned about having to clean up the whole time. All the while, Marianne remained silent, looking like she was at a loss on how to use a modern sink to wash the cutting boards. Like she’d been dumped into the present day from hundreds of years ago.

Hilda did the bulk of the talking for the whole two hours. Every now and then, Marianne would make a noise, like a soft hum at the back of her throat, as if that were her sole form of contribution to the conversation. Once – shockingly – she even asked if Hilda could pass her a knife. When their fingers almost brushed along the handle, Marianne dropped the blade and stuttered on her apologies for two whole minutes.

So, yeah. This assignment kind of sucked so far.

–

Monday passed without much incident. At ten minutes past eleven on Tuesday, Hilda wandered up to the pegasus stables for their shared chores. Marianne was already there. She had a handful of carrots, and was feeding one to a pegasus. The beast’s head leaned out of his stall as far as he could go in an attempt to get closer to the source of the treats.

"Don’t be greedy,” Marianne chided softly. Even so, she fed the pegasus another carrot.

“Heyoo,” Hilda greeted.

Marianne almost dropped the carrots in one hand. She turned to see Hilda striding towards her. “Oh. Good afternoon, Hilda. You’re looking - uh - well.”

“Thanks.” Hilda did not even take offense to the belated attempt at praise. It was more than Marianne had been able to muster up over the last two days, which meant progress. Baby steps. They would get there. Eventually. Very eventually.

Stopping beside Marianne, Hilda nodded towards the pegasus, which was still chewing on the end of the carrot. “You’re awfully good with them. Normally, they hate me.”

The pegasus spoke while still chewing, his words punctuated with loud crunching noises. “I don’t hate you. That’s quite a strong word. I’m indifferent about you.”

Hilda scowled. “That’s even worse, Grass-Head.”

“My name,” the pegasus said in as acidic a tone as psychic words could convey, “is Minty.”

Hilda rolled her eyes. “Oh, like that’s any better.”

“I like horses,” Marianne admitted. “My father used to let me ride his sometimes.”

At that, Minty stamped his hoof, which scraped against the stall door. “I would really appreciate it if you didn’t ride me. You smell like rotten eggs. But if you keep the carrots coming, I’ll let you pet me.”

“How generous,” Hilda drawled.

On the other hand Marianne hastily offered another carrot. Minty grabbed it between his teeth and began to chew, while Marianne reached up to pat his head and play with his silky forelock.

Hilda gave her a sidelong glance. “So,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Your dad had horses?”

Marianne mulled over her words very carefully before responding. “Yes. Four of them. They didn’t talk, though.”

“Did they still like carrots?”

“Uhm -”

But Minty answered instead, “All horses love carrots.” He snuffled around Marianne’s hand, trying to reach the other bunch of carrots held there.

“There are other pegasi here,” Hilda pointed out. Indeed, a number of other pegasi were watching this exchange from their own stalls, their heads eagerly extended above the doors.

“Ignore those guys,” Minty said. “They definitely don’t want these.”

“Greedy asshole,” Hilda muttered under her breath.

“I heard that.”

“Whatever.” Hilda jerked her thumb over her shoulder, and said to Marianne, “I’m going to go grab some gloves, pitchforks, and a wheelbarrow. I would highly recommend wearing gloves, yourself.”

“Alright. I’ll come with you.” Marianne gave Minty one last carrot, taking the time to pat him on the head some more, before turning to follow Hilda.

Marianne spoke a bit more today. Not much more, but a bit. The pegasi all took an interest in her, even if they generally did not want Marianne to touch them unless bribed with treats. They made odd comments about her smell, while remaining generally uninterested in Hilda’s presence entirely.

Which was rather insulting, really. Hilda was not a person accustomed to being treated with indifference. And charmspeak did not work on pegasi like it did on people. Annoyingly.

Hilda tried. She received a series of nickers that could only be described as amused in a mocking way.

Afterwards, Hilda was sweaty and annoyed. She tipped a load of straw into the last stable, and raked it around, while Marianne chatted with the pegasus. If only it were that easy to get Marianne to talk to actual humans. Her sentences were still short and carefully combed of any personal information, but still.

And at the end of it all, Marianne even offered Hilda a little wave and a hesitant, “See you tomorrow,” before they parted ways for the day.

Leaning on a pitchfork, Hilda watched her go. “Weird,” she muttered under her breath, when she was sure Marianne was out of earshot.

“Yeah,” Minty said from behind her. “You’re telling me.”

–

By the time Wednesday rolled around, Hilda was just about ready to bail on chores entirely. Honestly, it was a miracle she’d made it this far in the first place. She should have been awarded gold stars for exceeding all expectations. Normally she would have weasled her way out of the week’s responsibilities by Tuesday.

Not that it had anything to do with Marianne. Because it didn’t. Hilda just hated chores. She had a jewelry project she wanted to work on, some people she wanted to flirt with, and a monster hunt in the forest that sounded like way more fun than gardening.

Plus, it was hot. The late afternoon sun was an unimpeded glaring yellow dot in the sky, and Hilda was boiling. She fanned herself with a pair of leather pruning gloves. Her eyes were shielded behind a pair of pink-lensed glasses, and her head was covered in a black-ribboned straw hat.

Marianne stood beside her, hands nervously wringing another pair of gloves together. Whereas the sun glared down upon Hilda in full force, it somehow seemed to miss Marianne. As though she were sidestepping the light entirely. She still wore a dress with long sleeves, and long hems, and a high collar.

“I honestly don’t know how you’re surviving in all that.”

Marianne blinked in confusion. “What?”

Hilda gestured with the gloves towards Marianne’s clothes. “Aren’t you baking?”

Plucking at her long hems, Marianne said, “No.”

Hilda blew a raspberry, and pulled her gloves on. “Lucky you. Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

An empty flower bed stretched along the ground at their feet. It skirted the edges of one of the main pathways between the cabins and the amphitheatre. The flower bed was narrow, but long, extending over a little hill and out of sight. Even looking at it made Hilda’s knees feel tired.

She and Marianne had hauled a cart from the garden sheds, laden with trowels, liquid fertilizer, seed packets, and enormous quantities of small sprouting flowers. They had since unloaded all the flowers onto the path, ready to be planted over the next few hours.

Hilda was picking up a trowel, when it suddenly struck her. She rounded on Marianne, excitement lacing her voice. “Hey, you’re a Demeter kid! That means you’re really good with plants and stuff, right?”

“Uhm -”

“Great! You can just -” Hilda wiggled her gloved fingers at the flower bed “- do that nature magic you guys are so good at, while I clean up. And we’ll be out of here in no time.”

“I don’t think -”

“Don’t worry,” Hilda said, already gathering up all the gardening supplies so that she could carry them back to the shed. She would make the trip in one go if it killed her. Only cowards had to make two trips. “Nobody will care, so long as everything is planted and growing properly. Besides, this way we can both get out early. Hey! I can take you to the lake for some swimming practice! Doesn’t that sound fun? Let’s do that.”

She didn’t give Marianne a chance to answer. She was already grabbing up the cart’s handle, and hauling it back over to the garden shed.

The trip took a grand total of ten minutes. Feeling triumphant in her cleverness, Hilda sauntered back down the pathway. She was daydreaming about finally casting that new hair pin design in gold, when she rounded the corner, and froze.

Marianne was kneeling on the ground. In a great circle around her, the seedlings had been arrayed. When Hilda had left, the plants had been green and bright. Now, the leaves and flowers were all black and wilted, and the earth around them dark as if scorched. Faint curls of smoke drifted through the air from the ground, and the smell was rancid. Like sulfur.

“What -?” Hilda started to say, but she heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

Marianne jerked to her feet, brushing off the hems of her dress with trembling hands. Before she could get a good look at Marianne’s face, Hilda turned, and found herself face to face with Mercedes, who looked between the two of them in astonishment.

“Is everything alright?” Mercedes asked. Her eyes widened when she looked at the flowers at Marianne’s feet. “Goodness! What happened?”

"I -” Marianne’s lower lip trembled. She looked to be on the verge of outright tears.

Before she could say anything, Hilda stepped forward. “It was my fault,” Hilda insisted. “You know how I am. I thought I was spraying liquid fertilizer, but I’d accidentally grabbed that magic weed killer Ashe has been developing out in the sheds.”

With a nod of her head, Mercedes hummed. “Yes, that does sound like it would do the trick.”

“I’m so so sorry, Mercedes,” Hilda continued in her most wide-eyed, contrite tone. She smacked herself on the forehead with the palm of her hand. “I can’t believe I was so careless!”

Immediately, Mercedes placed her hands on Hilda’s upper arms, warm and comforting. “Oh, no! Don’t blame yourself! It was an honest mistake, I’m sure. It’s nothing we can’t fix.”

“You think so?” Hilda put a breathless quality into her voice to really sell it. There was no need for charmspeak here. It would probably work on Mercedes, but she didn’t need it.

Mercedes nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Thank you so much. You really are a life-saver, Mercedes.”

“No, no. It’s nothing. Helping is the least I can do.”

There were still the seed packets left over. They had escaped whatever magic that had blighted the area around Marianne. In Mercedes’ capable hands, it took a matter of minutes for the seeds to be scattered and growing all along the flowerbed. Still, a dead patch remained in one section of the flowerbed, where the seeds refused to grow, even beneath the force of Mercedes’ magical gifts.

“How strange,” Mercedes mused, studying the patch with a quizzical tilt of her head. “The soil in this area feels odd. I don’t quite know how to describe it.”

If Marianne’s shoulders could hunch up around her ears any more, then her head would become a part of her chest cavity.

Hilda tried to distract Mercedes. “You’re amazing,” she gushed. “I wish I had powers like that.”

It worked. Mercedes turned her attention away from the flower bed. “Don’t be silly. You have extraordinary powers yourself, Hilda.”

“Oh, no. Not like you, and the others. You’re incredible. Really.”

Throughout the entire exchange, Marianne remained silent. Her eyes were downcast. Something about the late afternoon light made them appear darker.

It took another five or so minutes to convince Mercedes that they should part ways without carrying around any suspicions. By the end, Mercedes continued on her way towards the amphitheatre with a merry wave of farewell and a promise to more clearly label the experimental weed killer in the garden shed.

When she had gone over the hill, leaving the two of them alone, Hilda breathed a sigh of relief. “Phew!” She took off her straw hat, and fanned herself with its wide brim. “That was lucky. Are you alright?”

“I’m - I’m sorry,” Marianne mumbled. She refused to meet Hilda’s gaze. “You shouldn’t have had to do - I didn’t mean to - I’m sorry.”

Before she could think to stop herself, Hilda reached out to place a hand on Marianne’s shoulder. But before she could touch her, Marianne recoiled.

“Please, don’t,” Marianne gasped. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. She wiped at them with the backs of her hands, and staggered away a step. “Don’t touch me. Don’t -”

Hilda opened her mouth to speak, but Marianne had already turned tail and was stumbling away. She did not bother to take the path, and instead fled directly across the field. The ground in her wake bore dark blistering marks in the shape of her footprints, as though her every step were bleeding the earth dry.

Hat in hand, Hilda stared after her. “What,” she muttered, “the fuck?”

–

NOTES:

The title is a reference to “A Study in Scarlet.” Not that there’s any murder in this story, just to allude that there is a mystery

This AU does not perfectly follow the Percy Jackson world. It just takes some of the main tenants from it. eg/ the Titan Wars are over, and many Titans (such as Seteth) have successfully integrated with the rest. And yes I know that if the Hades cabin is there, I should include the others to make up the full twenty. But I’m lazy.

None of the Percy Jackson characters will be making an appearance. It’s just our FE crew here.

#hilda valentine goneril #marianne von edmund #hildamari #hilda/marianne #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #roman writes

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sidereal-kindergarten · 5 years

Text

Liberosis, an update

Tuesday. Again.

Bob was still alive. I nearly cried when I saw him.

His toolbelt hung beneath my shirt, wrapped twice around my hips – and yet still it was loose enough to be awkward. I intended to give it back to him, but – somehow – despite me having it – it was still strapped to his waist, the screwdriver gleaming gently in the sun.

The toolbelt was all that grounded me. Without it, everything could've been a dream. But it was real. It was real, and warm, and in my hands. And Bob was laughing, and breathing, and alive.

I didn't talk to him. I didn't dare. I barely even looked at JJ - didn't want to, after everything that had happened yesterday. Today. Whatever - a few hours ago.

Whatever it was that had caused this, I wasn't about to let the opportunity to redo things go. It was a blessing - I got to make sure that JJ never got to kill Bob - I got to make sure everyone was okay. I kept my head down the whole day, taking great care not to disturb anything. I talked when spoken to, but rarely otherwise, and it didn't seem to bother anyone.

It wasn't before we were walking home that I noticed Nugget sniffling, his right arm a bloody stump. "Nugget!" I exclaimed. "Oh, my G - what happened to your arm?"

Nugget's eyes were bloodshot, but his smile kind, when he looked at me. "Oh, Nugget chewed it off. He deemed it necessary."

I gaped. "N... necessary? But - why?"

He shrugged. "Nugget was stuck beneath the school." With that, he turned and walked away, humming to himself.

I stared after him. Slowly, like a flower opening its petals, guilt unfurled in my chest. Why hadn't I stopped that? Why hadn't I - oh, oh, God. Oh, Nugget. His whole arm. That's not something you just - put on again -

I could imagine it, Nugget biting at his flesh with furious anger, mouth and teeth bloody. I'd heard of people dying of that - of blood loss, or infections, or, hell, anything, really, and - and - I didn't want to lose Nugget. I couldn't lose Nugget.

I staggered home, the feeling of guilt clenching around my ribs.

My fingers tingled.

I tensed, looking down at them in shock. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, the skin nice and rosy, my thumbnails bit down to the roots out of sheer worry.

Yet the tingling sensation continued.

Closing my eyes, I let it overtake me - hoping - wishing -

When I opened them again, the sky outside was dark, and the clock read 3AM.

On Tuesday.

Tuesday. Times three.

I got Nugget out of the room beneath the school with the help of Bob, then tagged along with him during the day to make sure he was fine.

During lunch, I found myself staring at his bloodied body, skull cracked open against the wall. "Nugget," I whispered. The box in my hands fell to the floor.

Carla was staring at his body as well, her dark eyes wide. "He didn't - he didn't stop - I told him to stop - "

Penny knelt beside him, hands red, cheeks glistening. "Nugget?" she asked. "Nugget, please... please..."

He didn't move.

I'd left him for ten seconds to microwave the goddamned nuggets for him, and he'd smashed his head open against the wall.

I shuddered. Nugget's eyes were open, staring emptily at the roof. In a flash, it wasn't Nugget on the floor, but Bob, and it was my fault, and it wasn't my blood smeared across my hands, and I'd failed.

Tuesday. Times four.

I tried again. Getting Nugget out of the grate, then making sure I didn't leave him alone throughout the day - but he refused to go with me to the teacher's lounge to heat the nuggets, and when I tackled him to keep him from splitting his head open, he bit my shoulder and sobbed like his whole world had shattered before his eyes. "Nugget!" I cried, trying to peel him off me even as he wailed. People were shouting all around us, Stevie trying to tear us apart - I could see Penny crying, through the crowd. "Nugget, please - please - "

He couldn't form a response, only stared at me with eyes too green and emotions too great, and I couldn't face that guilt.

I let him go.

When Carla dragged him off me, he was howling. There was blood in my mouth, on my teeth, on my tongue - and yet more so smeared across his lips, and my skin. The nuggets were scattered on the floor.

Dr. Danner wrestled Nugget from Carla's arms and pulled him from the room, and I lay panting on the linoleum.

I stared up at the ceiling. Inhale. Exhale. I breathed in the world and let nothing of it out, my ribs aching, creaking, breaking.

I closed my eyes.

Later, during gym, Nugget shuffled over, eyes downcast and cheeks flushed. "Nugget is sorry," he muttered. "Nugget just... is... passionate."

"I know," I said, rubbing gingerly at the wounds and bruises encircling my neck. "And it's okay, Nugget." He hadn't been hurt in the scuffle, only I, and as long as he was fine, I was happy.

"No," said Nugget. "No. It's not okay. Nugget hurt Nugget's friend. Nugget does not think..." He went quiet, then looked away. "Nugget does not think Jay should be Nugget's friend anymore."

My blood ran cold. "What? No, Nugget..."

He'd clutched at my hand when we stared death in the eye, had cried in my arms, had worried over Monty as we marched through the darkened hallways of fear. I'd seen him cry over his friends, had comforted him when we were the only two left after the ambulance had arrived and Carla and Penny had gone home. When the sky was cold, and the stars were distant.

And now he said he wanted it to end.

It hurt more than it should.

"Nugget has made up his mind," said Nugget, with such finality that there was no point arguing.

Still. I had to try. "No, Nugget, wait - I can make this right again! I promise, I can - I'll do anything - "

Nugget shook his head, corners of his mouth twitching in a sad grimace. "It's not Nugget's friend's fault. He can't make it right again. Only Nugget can. And Nugget cannot."

I reached for him as he turned, fingers missing his shoulder by only an inch. "Nugget..."

He left.

Tuesday, for the fifth time.

I told Penny that Nugget was stuck behind the grate and went on with my day, hoping that neither of them would come to harm. I spent the day talking to Monty and Carla. They were discussing potential designs for robot legs for Monty - so far, it seemed like it was just beyond the reach of modern technology, but they were confident they could get it done with enough money and time.

When morning time rolled around, they both went off to smart class. It was lovely watching them interact, after all the death and blood of the last few days. They raced each other up the stairs, Carla jumping two steps at a time while Monty rolled into the elevator.

Monty came first, for those wondering. His whoop of glee followed right after by Carla's groan of disappointment painted a smile on my face for quite some time.

Meanwhile, I went to morning time. Penny was chatting merrily with Nugget by the toy box, which would have been strange because she was usually in smart class, but was not all that strange simply because Nugget was here. Buggs stared gloomily at the wall, his arms crossed.

The last student, a boy I’d never noticed before, was standing over by his desk - he wore a blue tie, his hair smoothed back with gel. He looked at no one, preferring, apparently, to keep his head low.

I didn't know his name. "Hello," I said, standing before him. "I'm Jay."

He looked up. The skin beneath his eyes was bruised. "My name is Theodore," he said, and his hands were shaking. "Carla told me... she told me..." He took a deep breath, screwing his eyes shut. "God. Is it really true? Felix is dead?"

I blinked. "Felix?"

"Yes. My brother. He's missing. He left me a note."

Carla had held up a note when we first met.

"Oh," I said. "Oh, no... Theodore, I'm so sorry..."

"So it's true."

I lowered my gaze. "I... I'm sorry, yes, it is. Whatever it was that got him nearly got us, too."

Theodore sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm glad it didn't get you." A pause, and then he looked at me with something akin to hope. "Did you stop it?"

I grimaced. "Yeah."

"Good." He was silent for a moment. "I'd like to be alone now."

"But - "

"I said, I'd like to be alone now!"

Theodore's exclamation managed to get the attention of Miss Applegate, who's hair was frazzled and eyes bloodshot. "Jay!" she cried. "Are you bothering this blondie?"

"I - no," I said, stepping back. "No, I was just - "

"He really was just - " Theodore interrupted, stricken.

Miss Applegate snapped her fingers in a manner I recognized as shut the fuck up or I might just choke you to death. "Study hall, Jay! I've heard that's a punishment we have here."

Theodore winced, crumbling slightly around the edges. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to..."

I'd been in study hall before. It wasn't that bad.

More importantly, it wasn't Theodore's fault. "It's okay," I said, patting his shoulder.

He didn't answer, only flinched away, hunching over.

Last time I'd been in study hall, I'd been too busy worrying about Bob to experience my surroundings. Now, however...

"There will be no talking or moving in this class," said Dr. Danner, hands clasped behind his back as he levelled Buggs and me with a stare that could raise the dead. "Is that understood?"

"Crystal clear, sir," I said.

I barely had time to register what had happened before Dr. Danner had pulled some form of a gun and aimed it at me. "I said. No. Talking!"

"No, wait - !"

There was a moment of fire and burning and pain, and I couldn't see, I couldn't think, everything was just flashes of confusion and terror, and a scream was ripped from my throat, and I was falling, I fell -

I sat up with a gasp.

My bedroom was still. The sky outside was dark.

My clock read Tuesday.

Tuesday the sixth

Death was apparently not a problem.

I wasn't keen on testing my theory out. It might've been a one-time thing. It might've been an accident - or a dream - or something. Whatever it was, I didn't want to take any chances.

It wasn't up to me to decide, however.

I startled during morning time, yelped, and set off the ticking time bomb that was Miss Applegate. She snapped her pointing stick and turned on me in anger. It was disturbing and painful and prolonged, and I tuned out most of it. It took a long time before I realized I was back in bed.

There were bruises all over my body.

And it was Tuesday.

Tuesday, nine

I helped Nugget finish his nugget cave. When I was supposed to hand him the nuggets, I slipped on sand and fell, fell, fell, fell.

I couldn't move for some time when I woke up.

Tuesday, eleven

I forgot Nugget. He bled onto my shirt.

Tuesday, fourteen

I'd realized the 'loops,' as I'd taken to calling them, were not entirely within my control. Yes, they happened when my fingers tingled, and yes, my fingers tingled when I was unhappy with the outcome of a day - such as Nugget chewing his arm off, or my own death, or someone else's death - but there had been a few loops that were good enough. Good enough to build a 'tomorrow' out of – to keep, and to move on from.

Yet, they hadn't been perfect. And there was always a tiny thing I could change and make better. Still, it wasn’t a conscious choice – and I came to the conclusion that the loops continued because I knew I could change things. No matter if I wanted to or not.

I was tired. I wanted it to stop. I'd gotten scars on the insides of my wrists from the time I fell from the tree and broke my hands. There were bruises on my elbows and knees.

I was tired.

I snuck away from class and spent the day sleeping on top of the school roof.

Nugget would bite his arm off during the day.

I woke up in bed.

Tuesday eighteenth, nineteenth, twentieth, twenty-first.

There had to be a way to stop it. To prevent the cycle - the loop - to make everything just good enough for my subconsciousness to let me live.

I couldn't help but feel like Nugget was the key. Yet, every time I tried to help him throughout the day, something went wrong. He killed himself - bit off his arm - stumbled, refused to be my friend, became cold and shut-out.

It had been a month.

Tuesday, twenty-third

I stumbled down the stairs on my way to the bathroom. When I woke in bed, warm and comfortable, I cried bitter tears.

Tuesday, twenty-fourth, twenty-fifth, twenty-sixth, twenty-seventh

I died. I died. I died. I died.

Tuesday, thirtieth

I stood before the mirror in the bathroom. My eyes were sunken, my skin sallow. There were still finger marks around my neck from Dr. Danner strangling me three days ago. Scars ran up and down my arms, my knees severely bruised.

I drew a deep breath. "What did I do?" I whispered, pressing my fingers against the mirror. It was cold. Cold. Cold. "What did I do?"

Poor Bob. Poor Bob.

"Sweetie?" called ren, knocking on the door. "Jay, you'll be late for school!"

I hadn't heard their voice in days.

I hadn't seen mom or dad in a month.

"I'm coming," I whispered. "I'm coming."

"Hey, kid," said JJ, and Bob was on the floor and bleeding and gasping, and it was my fault.

"Shut up," I said.

"What?"

"I said, shut up! This is all your fault! You wanted me to - you made me - you made me a murderer! I didn't want to kill anyone!"

JJ blinked, stumbling a step away from me. "I - I haven't done anything!"

I was crying, hot and angry tears spilling down my cheeks. I couldn't stop them. I didn't want to stop them. "I hate you! I hate you so much! You killed me! I've - I've - I'm losing count of - I'm so tired!"

"I haven't killed anyone," JJ exclaimed, shifting the grip on his mop. "But if ye keep talking like that, I just might!"

"Do it," I spat, glaring at him through the tears and the anger and the pain. "Fucking do it. I'm not afraid of you."

"I sure am of you," said JJ, and stabbed me in the face.

I didn't go to school the next day.

Tuesday times thirty-five

"Oh, hey there, little buddy. Do you have a hall pass?"

I looked up at Damien, untouched and undisturbed, leaning against the bathroom wall like he had no worries in the world.

I didn't have a hall pass.

"If you're going to kill me," I said, shuffling through my memories of Damien to try and remember if he'd ever died or killed, "then do it now."

Damien blinked. "Man, I'm not gonna kill you just 'cause you don't have a hall pass. Give you study hall, maybe, but Jesus. Who's made you believe death is okay?" He frowned, then crouched before me, blue eyes bright. "...are you okay? You look tired."

No one had asked me if I was okay in weeks.

I wasn’t okay.

I burst into tears.

I couldn't do this. I couldn't do this. I couldn't do this.

Hiding my face in my hands, I sunk to my knees - finally having the breakdown I'd been bating my breath for, waiting for, fearing, and hating.

"Woah, there!" Damien exclaimed, and a moment after I was wrapped in a hug, warm and close and kind. "What's happened, little bro? You can talk to me."

I shook my head - couldn't speak through the sobs that tore through me - and just clutched at his hoodie. Everything had happened. Everything. I'd died. I'd died so many times.

Everyone had died, so many, many times.

The words I finally managed to choke out were: "It's been so long - since - since I - saw mom and dad, and I can't - " I pushed him away enough to roll up my sleeves, exposing my numerous scars and bruises. His expression was one of shock, but I didn’t care, couldn’t care, not when it’d all fade by nighttime anyways. "I can't do this anymore. I can't. I can't." I shuddered. "But - I - have to - "

I couldn't stop the tingling. I'd tried. I'd tried so hard.

They always came back. There was always something wrong.

"I guess - I - I'm not tired enough," I whispered.

Tuesday.

I'd lost count.

Tuesday.

"I'm sending you to the principal's office!"

"Penny - no - don't - "

Tuesday.

I stole the principal's papers about Penny and got Monty's help with reading them correctly, as there were some hard words in there.

A robot. A robot. She was a robot.

When I told her about it, she exploded.

I cried for an hour afterwards.

Tuesday

Nugget's hair was cut, and he cried, and his eyes were so terribly green, and all I could see was his blood.

It was the first time I looped voluntarily in the middle of the day.

I sat in bed, and I wondered - if I could loop by choice...

why should I not be able to stop it, too?

Tuesday

"The principal is what?" I whispered.

Carla nodded solemnly, leaning against Monty's wheelchair. "Yeah, we dug a bit deeper into the papers about Penny - "

"I know you didn't ask us to," said Monty, "but we did anyway."

" - yes, we did anyway - and it's bad. It's bad. Everyone just sort of assumed that Alice and Ron went missing the same way as - everyone else - but - no. They haven't. They didn't."

"But," I said, looking between them in dawning horror, "but - a secret lab?"

They both nodded this time. "They're being held captive - some of the notes seem to indicate that Mrs. Bell is trying to mutate them into some form of... monster," said Monty.

My blood ran cold. I didn't want more - I couldn't take more - I'd wanted all of this to end! Not - not this -

But - there wasn't much of a choice, now, was there?

"Well," I said, rubbing at my chin, "I guess we'll just have to stop her, then."

"How? We can't get down without Penny's eyes," Carla said.

"Well, we're friends, aren't we? Let's just ask her."

Carla grimaced. "I'm not sure if..."

"Look," I interrupted. "It's fine. It's going to be fine. Whatever happens, it'll be fine in the long run. Trust me."

It was most definitely not fine in the short run.

"I'm sorry," said Penny, when we stood by the eye-scanner in the basement. There were tears in her eyes, and her eyes were glowing. "I'm so sorry. But I cannot allow you down there. I'm taking you to the principal's office."

Tuesday. Again, and again, and again, again, again, again -

I tried. And I tried, and tried, and tried.

Penny shot me three times before I realized what I had to do to get down into the basement. Then it took me two tries to steal Miss Applegate's remote, and then another to fry Penny's chip.

I got to the basement once, twice, three times. I died. Penny exploded. Monty was torn apart. A fourth. A fifth. Carla drowned in goo. Alice and Ron were killed. A sixth. A seventh. Alice died during the mutation process. The mutants murdered all of us. An eight and Ron died during the mutation process.

Nugget caught wind of us going into the basement and got involved. Three times he died in there, and I had to see a weary Penny sob over his corpse again, and again, and again.

I convinced him to jackhammer his way through the ceiling, hoping against all hope that he'd drill into the principal-turned-monster.

He missed. He slipped. He drowned. And died, and died, and died, and died.

I was going through the motions. Up from bed, talk to Monty, greet Carla, steal remote, fry Penny, involve Nugget, get jackhammer, pray nothing went wrong, die, die, reset, die, wake up.

Again, and again, and again. My world became gray. My words became monotone. Again, and again.

Nugget screamed. Monty sobbed over Carla's broken body. Carla sacrificed herself to save us all. Penny fell into the green goo, malfunctioned, and set the whole place on fire.

Death. And death. And death.

And one day we all got out from school, Ron and Alice covered in green goo, Carla bleeding but alive and too tired to care that she was sitting on Monty's lap - Nugget clutching at Penny's hands and looking incredibly proud of himself.

I went to bed. I woke up.

And it was Wednesday.

[LIBEROSIS LOCKED]

#kindergarten #kindergarten 2 #kindergarten kid #liberosis #writing

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ilya-sorokins · 5 years

Note

Prompt: cliche as fuck Lucaya break up Lucas moves. Comes back years later to find out Maya has a kid. His kid but he doesn't know. And no one will tell him.

so i think i got this ask in 2017 (tumblr really ought to put dates on these things) HOWEVER i started it like as soon as a got it, and i forgot about it for like a year, and i FINALLY finished it! pls keep in mind that this was written over the course of at least a year and a half and no one proofread it lmao. also lucaya is pretty much dead so i’m not expecting much out of this.

title: everything’s gonna be alrightword count: 7k+ship: lucaya, side riarkleao3

It all starts when Lucas Friar is offered a job. Not just any job, though. A job in Texas. A job that’s approximately 1,743 miles away from New York City. It’s also a job that’s approximately 1,743 miles from Maya Hart.

When he first tells Maya, she laughs, “You’re kidding, right?” But his face says otherwise. “Wait, you aren’t seriously considering accepting the offer, are you?”

“I’ve already accepted, Maya,” he tells her gently, squeezing her hand in his. “One of my former professors recommended me for the position, and the pay is amazing. I couldn’t turn it down.”

“What about me?” she asks, taking her hand from his and crossing her arms. She pinches herself repeatedly, thinking, This is just a dream, you’ll wake up and laugh at such a crazy idea. Lucas isn’t moving to Texas any time soon.

Brows furrowed, Lucas responds, “I assumed you would come with me. We were planning on moving in together soon, anyways.”

He reaches to take her hand again, but she moves away from his touch. Shocked at her reaction, he inches away from the blonde, a chasm beginning to grow between them.

“Lucas, you do realize that I have a life here, right?” she snaps, clenching her fists in her lap. “I have a family, friends, a damn job. I can’t just uproot my life.”

“I know,” he says slowly, thoughts churning in his head, “I just–well, I thought you’d want to come with me. We love each other. I’d planned on spending my life with you.”

The anger inside Maya quickly boils down into sadness and heartbreak. “I do love you, Lucas,” she begins, tears welling in her blue eyes, “but if you actually take this job, if you actually leave, then we’re done. There can’t be an us if you’re halfway across the country.”

“Then I guess we’re over,” he says simply. “I can’t turn down this opportunity. I’d never forgive myself. Maybe one day you’ll understand that, Maya.”

She’s so shocked that she doesn’t even realize he’s left until the door slams. Then the floodgates open and sobs wrack her tiny body. Tears stream down her cheeks, dripping onto her chest.

Maya cries so violently she ends up making herself sick. She runs to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before she vomits.

But the burn in her throat is nothing compared to the pain of her broken heart.

On autopilot, the woman gets up from the floor to brush her teeth. As she looks in the mirror, her disheveled reflection shows her mascara stained cheeks and post-vomit session hair. Normally Maya would fix herself up, make herself look presentable, but she can’t bring herself to do it.

It’s not like she has anyone to impress anymore.

Before she starts crying again, she decides to make a call. She finds her phone and goes to her favorite contacts. Before long, she’s greeted with a chirpy, “Peaches! How’d it go? I’ve been thinking about it all day!”

She takes a deep breathe. “I didn’t get to tell him, Riles. We just broke up.”

“What?!” Riley screeches, her tone dripping in shock. “Why? I thought you all were happy.”

“So did I,” the blonde muses. “He accepted a position in back in Austin without talking to me about it. He just assumed I’d go with him.”

The other woman’s gasp can be heard through the phone. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry, Maya.”

“I wish I could go with him,” she says honestly. “It’s not like I can. I’ve worked too hard to get my teaching job to just leave.”

“I agree with you, but what about–”

“The baby?” Maya finishes for her. The awkward silence is an answer enough. “He’s not going to find out that I’m pregnant. He doesn’t need to know. When he chose the job over me, he lost his right to know about my life. Plus, I was raised by a single mom, and I turned out okay. At least I think I did. We’ll make do.”

“Peaches, do you want me to come over?” Riley asks, concerned about her friend.

“You don’t need to do that…” she answers, trailing off. “But if you want to, I wouldn’t be opposed to eating ice cream and watching Friends in our pajamas.”

Her best friend laughs and it’s the first time Maya smiles since Lucas told her about the job offer.

“Okay, I’ll grab a few pints of Ben and Jerry’s and head over. Be there in thirty?”

Maya responds, “That works. Thank you, Riles. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Everything’s gonna be alright.”

The blonde lets out a breath, “Let’s hope.”

When she ends the call, she drops her hand to her still-flat stomach.

I guess it’s just me and you now, kiddo, she thinks, rubbing small circles. Everything’s gonna be alright.

—————————————-—————————————-

On a scorching day in the late spring, Maya gives birth to a beautiful baby girl after an incredibly long labor. She has wisps of dark blonde hair and her mother’s piercing blue eyes. The first person to hold her after her mother is Riley.

“She’s perfect, Maya,” the brunette whispers, holding the newborn in her arms. “Did you pick her name?”

She nods, looking at the sleeping baby in her friends arms, “Lucy Jane Hart. Lucy means light, and this little one is the light of my life.”

Riley says, “I love it. She’s lucky to have such a great mom.”

“I hope you’re right. I really, really hope so.”

While this moment occurs in New York, Lucas is returning to an empty apartment in Texas. He’s had yet another boring day at work, and every part of him misses Maya.

There have been several nights where he’s had a few drinks and almost called her, but even when he’s drunk he can’t forget her words.

If you actually leave, then we’re done.

And Lucas left. He made that decision. With each day that passes, his mistake becomes more and more apparent.

As he opens his first beer of the night, he says to nothing, “I miss Maya,” and wishes she was there with him.

At the same time, Maya holds her daughter and says, “I miss Lucas,” and wishes he was there with her.

But neither knows they’re thinking the same thing, and they go on with their lives. One day at a time.

—————————————-—————————————-

Almost six years later, Maya hears the words she never thought she’d hear.

“Lucas is back,” Farkle tells her over the phone. “He’s literally on his way to my apartment as we speak.”

It comes as such a shock to her body that she finds herself doubled over her classroom’s trash can, throwing up her lunch. Luckily it’s after school hours, so she won’t have any curious middle school students asking, “Miss Hart, are you okay?”

(Because her answer would be no, Miss Hart is not okay.)

“Maya,” she hears through her cell. “Maya, are you still there?”

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, picking up her phone to answer him. “I’m still here. I just threw up everything in my stomach.”

“Shit, Maya,” he says with a sigh. “I knew you wouldn’t be excited, but I didn’t think you’d react that badly.”

“Tell me about it,” she mutters. She hadn’t thrown up since her morning sickness days. Maya’s generally a healthy person. Except when she finds out the father of her child is back in town. That easily upsets her stomach. “Is he back for good?”

“Yes. He’s transferring to a vet’s office in the city,” Farkle tells her. “He asked to stay with us for a few nights, he can’t move into his apartment until Monday.”

“Oh, fuck,” Maya curses. “He’s gonna want to see me, isn’t he?”

“He’s already asked about you. He didn’t waste any time.”

A blush spreads across her cheeks and she’s immediately thankful to be alone right now. “Dammit,” she curses again.

“Uh, Maya,” he says, “You do remember what day it is, right?”

The woman’s eyes trail to her desk calendar. Thursday. What’s so special about Thurs– “Fuck, you all have Lucy right now!” she remembers. Riley always watches the five year old at her and Farkle’s place so Maya can stay at the school and finish up some work. “Wait–you said he’s on his way now?!”

“That’s what I said.”

“Shit! He’s gonna know she’s not yours!” she rambles, grabbing her bag. “I’m leaving the school right now. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“You’ll probably get here right before him.”

“Oh, I will be there before him,” Maya promises, exiting the building. She hangs up the phone and books it to the Minkus-Matthews apartment.

When she arrives, she’s drenched in sweat and her feet are on fire. Silently she curses herself for picking style over comfort when it came to today’s shoes. The wedges seemed like a great idea this morning.

Letting herself in, Maya calls out, “Hello?”

Seconds later the pitter-patter of tiny feet can be heard. Lucy crashes into her mother, nearly knocking Maya down, greeting, “Mommy! You’re early!”

“I just missed you so much!” she tells her, stooping down to her level. The little girl beams at her, ecstatic at the surprise.

“I missed you, too, Mommy! I had so much fun at school today!” she tells her, jittering with energy.

Maya laughs, wondering exactly how fun a day of first grade could be. Nonetheless, she replies, “I can’t wait to hear all about it, little bug. Where’s Auntie Riley and Uncle Farkle?”

The girl grabs her hand, leading her through the apartment. In the kitchen she finds the couple, where they are speaking in heated whispers, undoubtedly over Lucas’ impending arrival.

“Peaches!” Riley says, still greeting with the childhood nickname. “How was your day?”

“It was great until I got the news,” she says, letting out a sigh. She looks around to see what Lucy’s doing, but she’s too busy showing Farkle her new book to eavesdrop. “I’m scared, Riley.”

The woman’s face falls. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Maya. Plus, it could be good, you know,” she tells her, then her voice drops to a whisper, “Meeting her dad.”

Maya shakes her head, “I don’t know, Riles. It’s always been us. Lucy’s never even asked about her dad. Anyways, he may not even want her.”

The brunette narrows her eyes, “You know that’s not true. He will do everything for her once he finds out. Plus, Lucy will start asking about him sooner rather than later.”

As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, she knows she’s right. Lucas isn’t the type to abandon his own daughter. If anything, he’ll want to make up for nearly six years of lost time. And Maya also knows that he’s going to be heartbroken that she never told him. But she’ll cross that road when she comes to it.

And just because Lucy isn’t curious about her dad now, doesn’t mean she won’t ever be. Maya knows that from experience.

When the doorbell rings and interrupts her thoughts, she nearly collapses. Oh, god, I’m seeing Lucas Friar for the first time in almost seven years, she thinks, taking a deep breath and exhaling.

“I’ve got it!” Farkle calls out, headed towards the door. A curious Lucy attempts to trail behind him, but Maya quickly gets her attention.

“Lucy, honey, come here!” she calls.

The little girl walks over, “Yes, Mommy?”

“We’re gonna head home soon, do you have all your stuff together?”

She pauses, thinking about the question. She shakes her head, “Nope. I will get all my things.”

The woman smiles. “Thank you, baby girl.”

Quickly Lucy runs off to do as she’s told.

Moments later, a new voice nearly stops her heart. A voice that she hasn’t heard in nearly 7 years, but still causes her knees to weaken, and her cheeks to flush.

“Wow, Shortstack, you’ve barely changed,” Lucas walks into the kitchen, setting his bags down on the tile.

Heart pounding rapidly, Maya replies, “Same goes to you, Ranger Rick.”

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife, but Riley swoops in to hug him. She easily distracts the man from his ex-girlfriend. The brunette badgers him with questions about his time in Texas and his new job here.

Maya almost thinks she’ll be able to sneak out without him noticing, but then her lovely daughter barrels into the room, huge backpack engulfing her tiny body as she yells, “Mommy, I’m ready to go!”

Lucas turns around, looking at the child, then up to the blonde, “Maya, you have a daughter?”

“Yes,” she answers, holding her daughter close to her. She bends down, introducing her little girl, “Lucy, this is Lucas. He’s one of Mommy’s… old friends.”

“Hi,” she sticks her hand out, “Nice to meet you, Lucas.”

Stooping down to her level, he smiles and shakes her tiny hand, “Hi, Lucy. Nice to meet you, too. How old are you?”

“I am five–but I am almost six!” she answers, very excited about her upcoming birthday. “I will be six on May 15th!”

“That’s very soon. I can see why you’re excited.” He looks back up to Maya, then says, “She’s beautiful, looks just like you.”

Somehow, her cheeks flush an even brighter red as she says, “Thank you, Lucas.” She grabs Lucy’s hand, “Let’s go, little bug.”

“Okay!” she says, grinning. “Bye, Lucas! Bye, Auntie Riley and Uncle Farkle!”

Before they head out, Lucas comes up to her, “Maya?”

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering, um, maybe–if you’re okay with it? Could we, uh, have dinner sometime? Catch up?” he asks. “But only if you want to!”

Maya is slightly taken aback by the offer, but still finds herself saying, “Sure. Shoot me a message–my number’s still the same.”

He smiles, “Great. See you around.”

“Yeah. See you around,” she replies, then shuffles her daughter out the door.

Once they get outside and head towards the subway, Lucy asks, “Mommy, why is your face so red?”

The woman blushes even more. “Just hot, sweetie. Let’s go home.”

—————————————-—————————————-

“So why didn’t you all tell me that Maya has a kid?” Lucas asks his friends after she leaves.

Farkle shrugs, “It’s not like it really came up in conversation. You didn’t ask about her until today.”

“Is the–is the father in the picture?” he questions. He didn’t even think about her not being single when he asked her to dinner. (Not that this dinner has to be a date, by any means. But he really, really wants it to be a date.)

“No,” Riley answers quickly. She looks uncomfortable as she goes on, “They broke up before she found out she was pregnant. He never found out…”

“Damn,” Lucas replies, rubbing the back of his neck. Every part of him knew Maya would’ve moved on from him, but he never would’ve imagined that she had a child. Hell, based on the age of her daughter, she must’ve moved on almost immediately.

The brunette adds, “Well, she’s doing great. Maya’s a great mom, and Lucy is a great kid.”

“I can imagine,” he comments. Pasting on a fake smile, he changes the subject, “What about you all? The wedding is soon, yeah?”

The couple launches into details about their impending nuptials, but even seeing the immense happiness on their faces isn’t enough to distract his own thoughts.

When his transfer got approved, his first thought was just Maya. Maya is in New York. He’s back in New York. Lucas hoped that things could back to how they were before. Before he left her for a job that he hated.

But Maya has a daughter, a beautiful little girl that is the center of her life. She won’t drop everything to go back to the man that broke her heart. Besides, she may not want him back anyways.

But I still love her, he thinks. I never stopped loving her.

—————————————-—————————————-

“Alright, little bug,” Maya sing songs, brushing out Lucy’s wet hair, “It is definitely bedtime.”

The young girl frowns, “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” she nods, kissing the top of her head, “you have school tomorrow, and Mommy has to work. So, it’s bedtime. Go brush your teeth so I can tuck you in.”

Lucy obliges, running off to the bathroom. While she’s in there, Maya gets a call from an unsaved number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Maya. Can you talk right now?”

Lucas’ voice comes as a slight shock. She hadn’t expected him to contact her so soon. “Oh, hey, Lucas,” she responds after a moment of silence. “I’m getting ready to tuck Lucy in, can you wait a few minutes?”

“Shit, sorry,” he stammers. “I can call you back or–”

“No, no,” she tells him. “It’ll just take a few minutes. Stay on the call, okay?”

He agrees, and Maya leaves her phone on her bed. When she gets to Lucy’s room, she’s already in her bed, waiting patiently.

“Okay, little bug,” she says, taking her seat on the edge of her bed. The blonde starts tucking the blankets up around her daughter, then plants a kiss on her cheek, “I love you, Lucy. Sleep tight, baby girl.”

“I love you, too, Mommy,” Lucy tells her, snuggling into bed.

Maya picks her favorite teddy off the floor, then hands it to her. She gives her one last kiss, saying, “Good night.”

Before she leaves the room she makes sure the night light is on and switches the rest off. When she gets back to her own bedroom, she picks up her phone and asks, “You still there?”

“Yeah,” Lucas answers. “I wanted to… I wanted to know how you were doing? We didn’t really get to talk earlier… And it’s been a long time.”

“I’m good, I guess,” she says, walking out of her bedroom and to the kitchen. If I’m gonna talk to him, I’m pouring myself a glass of wine, she tells herself, grabbing the bottle from the fridge. “I keep busy. I’m still the art teacher at our old middle school, and being a single mom isn’t exactly easy.”

He laughs, “I can imagine she’s a handful. But she seems wonderful, Maya. I can’t get over how much she looks like you. She’s your twin.”

Taking a big gulp from her glass, she says, “Thank you. She’s perfect. I can’t imagine life without her. I didn’t know my life was missing something until she was placed in my arms.”

“I’m glad you’re happy,” he tells her. “I’ve thought a lot about you.”

Without thinking, she replies, “I’ve thought a lot about you, too, Ranger Rick.”

“Really?” he asks in disbelief. “I figured you hated me.”

Maya takes another sip of her wine. “I could never hate you. You know that.”

Lucas’ deep breath can be heard through the call, “You had every right to.”

“I did,” she agrees, “but I never once hated you.”

It’s not a lie. Even throughout her entire pregnancy, the late night feedings, and the days where she just wanted someone to hold her, Maya never hated Lucas. She couldn’t hate him, he gave her Lucy. But, she had missed him. She would’ve done anything to have him back by her side.

“Do you think we could do dinner this Saturday night?” he asks, “I wasn’t sure if you had a sitter, or if you even wanted to.”

She laughs, “I’d love to. It’ll be nice to have some company that isn’t five years old, or a middle school student, or a stressed couple planning the wedding of the century.”

“They really are going over the top, aren’t they?” Lucas jokes. The Minkus-Matthews’ wedding won’t be one to miss. “So–Saturday at 6? I’ll text you the address.”

“As long as my sitter is free, I’m in,” she says.

“Great. I’ll let you go now,” he responds. “Bye, Maya.”

“Bye, Lucas,” she says, then ends the call. She downs the rest of her wine, then calls her best friend. As soon as Riley answers, Maya greets with, “I think I just agreed to a date with Lucas Friar.”

—————————————-—————————————-

“Mommy, why do you look so fancy?” Lucy asks, watching her mother carefully apply her nude lipstick.

“I’m going to a fancy dinner, so I have to look fancy,” Maya answers, pouting her lips in the mirror. Naturally, the girl imitates her, causing the woman to chuckle. “Are you excited to spend the night with Nana?”

“Yeah!” she exclaims, bouncing on her heels. “Nana and I are gonna make sketti and meatballs! Then we’re gonna watch a movie!”

“Wow!” she enthuses, pushing a loose curl out of Lucy’s eyes. “It sounds like you all are gonna have so much fun.”

“We will!”

Maya sends her off to put her shoes on, and she slips her heels on herself. Checking her reflection, she smoothes out her dress and checks her hair one last time. She’s wearing a deep red halter dress that hugs her curves, paired with her trusty black pumps. Once she’s ready, she heads out with Lucy in tow.

After she drops Lucy off at her mom’s place (with the promise of having her in bed by 8:30, but Maya knows Katy is a sucker and will let her grandbaby stay up way past her bedtime), she hails a cab to the upscale Italian restaurant. When she arrives, she immediately spots her date, and her knees go wobbly.

Lucas looks good. He’s wearing a navy blue suit, which is Maya’s absolute weakness. She greets him with, “Well, you still clean up pretty well, Cowboy.”

“Thanks, Shortstack,” He grins, looking her up and down, “You look gorgeous, Maya.”

Her heart feels like it could burst out of her chest, but she tries to ignore the feeling. “Thank you, Lucas.”

Their hands brush together as they walk into the restaurant, but they both pull away quickly, blushing.

(Maya hopes her blush isn’t as bad as she believes it is, because she feels as red as her dress at the moment.)

(Lucas thinks the exact same thing as he gives his name for the reservation.)

They’re taken to a secluded table near the back. “Enjoy your dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Friar,” comments the hostess.

Maya wants to correct her, but she decides to keep her mouth shut. Once she’s out of earshot, she laughs, “Awkward.”

The man chuckles in agreement, grabbing the wine list, “Red or white?”

“Hmm,” she ponders, tapping her chin in thought. “Red.”

When the waiter arrives, he orders a whole bottle of Cabernet for the two of them– the price nearly makes her faint, but he doesn’t seem phased. Before the wine even makes it to the table, Lucas apologizes, “Can I just go ahead and say I’m sorry? Because I am so sorry.”

“For what, exactly?” she responds, busying her hands with the dinner napkin in her lap. She can only imagine where this conversation will go.

He lets out a deep sigh, “For being so stupid all those years ago. I never should’ve accepted the job offer without talking to you first.”

The blonde says, “It’s okay, Lucas. The past is the past. It’s not like we can go back and change it. I’ve gotten over it.” No I haven’t, she thinks.

“I wish I could,” he admits, rubbing his hands together. “You know, I ended up hating that job. Biggest regret of my life.”

Sensing his distress, Maya reaches across the table to grab his hand. Instantly, she feels him relax. She tells him, “We’ve all made mistakes, even me. We’re only human.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think your mistakes led to losing the love of your life,” he comments, rubbing his thumb across her hand.

My mistake led to our daughter growing up without a father, she thinks, but doesn’t voice. There’s a time and place for that conversation, and it’s definitely not right here, right now. “Well,” she starts, “I’m here now, right?”

He nods, “Yes.”

“So you didn’t completely lose me,” she points out. “I could’ve turned down this offer. I have lots of shows I could be catching up on right now. There are plenty of medical dramas waiting for me to binge.”

Lucas laughs a true laugh. It’s a sound she’s missed so much, something she’s wanted to hear again. “Thank you for coming, then.”

“You’re welcome,” she responds. “Okay, so it’s been almost seven years. A lot can happen in that much time…”

“Yeah, like you having a daughter. I can’t believe you have a kid,” he teases, then quickly adds, “Not that it’s a bad thing, by any means. She’s adorable, I’m just still shocked, to be honest.”

Maya fakes a chuckle. If only you knew she was yours, she thinks. “She’s wonderful. I may be biased, but she’s the smartest almost six year old I’ve ever met. I put her into kindergarten when she was four–even though everyone told me she was too young–and her teacher said she’s ahead of most of her classmates. So they’re pretty sure she’ll be offered a spot in the accelerated program in few years, but there’s no guarantee–” then she stops and throws her hands up, saying, “Oh god, I’m rambling about my kid. I’m being the worst date right now.”

This time, Lucas grabs her hand to calm her down. “It’s fine,” he laughs. “At least you have something to talk about. I have nothing.”

“I’m sure you did something interesting in the past seven years.”

“Nope. Nothing.”

“Seriously?” she asks, “No crazy vet stories? Crazy farm stories? Crazy date stories?”

He chuckles at the last question. “I had a woman bring me her duck that was actually a chicken. I didn’t live on a farm, my apartment was downtown. Definitely no memorable dates.”

The wine arrives and the server takes their order. Once he leaves, Maya takes a sip of her wine and says, “So no dates, huh?”

Shaking his head, he replies, “There were dates, but nothing special. No one made it past the third date.”

“Hmm,” she hums, taking another drink.

“Have you dated anyone?” he asks, then realizes his mistake. “Shit–you have a kid. I’m an idiot.”

Yes, Lucas, you are an idiot because you haven’t even realized that she’s yours! she thinks. You went to school for eight years to become a veterinarian yet you can’t do the math to realize you’re the father!

“I’ve done the same as you, really,” she says, and it’s the truth. There were a few men, and one woman, but nothing worked out. “I’ve always been focused on Lucy, so I haven’t worried much about dating.”

He takes a moment to refill her empty wine glass, then says, “If you don’t mind me asking, why isn’t Lucy’s dad in the picture?”

“I never told him I was pregnant,” she answers too quickly.

“Riley told me that much, but why didn’t you tell him?” he quizzes curiously, sipping from his own glass.

Avoiding eye contact, she says, “I–Uh, can we not talk about that right now?” Immediately, he goes in for the apology, but she interrupts him, “Don’t be sorry, it’s just not my favorite thing to talk about.”

“Understandably so,” he agrees. The Texan turns the conversation around, “Tell me about your job. I know you’re at our old school…”

The rest of their date goes by without a hitch. They talk without asking the wrong questions, enjoy a great meal, and leave together–nearly drunk after purchasing a second bottle of wine.

(“The amount of money you spent on this meal would make my bank account cry,” she comments as he signs the bill.

He just waves it off, tipping the server substantially for dealing with them.)

“Come back to my place with me,” she offers, stumbling against him as he attempts to hail a cab. “Lucy is with my mom. Staying all night.”

He takes a moment to respond, making her think he’s going to say no. However, he eventually agrees, “Okay,” leading her into the cab.

The entire ride to her place Maya stays pressed against his side, while Lucas keeps a hand on her thigh. The touch is enough to bring goosebumps to her skin and heat up her cheeks.

Once they arrive to their destination, she leads him up to her apartment. Before she can even get her key, he has her pressed against the door and they’re kissing.

It’s hot and heavy, as if years of being apart has built up to this very moment. Perched on her tiptoes to reach, her fingers find their way to his hair. He tastes like red wine, and still smells the same as he did seven years ago.

Breaking apart to breathe, they rest their foreheads against each other. The first to break the silence is Lucas. “I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you in that dress,” he discloses, caressing her cheek. “You look so fuckin’ hot in it. But, you know what?”

“What?” she says, breathing heavily.

“It’d look better on the floor,” he says, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“That’s the most god awful thing you’ve ever said,” she says, unlocking the door. “But it was kinda hot.” Dragging him by the tie, she takes him to her bedroom. She turns around, “Unzip me.”

“Gladly,” he obliges, taking his sweet time and admiring the view, running his knuckles down her spine. While she slips her dress and heels off, Lucas sheds his suit jacket and shirt.

“You still have way too much clothes on,” she comments, reaching for his belt. She removes it, throwing it carelessly. As she goes to unbutton his slacks, he stops her.

“Are you sure we should be moving this fast?” he asks seriously. “We had a really messy break up and I don’t want to fuck up our relationship aga–“

“Lucas, I want you to fuck me,” she states, “Right now.”

He crashes his lips onto hers, then says, “I’m more than happy to oblige.”

—————————————-—————————————-

The next morning Maya wakes up with a terrible headache and a worse feeling in her heart. She had sex with Lucas last night (absolutely amazing sex, but that’s beside the point), but she still hasn’t told him about Lucy. The guilt is tearing her up inside as she watches Lucas sleep, snoring quietly.

I’m about to ruin everything, she muses. Once the truth is out, he’ll never forgive me.

Maya rests her head against his bare chest, aimlessly running her fingers up and down his torso. Slowly he stirs, wrapping his arm around her to hold her close.

“G’morning,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to her hair. When she doesn’t respond, he asks, “You okay, Maya?”

“Yeah–well, no, not really.” She sighs, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“What’s up?” he asks, nonchalant. His fingers are threaded through her hair, playing with the golden strands. Just like he would all those years ago.

“Have you thought about how old Lucy is?” she asks.

“Five but almost six,” he answers, quoting the child, “Her birthday is coming up, May 15th, yeah?”

“Right. Now, when did you move to Austin?”

“September will mark seven years. But, Maya, what does that have to do–” then he stops. His fingers still in her hair, and that’s how she knows he’s figured it out. “Wait, is she, y’know, mine? I’m her…”

Nodding slowly, Maya finishes his thought for him, “Yeah, you’re her father, Lucas.”

For a few moments, they lay there. No one says anything, they just think. When he finally breaks the silence, Lucas sits up in bed and asks, “Did you find out you were pregnant before or after I left?”

“Before. I thought I may have been for about a week before you left, and I took six pregnancy tests to confirm it. I’d bought a little yellow onesie that said I love Daddy! to surprise you with. I was so excited, Lucas. My life was finally falling together. I had a good job, great friends, an amazing boyfriend, and as crazy as it sounds, I was so happy to find out I was pregnant. Yeah, she wasn’t planned, we weren’t married, hell, we weren’t even engaged. It was okay, though, because we were happy. So happy. Except everything changed when you came over and dropped a bomb on me.” Maya pauses to breathe, wiping away a tear that’s threatening to escape.

As she continues, her voice begins to falter, “I didn’t tell you, then you left. I went through the entire pregnancy alone, save for my mom and Riley. Morning sickness, weird cravings, the first kicks, and swollen ankles. All of it, by myself. It was so difficult. There were days that I just stayed home and cried my bed all day, wishing you were there with me. God, I just wanted you to come back. There were nights that I was going to call, but then I remembered what I said. ‘If you actually leave, then we’re done.’ And you left me. I wanted to hate you, but I couldn’t. I never could, because I loved you too much.”

Once the words leave her mouth, she feels as if a huge weight has been lifted off her shoulders. She’s waiting for Lucas to scream and yell at her. She’s preparing herself for him to blow up, but that’s not what he does.

The first thing he says is, “God, Maya, I wish you would’ve told me. There is no job in the entire world that is more important that you and our daughter.” He pauses, then repeats himself. “Our daughter. We have a daughter…”

“Yeah, Lucas, we have a daughter. She’s perfect, so smart, and the most important thing to me,” Maya says, tears dripping down her face. “I wish I wasn’t so stupid. I should have told you sooner. You missed almost six years.”

He replies, “If I would’ve known, I would have dropped that job in a heartbeat. Being a father is so much more important than some job. I would have loved to watch Lucy grow up. And I would’ve been there for you, Maya. Every craving, doctor’s appointment, anytime you cried. I could’ve been there if you would have just told me.” He takes her hand back into his, softly rubbing circles on it.

“I know,” she admits. “It was selfish of me to keep this from you. Lucy deserves to know her dad, and you deserve to know your daughter.”

“Can I, then? Get to know her?” Lucas asks, a hopeful gleam in his green eyes.

The woman gives him a small smile, “Of course you can. I won’t keep her from you anymore, promise.”

“Thank you,” he says, squeezing her hand. “Can you tell me more about what I missed? Like, when she was a baby?”

Grinning, Maya starts, “She was such a good baby. She was always super happy, but had to be held at all times. If you put her down, you’d get an earful. I had to put her in a sling on my chest in order to get anything done…”

—————————————-—————————————-

Minutes turn into hours as Maya catches Lucas up on his daughter’s life. He’s full of questions, and she’s (mostly) full of answers. He learns about all the firsts in Lucy’s life.

(“First word?”

“No. Also her favorite word.”

“First Halloween?”

“A pumpkin. She spit up all over the costume.”)

When stories aren’t enough, Maya shows him pictures. She shows him her favorites, Lucy dressed up on her first Christmas with a bow wrapped around her little head, her first finger painting experience, and her first day of Kindergarten. With each missed memory, Lucas laughs, smiles, even cries a bit.

After seeing pictures of Lucy over the years, he asks, “When can we tell her?”

Maya pauses, “That you’re her dad? We could tell her soon…”

“How about… tonight?” Lucas proposes, “I’ve already missed enough time, Maya. I really want to be in my daughter’s life.”

The suggestion doesn’t come as much of a shock. Maya knew he’d want to tell Lucy soon, but she didn’t expect tonight. “Well…”

“I can take you all out tonight,” he suggests. “Dinner, on me. We could tell her after?”

She ponders on his offer. Though it’s sooner than she’d anticipate, it wouldn’t be a bad idea. “Okay,” she answers, then adds, “but you have to let me take the lead. I don’t want to shock her too much.”

“Deal.” Lucas grins, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you so much, Maya, for letting me become involved in her life. You really have no reason to let me in after what I did to you.”

She smiles, then pecks him on the lips. “It’s the least I can do. She’s just as much yours as she is mine. You have every right to be in her life. I’m sorry I kept you away before.”

“Stop apologizing, the past is the past. I’m ready to focus on the future,” he tells her, taking her hands into his. “Speaking of the future, what about our future?”

“What about it?”

“C’mon, Maya, you know what I mean. Last night was amazing.”

“It was,” she agrees. “But it doesn’t have to mean anything. We’d been drinking.”

He sighs, then replies, “But it did mean something to me, Maya. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I stepped off the plane into New York. If–if you want to, I want to be with you. Again.”

She knew this would come eventually. But it came sooner than she expected. “Lucas…” she trails off, thinking. “I don’t know.”

“We can try,” he offers, squeezing her hand in his. “We can try to have a relationship, and if it doesn’t work, then we’ll just be friends.”

Maya stays quiet for a moment, thinking. She wants to be with him, she really does. However, Lucas left her once before, he could surely do it again.

But at the same time, he knows about Lucy now. He seems so excited to be a dad, and be there for them. And, God, did she miss him. So many times, she has wished to be in his arms again, feel his kiss, hold his hand. Now she’s being given that opportunity again. That’s why she says: “Okay, let’s do it.”

Lucas grins, then dives in to kiss her. “You won’t regret this, I promise,” he says, holding her close.

Maya smiles, feeling happier than she has in a long, long time.

—————————————-—————————————-

Later that night, Maya finds herself shaking as she attempts to braid Lucy’s hair into two plaits. It’s about an hour before they plan to meet Lucas for dinner, and she hasn’t felt this nervous to do something since she was in labor, about to give birth and change her life forever.

“Ow!” Lucy shrieks when Maya accidentally tugs her hair too hard. “You hurt my head, Mommy.”

She kisses the little girl’s head, apologizing, “Sorry, baby, but we’re all done now.” She puts the finishing touches on Lucy’s hair, adding tiny bows to the end of each plait.

Lucy hops out of the kitchen chair, twirling in her dress. “Do I look pretty, Mommy?” she asks, batting her long eyelashes.

“You look beautiful, little bug,” Maya answers. Since it’s a special occasion, she let her wear her favorite pink dress. It was a gift from Riley, and cost more than someone should spend on a dress that’s somehow going to get paint and dirt on it within an hour. It never fails to amaze Maya how fast an outfit can get destroyed by a five year old.

Just as she finishes getting ready herself, Maya hears a knock at her apartment door. She goes to let Lucas in, and even in just jeans and polo, he looks good. “Hi, cowboy,” she greets, pecking him on the cheek before Lucy can see.

“Shortstack, long time no see,” he jokes, stepping into the small apartment. It’d only been a few hours since he’d left, just enough time for Maya to pick up Lucy from her mom’s apartment and get her ready.

“Ha-hur,” she teases with a wink. She calls for her daughter, “Lucy! Are you ready to go?”

The tiny blonde comes barreling into the room, knocking into her mother like usual. “Hi, Lucas,” she says, waving.

“Hi, Miss Lucy,” he tells her, stooping down to her level. “Are you excited for us to go to dinner?” She aggressively nods her head, beaming at him. “Well, we better head out!”

Quickly, Maya grabs her bag, and they head out to hail a cab, Lucas giving directions to the kid-friendly restaurant he picked out for dinner.

The whole ride there, Lucy talks up a storm. She tells Lucas all about her first grade teacher, friends, and even about the class goldfish.

(“His name is Rocko,” Lucy tells him, grinning widely. “I helped pick his name!”)

Once they enter the restaurant and get seated and order their food, Maya gives Lucas the look. Go time.

“Lucy, hon,” Maya starts, getting her daughter’s attention. “Mommy wants to talk to you, can you listen for a few minutes?”

The little girl immediately pauses her coloring on the kid’s menu. “Okay, Mommy.”

Maya takes a deep breath, and then feels Lucas grab her hand beneath the table. She smiles briefly at him, then says, “You know how your friends have a Mommy and a Daddy?”

“Not all my friends,” Lucy replies smartly, “Jamie has two mommies!”

The two adults laugh. “Yes,” Maya replies, “some people have a Mommy and a Daddy, or two Mommies or two Daddies.”

“But I only have a Mommy,” she says. “You always said I don’t have a Daddy.”

Maya’s heart breaks a little. “Well, Lucy, you actually do have a Daddy…” her voice starts to shake as she finally gets the words out, “you see, honey, Lucas is your Daddy.”

“Really?” Lucy asks, eyes lighting up. “I have a Daddy? Can I call you Daddy?”

She catches Lucas wiping away a stray tear before grinning, answering, “I would love it if you called me Daddy, Lucy, Only if you want to.”

The little girl beams, “Okay, Daddy. I want to.”

When Lucy was born, Maya never would have imagined that she would hear her daughter call Lucas her dad. She thought it would never happen after the way she left things with Lucas. However, years later, she’s hearing just that, and it is music to her ears.

“Lucy, I do have a question for you,” Lucas says, and Maya is unsure of what is to follow. “If it is okay with you, I want to spend more time with you and your Mommy. Would you like that?”

“Hmmm,” Lucy thinks, “I would like that. May I please color now?”

Maya snorts, only her daughter would be more concerned with drawing than finding out about her father. Typical five year old. “Yes, Lucy. You can color.”

While their daughter turns back to her art, Lucas turns to her, “Well, that went well.”

“As well as we could expect,” Maya answers, leaning her head onto Lucas’ shoulder. “You know, you’re a parent now. Your life is about to change forever.”

“Correct, Shortstack: We’re parents. Bring it on.”

“Challenge accepted, Huckleberry.”

#my writing #lucaya #girl meets world #lucaya fanfic #lucaya fanfiction #lucas friar #maya hart #wow this took forever #but i liked writing it even tho it took over a year

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bi-lullaby · 5 years

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I loved your last rankings so much that I'm sending you another fun (?!) challenge! How would you rate all these male GA characters from your favorite to least favorite, no ties allowed? :) Alex, Derek, Richard, Mark, Owen, Jackson, Burke, George, Andrew, Linc and Ben? Good luck, and as always, feel free to include your reasons why because I love your answers!

Ohhh boy you give me life with those asks! Here we go:

1 - As no surprise to anyone: Alex. My baby had the best character development I’ve ever seen, really, brcaus ewhile it was huge, it was also paced and believable and stabilished and non-linear. He was a huge asshole with a concealed heart of gold in season one. In season 15, he’s a golden boy with a concealed asshole side, and the growth/diminishment of those sides weren’t always inversely proportionate, but adjusted to what each characteristic was brought out more by his surroundings/worked more on by himself. Also, he’s the person that has stuck with mer for the longest and through the most, which would put him in a high place in this list even if he wasn’t my favorite on his own. I also adore how, thematically, he’s so moved by the women in his life (bot just the romantic i terests while we are at it) for the betterment of himself and hsi ways. It’s not like Owen’s “I’ll need her to take care of me emptionally and shape herself to my desires so I can be in a good place, it’s recognizing those positive influences in his life and trying to emulate them/work with them/learn from them. Also about his theme, itms less the worn-out “guy is validated in being an asshole bc he had a tough life” and more “guy learns that his tough life doesn’t mean he gotta act like an asshole”. I love this character so much, ugh.

2 - Ben. A freaking Disney prince would be a sleeazy douche in comparison. I was so weirded out when Shobda decided to give so much focus to this random-ass character, then I was really turned off by his storyline with the cutting people open and all that (not necessarily because I thought he was wrong, I just felt the storyline was handled awkwardly and made him sound pelutant and irresponsible instead of a promissing, if stubborn, future surgeon. I’ve yet to watch Station 19, but this angel with a scalpel and a fire hose for wings deserves his own goddamn spin-off, for sure.

3 - My baby Andrew. Yeah, he is not that developed, has been inconsistent, his change from “freaking out over Maggie being his boss” to “marvellung at Meredith’s every movie even though she’s kinda even more his boss because she owns the hospital” was... A B R U P T. But I really enjoy this new Andrew - as a side note: I could not care less for him during the whole Sam storyline, he seemed like a toned down Jonhy Bravo - He’s smart and sweet and funny and worships Mer like the Wonder Woman she is. His relationships with Arizona, Amelia, Jo, Carina and now Alex need more screentime because they’re great (or have the potential to be so). He’s competent and brilliant and selfless (dropping the charges on Alex even if he was completely in the right, taking the blame for mer now) and so tender (his absolute gentleness in peds, taking care of Amy after the operation, being a moody, emotive boy because he lost his love instead of a macho men...). The future holds great things for him, and I’m excited to watch them unfold!

4 - Not on your list but I love: Tom. Boy is he nice. As I was figuring out this order, I realized he reminds me a lot of my favorite character (Dean Winchester) - or at least what I think Dean would be if he was older, richer and lived without the Supernatural World and so many traumas. His talk to April was so moving and I felt it really helped. He doesn’t stand on a moral high horse: He does what he thinks is right and damned be judgment. He’s empathetic, he’s romantic, he treats Teddy RIGHT. He deserves to have his own storyline and be more developed and show us kore of his awesomeness.

5 - Jackson. As I said in my ships rating answer, I’ve only started to care for him recently, but I really do care. He’s not a character I’d, like, write fic about, or long rants and meta, but I love his sibling-esque relationship with Mer and his relationship with Maggie and the way he connects with his mom and how this spoiled, immature transfer with something to prove became a respected, innovative surgeon and father who’s secure of himself and ready to explore different paths and ways and worldviews. I just wish him, and the Grey’s fandom, would be less defensive about the callout of his privileged life. Like. I’ve seen people write paragraphs upon paragraphs about how Maggie was a bitch for calling him privileged. And he is (for his hoards upon hoards of money growing up). That’s not too hard a concept to grasp. Plus, it’d be nice if he could treat Maggie as less of a consolation prize/second chance. Just because faith (or lack thereof) was a source of tension in his previous marriage, and he feels like changing that would have made everything better, doesn’t mean the same applies to his current relationship, or that Maggie is the one who should change -he learned, learned, and is back in square one seeing only his side of it - I really hope this season treats him more kindly and gives him happiness and peace!

6 - Richard. I love him for his parental-and-ish relationships, specially to Maggie, Mer and Jackson, but to Bailey and Callie too. That’s my favorite aspect of him, watching those gives me a nice, warm feeling in my tummy and puts a smile on my face. There’s some aspects of him I find either boring or unpleasant, and I think it’s kinda annoying how him retiring has been a theme/conflict since, like, season one, and fast-foward ten years and he’s basically an entity at the hospital. Like? What? Was the point? You’ve waisted my time? For nothing? But he’s a solid, reliable character you can’t really hate and who brings more good than bad to the show by far. As a side note: one day I will yell at him for his treatment of Maggie after she talked about HER OWN HISTORY and he basically called her a mistake (although he apologized pretty soon and she forgave him so so will I).

7 - Mark. He was great and all that, but never sparked that love some characters did. I was sad when he died, I loved his scenes and relationships, I just am not invested in him. Plus the immaturity in his relationship with Lexie pisses me off a bit, as does his “man whore” personality.

8 - Link. Genuinely love him, he’s been nothing but sweet and kind and fun and helpful this entire time! I cheered for Merlink sooooo much imat first, and I really wish their friendship will be developed! Him and Jo are everything I never knew I needed. He has no arguable flaws besides being so sculped it freaks me out a little bit, but he isn’t higher up in my rank because there isn’t much material for that yet, but expect a climb as he becomes more and more regular.

9 - Burke. He was kinda sweet and did a good thing for Cristina (the hospital). He was also manipulative and arrogant and voundary-crossing in their relationship. I might like him better if it was bot for Burktina, but we will never know.

10 - Owen. Toxic as fuck, annoying, controlling, disgusting. Those are all things that very much apply to Owen in a lot of situations. Screaming at Cristina for “murdering their baby”? YIKES. Big no no. He was not suited for romantic relationships at all and I wish the show would realize that and allow him that space and breathing time without being stuck in a complicated relationship with loads of baggage or a love triangle. Because that’s my whole thing about him: I believe he has room for growth. His relationship with April is pretty amazing, he was always so considerate and gentle with her, all the time, and I want to see more of that bond. He loves kids and can be really good with them, he has a lot of things to work out with the traumas of his father’s death + war + his sister’s story. Why not focus on that? Why not show him growing and processing and bettering himself and living up to the potential he has? I feel like they gave the all the wrong romantic storylines to the character who’s otherwise really good and that’s such a shame because I really enjoyed him at first. Lets see what happens from now on, and if he gets a dose of tv’s “heterosexual love and a nuclear biological family solve everything!” medicine or if this is a turning point for him.

11 - Derek. He never really had any appeal to me. Not his face, not his personality, not his storylines or plot points pr the actor. That’s reason enough for him to rank low, but I also think he had some really bad traits. He was arrogant and condescending and had a God complex and was sexist and pushy and just not great for the people around him. Exploiting Amy’s addiction being outed to steal surgeries? Refusing to give Mer credit on their clinic trial? Putting ultimatums on his girlfriend that she either has to be ready for a full, committed relationship or end things, then call her a slut when she sleeps with other guys after they broke up? Cheating on Addison after deciding to work things out? Stringing mer and addie along? Not saying he was married in the first place? Pushing Mer’s boundaries after she was clearly uncomfortable with having slept with her boss? Refusing to have an inch of empathy for Mer’s action regarding the trial despite her complicated history with the people she was trying to help (who were her friends, actually?)? Telling his depressed girlfriend that she should be concerned the happiest part of his day was flirting with another girl from the bar? Ratting out on Richard to the board because he wanted the spot? Not acknowledging Mer’s trauma after the shooting? Kissing nurse Rose while building the dream house? Kissing his student while being married in NY? Pushing his wife to move and saying his career was more important than his after he had compromised on letting her shine? All things that, isolated, can even be understood on context and “everyone makes mistakes”, but that when put together, make it pretty clear it’s a pattern of someone with very little regard to the people around him. Was he a good surgeon? Yeah. Great father as well. He also had some interesting relationships and iconic scenes, truly, I can recognize that. I hurt for the people he loved and left behind (and I genuinely think he loved them and meant well), but he himself I don’t miss at all.

12 - I think George is the clearest contrast between how old greys handled matters of sexism and gender and sexuality and how it does now. He was such a sleazy nice guy at times, it is unbearable to me. And he ranks lower than Derek because A) His relationships also bored me while Derek’s could pique my interest at times, B) There’s no talk about his mistakes. Remember when he (in his own words) took advantage of Meredith being on a terrible, delicate, vulnerable place (still hiding her mother’s Alzheimer’s and seeing a person be blown to pieces and being dumped by who she thought was the one and being rejected by her father for the second time after seeing him for the first time in tweenty years) and, knowing that she was not interested in him, pursued her, then after she started crying because of the literal pile of shit she was having to carry around (and still trying to preserve his feelings), got mad at her and everyone sided with him? It baffled younger me to bits that what Mer had “done” was so terrible, it has not stoped bafflinn me in the years that have passed since. Can you imagine any of the girls crying during sex because they’re so overwhelmed and feel like that’s a mistake, and the guy freaks out on them and they’re instantly ostracized by the narrative and characters? That’s essentially criticizing her for the right of saying no, of stopping when she doesn’t want to continue, of not giving away her time and feels just because a goofy guy who is her friend feels entitled to them. That’s the word: entitled. He literally says he “saw her first”. How’s that not Nice Guy 101? I would understand his ego being bruised, but the guilt tripping and the bitching and the fact none of that is treated as a fucking creepy thing? Yikes. Also how he treated Callie, who deserved so, so much better. And even Olivia who was perfectly lovely and did nothing wrong besides having sex with more than one guy without breaking either of their trusts because she wasn’t in a relationship with any of them. Did he do some good things? Sure did! Joey’s surgery costs being cut, helping Bailey give birth, some of his interactions with patients were really sweet, and he died giving his life for someone else. It’s just that consequence-less sexism and entitlement that never gets adressed and gets treated as not only valid, but right, that makes him go rom unappealing to downright hated for me. Better left in the past where people can misplacedly idolize him!

Thank you so much for asking, I love those thought-inspiring asks! <3

#thank you so much #theofficestan #greys anatomy #greys #grey’s anatomy #me #answered #asks #rank

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bettsfic · 5 years

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Betty how did you know writing was it for you? I've never had anything I was passionate enough about to make a career out of and it feels like you were able to aim your arrow at what you wanted and make it happen. Was there any questions you asked yourself that made it obvious?

great question, anon. i feel like there’s a lot of pressure to know what your passion is, and your purpose in life, and what brings you joy, etc, and the reality isn’t like that. at least, it wasn’t for me. i have a cousin who has wanted to be a bassist since he was ten years old. he eats, sleeps, and breathes bass. he’s 23 now and the most popular bassist in our city, and he’s happy and thriving.

but like. that doesn’t happen a lot.

for me, i had boxed myself into a corner. i was 25, and i enjoyed writing, but i didn’t think i could make a career out of it (i still believe that). i was working at the bank, and i’d been invited to a company retreat in cleveland, where i spent 3 days training on a new system. during that time, a woman who had my same job was retiring, and we had a party for her. she’d worked at the bank, in the same position i was in, for 46 years. she closed commercial mortgages for 46 years.

that was when i knew i had to do something. i didn’t know what yet, but i had to force myself out of the stability and comfort i’d found, and into anything else. i knew if i didn’t move, i’d die at the bank. i’d live an easy, comfortable, boring life, and the bank would never fire me, and they’d certainly never promote me, and i’d blink and suddenly 46 years would pass and i too would be retiring. i found success and security, and i lived an easy life, which is the exact opposite of the millennial ethos, and i had to set it down and walk away, because it wasn’t right for me.

i never made a conscious decision to “pursue writing.” i only made a decision to move from the place i was. i knew i wanted to go back to school, so when i started researching grad schools, i looked at counseling, education, i/o psych, epidemiology, law school, med school -- i cast a very wide net. i chose the mfa because it didn’t give me extreme anxiety when i read over the course descriptions. in fact it sounded fun. i’d get to teach, and write, and take what i already enjoyed doing seriously. and i thought, okay, even if this isn’t a career, i’ve been miserable at the bank for ten years. don’t i deserve two years of fun?

so that’s all it was for me. i promised myself i’d dedicate 2 years of my life to a hobby i enjoyed, so i would be actually good at something. i’d never been good at anything before.

it was while i was there that i realized it was absolutely a right place for me to be. not the right place, but a right place. i recognize i could get just as much emotional satisfaction out of a really good counseling program, or just as much creative exercise with an education program. but an mfa is what i was the most qualified for, so i went for it. even now, having applied for phds, i’m facing the question: do i really want to stay in academia (as a student) for four more years? i might love writing, but writing has multiple branches of Work (academia, publishing, etc), and that’s where i hesitate. even writing, as much as i love it, becomes a chore when you attribute money to it. i love teaching too, but even then, i question -- do i want to be doing this *forever*?? the answer is: no, and i don’t have to commit to that anyway. more on that in a sec.

what made me realize that writing was My Thing is the idea that i would do it regardless of success. i need to write. not-writing has never been an option for me. if i take away novel writing, i would write essays. take away essays, and i’d write poems. take away poems, and i’d write journal entries. i don’t need the promise of publication to want to write. i don’t even need read. i could spend my entire life writing for myself. that writing would look different than if i wrote for an audience, and i wouldn’t be as happy as i am sharing my work with others, but it’s still my baseline existence. when i don’t have anything to do, i write. it gives me energy, and makes me feel good, and it’s fun. i know i’m the exception to the rule -- most writers i know drag their feet. they see writing as work, a depleting force. it’s never been like that for me.

writing was also the thing i assumed everyone wanted to do. like it was so much a part of me that i thought it was a part of everyone else too, the same way, if you’re a wlw, you can grow up assuming that everyone is attracted to girls, because who wouldn’t be? and you realize shit i’m gay. so for me being a writer was like, goddammit i’m never getting rid of this am i.

i guess i also want to say, as a sidebar -- there’s no such thing as a career. a career is a flawed concept that lays the mental foundation for staying stagnant in a workforce for 46 years, and allows you to make an identity out of labor. you do not have to choose a career. your only obligation is to feed yourself -- find the things that give you life. and if the things that give you life don’t also bring you money, then you have to balance that with a job. you do not have to find what you love and commit to it. you don’t have to see the big picture of who you are and the grand work you’re doing on this planet. you don’t owe anyone your greatness. your only goal is to find what thrills you and play with it, let it take you to the next destination. your only job is to keep moving, exploring, asking questions of yourself and the world at large. otherwise, you’ll retire at the bank after closing mortgages for 46 years. careers objectify the human experience. they turn us into machinery. do not let them.

hobbies, passions, jobs, disciplines -- they don’t have to be the same thing. life doesn’t have to be one long, straight road with no stops or turns, barreling forward as fast as you can go. you can take your time, and have fun, and detour and get lost and go back to the start. your goal doesn’t have to be success, and you never have to decide on a single path. take what you’re into right now and roll with it.

#writing advice #dow19 #Anonymous

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nonstop-creaty · 6 years

Text

Take A Hint

A/N : Lol I’m so late to this I should probably said Happy New Year instead, but anyway, Merry Christmas for @littleroundpumpkin, thank you for waiting, I hope you like your gift^^

On another note, I’m sorry if there’s any mistake, I double checked everything but considering how impatient I am, I probably miss a lot. Thank you for @boku-no-secret-santa for creating the event

I have too much fun writing it, I hope you like it just as much, I actually got carried away, there’s probably a second part for this. This is based on my own hc that Shouto, beneath that cool exterior, is actually a mess of social anxiety, awkwardness, and sarcasm. Well, the main Idea is “Shouto thought he is the cool senpai while Momo is the unassuming shoujo heroine, but in reality, it’s the other way around”.

Aizawa never consider himself to be very sensitive, despite being a teacher whose job is to care for, mentallly and physically, hormon-driven teenagers. But this one, this one student make his feelings so obvious even he start to notice.

Shouto Todoroki had been, and still is, staring at Yaoyorozu Momo for the past ten minutes. The kid probably thought he were being subtle, but there’s no subtlety in the way he ogle Yaoyorozu. Worse, Yaoyozu is conscious of his gaze, and every now and then she will glance back, their eyes will meet and both of them will go red, awkwardly tearing their gaze apart from each other. Give them five minutes of sitting normally before the whole thing repeat again. It’s annoying just to watch them.

Those two are damn lucky they get the back seat, hardly anyone notice their eyes smexing, otherwise they’re in for some heavy teasing from their classmates.

He toured the class, while supervising his student, when he reached Todoroki’s seat, he whispered, voice low so only Todorki can hear him, “It’s not nice to stare.”

Todoroki went slightly red, he barely missed the spark of fire in his left hand. When he turn his back on Todoroki, he stiffled down a laugh, while Yaoyorozu shifted her gaze between the two of them in puzzlement

When Saturday come, Shouto goes to visit his mother in the hospital. His father give him an odd look before he go, but he couldn’t care less. Unfortunately, Fuyumi couldn’t come with him, she had to take her students to a study tour.

Usually, he would focus his attention to his mother, but he can’t seem to concentrate. His mind still reeling from the incident with Aizawa-sensei yesterday.

As expected, his mom notice right away, “Shouto, are you alright?”

"It's nothing, Mom, really. I just got distratcted." He mumbled with a heavy sigh. He regret his words as soon as they left his mouth. He glance at his mother his guess was right, he had made her worried, his mother immediately straighten up, eyes suddenly alert and serious, "Is something bothering you?"

When he didn't answer, she further press on "Shouto, tell me."

Shouto glance up, hesitating for a bit, "Well, there's this girl in my class that--"

"A girl?" she shrieked, incredulous. The tension in the air dissolved as quickly as it came. He nodded, fully expecting her to guide him throught this unknown journey of understanding woman, but all hope left him when his mom (his last ace card) laugh at his face. It’s not the graceful kind of laugh either, it’s full blown snort.

"It's not that big of a deal--"

"It is!!" She insisted, "What is she like? I want to know."

Shouto sighed, a little bit overwhelmed by the questions. "She's kind..." He began, trying to recall Yaoyorozu in his mind, her encouraging words towards everyone, the way her eyes lit up with excitement, her smile, "Beautiful..."

He like her smile, and he was lucky that she was generous with them, even to him, and he can’t help but smile too even when he just remembering them.

He suddenly remember that he’s not alone in the room, and that he was smiling by himself, outwardly. He immediately cover his mouth with his hand, looking away while fake coughing awkwardly(which really doesn’t fool anyone).

When he look back at his mom, she give him a look that disturbingly resembles a lenny face. Her expression is so smug, and he actually feel kind of scared.

“You’re smitten.” She said, her tone suggest the statement is unarguable.

He really doesn’t know what to say to that, “Smitten??”

“Head-over-heels in love or into-her—” she waved her arms nonchalantly, “—or whatever you kids called it this day.”

There’s ten seconds silent, the words didn’t quite registered to his brain, but when they do, his heart make a jittery move, and the room’s temperature went up. He felt really silly now. The answer is right in front of his eyes and he can’t even figure it out by himself, but then again, he’s probably the most dense when it comes to feelings...and stuff that come up with said feelings.

This new discovery doesn’t sit well with him, “.....you’re right.”

She give him a ‘of-course-I-am-right’ kind of look. Shouto put his hands on the sides of his head and let out a long, suffering sigh, “What am I gonna do?”’

This is the first time that he feels romantic love for someone. The cogs in his brain start working faster than usual, popping question that really doesn’t help him, reminding him he’s not in the best place to start a relationship, with his hero training, his father, and everything else in between (Does he want to start a relationship?? (Actually, yes, he wants to start a relationship, give it a go, so to speak) (but right now??) (Does Yaoyorozu want to??) (maybe she’s not going to say yes, he’s getting ahead of himself (yeah but come on), he can’t even imagine what his father would say to him (not that he really care either way) and does he even have the time??

“It could hindrance my hero training.”

There’s an instant shift in the air. The atmosphere become tense, his mother made no comments to his statement, choosing silence, on her face is an unreadable expression that makes him nervous.

After a minute that feels like forever, her eyes trained to her son, “Shouto...” she took his hand, sliding her fingers between his, her lips curved upward “Is she a burden to you?”

No, of course not, she’s actually a great help. Always lending him a hand whenever he needed, giving extra lessons and pointers when there’s a particulary hard subjects, and a moral support to class 1-A in general.

“If we don’t earnestly cheer on each other, we’ll never be top heroes!”

His mother put her hands on both of his shoulder, gently shaking them. He trailed his eyes on her worried face. She dropped her hands after having a second thought, no doubt his mother thought that way of thinking had been his father influence, and her lack of mental capability to actually teach her kids what’s good for them, “I know I don’t give the best example to relationship,” her tone strained, voice low, he had to stomped down the urge to frown when he remember how his father treat her, “but relationship...while it need a lot of compromise and hard work, it’s supposed to be something fun.” She lowered her head for a moment, closing her eyes, as if forcing down regrets, when she regained back her composure, she added with a little smile, “You’re going to be spending time with the person you love afterall, what’s not fun about that?”

He nodded with a little smile, feeling a little lighter than when he first come to the room. He’s glad he talked to his mother, even if their discussion wander a little too far on the nasty lane.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Her mother gives him a thumbs up, “Go get her, Shouto!”

The nurse come knocking on the door, telling him that visiting hour is over, reluctantly he packed his things and bid goodbye. Before he go out, she said, “Bring her here next time.”

He answered over his shoulder, in a playful tone he rarely used, “Roger, ma’am.”

And the door closed behind him.

In Shouto’s humblest opinion, he is...not actually that bad with girls. Sure, he never had a relationship before, or even just pursuing someone, but there’s plenty of female that confess to him. Which is saying something, right? So how hard can pursuing Momo be?

That’s the prep talk he’s been saying to himself for the past five minutes. After mulling for some kind of plan to get closer to her, the only thing he can come up with is to ask her to study together, that’s casual enough, right? Also, low chance of getting rejected because Momo likes to study. But he can’t actually muster the courage to ask her. It’s honestly easier said than done.

Midoriya actually offered to buy him a book on the subject, but he refuses. No matter how convincing the adverstisement is, he would not buy Stallion Way To a Maiden Heart, and that’s final.

The last bell of today’s lesson signaling the countdown to his last chance. Momo already pack all her things and ready to go to the dorm, soon enough she will be joined by Jirou and Kaminari, when they reached dorm there’s going to be so many people, not to mention tomorrow is Saturday so it’s now or never.

He stand up, facing her desk, it took awhile before she notice his gaze on her. “Todorki-san?” She set down her bag, “Do you need something?”

Shouto take a deep breath, and shoved his shaking (and slowly freezing) right hand into his pocket, “Yes, um, would you—would you mind to study together with me tomorrow? There’s some subject I’d like to ask.”

The caught her off guard. She would never expected that The Todoroki Shouto would ask for her help, and she is more than happy for the opportunity to pay him back for all his help and kindness to her. But she immediately snap out of her thought, her hand went up to clutch the front of her uniform, he gripped her desk , restraining himself to pull squeeze her tight because she is hella adorable (in his most objective opinion).

Momo’s face break into a dazzling smile, “Of course!! I would love to help!!”

Seeing her excitement, he can’t help but smile back, mentally dancing around in victory because yesss he did it, “We should do it in a cafe or something.” He said, keeping his tone as breezy as possible, and jump in eagerness to convey how he actually feels.

Momo nodded, and he politely thank her. After the conversation finished, he tried to walk normally to the dorm, but as soon as he out of the class, he is skipping happily like a kid getting an early christmast present, with barely contained smile on his face.

Shouto arrived almost a half-hour early from the promised time. The cafe is well-lit and a perfect place to study, as the customers around him all sipping coffee quietly while doing their work. He already order a drink and start to pour over his book (he really have a subject to ask Momo). He is blissfully waiting for her arrival when he feel his shoulder is tapped by someone.

He turn his head, already smiling, to greed Momo, “Yaoyorozu, you’re he—“

His smiled disappeared when his gaze met a bright yellow hair and a pair of amber eyes. Huh...Kaminari??

“Todoroki-kun, you’re here early.”

The boy took a seat across him, then waved a waitress to come, much to Shouto’s dismay. Kaminari ignored Shouto’s questioning gaze.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, which come more harsly than he intended to. Luckily, Kaminari didn’t took offense at his rude demenaour.

“The same as you, I’m here to study with Yaomomo.”

“What? But we—“

“Todoroki-san!” He heard his name called, this time by a right voice, Yaoyorozu is standing at the cafe front door, smiling and waving at him.......along with Jirou and Mina.

He can only stare, dumbstruck, as the three of them walked over to the table. Jirou make a comment about how they should get the bigger table (the table Shouto pick is only for two) and so the group move to the table beside them.

Feeling a little lost, he quickly secure his place beside Momo, a little impatient to inquire her about the sudden guests that intruded their study ‘date’. Before Shouto could say anything, Momo break the silence, “Sorry, Todoroki-san, I bought these three along before telling you, they said they need help and I can’t refuse.” She give a small bow, “Beside studying is more fun together.”

His annoyance must apparent, because she quickly added in a tentative voice, ”You’re not mad, aren’t you?”

Mad is too strong of a word, more like annoyed, and ‘how-come-you-invite-other-people-this-is-a-date’ kind of feeling. But, evidently, Momo didn’t think this is a date. Even though the message had been clear. Or maybe it’s not as clear as it thought it was. Is it the way he said it? Or maybe his wording that gives impression that this is anything but a date.

Momo is looking at him with such a concerned expression until he feels guilty, he mentally clear off his negative feelings and reassure her with, “No, It’s fine.”

Her shoulder visibly relaxed, she turn to face the other three, telling them which chapter to open while he mulled over his actions and wonder just where did he messed up?

As promised, Momo teach him the subject he’s been having trouble with, and even give him insight in the upcoming material. It’s quite something how Momo able to divide her time perfectly for her four students. When the sky began to darken, they all decided to wrap this up and continue at some other time.

He purposely waited until they all said their goodbyes to Momo and decided to walk go home to their own house, as today is Saturday, and come back Monday morning for school. Which include him and Momo, too. He could still save the plan, there’s still a chance.

“Yaoyorozu,” He called, she turn her head over her shoulder, “Let’s go home together.”

Momo look falttered for a second, then her expressions turned awkward, she rub the back of her neck while looking anywhere but him, “Uh, I’m sorry, Todoroki-san, but my driver is picking me up.”

Just then, a car (a very fancy car that he doesn’t even know the brand) stopped right in front of them, The driver come out to open the door for Momo.

“Have a safe trip home, Todoroki-san.”

There’s goes his only hope. He manage to let out a reply, “Yeah, see you Monday.”

The car door slammed shut, ten seconds later, the car roared, taking Momo away.

On Monday morning, Jirou stop him before he even reach class.

“We ruined your date plan, huh?”

“—Ruined is an understatement—”

“—Well how am I supposed to know it’s a date? Yaomomo invited us—“

Shouto narrowed his eyes and give her a hard glare, that cut her abruptly. Jirou only fazed for a moment, her smile is back on her face, as instant as flipping a light switch.

“Clearly you suck at this.” She said, with a look clearly says she is superior than him on the subject, “Don’t worry, I’ll guide you.”

Even though she said that with confidence, it really doesn’t give him any reassurance. But he has no one to turn to, Midoriya’s last plan is to do a Shoujo Wall Slam to Momo, which he (stupidly) followed. He only got to corner her in the wall part before Momo kick him in the shin because she thinks he was testing her ability. It stopped being funny when a big, blue bruise formed on his skin. The only good thing that come out of it is Momo offered to fix his wounds, so he got to spend half an hour with her hands all over him. Otherwise, it’s a disaster.

Jirou pulled him to a less crowded corner, she looked around to make sure that they’re alone in the hallway, “Here’s the plan, you know how dense Yaomomo is, hell, she invited other people to her date. Now, what we have to do is give her a big romance move that can’t be interpreted as platonic, and by big, I mean B-I-G.”

“That logic sounds flawed.”

Jirou rolled her eyes. She make a big show of slumping her bag over her shoulder, dramatically turn around and said, , “Have fun asking Yaomomo out on your own.”

“—Hey, Jirou, wait—“

She stopped then, abrutply wheeled her body to face him, the look on her face might suggest that someone has given her a million dollar cash, and he suddenly regret his actions.

She give him a half-grin, “You’re in good hands.”

“Alright, first of all, we have to do a quick damage-control.” She begin to explain, in a tone that make Shouto think if she had a moustache, she will twirl it. Jirou start to chastised him.

“It doesn’t help how derp you are around her--” Gee, thanks, as if he hadn’t noticed, “--So just leave it to me.”

Somehow he get a bad feeling from this.

When night time come, Shouto had finish getting ready for bed, he had just closed his eyes when the his phone ring, jerking him awake. He half-expected it to be his sister calling (because he has no other friends) and mildly surprised when it turns out to be Jirou.

He wondered what she wants. Reluctantly, he answer it, “What?”

“Hey, Todoroki...”

“I was just going to bed.” He curtly said, the clock reads 8.30 P.M, “It already past my bed time.” and frankly, the more sleepy he is, the more grumpy he becomes.

There’s a sneer coming from the other line, “It’s not even nine yet. What are you, a baby?”

He ignored her.

“Don’t you wanna hear our plan? We spent a long time to come out with it.” The voice on the other side answers, which is not Jirou’s voice, but still familiar.

“.....Hagakure?”

“Bingo!”

Shouto resist the urge to rub his head that had started to ache (Jirou’s fault entirely), suddenly the picture of Jirou and Hagakure in the girls dorm, having a sleepover and discussing his love life (or lack of) pop up in his mind, the image both disturb and embarrass him.

He can’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice, “How nice, include more people in this, will you?”

Jirou chime in, “ You have to get permission from the whole squad if you want to ask Yaomomo out.”

He can’t see them but he had a feeling Hagakure is solemnly nodding to Jirou’s statement, “Sorry man, we don’t make the rules.”

She’s clearly having too much fun at this.

Hagakure added, “Yeah, it’s a solidarity thing.”

Which is something that he doesn’t really want to know. Sadly, it makes no difference to Hagakure whether he is interested or not. He had to cut her mid-rant otherwise it’s dawn before you know it, “Be quick, I want to sleep.”

Ashido’s voice suddenly said, “Don’t worry, we already summarized the plan!”

He almost thought that he is imagining things because how sleepy he is, but there’s no mistaking it, that was Ashido voice. He doesn’t even know she’s there. Just how many people involved in this?

He slam the phone when Uraraka joined the conversation.

“Why don’t you just tell everyone?” Shouto bit out. He doesn’t get enough sleep last night after that horrid phone call, which is enough to make him ten times more grumpy. Jirou is sitting in Momo’s desk (who hasn’t come to class yet), twirling her earphone jack. It’s still twenty minutes before the first bell ring, and about five minutes before Momo arrived.

Jirou shrugged nonchalantly, “I don’t have to, everyone already knows.”

“What?”

She shrugged again, clearly not very interested in his dismay. Shouto has to resist the urge to kick her, “You hear me, everyone already knows. You kinda make it obvious.”

As if to prove her points, Bakugou snickered while looking directly at Shouto, then turn away, while Kaminari who is sitting beside him, give Shouto a pity stare (the kind you give someone when you know they’ll messed up).

Shouto only respond for the humiliation he felt is to plant his face on the table, too drowned in his embarrassement to even care. It’s nice to know that his so-called friends pop in sometimes to laugh at him. Jirou went on about “plans” (he’s not really listening), but he can’t take this much annoyance so early in the morning. Shouto sends Midoriya, who is looking at their way when getting his book from his bag, a distress signal to help him get away from Jirou (by squinting several times at him) but Midoriya doesn’t get it, he just waved at Shouto and then turn back to his book. Shouto wished his quirk is telephaty instead.

Just then, the door slides open, revealing Momo Yaoyorozu herself. She looks a bit startled finding Jirou on her desk, much more talking to Shouto, but quickly regained her grace. She greets them while setting her bag down on her desk, Jirou took that as her cue to leave, but not before giving Shouto a ridiculous comedy wink right in front of Momo. What is she thinking? If she had been a spy, she would be dead by now.

Momo just look puzzled, but too polite to ask intruding question. He had to pretend he didn’t see anything, he do’t want her to think he is on to something with Jirou. While Jirou might say that is really the case, he says otherwise. The whole ‘planning’ thing is mostly her doing her own crazy and forcibly throwing him to the mix.

Shouto wonder what Jirou is up to. She has been mentioning the word ‘plan’ several times. He just glad that they didn’t take Hagakure suggestion to change the word ‘plan’ to ‘lamp’ and ‘Yaomomo’ to ‘Mochi’, the idea is to use a code word so Momo wouldn’t get suspicious, but if they start to talk about lamp and Mochi at the same sentence, it actually make it even more suspicious and very little sense.

Shouto glanced at Momo, who is surprisingly also looking at him with stone-faced expression, as their gaze met, Shouto went red, he can feel a slight increase of temperature because of his quirk, and quickly diverted his gaze from her.

In his mind, he can hear Aizawa-sensei’s sneer.

He found out what is exactly Jirou’s plan at night. After school, most of 1-A gathered in the common floor, doing various activities or simply just chatting.

Shouto has been chillin’ with Midoriya and Iida on the couch (Midoriya is showing them his All Might card collection), but he is interrupted when Shouto’s phone ring.

Momo’s name flashed on his screen. It caught him off guard, she never called unless it was important, could it be Jirou? He stand up a little too fast (almost knocking Midoriya’s collection) and went away from prying ears before answering it.

“Hello?”

“Todoroki-san?” He was glad to hear Momo’s voice throught the receiver, “Jirou-san said you want to meet me...?” the whole statement is a question, she sound terribly confused and unsure.

He froze, quite literally, as speckled of ice formed at his feat and hands. When he spoke, his voice low and horrified, “...what?”

“I’ve been here for five minutes and—“

“Wait there.” He cut her, ending the call. He run to her room in full speed, making him receive odd looks both from Midoriya and Iida, but he doesn’t want to make her wait. When he reached the fifth floor, there’s no one the hallaway. He knocked on her door but no answers. He call her, Momo’s picked up at the first ring, “Yaoyorozu, where are you? I’m in front of your room.”

“Huh? I’m in front of your room.”

Bloody hell.

The fiasco had ended peacefully, he had went up to Momo in front of his room. But he had absolutely no idea what to say to her, so he said the whole thing is Jirou’s prank (which is not far from the truth).

She looks unimpressed, “That girl—Ah, I’m sorry Todoroki-san, for involving you in this.” She bowed low.

He urged her to straighten up , “I don’t blame you in the first place.”

She become quiet, staring at him, her body language suggested that she want to say something to him. She open her mouth slightly, closed it again, and then muttered ,“Todoroki-san, you... seems really close with Jirou-san.”

He highly doubt that. If wanting to kill her and hide her body on the fridge can be categorized as ‘close’ then yes, they are.

“Yeah, kinda.” He answered vaguely, eager to keep his crime-movie-worth thought to himself. Even though he want to tattle Jirou to Momo really badly.

Momo bow her head, looking down on the floor, her eyes somber. He doesn’t know what caused the sudden change in her demeanour, so offers to walk her to her room, guessing (incorrectly) that she simply tired. He manage to bit her goodnight in natural sort of way before going back to his room to sleep, the whole thing is tiring him out, he could wait until tomorrow to kick Jirou.

Jirou is unregretful when he confront her, “I can’t believe you blew it up.” She said, blaming him, which tickled him off greatly, Excuse you, shouldn’t I be the one who do the blaming here?

“What do you expect me to do?” he asked, and winced when his voice sound desperate.

“Confess to her, duh.”

He really want to kick her now. He could barely order an extra fries on fast food restaurant and she thought he could confess without mental preparing first? This girl clearly not right in the head.

“You should have informed me first.” He demanded, Jirou is unapologetic, “I already tell Mina to tell you, I guess the info got lost in the proccess.”

“That’s what you got for including more people in it.”

Jirou ignore him and went on, “Even thought I have prepared the perfect timing for you.”

Which part of the plan is perfect remains a mystery to him. He could point out ten flaws at the top of his head, and that’s not even half of it. But he’s too depressed to be bothered and decided to drop the conversation and go back to class.

He spend the most part of the morning fuming on his chair, He write his notes with a little too much force than necessary. Momo (bless her soul) notice his misery and rage, she tried to question it on him. He doesn’t want to worry her so he lied and said he’s fine.

Eventually, when lunch time come, Shouto decided to get back at Jirou a little bit. He’s not low enough to really kick her (but she’s really testing his limit) but he’s petty enough to hide her pencil case. There’s two AC at the back of the class, which high enough that someone as short as Jirou can’t see what’s on top of it.

Unfortunately, Momo caught him mid-act when he’s climbing the chair to reach the AC, apparently she left something in the class, he doesn’t have the time to hide the pencil case, so he just put it behind his back, but it was futile, as the angle he stands leave no room for secrets. She stared at the pencil case in his hand and then back at him.

“Isn’t that Jirou’s?”

He glanceed at the pencil case nervously. The weight of the case suddenly feels very heavy in his hand.

“Uh...yes.” he admitted. Shamefully bowed his head, he feels like he was ten years old again after his sister caught him spitting in Endeavour’s drink.

“You’re hiding it.” She stated, matter-of-factly. He start to feel really small under her gaze, “...yes.”

Shouto hop down from the chair and set down the pencil case on his desk, stealing a glance at Momo. He’s surprised to find her looking at him with mildly amused expression, “Is it to get back at her for yesterday?”

He nodded. She crossed her arms, smiling, “Then, I suggest you hide it in the cupboard,” she pointed at the class wood cupboard beside the teacher desk, “She never open it. Full of dust, she said.”

A huge sigh of relief come out of him. He took her advice, giving her an excited grin, and walk to the front. After the pencil case safely tucked in between books, Shouto closed the cupboard door.

Momo approached him, with slow and sure step, she clasp her hands behind her back. “Say, I’ve been wondering about this...”

Shouto’s hand went rigid, the way she said it makes a heavy drop on his stomach, similiar if anybody approached him with ‘I-need-to-speak-to-you’ phrase.

“Since when you and Jirou-san are so close, Todoroki-san?”

He relaxed instantly, it’s just that. “Hard to say,” although he can pinpoint exactly when, it’s the time she corner him in the hallway the day after Momo invited other people to their study ‘date’.

Momo hummed, she trained her eyes on him, “I always want to get close to you, Todoroki-san.”

He doesn’t know whether she mean it figuratively or literally, as she stand quite close to him, “What do you mean? We’re close now.”

Momo thought he was kidding, but she let out an exasperated sigh after seeing his unironic face, and he suddenly feel stupid, is it something that he said?

She is unnervilingly calm and collected, and she took another step closer to him, “I mean I want to get to know you better.”

His heart skipped a beat. He wants to know her better too, considering he is (as his mother put it) smitten with her. He open his mouth to answer her, but she cut him, saying words that made him forget to breathe.

“Todoroki-san, will you go out with me?”

It took him a full minute to decipher her words. Did she just....? That can’t be. No way. He must heard things wrong. But reality says otherwise, and he find himself gaped, lost for words. There’s a mad buble of laughter in his throat and he had to physically restrain himself to laugh out loud. Both from happiness and irony. Because Momo liked him, and she confess to him first (with much more grace than he could ever manage) after he spend so much time trying to do the exact same thing, Jirou would laugh at him, that’s for sure. And here he thought that he’s not all that bad with women.

It’s like a giant cosmic debt. The universe must be paying him off for making him so miserable all his life. He realized he’s been gaping like a fish for a while after Momo called his name. He snapped his eyes back to her, trying to keep his cool but to no avail, “Yes, of course, I would be happy to date you.” The words come out strained with untamed glee, but he couldn’t care less.

She take his right hand in hers, smiling in content, and muttered a soft “I’m glad.”

The magic moment broke when the door slide open abruptly, both of them jumped in surprise, quickly letting go of each other, but the intruder already caught sight of their little hand holding.

Jirou stood at the door, she is transfixed for a moment, glancing at Momo and then at him, her eyes staring at the space where his and Momo’s hand connected just a moment ago. Finally, she put two plus two and let out a freaking wolf whistle.

She looked pointedly at Shouto, “Nice to see you’re finally have the guts to confess.”

Shouto freeze, while his newly official girlfriend look shocked, she stare at Jirou, then at him and ask, “What does that mean??”

Shouto retreat back from them. Hiding her pencil case is definitely not enough, he probably has to kick her now.

#bokunosecretsanta #bnha #todomomo #Yaoyorozu Momo #todoroki shouto #jirou kyoka #happy new year everyone #nc-todomomo #nc-bnha

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doomonfilm · 3 years

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Ranking : John Carpenter (1948 - present)

If one were to name off ten American directors from the past half-century or so in rapid fire fashion, I’d be willing to put money on the table that a vast majority would have the name John Carpenter on that list. His impact on horror, suspense and psychological thriller films is undeniable, and his prolific ability to score his films with iconic music he creates puts him in the realm of legends. For a director that dwells in the areas usually set aside for disposable box office fodder, it is surprising that at least five of his films (and possibly more, depending on who’s doing the debating) could be consider bonafide classics.

Perhaps the most interesting thing about putting this list together was the discovery and true understanding of just how much range that Carpenter is capable of, even if his films are distinctly his both in terms of genre-based elements and directorial style. When it comes to the films Memoirs of an Invisible Man (a personal favorite from my pre-teen years) and Starman, I didn’t even realize they were John Carpenter films because they were so different from what I’d come to know him for. Revisiting the films I was familiar with gave me great joy, and taking in the films I’d overlooked or passed on gave me a deeper understanding of John Carpenter not only as a creative spirit, but as a man trying to stake a claim to his voice in an industry famous for conformity.

With that being said, I took all eighteen of John Carpenter’s feature length films and ranked them in terms of my personal enjoyment and opinion. As always, the floor is open for discussion, so feel free to share your thoughts and open up a dialogue, and enjoy!

18. The Ward (2010) I’m going to be 100% honest with you all… coming in to this list, I pretty much had already decided that Ghosts of Mars was going to anchor this list. Fifteen movies in, it felt like my prediction would come to be. But then, something funny happened… The Ward showed up in my mailbox courtesy of Netflix DVD. I watched the film, and so many other films came to mind : Girl, Interrupted… One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest… Shutter Island… Session 9… Unsane… The Jacket… the list goes on and on. That’s the thing about this film… nearly 40 years in, the last thing you’d expect John Carpenter to be is derivative. The Ward really wants to be an asylum thriller, a revenge-based ghost story and a period piece, but it never really commits to any of its aspirations, and what we’re left with is 90 minutes of Amber Heard, and in an information age obsessed with cancel culture, what’s going on in her personal life is infinitely more compelling than what she’s going through in The Ward. There are some good shots of fire in the film, and Mamie Gummer is acting circles around everyone she shares the frame with, but otherwise there’s not much to this one. Hopefully this won’t be the last film of Carpenter’s career.

17. Ghosts of Mars (2001) If nothing else, Ghosts of Mars is an ambitious film. What it lacks in coherency, it makes up for in its amalgamation of ideas. The film is all at once a prisoner transport film, a film about a team of crack operatives, a film featuring a revolt and a tale about respecting the land that you intend to exploit for its resources. It sets itself up to be a John Carpenter take on Rashomon, with a number of stories being told through a singular unreliable narrator (due to the lack of those left to tell their own story). While there are some good ideas present in this film, not to mention some wonderful examples of non-traditional casting for an action movie, Ghosts of Mars falls short in its need to be everything to everyone. The film has garnered a cult following since its release, but as someone who saw this in theaters during its initial run, it still doesn’t do it for me.

16. Vampires (1998) If From Dusk till Dawn isn’t enough to satisfy your Vampire Western cravings, then I humbly submit to you John Carpenter’s swing at the mixture in the form of Vampires. All the earmarks of both genres are present : a crack team of experts hit hard and early, an undercurrent of religion that neither praises nor damns it, a seemingly insurmountable antagonist with a single-minded blind focus, and even a damsel in distress forced to rough it with the roughnecks. Like many of his films, the Carpenter score plays unofficial star against the bananas series of events laid out. Speaking of crazy events, leave it to the likes of James Woods and Daniel Baldwin to take what could be best classified as pulp material and elevate it into the realms of honest entertainment. While not as flashy or fantastic as some of his previous films, the special effects work is effective (no pun intended), with a nice batch of memorable kills sprinkled throughout the film. If this film would’ve been made in the 1980s, I would argue that it could’ve been timeless, but unfortunately, it screams of the 1990s in all the ways that make a film dated, which is even funnier when you consider it was released near the end of the decade. Vampires is fun, but I’d be lying if I called it a classic.

15. Assault on Precinct 13 (1976) Assault on Precinct 13 marks the proper feature debut for John Carpenter, with Dark Star essentially being a glorified student film. Interestingly enough, the film has a ton of representation across the board in its casting, making it one of the more diverse films released on a major level with its Black lead and strong supporting cast featuring women, Black and Hispanic actors/actresses. At the time the film was released, the gang problem was going from an underground and isolated situation to more of a widespread panic, and Assault on Precinct 13 provides plenty of subtext in terms of how gangs are viewed, the perception of their impact on the community and, most importantly, their everlasting struggles with the police. Speaking of the police, there are some subtle jabs at the inept practices of police in terms of administration and the way the handle prisoners, all of which lead to a perfect storm of despair for our protagonists.

14. Escape from L.A. (1996) This film marked the final collaboration between Kurt Russell and John Carpenter, and what an odd one to finalize such a rich and fruitful collaborative relationship. There are some things about the film that definitely work… Snake Pliskin is (and always will be) magic on the screen. Los Angeles certainly had the landmarks and the culture suitable for stylizing into a post-apocalyptic labyrinth of dangers. The statements the film makes on the moral majority and the isolation of people over cultural and ideological differences works as a harbinger for what could be in an extreme example, and has only become more relevant as time has passed. That being said, this film seems to not know whether it wants to be a comedy on the sly, or whether it’s just accepting of taking the often occasional odd detour for seemingly aesthetic purposes, which makes sense when one realizes that the film spent a decade in development hell simply because Carpenter was afraid to pull the trigger on a script he felt was “too light, too campy”. While a departure in comparison to Escape from New York, and definitely a tonal shift from the vast majority of the Carpenter films, it does have its moments… unfortunately, the moments are not frequent enough to put this one in the upper echelon of Carpenter’s work.

13. Dark Star (1974) For a debut film, Dark Star already had enough elements to be distinctly John Carpenter… the use of an ensemble cast, DIY special effects, a John Carpenter score, and hilariously, a Kurt Russell facsimile in the form of Cal Kuniholm. Oddly, this is really the only proper science-fiction film in the Carpenter canon (outside of the flop turned cult semi-classic Ghost of Mars), with several pieces of machinery requiring voice casting due to their intelligence and autonomy. Dark Star is also unique within the Carpenter legacy due to its reliance on wit, logic and humor more so than star power and wild premises, making it one of the more cerebral films made by Carpenter. On a personal note, my old friend Thomas spent YEARS trying to get me to watch this film, and after finally taking the time to do so, I’d love to have those years back to commit to the fandom of this film. It’s sadly been a bit lost to time, but it’s one of the John Carpenter films that I like to recommend the most, as it definitely deserves to be remembered.

12. The Fog (1980) After a massive hit like Halloween, I’m sure expectations from viewers and critics alike was sky high. With his follow-up after his first foray with fame, John Carpenter released The Fog, a supernatural affair with a much more deliberate pace than anything he’d previously released. Perhaps it was this slower, more methodical approach, combined with an extremely powerful use of subtle practical effects, that makes The Fog feel more like an uneventful slow burn than it actually is. More so than any film he’d released previously, The Fog pulls you in over your head into its tone and mood, and while nothing much on the fantastic side occurs, there are levels to visual stimulus used to engulf viewers in an emotion matching those within the world of The Fog. The sound design for The Fog does a great bit of the heavy lifting as well, which is something that should be noted, as it is some of the best work in that realm that Carpenter and company executed for any of his films. A subtle masterpiece, but it feels like the victim of being made on borrowed time, kind of like an album made by a band while in the midst of touring their breakout release.

11. Prince of Darkness (1987) In-between two of John Carpenter’s most outstanding and wonderfully outlandish offerings came Prince of Darkness, a deeply methodical slow burn that parks itself firmly in the intersection of science and religion and mines it for horrific fodder. Tinges of science fiction, mystery, horror, espionage and the supernatural are all working in tandem to create a literal house of horrors filled with intellectuals blind to the proof right in front of their eyes. As the midpoint of Carpenter’s self-appointed Apocalypse Trilogy (which also features The Thing and In The Mouth of Madness), it certainly continues the tradition of unfolding mysteries and threats that transition from vessel to vessel. Carpenter’s score is doing overtime in terms of setting the mood, nearly establishing itself as a physical presence in the manner that it accents what is presented visually, and the use of color is a bit more expressive than what is normally found in the Carpenter production style. The insect motif is also a nice touch, as it serves to literally make your skin crawl moments before traditional scares occur.

10. Christine (1983) On paper, the combination of a Stephen King story told through the lens of John Carpenter sounds fantastic, and Christine is definitely the type of Stephen King story that can fit the Carpenter bill. Being a teenager can be a frustrating section of life, and for the vast majority, the day that you own a car symbolizes an important step towards maturity and freedom. Stephen King took this ages old scenario and made it a deeper story about finding yourself outside of the protection and orders of others (be it dictator parents, picture perfect friends or a possessed vehicle), and John Carpenter picks up on every nuance of this subtext. Outside of Harry Dean Stanton, the film is cast mostly absent those in the realms of star power (and with all due respect, calling Stanton a traditional star is a stretch)... for my money’s worth, I imagine that Carpenter did this consciously in order to let Christine be the star of her story. Halloween proved that Carpenter knew a thing or two about horror films, and Christine shows that he can apply that formula with such precision that an inanimate object becomes terrifying.

9. Starman (1984) Starman is one of those movies that I’ve always been familiar with, but never took the time to seek out and watch… so much so that I didn’t even realize that it was a John Carpenter film until I started working on this list. Tonally, the film differs from other John Carpenter offerings, as it has more Spielberg energy to it than it does Carpenter stylings (although it does embrace the use of practical special effects, albeit outside of a battle or shock-based context). The invasiveness of an alien lifeform morphing into your lost love one right before your eyes is certainly jarring, but it makes for a stellar hook that yanks the viewer right into the heart of the narrative matter. By using Jeff Daniels’ Starman as a surrogate for someone with no understanding of human customs, Carpenter is able to extoll core human values without coming off as holier than thou or preachy, all the while setting up a buddy road trip scenario in order to accelerate the interaction between his leads and capture some countryside photography along the way. For a director known for doing the most, Starman is a surprisingly tender venture, succeeding via the use of less from a director associated with always doing more.

8. Village of the Damned (1995) The best thing about Village of the Damned is how much it feels like John Carpenter hitting the randomizer button and striking gold with every bit of output. Do you dig small creepy towns? How about unexplained weather anomalies? Strange occurrences and phenomena? A cult made up of psychic kids with mind control abilities that woke up and chose violence? Maybe even a little conspiracy and paranoia? This film has all of that and then some. The film actually stands out as one of the best looking in the Carpenter canon, with a surprisingly vivid use of color implemented that offsets the shades of grey the children are bathed in. Everything about this movie is drenched in a heavy creep factor, especially the performances of the children, who manage to be so pitch perfect in their characterizations that it is genuinely unsettling. Watching this story unfold is one of the most enjoyable experiences presented by Carpenter, and it stands as an example of when a fascinating concept is met with brilliant execution.

7. Memoirs of an Invisible Man (1992) Memoirs of an Invisible Man came out at an interesting crossroads between my budding interest in film, the idling of John Carpenter’s career, and the downward spiral that was Chevy Chase’s career. Looking at it through an objective lens is rough, but time (and the task at hand) has allowed me to do so, and I find that I still enjoy this film as much now as I did then. The special effects at the time were downright jaw-dropping, and many of them still hold up. The practical effects help sell the illusion, so much so that the illusion is implied in points that it would be a budgetary burden and still manages to not distract. With Chase in the lead, one would imagine that the film would be funny, and while not a comedy, it does allow for several beats of well-timed comedic moments. At the time, the film’s narrative was panned for being uninspired, but in my opinion, some of the harsh judgement may have come from the expectations set by the careers of Carpenter and Chase. While not your standard John Carpenter affair, the film does showcase his ability to “play the game” and create solid work, even if it continues to be harshly judged and misunderstood.

6. Escape from New York (1981) When it comes to actors connected to directors, it’s usually not long before the pairing of Kurt Russell and John Carpenter comes up, and Escape from New York marks the genesis of this cinematic bond. With his traditional good looks, no-nonsense attitude and penchant for sharp wit, Russell was the perfect leading man for Carpenter’s vivid cinematic exploitation ventures. As for Escape from New York, the city had yet to undertake its Disneyfication of the 1990s, and the movie stands as a bleak vision of what the crime and moral dissonance of the city (and era) could lead to if taken to the extreme. Creating the worst place in America as an inescapable pit to drop the President into immediately sets the stakes high, and with little to no background, we are given the one man seemingly capable of achieving against impossible odds in the form of Snake Pliskin. Like some kind of urban Mad Max, Escape from New York gets wilder and wilder as the minutes tick away, making it one of the most iconic New York films to date, and one of the strongest offerings from John Carpenter during his legendary run.

5. Halloween (1978) The first of many John Carpenter classic films, and arguably the most iconic of the bunch. Three films in, John Carpenter not only managed to turn one of the biggest profits in independent film history, but he created one of the all time great movie monsters in Michael Myers. The film put Jamie Lee Curtis on a rocket to success, turning her from a burgeoning television hopeful to a certified rising Hollywood star in just one role. In terms of pure production, the trend of growth continued for Carpenter as his cinematography gained more freedom of expression, the performances from his actors and actresses felt more natural, and quite possibly most importantly, his scoring ability was hitting maximum resonance, with the main theme of Halloween being equally as iconic as Michael Myers himself. The film has become an October staple for the masses, but manages to be enjoyable any time of the year due to its sheer ability to entertain and frighten audiences. If one were looking for a singular example of the John Carpenter aesthetic, Halloween stands out as a smart choice. Bonus points to John Carpenter for giving the Howard Hawks produced version of The Thing a shoutout two whole films before remaking it.

4. In the Mouth of Madness (1994) Films about collective psychosis are nothing new… be they fodder for popcorn consumption such as Fallen or Identity, or teetering on the realms of art like Jacob’s Ladder, they are always a strong foundation for something memorable. Maybe that’s why In the Mouth of Madness seems at once exciting and familiar while watching it, as collective psychosis provides John Carpenter with plenty of ingredients to make his trademark-worthy best. Building an entire referential lore around fictional fiction writer Sutter Cane builds all kinds of abstract immersion layers to explore, especially with direct references (and delightful digs) at Stephen King and his Multiverse. Sam Neill and Julie Carmen take us by the hand and yank us through the innovative twists and turns with wonderful chemistry, with Neill giving an especially cavalier performance. The film has a billion and a half production touches that put the creep factors on overdrive, with some of the directing choices nearing the realms of Lynchian. It’s also a nice touch to hear Carpenter back in the scoring chair (even in a shared capacity). Films like this one aren’t done justice via rumination, review or commentary… it’s best to just dive in and deal with the repercussions on the other side of it all.

3. They Live (1988) John Carpenter has made some amazing films in his time, but there are a small chosen few that contain genius-level writing and execution. Of this upper class of films, it’s arguable that They Live is both the most entertaining and the most thought provoking in terms of what it is saying (not to mention how much more relevant that message has gotten over time). A damning examination of capitalism, mass consumption, class divides, media influence and the use of police state tactics, Carpenter paints his science fiction with bold strokes of relevant facts that many often choose to ignore. The action in the film is top notch (including quite possibly one of the best fight scenes ever captured on film between Roddy Piper and Keith David), the makeup work on the aliens is instantly iconic, and the story not only sticks with you, but contains aesthetic elements reminiscent of Jenny Holzer’s influential artwork while being used for an identical purpose. If this list centered solely on John Carpenter minor box office successes that became top tier cult classics, They Live would likely occupy the top spot.

2. The Thing (1982) The Thing is one of those movies that works on so many levels that it’s hard to fathom. The shorthand used to set up the story gives you a clear understanding of the situation with minimal use of exposition that is replaced by loads of character and world building. The threat is initially unclear, but the indication of its eventual impact kicks off the film with context that is only understood after your first complete viewing. John Carpenter turned over the scoring helm to Ennio Morricone, perhaps the only individual who could score a Carpenter film better than Carpenter himself, and the results are classic. The special effects work is brilliant, as it is not only initially shocking to see the terrifying transformations the creature undertakes, but it is deeply traumatic in a way that sticks with viewers permanently. Carpenter could not have asked for a better ensemble cast, especially considering that it seems like everyone came prepared to play team ball rather than try and outshine one another. It’s always fascinating to me that this film was widely rejected both critically and at the box office upon release, as it took me way too long to get around to this one (and I was only 3 at the time of release). I’ve always encountered nothing but deep fandom for the film, and rightly so, as this film is a masterpiece that deserves every piece of praise it receives.

1. Big Trouble in Little China (1986) What doesn’t this film do right? Kurt Russell is giving his all as Jack Burton, and the film beautifully wraps itself around him in a hurricane of action-based slippery slopes. Setting the film in San Francisco automatically gives it a memorable aesthetic, and locking down the majority of the film in iconic Chinatown is nothing but cinematic gold. We’re told that we’re going to get an unbelievable story, then we meet our everyman that will guide us along on our journey, but very quickly his expectations (and by extension, ours) are blown clear out of the water, and things continue to escalate at an exponential rate. Memorable runs in high quantity and quality for this venture… some of the most quotable John Carpenter film lines come from Big Trouble in Little China, his score for the film ranks high among the canon, the special effects are electrifying (pun intended), the action is high octane, and the martial arts is treated with complete respect in its presentation. Outside of They Live or Vampires, this is arguably the most fun film of the Carpenter collection, and is almost guaranteed to turn the unfamiliar into fans.

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scholar-thief · 4 years

Text

[ RP LOG ]

Momori shares a meal with Rafaela Rizzo.

Momori is seemingly passed out in front of a barrel drum hobo fire.

Rafaela came stamping by, each footstep thudding heavily on the stonework, before she stopped, and spotted Momori. A few more tenative steps, and she drew closer, before intoning, "Hey, you good? You, uh... need a blanket, or something?"

Momori - Upon closer inspection, Rizzo would be able to notice that Momori is, in fact, breathing. Sleeping like a dead person. But despite how eerily still she is, the lalafell wakes up the moment Rizzo says something. She jolts into a defensive stance, weapons drawn at lightning speed.

Momori: “Who’s there?!”

Rafaela does flinch from the newly found power stance, nor from the drawn weapons. She does, however, blink once, and stare blankly at Momori. "Alright," she says, sounding bemused. She continued to stare, before saying, "You hungry?"

Momori gives Rizzo a hard look (which, in reality, is her base expressionless face with 1% of spicy mixed into it). Wordlessly, she sheaths her daggers. “Rizzo, right? I’ve seen you around.” Momori looks slightly red, though she shows not a ilm of embarrassment otherwise. “I could do with some food.”

Rafaela gave her a curt nod. "That's me. C'mon." She turned on her heel and started her heavy, deliberate march away. "I don't think I caught your name in the times I've seen you around. But I'm not the best at names to begin with."

Momori: “Momori,” she says, as she follows the other woman. Rizzo’s pace is just slightly slower than her own, and so every so often she stops, or walks in a meandering zigzag, to ensure she doesn’t overtake her.

Rafaela came around the campsite, and to a small fire, way off to the side, that was definitely here. She set about stoking the flames, and dealing with some foodstuffs set nearby. "Your armor looks from the far east," she said, as the fire started coming back alive. "What's up with that."

Momori looks longingly at the various foods that Rizzo has laid out. She could appreciate someone who responded to unconscious acquaintances with free food. “Oh, my armor? It certainly is inspired by shinobi wear, but it’s actually made in Ul’dah.” She holds up her sleeve. “That’s what’s up.”

Rafaela made a face. "Ul'dah," she echoed, the way someone would, when saying the name of an ex-lover. "You from there? I grew up in that city." She went about pushing some dodo meat onto a skewer and placing it over the fire.

Momori nods. She picks up on Rizzo’s sentiment, and gives her a small, knowing smile in response. “It’s home. And it’s nice meeting someone else who feels that way too out here, though something tells me you may think otherwise.”

Momori kneels down to the fire to watch the kabob cook. Flames flicker in the reflection of her vacant, glassy eyes.

Rafaela scoffed once, but then simmered somewhat. "Me and the Jewel of the Desert don't have the happiest history. You know how it can be. Don't have money already, the chances of getting it are slim." She went around preparing other fixings as she let the meat roast over the fire.

Momori doesn’t say anything, silence given as a quiet understanding. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you make it out then? So many times I’ve seen the poor fall deeper into poverty. Into Monetarists schemes and exploitation.” Momori seems distant.

Rafaela hummed, as she still worked through the process of making Momori a meal. "I got out in a way I wouldn't ask most people. I had to serve a sentence in the Bloodsands. When I got out, I had a decent enough reputation, that I finally found work as a bodyguard and mercenary. So I just. Did that. Which isn't feasible for people with gentle dispositions or frail constitutions. So hardly a universal experience."

Momori ‘s lips draw into a thin frown. “Ah, the Bloodsands. A cruel and unforgiving place. I do what I can to help the less fortunate in Ul’dah but…” Momori shrugs. “There are days I wonder if the city will forever remain a broken cycle. Of the rich and poor. Perhaps the only way forward is to tear it all down and start over.”

Momori: “But these are just the random musings of a single lalafell. So, what’s for dinner?”

Rafaela sighed a little. "I'd not be against tearing it all down," was all she said on the matter. At the question, she turned back to Momori and answered. "Roasted bird, with an herb rub. I was just in Ul'dah, so expect a taste from home, if you will. Should be decently spicy." She plucked the skewer off of the fire, then, and started the next process of adding Raubahn's Twelve Herbs and Spices.

Momori: “OH.” Momori’s eyes widen slightly. “Nice.”

Momori simply watches Rizzo hard at work, but there’s something itching away at the back of Momori’s mind. What is the protocol for building trust in these situations? Ah, yes. “Do you need any assistance?”

(Momori) nice B) (Rafaela) lmfao (Rafaela) I love her (Momori) *reads off script* how do you do fellow human

Rafaela replied easily, "Nah," as she now let the bird breasts sit somewhere to cool a little. She maintained a steady wall, in a way, not really letting Momori in too much. "What do you do on the Voyage, anyhow," she asked, moving to sit down properly.

Momori: “Fine with me.” Momori wraps her arms around her knees, gloved hands clasped. Content to simply consume. “Oh, I’m a part of the research team. Looking over artifacts, recording keeping, all things that place slowly in dim light. Fun.” She actually seems serious about it being fun, despite her wording.

Momori: “What about yourself? Guard of some sort? Here just because Livia is?”

Rafaela said, with no hint of irony, "I'm a student." She rose, and promptly made two servings of the spiced bird, and then walked around the fire, and held out a plate for Momori, before plopping down next to her. "Livia joined before I did, and for her own reasons. I'm just learning family traditions from Nathaniel."

Momori takes the plate and begins to dig in. A genuine smile spreads on her face as the familiar flavors comfort her like an old, and deeply missed, friend. She scarfs it down like some feral gremlin.

Momori: “Oh, traditions. Cool.” She says between bites, mouth full. “Have you seen the Father lately though? Man’s been through the ringer. Can’t imagine he’s able to teach for now.”

Rafaela ate much the same way Momori did, as she considered her question. "No, I haven't seen him. He's denied most visitors." She paused in her meal, to look off to the side. "And in fairness, he's not really been teaching me Ahsan traditions for some time now. Things got very pressing, very quickly. I'm fine with it. I'm a better basher than a student."

Momori: “I figured as much. He’s lucky to be alive.” Momori takes a momentary respite from inhaling food. “Things still /are/ pressing. We’ve suffered losses, the enemy has the Heart. We’re without clear direction. But we’ll see what happens.”

Momori hums to herself. “A basher. I never would’ve guessed.” She gives the exceedingly POWERFUL woman a glance.

Rafaela gave a small laugh, though there was little humor in it. "I know I looked more like a poet, from the start." She picked at her food a moment, considering the woman's words. "We'll get the Heart back, I'm sure of it. At the very least, we will deprive them of it. I know more or less what Nathaniel hopes for, but my own preference is for no one to have the damn thing, and for it to be rendered inert."

Momori: “I never judge based on appearances. But you seem to me like a gentle songbird, who would play instruments most delicate.” Momori tilts her head slightly, mischievous energy abound.

Momori ponders Rizzo’s last statement. “The Heart could be used for great evil or great good. It depends on who wields it. We should not waste that potential.”

Rafaela huffed, once. "If it's used for good today, it'll be used for evil, tomorrow. The work of the Allagans has only planted seeds for men of weak dispositions to wield their toys with all the pride and ignorance of a toddler. It might not ruin our day, if we keep it in 'good' hands, but it could very easily ruin someone else's, years down the line."

Momori shakes her head. “That potential for good outweighs any cost. To shift the status quo, or bring succor to deserving communities. Which is why we need to get the Heart back soon.” Momori looks down at her now empty plate. “Thanks for the food, by the way! Let me make something for you next time.”

Rafaela clearly and visibly disagreed, but left it at that. "You're welcome," came another curt reply. "If you feel so inclined, I'd be fine with that." She shifted, a little, setting her plate aside. "For now, I'm going to tend to some work that needs doing. You can stick around, if you want, or not. Up to you."

#Momori Mori #Rafaela Rizzo #ff14 rp logs #dangit I thought I took a screenshot #heartless AU

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ourimpavidheroine · 7 years

Note

“Please don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry” for Mako and Zhi?

(I changed the wording of the sentence just a bit in this story; I hope it’s okay!)

He and Chiyo had made the arrest before dawn that morning, turning over all of their case files, the culmination of several months’ worth of work. Song had clapped the both of them on the back and told them to go home, get some sleep and he’d see them in two days. He’d stopped off for some celebratory fruit tarts and had gone home to find the house empty; Qi and Wu off to some meeting, Meili in school, Sayuri at parts unknown with Lin and LoLo. Even the maids were in the other wing, doing their twice monthly dusting. He took a long and very hot shower and came out, the bed calling him. He laid down with a sigh, closing his aching eyes. A nap before everyone returned and the house exploded with noise again.

It was only then that he heard the muffled sobbing.

He hauled himself off the bed, making his way down the hall, trying to track the sound, stopping in front of Zhi’s door. It was definitely coming from there. He hesitated a moment before knocking softly. “Zhi? Is that you?”

A bit of a scramble and then the door was opened. Zhi’s eyes were red and puffy, his glasses nowhere to be seen. “Daddy! What are you doing home?” He tried to put on a smile but he’d never, even when he was a little boy, been any good at hiding his emotions.

“You want to talk about it?”

“About what?” Again with the innocent act. Spirits knew he loved this boy, but of all his children he was the one who couldn’t lie worth a damn.

“About why you’re crying?”

Zhi’s chin quavered. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me not to cry? That you can’t stand to see me cry?” Another attempt at a smile.

He sighed and put his arm around him. “I didn’t say that. And I wouldn’t say that, either. You know me better than that.” Zhi snuffled. “What happened? You get in a fight with San or something?”

Zhi shook his head. “You know we never fight.”

“Well?”

Zhi wavered and then drew him into his room. Neat, as always; Zhi had always disliked a mess. Now that he was at University Wu had redone his room, putting in a larger desk as well as a file cabinet for his papers, that sort of thing. He took a folder off the desk and handed it over.

“What’s this?”

Zhi swallowed. “My paper on the diversity and distribution of cave-dwelling arachnids in the Omashu mountain range.”

He flipped it open, gazing down. The paper had been criss-crossed with angry red lines, notes scribbled into the margins. A ridiculous and preposterous assertion was one phrase that jumped out at him as he paged through, underlined three times, the pen strokes so deep they’d nearly torn the paper. At the end he saw that the professor had failed the paper.

His first thought, of course, was that he was going to look up this professor and fry him alive. Not the most rational of thoughts, no, but one he was feeling in the moment. He glanced up at Zhi, who was, at seventeen, nearly a head taller than him.

“I see the professor didn’t like your paper.”

“He hated it, Daddy. He shouted at me in front of the class.” Zhi’s eyes started to overflow again.

He mentally counted to ten. Must not fry the professor. Must not fry the professor. Must not fry the fucking shit for brains professor. “Did he give a specific reason or was it just general shouting?”

“He told me that I was merely a boy and had no business disputing the work of my academic betters.” Zhi fumbled for his glasses on the desk and shoved them back on.

“Is that true?”

“Is what true?”

“Do you think that you have no business disputing the work of anyone else in your field?”

Zhi’s chin went up. “He was talking about the work of Professor Prasert. He wrote a book about the invertebrates of the Omashu mountains fifty years ago.”

“And?”

“And he was a good researcher for his time but he got some things dead wrong!” Zhi stabbed at the paper. “For one thing, he speculated that there were hairy-legged spider centipedes in those caves but that’s all it was, speculation! But he included it in his book without ever even seeing a single specimen!” Zhi whirled and slapped his hand on the detailed map that took up half his bedroom wall, a gift on his thirteenth birthday from Su and Baatar. “And he wouldn’t see one, anyhow, because It’s too wet in those caves! Those are desert dwellers, and the climate is completely wrong there!”

He nodded. He didn’t know a spider centipede from a hole in the ground, but he knew his son did. Zhi grabbed what he assumed was the offensive text in question and shook it before tossing it back down on the desk.

“It’s not that speculation is wrong. It has its time and place. But to include it in a definitive guide? In a textbook?” He threw his hands into the air. “That’s sloppy science. Bad science! I may only be a boy, but even I know that!”

He gazed at him for a moment, this brilliant boy on the cusp of manhood, passionate and fragile, throwing himself into everything with his heart on his sleeve. He loved him so much; he’d come to understand, over the years, why his own father had always bragged about his schoolwork, telling the neighbors or anyone else that would listen how smart his Mako was. He felt the exact same way about his Zhi. “Sounds to me like you disagree that a boy has no business disputing the work of anyone else.”

Zhi took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, fingers resting lightly on the frames of his glasses. “I do disagree, Daddy. It’s not about age. It’s about the work.” He dropped his hand. “I have the right to my theories, especially when they’re backed by rigorous fact. I won’t let him tell me otherwise.”

“Good. That’s what I want to hear.” He put his arm around him and pushed him gently towards the door. “Come on, I have something for you. Keep talking, I want to hear about this.”

Zhi told him, as they descended the stairs, how the professor had attempted to humiliate him in front of the class, reading passages of his paper aloud, ranting until one of the students, a young woman from the Southern Water Tribe had stood up in disgust, told the professor she was there for an education, not the spiteful ramblings of an old man, and had left. The professor had been so incensed at this that he’d forgotten about him until the end of class, throwing his paper at him as the students filed out.

“I don’t think I’d be brave enough to do that!”

“Well, Southern Water Tribe women are pretty feisty, take it from me.” He smiled, and nodded Zhi towards the table, taking the tarts out of the icebox and putting them on a plate. He’d bought enough for everyone, but this was an emergency situation. “Here.”

“Thanks!” Zhi took a large bite as he sat down next to him, taking one for himself. Three bites and it was gone and he was looking hopefully at the plate. Mako shoved it across to him and Zhi took a second.

“So what are you going to do about it?” He took a bite of his own.

“Do you mean the class?”

“Yep.”

Zhi chewed thoughtfully. “I don’t know.” His grin lit up his face. “If Papa knew he’d call the chancellor and demand she fire him.”

He had to chuckle at that. “You’re probably right. Your father usually goes straight for revenge.”

“I guess that’s a Hou-Ting thing.”

“Trust me.” He finished off the rest of his tart. Zhi was on his third. “You know I only got a year of school before Grandma and Grandpa died, yeah?”

“That wasn’t your fault, though.”

“No, it wasn’t, but it is what it is. I never got any firebending training, either. Well, not the official kind, I mean. The way LoLo learned, or Korra.”

“How could you, on the streets?” Zhi looked down at the plate. “Don’t you want another one?”

He smiled. “I’m good. Help yourself.” He watched him take his fourth tart, slowing down a bit. “The point I’m trying to make is that pretty much everything I’ve learned in my life I’ve learned on my own. I’m not a scholar like you or Wu, but I can read and write, I do okay. And my firebending’s more than okay. I learned from who I could when I could and taught myself the rest.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I’ve heard a lot, over the years, about how my firebending’s wrong. It’s not traditional, no. But it isn’t wrong. It does what I need it to, and I do it better than most.” A scoff. “Your sister being an exception.”

“But she’s learned from you too.”

“Also true. The thing is…I’m forty-three years old, Zhi. And there are still people telling me that I’m doing it the wrong way. All of it. I don’t fit into the nice boxes folks want to put me in. I’m a former triad member turned cop. I’m a nobody off the street that married a prince. I’m a firebending master without a master. My life pisses some people off.”

“What do you do about it?”

“I don’t do anything about it. There’s nothing to be done. I am who I am. Whether or not people approve of it or even like me is not really something I can do much about.” He leaned back in his chair to snatch at a pile of freshly pressed napkins and handed one over. “Thing is, Zhi, that not everyone you meet is going to like you. They’ll think you’re snotty because you studied at home and have a prince for a father. Or they’ll feel threatened by your smarts. Or hell, I don’t know, maybe they have something against people who are as tall as trees.” That got him a little smile. “Long and the short of it, you’d best just get used to it. Most of those people, they won’t be interested in the real you, they’ll have already made up their minds and that’s it. It’s not right and it’s not fair but it’s how the world works. I wish it wasn’t, but it is.”

Zhi thought this over, fingers absently folding and re-folding the napkin. “So what you’re saying is that I should stay in the class?”

“Does that professor have something you want to learn?”

“Well, I thought he did.”

“Then learn what you can from him and discard the rest.”

“But what if he fails me?” The napkin was getting quite a workout.

“Then he fails you. And your life will go on. And one day, sooner rather than later, knowing you, you’ll pass him up and he can choke on your dust.”

Again with that smile. “Maybe Papa’s not the only one that likes revenge.”

“Well, at least I wouldn’t stab the man in a dark alley somewhere.”

“Do you really think Qi would?” Zhi’s eyes widened.

“Son, I ask Qi no questions and Qi tells me no lies. That’s why we get along as well as we do.” One of the reasons, anyhow. He reached his hand across the table to cup Zhi’s cheek. “You think about it, okay? But whatever you decide - stay in his class or don’t - just know that I’ll support you. Either way.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” Zhi’s eyes filled up again. He stood and brought up his other hand, cradling his face and kissing his forehead, just like he had when he was little.

“You’re welcome. Now that you ate most of my tarts I’m going to go upstairs and get an hour or two of sleep before everyone comes home and starts making noise. I’ve been up for nearly twenty-four hours now, I’m about to drop. Just do me a favor and take the rest of them upstairs with you, though, because if your sisters find out you got tarts and they didn’t that’s all we’ll hear for the rest of the night.”

Zhi popped one whole in his mouth. “Only two more to go.” Crumbs sprayed. Mako just shook his head, smiling, stifling a yawn.

“Don’t let your father catch you.” Zhi caught up with him, and balancing the plate with the remaining two tarts in his hand, slung his arm around his shoulders as they walked back up the stairs.

#imagines writing prompt #my fanfiction #mako #zhi #long post #neptuniumm

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years

Note

Could i offer a prompt where barrys dad dies instead of his mom? Im just so tired of the dead mom trope...

Fic: Tornado Warning (ao3 link)Fandom: The FlashPairing: Nora Allen/Henry Allen, Leonard Snart/Mick Rory, Barry Allen/Iris West, Barry Allen/Iris West/Eddie Thawne

Summary: Nora Allen doesn’t know where the man in yellow, the man in the lightning, came from, but he killed her beloved Henry right in front of her and she knows deep in her gut that he’s after her beautiful baby Barry.

There is no way in hell she’s going to let that happen.

—————————————————————————————–

It happened in a flash.

She remembers every second.

She doubts every one of those seconds.

She came home late, driving home on instinct in the dark - she’d been worried about picking up the dry cleaning in time and whether the milk had already expired, whether Barry would want pancakes tonight for the millionth time, a dozen ultimately unimportant things - she’d settled in at home, kicked off her shoes, walked in humming -

And then he attacked.

At least, she thinks it was a him. Crackling lightning, a whirlwind, a figure surrounded by light, blurred too fast to see -

She screamed, she’d been screaming -

Barry ran downstairs -

Henry had been there, Henry turned to him at the doorway, Henry told him to run -

Run, Barry, run!

Barry had run, but in another flash of light, Barry hadn’t just run, Barry had disappeared - the man screamed in rage - he was after Barry, then, after her baby, and she realized it at the same moment that he blurred again, grabbing the knife from the kitchen and lunging at her -

This is not how I should die, she remembers thinking, a single moment of clarity in the terror.

And it wasn’t, though sometimes she wishes it was.

The man - the creature - was fast, but Henry was already leaping towards her, she reaching for him, and she caught his hands and pulled him towards her, through the whirlwind around her -

And the knife meant for her struck him, instead.

She screamed again.

No - not Henry - no!

The man in yellow disappeared.

“You have to hold the knife in,” Henry gasped, blood bubbling on his lips, always the level-headed surgeon, the mild-mannered man she’d fallen in love with in college, never losing his head no matter what. “Only chance not to bleed out - Nora - Nora, I love you -”

“I love you,” she whispered. “Henry - Henry -”

That was how the police found her.

–

It takes her unforgivably long to realize the police weren’t on her side.

She’d known that, of course she had - she was a college professor, for heaven’s sake; you think she wasn’t hip to how the police state wasn’t necessarily friendly once you were in custody?

No one says “hip” anymore, Henry’s voice in her head reminds her, warm and loving as always.

That was the only voice of his she’d ever hear again, now. He died on the way to the hospital.

They didn’t tell her the entire time she was at the station, no matter how she’d begged to hear if he was all right. If Barry was all right.

Instead, they handed her a cup of coffee and let her dry her eyes (a hopeless task) and they started asking her questions.

It wasn’t until the questions started turning to her and Henry’s personal life - if they fought, if there were marital problems, bizarre questions that she couldn’t understand the purpose of - that she’d remembered herself and asked for a lawyer.

“Don’t see why you’d need one,” Fred said genially. It’s Fred Chyre - Joe’s partner. Joe’s here, too. Joe was Henry’s friend, as far back as college; they’d bonded over their interest in blues and jazz. Since Nora was utterly uninterested - my tone-deaf little pigeon, Henry’s voice laughed in her ear - she’d been happy to let Joe be Henry’s plus-one for all of those events, while she went out with her own friends. It worked well for them. “Is there a problem with us asking about your relationship with Henry?”

“What?” she asked, blinking. It hadn’t been that at all, honestly; she’d just recovered from her shock enough to remember the lessons of her childhood: always ask for a lawyer. “Oh, no, nothing at all. I just remembered that I hadn’t asked for one yet. I think I have a number - I can call one myself and explain, if it’s easier, or we could ask for a public defender for the time being -”

“Introducing a lawyer just makes this whole process more difficult,” Fred said, shaking his head. “I mean, you have the right to one, of course, but it’d be so much easier to figure this out if they weren’t involved - they always muck things up, you know, lawyers, with all their fiddly technicalities - and we all really want to catch the person who did this to Henry and put him or her behind bars -”

“Him or her?” she asked, frowning. “I already told you - it was a man - there was a whirlwind - lightning -”

“Yes, you told us about that. Why don’t we talk about the last few weeks instead?” Fred suggested. “You and Henry were arguing, weren’t you?”

“What? No,” she replied, and that’s when she noticed how fixed his smile was, how cold. “No, don’t be absurd - wait. You don’t - do you think I had something to do with it?”

“We’re not saying anything,” Joe said.

“Was Henry ever abusive?” Fred asked, oozing sympathy. “Is that what happened?”

“What?!” she exclaimed. “What are you - Henry abusive - I don’t – why are you even asking that?!”

“We understand you recently had a miscarriage,” Fred said.

Nora went still and cold, all of a sudden. “Who told you that?”

Fred went silent, but the way his posture shifted towards Joe was damning.

“That is private information,” Nora said through numb lips. Henry and Joe were close; of course Henry would have mentioned it to him, how hard they’d been trying to give Barry a little brother or sister, how they were grieving together. But that Joe would mention it onwards, to people she barely knew like Fred Chyre? That was unforgiveable. “And irrelevant. Joe, what’s the meaning of all these questions?”

“We just want to know what happened,” Joe told her. His face is unfeeling.

“But - asking about my miscarriage? Asking if Henry was abusive? Damnit, Joe; Henry’s your best friend!”

“Yeah,” Joe said, his face twisting, ugly with rage. “And you killed him, you bitch.”

Nora rocked back in her seat as if she’d been hit.

Fred turned an annoyed glare on Joe, his friendly façade cracking to reveal irritation. “Damnit, Joe, if you can’t stick to goddamn script, you can’t sit in on the investigation, you know that -”

There was a script.

They were trying to pin Henry’s murder on her.

Oh, Nora knew all about policemen and their scripts, their nice and tidy little friendly faces that smiled even as they noted down the words they would use against you, uncovering the private facts of your life in their quest for an easy arrest and a quick end to the whole affair. She knows all about how innocent men and women go to jail over fudged evidence and good-enough-for-conviction circumstances, especially when one of the police decided he had it in for you and that it was your fault. She knows all about it.

And she will be damned if that happens to her without a fight.

Henry’s best friend or not.

“I think,” Nora said very carefully, “that I’d like to see my lawyer now.”

And that’s almost all she said for the next four hours, ignoring every petition and threat and wheedling they did to try to make her forget about the request, until they finally gave in and got her one.

The only other thing she asked for in those hours was to know if Henry was all right.

If Barry, her baby, her precious wonderful baby, was all right, if he’d been hurt, if something had happened to him -

They refused to tell her until the very end.

Nora Allen is still very angry about that.

–

The first lawyer she gets – and she has the money for one, thank god, and she’s never been happier to be a middle-class white woman in her life, as depressing as it is to have to think about things like that – tells her that the evidence doesn’t look good and suggests that she plead domestic abuse as the cause for the murder, accepting a plea deal that was more punishment than anything else.

She fires that one and gets another.

The second lawyer says the same thing, more or less, but that she’ll do her best to fight if that’s what Nora wants. It is. Nora’s going to fight this all the way to the bitter end if she has to.

Henry wasn’t abusive, and she won’t say that he was to knock ten years off a sentence she shouldn’t be serving at all.

The second lawyer also says that there’s something fishy about how they’re doing the prosecution.

That part makes Nora actually sit down and listen.

“They’re pushing too hard,” the lawyer tells her. “They’re going to offer you another deal.”

“I already told you, I don’t want a deal!”

“We’re going to listen to the deal,” the lawyer says implacably. “Because just knowing what the deal is will tell us loads about how much they think they have against us – and why they’re so goddamn eager to close a case involving the death of a generally beloved but otherwise not well known surgeon. It’s not like this is a big deal, all the papers and televisions talking about it; yeah, it’s a matter of discussion, but it’s not a 24/7 media circus. So why are they trying to close it so quick?”

Nora bites her lips, but nods.

She tells her lawyer about Joe, about how he irrationally blames her for it, and her lawyer nods thoughtfully.

“That might do it,” she says critically. “We might be able to use that. Let’s see how this goes.”

The deal, when it comes, is –

Nora is very happy for all of those years of work at the college, all that training in keeping a straight face when people say stupid stuff (students, yes, but especially other staff), because otherwise she would be losing her temper.

“I’m sorry,” she says very politely when they’re done, the assistant district attorney and Joe, sitting side by side across the table in front of her. “I’m not sure I understand. You want me to plead guilty, go to jail for at least twenty or thirty years, and I’m supposed to accept this offer…why, exactly?”

“You have family to think of, Nora,” Joe says. He sounds reasonable. He always sounds reasonable, except for that one little reveal he’d had in the investigation room – the ugly anger that lurks there, sorrow for Henry mixing in with anger at her, blaming her. Worst of all, Nora knows why he does, and it has nothing to do with her at all - they always got along fine, both of them loving Henry more than each other, but a nice cordial relationship nevertheless. No, this is all about Joe and Francine, and how he hates her for abandoning him and Iris, how he blames her for everything. This is all of that coming out and aimed at her like a gun. It’s unprofessional, that’s what it is. “You need to think about your family. What about Barry?”

“What about Barry?” she asks. “I was under the impression that he’s at a foster home right now, at least until the trial is over.”

She’d never regretted not having a larger family more. They were all dead and gone, both hers and Henry’s parents, and none of them had anyone else. They’d had each other and thought that was enough.

“He is,” Joe says. “But the foster system - well, it’s a very harsh place, Nora. Very hard on kids, going from one house to another, jumping school districts in the middle of the year. You don’t want him to live the rest of his life among strangers, alone.”

“So if I accept this deal –”

“We’ll make sure he’s placed somewhere nearby, somewhere safe and stable, with people who love him –”

“People like you, you mean,” Nora says, getting it.

Her lawyer is silent, watching, vigilant in case Nora says anything amiss.

They both see Joe blink, taken aback, like he thought she wouldn’t see what he’s doing. Joe always did think he was a reasonable man, even when he was being incredibly unreasonable. He’d always thought he was sneakier than he really was, too. “Of course,” he says, rallying. “You and Henry always said that if something happened to you –”

“Consider that revoked,” Nora says harshly. “I wouldn’t give you permission to raise Barry if you were the last man on earth.”

Joe has the audacity to look surprised, like he thought she would just – go along with it.

Henry probably would’ve, but Henry’s a bit of a pushover, especially where Barry is concerned. Nora was always the one who imposed discipline in their family.

“Nora –” Joe starts.

Nora smiles.

It’s not a nice smile.

“Firstly,” she says, “I believe it would be more appropriate for you to call me Mrs. Allen.”

He flinches. Still surprised by her audacity to question the righteous Joseph West’s judgment call.

Still ashamed, just a little, by the reminder that she was the one Henry had chosen to wed and that she claimed his name as her own.

“Secondly,” she says to her lawyer, “I think that I want to sue.”

“I think,” her lawyer says, “that I agree. We can file against the city, the DA’s office, and the CCPD -”

“Wait, wait, wait,” the ADA running the case says, holding up her hands. “Sue? On what basis?”

“Malicious prosecution,” Nora’s lawyer says. Nora likes how slick and hard and professional she is. “A policeman who’s friends with the victim shouldn’t be involved with assisting the DA’s office in prosecuting the case. Gives rise to questions about revenge as the motive for pushing it so hard.“

“This is not about revenge -” the ADA starts.

“It’s especially inappropriate,” the lawyer continues, undeterred, “when the city starts mixing in questions about adopting children with a prosecution. Especially when the policeman pushing the conviction is also the one potentially adopting the defendant’s child - and even more especially when it’s one with a convicted felon for a wife.”

“A what?!” the ADA exclaims. She scoots a little away from Joe.

They’d been sitting pretty close, Nora notes. She recalls now that Joe had mentioned something about having a bit of an office romance with one of the DAs; this must be the one.

“You never did file for divorce from Francine West,” Nora’s lawyer says. “You’re a married man, Detective, and she’s a felon who still technically has rights to your house. That means it’s not a safe environment for children who might be exposed to a repeated drug addict, a potentially dangerous one.”

“Now wait a minute –” Joe starts.

“You go anywhere near my Barry,” Nora says to Joe, very sweetly. “And I will make sure Iris knows every last lie you’ve ever fed her, you son of a bitch.”

“Maybe we should have this conversation without you, Detective West,” the ADA says, clearly realizing that she’s made a terrible mistake in thinking that Joe’s presence would make Nora more susceptible to simply taking the deal.

“But –”

“Now, Joe!”

Joe goes.

The ADA turns back to them.

“My client is not pleading guilty,” Nora’s lawyer tells her. “My client is, however, going to be going to the press and explain in explicit detail exactly how the CCPD and the DA’s office have conspired to bully her into giving up her parental rights and freedom just because they can’t be bothered to actually do their jobs.”

“I’ll be sure to mention the fact that you’re dating Joe,” Nora says, watching the ADA rear back in alarm even as her own lawyer’s eyebrows shoot up. “The newspapers do love a good public corruption case.”

“It’s hardly corruption,” the ADA says stiffly, but she knows it doesn’t look good. Not when Joe’s helping her prosecute this case, and is moving to adopt Nora’s child.

It looks a lot like child-stealing, to be honest. And as much as Nora hates it, hates how dirty it makes her feel to even think about it, she is, in the end, still a middle-class white woman, with all the privileges that affords her. She’ll be a sympathetic guest on every talk show in the country within days - the right-wing ones, because Joe’s a black male carrying a gun, and the left-wing ones, because Joe’s a policeman, and in any case she will accuse him of trying to steal her baby away in every court of opinion that will have her.

To save her baby, Nora is going to use every last weapon she has and stain her soul as black as she has to. To save her Barry from a life without her, she’ll do anything.

“If you have the evidence to go out and fight me in court, let’s do it,” Nora says, her fingers interlaced in her lap to hide how white her knuckles are. “Because I promise you, I will make this as nasty and dirty a fight as I need to, because I am not letting you touch a goddamn hair on my baby’s head.”

“You’ll lose,” the ADA says.

“So be it,” Nora replies. Most criminals who insist on going to trial do; her lawyer warned her of that. But she can’t go down without a fight. It’s not in her. Henry was the kindness in the family, the sweetness, the desire to do good in this world; Nora was the implacable stubbornness, the insistent optimism, the fierce conviction that if you are right then you must prevail by whatever means you need to do it. “But by god, I will drag down as many of you as I can with me.”

“The evidence is all against you,” the ADA says, crossing her arms.

“The evidence,” Nora’s lawyer says. “The evidence initially collected by – Detective Joe West, correct? The same one applying for custody of my client’s son?”

The ADA bites her lip. “There’s nothing to support your theory that it was a third party attacker.”

“It is not a theory,” Nora says. “It’s a fact.”

“Your son thinks he saw a man in yellow in the lightning,” the ADA says.

Nora arches her eyebrows. “So you’re telling me that you have two witnesses to my side of the story.”

“A man in lightning,” the ADA emphasizes. “That sounds crazy.”

“What sounds crazier,” Nora’s lawyer says, “the idea that an eleven year old boy added in lightning to a story about a third party, a man in yellow, attacking his beloved father, or the idea that my client – without having spoken to her son once, a blatant breach of her rights as his parent – somehow fed him a stupid story that would clearly not survive scrutiny?”

The ADA grits her teeth.

Nora Allen was born and raised in Central City, with its rough and tumble politics, with its corruption, with its slums and its gangs and its organized crime. She is nothing like her soft-hearted husband, raised in softer, friendlier places; Joe was always closer to Henry than to her, and he underestimated her. They all underestimated her.

“I want to see my son,” Nora tells the ADA. “Now.”

They continue to refuse to let them see each other, but in the end they drop the charges before Nora’s final trial date rather than risk a down and dirty battle, and that means they have to let her go, and once they let her go, they have no reason to keep Barry from her.

He runs into his arms, crying, and she holds him close and swears to Henry’s ghost that she will never let anyone hurt him.

Not least of all the man in yellow, the man in the lightning. He’s still out there.

And he’s still after Barry.

Nora’s sure of it.

–

Nora starts by moving back to her old neighborhood, the one she grew up in before Great Uncle Wilbur died and left her family enough money to get her a ticket to Columbia and a brand new life.

Also got her dad a one-way ticket to enough liquor to go into the grave, of course, and her mom following shortly thereafter for lack of people to yell at since Nora wouldn’t put up with it, but there are still enough people around the old place that remember them.

"Eleanora!” old Grissom shouts happily from his porch. He probably hasn’t moved from that place since she left for college. “And you brought your young ‘un, too!”

“Barry’s my boy, Griss,” she says. “Barry, this is Grissom. Yes, that’s his real name; just like the TV show. He’s awful and he smells.”

Barry giggles.

“Is he the one you said babysat you when you were a kid?” he asks shyly.

“That’s right, my beautiful baby boy,” Nora says, petting his hair. “And now he’s gonna help babysit you while Mommy runs some errands, okay?”

“I hope you like Star Trek, m'boy,” Grissom tells Barry. “It’s the only thing I’ve got. But I do got lots of it, and it’s all courtesy of your mum.”

“I like Star Trek,” Barry confirms.

“Then go inside and see if you can get the old box to work,” Grissom says. “Not saying there’s no cookies in it for you if you can…”

Barry yips happily and runs inside.

“And what can I do for you, Eleanora?” Grissom asks, smile fading into something more serious. “Heard the pigs did you wrong in the end, even after you got that fancy degree and everything.”

Nora shrugs. “Central City doesn’t forgive or forget easy,” she says. “And neither do I.”

Grissom’s eyebrows go up just a fraction, which is all the surprise she gets for that particular turn of phrase. “Murder for hire’s a tough line, Eleanora. You sure you’re ready for that?”

“Way I see it, I don’t have much of a choice,” Nora says. “Can you get me some names?”

“Depends on who you want done in,” Grissom replies. “That cop that turned on you and yours?”

“No, not him,” Nora says. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

Grissom tilts his head in silent question.

“I’m gonna need someone real good,” she says. She’s been back in the neighborhood for less than a day and she can feel her vowels and subjects and adverbs sloughing off back into the gutter. “Best of the best. And not just a two-bit shooter, neither. I need a brain to crack a puzzle, hands to do what’s needed, and -” She hesitates for a second. “And I need someone to burn the fucker to the ground.”

Grissom nods slowly.

“Might be a long term job,” she warns.

“Might be expensive,” he shoots back.

“I’ll pay,” she says. “Cash, favors, whatever.”

“Why’s it so important?”

“Because the fucker’s after my Barry, Griss. He’s killed my husband and he’s ruined my life and he’s after my baby boy. You get me, Griss? For this, I’ll pay anything.”

He nods slowly.

“Can you get me what I need?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll get you what you need.”

“Good,” Nora says. “Good.”

And then she goes out to buy groceries.

After all, she has a growing boy to feed. He’ll probably want pancakes, Nora reflects. That’s his go-to comfort food.

–

“So let me get this straight,” the man drawls, long and low and Central City bred so deep in his bones that Nora wonders if they played together as children. “You want me to find a man who runs like lightning, who may as may not exist, who disappeared into the air, who you think might be after your boy.”

Nora nods. It’s a hard story to swallow. She wouldn’t be surprised if the man threw it back in her face.

The men. There are two of them, one larger than the other, looks like a thug, but Nora’s no slouch. She can see the intelligence glinting in their eyes.

She’s done her research. The finest thief Central City’s produced in two generations, ever since the great Kitt kicked the bucket back in the ‘40s, and his partner the arsonist.

Man like that doesn’t partner with a dumb thug, though, so she’ll not be underestimating either of them.

“You have any evidence this man’ll be back?” the man asks.

“Nothing but the rage in his scream when my son ran where he couldn’t find 'em,” Nora says. Her face and voice are calm, but her hands are gripped under the table and her knuckles are white.

She asked for the best of the best. This is them, without a doubt. If they say no, she’ll go forward, she’ll get others. But they won’t be the best.

She wants the best.

“Will you do it?” she asks.

He hums.

She stays silent, waits.

“You’re gonna need to put up with us for the long haul,” he says. “We’re not signing up for full time bodyguarding gig, mind you, but there’s no guarantee your man won’t wait a good long while before giving it another shot.”

Nora swallows. “You’re saying yes.”

She almost can’t believe it.

Her story is - unbelievable. She knows that. Intuition and a mother’s instinct; nothing of the sort that these criminals work with. Nothing but smoke and fantasy.

But he’s saying yes.

Leonard Snart smiles. His teeth glint in the light. “I like a challenge.”

–

Nora wasn’t entirely sure what she was expecting, but two notorious criminals coming home with her and making dinner wasn’t it.

She’s not about to let Mick-Fireball-Rory alone in her kitchen alone, though; she hovers over him for a few hours until she realizes that was sort of the point, because she hasn’t seen hide nor hair Snart in those few hours.

When she looks for him, she hears them.

Snart’s upstairs. Barry’s room.

He’s sitting on the bed, feet up, boots on the bed like the mannerless boor he is. Barry’s beside him, feet also up, arms wrapped around his knees.

“- and that’s all I remember,” Barry’s saying.

“That’s all you think you remember,” Snart corrects. “I bet you there’s more you haven’t thought of – the feel of the air, the smells, everything. We’ll work through it, though; no need to worry now.”

“You’re gonna catch him, though, right? You’re gonna catch the guy that killed my dad?”

“I’m gonna do my best,” Snart says. “And my best is pretty good.”

“But what if he doesn’t come back, not for years and years?”

“Then we’ll be keeping an eye out for you,” Snart says. “For years and years, if that’s what it takes. And for what it’s worth, kid - it’s gonna be in the next six months, or it’s gonna be years and years, as you put it.”

Barry wrinkles his nose when he frowns. “Why?”

“Two types of people in this world, kid. Thinkers and doers. One type, the thinkers, they plan shit out. They over-think shit. They’re paranoid. They go into contingencies. But doers? Doers are different. They don’t pause, they don’t think, they just do. So if they’re a doer, it’ll be in the next few months. If they’re a thinker, it’ll be years. But it’s one or the other. Never both.”

Barry nods. Nora can see his back straighten, his shoulders broaden. He’s being talked to like an adult and he recognizes it. “So depending on what he does, we’ll know more about him.”

Snart points at him. “Exactly.”

“How do you deal with him?” Barry asks. “Either way?”

“By being better at it than he is,” Snart says. “I’m a thinker. My partner, he’s a doer. We’re real good at what we do, and we balance each other out. We’ll out-think the bastard from both sides. Now, I make no promises, kid. Life ain’t certain. But we’ll do our best and our best is damn good.” Snart turns to look at Barry. “But I need you do something for me, kid. I need your best, too. I can only do so much; if you’re the target, kid, then the rest of the heavy lifting, I need you for. Can you do that?”

Barry looks at Snart, and Nora can tell that he believes him. Nora can tell that he believes him, believes in him, for the first time since it happened. For the first time since Henry died, she sees hope in her son’s eyes. She sees her beautiful baby boy smile with hope and faith and joy, and mean it. Just like he used to. Henry’s faith and goodness, her endless stubbornness and strength, together in one.

“Yes, Mr. Snart,” he says. “I’ll do that.”

Snart makes a face. “Not 'Mr. Snart’,” he says. “Snart. Or Len, if you like.”

“Thanks, Len,” Barry says. His face is glowing like the sun.

Nora sighs. She supposes that means Snart and Rory are sticking around.

She turns around and goes back to the kitchen, where Rory has miraculously failed to light her kitchen on fire.

Dinner is delicious.

(Mick lights the stove on fire making dessert, but Nora still considers it a win.)

–

The man doesn’t come in six months.

“Planner, then,” Len says. “Give him time. We’ll be around.”

They play the long game, instead. It’s fine - it’s good, even. Barry gets to go to school. Gets to grow up. High school. College.

He remains friends with Iris West, magically enough. Nora never forgives Joe West for not siding with her, of course; Barry is never permitted to go home with Iris, though Iris is always welcome at theirs.

Iris protests about the injustice of it once. Age 17.

Nora tells her the entire story, from beginning - Henry’s friendship with Joe, back in college - to the end. She uses no emotion, tells it as dispassionately as she can, but she leaves nothing out.

Nothing.

“Francine?” Iris says haltingly. “My - my mother? She - she died when I was six.”

Nora says nothing.

“Didn’t she?”

“I’m only telling you what happened,” Nora says. “I owe your father nothing, but you aren’t him, so I don’t mean to hurt you. But you are seventeen years old. You can decide to do with the information what you like with it.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Iris demands. “You hate my dad, you’ve hated him ever since -”

“That’s true,” Nora says, and thinks that Henry would never have done what she is doing, but she likes to think Joe wouldn’t have blamed Henry, if she were the one who was dead. That they were better friends than that - worthy at least of the benefit of the doubt, instead of the policeman’s immediate assumption of guilt. But she isn’t Henry. Not at all. “I do. But you don’t need to believe me, Iris. Just look up Francine West in Keystone City. Or perhaps she’s going by her maiden name -”

“No,” Barry says quietly from the door. “I asked Uncle Len to do a bit of research for me - for you, Iris. She’s going by West. I have an address, if you want it.”

“You knew?” Iris whispers.

“I asked you if you wanted to know a secret that was being kept from you,” Barry says, clearly referring to an old discussion because Iris nods. “You said if your dad didn’t want you to know, you’d rather wait for him to tell you. So I didn’t. And I waited - and waited - and waited -”

“He was never going to tell me,” Iris says. “Was he?”

“Maybe,” Nora says, giving Joe that little bit of grace, parent to parent, even though personally she thinks Joe would’ve waited it out until Francine was buried in the ground and then sighed in relief that his life was never found out. “But you’re right, Iris. I hate him. So unlike you, I’m not going to respect his wishes and help him lie to you. Good luck.”

After it all passes over - well, after Iris has successfully applied for early placement at her university and is no longer speaking to Joe, anyway - Joe storms up to Nora, spitting accusations.

Nora warns him, twice, to go away.

He doesn’t.

She punches him in the face.

“Maybe next time,” she says to him, sitting on his ass, blinking in disbelief, “you’ll learn that lies aren’t a valid life strategy - either for parenting or for policing. Come near me ever again and so help me, I will slap a restraining order on your ass, and I’ll go to your boss to get it if I have to.”

Mick gives her a high five.

Barry gives her a dirty look.

(Iris calls her and tells her that it was very not nice, but also good for her - and would Nora like to meet her newly-found brother?)

Nora’s pretty sure they’ll make up eventually - Joe’s an ass and Nora’s never going to forgive him, but Iris West’s a bigger person than that, even if the treatments she’s going through to help save her mother’s life are taking their toll - but until then, she’ll welcome Wally West to her dinner table and watch Barry’s awkward flirting dance with Iris get even more awkward with the addition of a younger brother peanut gallery.

–

“Something’s wrong,” Mick says.

Len’s fingers are drumming ceaselessly on the table. He and Mick are tense right now, after that big fire and the ensuing fight they had, but they’re still together. Not all the time, no, they’re still bitter and sore, but a thinker like Len knows he needs a doer like Mick to keep him in check and Mick -

Well, Mick just knows what he knows. He feels what he feels. He does what he does.

And when he says something’s wrong, something that Len hasn’t spotted, he’s always right.

“Given that you’re at my table, I’m not surprised,” Nora says dryly. She organizes her papers - she works at a private company, now, Mercury Labs, instead of at a college. Too much scandal to continue being a college professor, but there’s always work for a chemist. Barry took after her and went to college for chemistry - she’d always rather hoped he’d make a late break for pre-med, but that wasn’t to be - and now he was working as a CSI at the CCPD.

Joe recommended him. Probably Iris’ urging - he and Nora would never get along, even if their kids were probably going to end up married to each other, but he was at least mature enough to put it aside to help Barry.

He hadn’t had much of a choice, now that Iris was working as a cop, too, following her childhood dream over his attempts to sabotage her.

It did make the CCPD staff-and-family barbecues awkward, though. Nora attends every single one of them, smiling at all the veteran CCPD officers that flinch when she walks by.

(“You’re a magnificent troll,” David Singh tells her when she delivers cupcakes to his office to congratulate him on his promotion. “I admire your devotion to the art.”

“Living well is the best revenge,” Nora tells the one cop that refused to assist in her prosecution.

“Damn right,” he says, and takes a cupcake.)

“Do you know what’s wrong?” she asks.

“If I did, Snart would’ve planned for it already,” Mick grumbles. He rubs at his eyes. “City feels wrong.”

“He’s right,” Len says abruptly. “Something in the air. Wrong. Out of balance. Like a tornado warning, you can taste it in the air.”

Mick nods. “It’s coming.”

“All the people in town are antsy,” Barry says, voice tinny from the speakerphone on the table. He was still on the train back from Starling - one of his investigations into the supernatural. “Everyone who was born in Central can feel it. I don’t know why, but petty crimes are way up recently.”

Nora nods. She’d hissed at the person who cut her off at the grocery store - actually hissed - and they’d snarled back. That wasn’t normal.

Tornado warning indeed.

“Do we think this is the man in yellow?” she asks Len and Mick. She can’t imagine why else they’re here.

Mick shakes his head. “Not unless he’s involving the whole city in what he’s up to.”

“Which he might be,” Len says. “He wants something.”

His fingers keep drumming on the table.

“I’ve heard about him,” he adds. “A few sightings, nothing concrete. But he’s out there, our man of yellow and lightning. More sightings in the last few months than for years before - he’s building something.”

Barry sighs. “My train from Starling comes in this evening,” he says. “Gonna try to make the STAR Labs opening ceremony, but I’ll probably be too late, so I’ll go to the office and take a look at the statistics again.”

“You do that, BA,” Mick grunts. He rubs at his eyes again. He looks tired; his eyes keep drooping. “Be careful.”

Len’s fingers keep drumming on the table.

“Will do, Mick,” Barry says. “Anyway, we’re about to hit a tunnel. I’ll tell you all about my trip when I get home.”

He hangs up.

“Something’s wrong,” Mick says. He’s slurring. “Something - Barry -”

He slumps over onto the table, starting to snore.

Len’s fingers stop drumming.

“You drugged him,” Nora observes. It took her too long to figure out, but that was what always happened with Len’s plans; she didn’t take it personally anymore.

“Something’s wrong in the city,” Len says. “He should be somewhere safe till it blows over. Him and Lisa, and Lisa at least agreed to go out of town.”

“He’ll be pissed at you going after Scudder and Dillon by yourself.”

Len shrugs. “I need to work,” he says. “Keep busy. Something’s going to happen to my city, Nora, and it’s aimed right at Barry. I’m good, but I’m a thief. I can stop a man. I can’t stop a nuke.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Nora says, thinking that he was exaggerating.

When STAR Labs went up, only hours later, she realizes he hadn’t been.

–

Barry does not wake up in STAR Labs, nine months later, to friendly strangers looking down at him.

No.

He wakes up in his own bed at home, in the downstairs bedroom next to the kitchen so Nora could keep an eye on him even when she was cooking or working from home - she’d gone on FMLA leave when it had happened, of course, but she was back at least part-time now. Tina was happy to let her work from home when she was doing non-lab stuff, and half the neighborhood was willing to take turns watching over Barry for the times that Nora did need to be in the lab.

That horrible man over at STAR Labs had been pushing her to let him take Barry in since day one, offering to treat him since the hospital didn’t know what to do with a boy who had no heartbeat but still kept breathing. She would’ve thought that he would’ve gotten over her refusal by now.

“I want to help undo the damage I’ve done,” Dr. Wells said that first time, his blue eyes sharp under his glasses. “Please, Mrs. Allen. I may be able to do something to help young Mr. Allen.”

Nora swiped at her streaming eyes. “What’s your success rate?”

He paused. “What?”

“Success rate,” she repeated. “What facilities do you have? What staff? Have you been rated by the review boards? What other patients have you taken in?”

“I think you misunderstood me, Mrs. Allen,” Dr. Wells said carefully. “I’m not a hospital - just a scientist.”

“Yes, a physicist, I know,” Nora replied. “I’ve read your book -” It’d been funny, actually; the man’s ghostwriter had been an arrogant snot. She hoped it was a ghostwriter, anyway. “- and I know your resume. You’re not a medical doctor, so I assumed that you’re helping the victims by setting up a clinic.”

“As a man of science, I think I can help Mr. Allen in a more individual -”

“A man of the wrong type of science,” Nora said, stressing the words. “Dr. Wells, I’m a chemist myself. I’m not a rube off the street you can wow with fancy science words. I want verifiable facts. Records. Statistics. What’s your success rate for the individuals you’ve taken in so far, that you think you can help Barry?”

Dr. Wells doesn’t respond immediately, a considering look in his eyes.

Fine.

She looked around and - “You there.”

The young man with the long hair, one of the two people that had come in with Dr. Wells, was investigating the hospital’s machinery and took a second to realize she was talking to him. He blinked. “Uh, me?”

“Yes, you. You’re with Dr. Wells, correct?”

“Uh, yeah. My name’s Cisco. Ramon. I mean, Cisco Ramon. Hi. Nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand. “You’re the mom of the guy we’re taking back with us, right?”

Nora’s eyebrows went up. “Now that’s presumptuous of you,” she said. “What’s your staff? I’d heard STAR Labs was down to a skeleton crew.”

Cisco stuttered, glancing between her and Wells. “Uh, yeah, I mean, it’s me and Caitlin and Dr. Wells, really -”

“Three people,” Nora said flatly. “And what’s your degree in, Mr. Ramon?”

“…mechanical engineering?”

“And yours, Ms…?”

“Snow,” the blond girl said, wringing her hands. “Caitlin Snow. I am a doctor, actually. Internal medicine and nutrition, secondary degree in biochemical analysis.”

Nora squinted at her. “What hospital did you intern at?”

“CCN for my residency, ma'am.”

“And you’re a private doctor now?”

“Not many places hire after you’ve been at STAR,” Caitlin said shyly.

“Not many physics labs need a doctor,” Nora said. “So you’re the only doctor to - how many patients?”

Caitlin looked surprised. “Uh, well,” she said. “I mean…”

“Your son would be the first,” Dr. Wells cut in smoothly. Too smoothly. “Mrs. Allen -”

“I’m sorry, but no,” she said. “My son will not be the guinea pig to your attempts at philanthropy or forgiveness or whatever the hell you’re doing this for. Thank you for your kind offer. Please go away now.”

They’d gone, but Wells kept coming back.

He was more aggressive, too.

“It’s a pity you won’t let us treat him,” he said sorrowfully. “I’m just trying to make good what I’ve done, a moment of penance –”

“Are you a religious man, Dr. Wells?” Nora interrupted.

“Why - no, not particularly. Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m not your priest,” she said. “And I’m not your shrink, either. I don’t have to listen to you be sorry about anything. Go away.”

He went.

“Hospital stays are expensive, Mrs. Allen,” he said the next time, oozing with sympathy. “I’d be happy to take him pro bono -”

Nora handed him a card.

“What’s this?”

“I think it’s called a GoFundMe,” Nora said. “I’m raising money for Barry’s care. Since you care about the financial burden so much, I’m happy to give you an opportunity to donate. But he’s not going to your facility.”

Wells left again. He was getting worse at hiding his annoyance.

“I’m starting to think he’s going to steal Barry from the hospital if I keep saying no,” she told Len, who is still recuperating from the ass-kicking Mick had given him over the 'drugged me to avoid putting me in danger for the explosion’ incident. Though they had at least started sleeping together again, at least.

Men. Nora will never understand them.

Len blinked owlishly at her. “Move him home, then,” he suggested, like it was obvious.

“I couldn’t -”

“Hospital themselves told you that they don’t know shit,” Mick said, bringing Len his dinner. “May as well not know shit at home with a nurse as not know shit in a hospital with a doctor.”

So she’d moved Barry home.

Len and Mick stuck around. They said it was the least they could do.

And that’s how it was that she was cooking dinner and arguing with Len and Mick over what type of sauce to put on the pasta when Barry woke up, yawned, got out of bed and came into the kitchen, scratching himself in uncomfortable places, saying “I like Uncle Mick’s marinara plan, Uncle Len; no one eats ketchup on pasta except you.”

Nora shrieks and flings herself at him.

Len and Mick don’t, but that’s because they’re emotionally constipated idiots. They are grinning, though.

“Welcome back,” Len says.

“You’ve been driving everyone up the wall, you know,” Mick says.

“What happened?” Barry asks. “The man in yellow?”

“No,” Nora says. “The Particle Accelerator exploded. You’ve been in a coma.”

“A coma?” Barry yelps. “How long has it been?”

“Fourteen years,” Len says promptly.

“What?!”

“Nine months, BA,” Mick says, swatting Len. “You know better to listen to this asshole.”

“Still!” Barry exclaims. “Someone could have had a baby in that time!”

“Speaking of which,” Nora says, utterly unable to resist. “Barry, you ought to meet your new baby brother. Mick, could you go get him?”

“Sure thing,” Mick says, making to get up.

Barry’s spluttering is hilarious.

“You’re all trolls,” he grumbles when they all stop laughing. “Trolls, trolls, trolls! Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to run to work to make sure I still have a job.”

“You just want to see Officer West,” Nora teases. Barry and Iris remained the most adorable thing she’d ever seen, and she’d seen Henry Allen attempting to wear pastels.

“Maybe,” he sniffs.

“Go, then,” she says. “I’ll make you pancakes.”

“With hot chocolate?”

“And mini-marshmallows,” she promises.

“Say,” Len says. “I don’t suppose –”

“Yes, you can have some too.”

The hot chocolate development was all his fault, anyway. Barry had been content with just pancakes, before him.

“You’re the best, Mom,” Barry says, and runs off.

Well, he tries to.

They find out about the super speed more or less immediately thereafter.

“Would you consider theft as a viable career alternative?” Len asks. He’s positively drooling.

Barry groans. “I don’t know what to do about this,” he mutters. “Man, if I hadn’t found that nice guy who offered me help -”

Nora’s spine goes straight. “What guy?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention? There’s a guy – he was measuring speed stuff down on the highway and flagged me down - he’s totally cool, said he’d be happy to help me figure this out - he works at -”

“No, let me guess,” Len says. He’s scowling, too. “STAR Labs.”

“Yeah! How’d you know?”

“Dr. Wells offered to help take over your care within a month of the explosion,” Nora says. “I said no. He kept asking. I said no. He asked to visit. I said no. He tried to go around my back, get info from the hospital. I thought about getting a restraining order, but I figured what the hell; I didn’t care that much, especially since I was moving you home the next day. He tried to come visit here. I said no. And now that you’re awake, his people are offering you help? Less than a day into you waking up?”

“Suspicious,” Mick agrees.

Barry is gaping. “But - why?” he asks in a small voice. “I like - I liked Dr. Wells. He’s a genius - he wrote those books -”

“Supposedly it was because he felt bad about what had happened,” Nora says. “But he never offered to help anyone personally - no one but you.”

“I went to STAR Labs after the first few times he came around to bug your mom -” Len starts.

“Broke in, you mean,” Nora grumbles.

“And it was set up as an infirmary for one person,” Len finishes, ignoring her.

“But if he’s willing to help with my speed…” Barry starts.

“Your speed? What about the fact that your clothing lit on fire, BA?” Mick says. “I liked that part.”

Nora swats him.

“Cisco - that’s the guy I met - he was really nice,” Barry says stubbornly. “And they have equipment that can help - stuff that can measure my speed, a treadmill that can handle high speeds, all of that.”

“A treadmill?” Nora asks, bemused. “What possible use is there for a super-speed treadmill?”

“Measuring a speedster’s running speed,” Len says. His eyes are narrow. “Barry, do me a favor and run up and down the stairs again?”

“But I like this shirt -”

“Then strip.”

Barry begrudgingly does a few laps in his underwear, blurring as he does.

“Interesting,” Len says.

“What is?” Barry asks.

“A treadmill made for super speed is just what we’d need to measure you,” Len says.

“Exactly!”

“There was a treadmill already there when I broke in, Barry.”

“…so?”

“Weird to have a machine that’s only use is for measuring a speedster’s powers before there’s even a speedster. Maybe you’re not the only speedster to come out of STAR Labs,” Len says.

“No - the explosion is what caused -”

“You spark when you run,” Len says. “Sparks. I bet if you ran in a circle, it’d come off as lightning. Lightning and whirlwind.”

Barry falls silent. “The man in yellow.”

Nora’s throat is tight. Henry’s murderer.

“We always knew he was aiming for Barry,” Len points out. “We always knew he was making a plan, a really big plan -”

“Dr. Wells’ work on the Particle Accelerator,” Barry whispers. “Mom - mom, it started -”

“Within a year of what happened,” Nora says, nodding. She’s read the biography, too. “But Wells was already an established scientist, and not one we’d ever met before! Why would he care?”

“Only one way to find out,” Mick says.

–

Barry is a terrible liar, of course, but he’s learned enough to get the job done. Cisco Ramon and Caitlin Snow clearly mean nothing but the best – even they talk about how weird it is that their boss seemed totally obsessed with having Barry in his grasp – but Dr. Wells remains abnormally interested in Barry.

Specifically, in Barry’s speed.

“So he’s super creepy,” Barry says with a sigh. “But nothing yet.”

They were out shopping. Grissom - who was still kicking, bless his heart - was having the building swept for bugs again. The electric kind, that is. It happened about twice a month; more, if his radio programs had managed to convince him that the government intended to harvest them all as alien sacrifices to the United Nations or whatnot. Since he’d actually found some bugs in the building a few times, everyone was more than happy to indulge Grissom’s paranoia.

The people in 3b, which Nora distinctly suspected of being Family, even insisted on it.

“We’ll figure it out,” Nora says. She’d been doing her own brand of fruitless research. Harrison Wells had a solid alibi for the time of Henry’s death, but he’d also undergone what could quaintly be termed a radical shift in personality shortly afterwards. Yes, his wife had just died, but the changes were - rather significant, to say the least.

Len broke into Wells’ house a few times to leave bugs of his own, borrowed from an unspecified friend. Nora didn’t really want to know. Mick did, in detail, since he hadn’t been invited.

Honestly, the sooner Len and Mick got over their little spat for good, the better.

Besides, the bugs hadn’t turned up anything that useful yet…

“Is Uncle Len still on for next week?” Barry asks, mind clearly going on lines parallel to hers.

“He’ll be a magnificent supervillain,” Nora says drolly.

“He is the best thief in Central,” Barry says, not without pride. “I got to help clean up one of his scenes a while back - right before the whole coma thing - and it was amazing, Mom. Totally slick. Not a trace of useable evidence.”

“I wonder how he means to approach it,” Nora muses. “Supervillainy and thieving don’t seem to be that similar.”

She’s right: one of them requires subtlety, finesse, and careful planning.

The other involves derailing a train on public television while literally ice-skating away.

Well, maybe not literally.

Still, what the hell.

“I saved them all,” Barry groans, rubbing his face. “But also - ow, ow, ow - that cold gun hurts -”

“Are you seriously hurt?” Nora asks.

“Well, no, not really…”

“I’ll make you hot chocolate and pancakes for dinner,” she offers. “My poor baby.”

Barry - who, as she’d suspected, was mostly after being spoiled rotten - beams at her.

Len comes back to the apartment much later than she would’ve expected. That little mystery is solved by the way his arm is firmly placed around Mick’s waist.

Looks like their little spat was resolved at last, thank god.

And all it took was -

“You gave him a heat gun capable of what?!” Nora shouts.

–

They’re almost certain that Wells is the man in yellow, now. They’ve collected enough evidence to that effect - walking without the wheelchair, for one, and also being in the same house as someone who can move as fast as lightning though the camera is to slow to identify who. But why he keeps toying with Barry isn’t clear until the day Barry accidentally travels in time for the first time.

“It all makes sense now,” Len crows.

“Would you like to share with the rest of the class?” Barry asks. His head is in Mick’s lap; he didn’t much appreciate being used as target practice a second time and had demanded at least an hour of Mick’s patented guaranteed-to-make-you-feel-better shoulder rubs to make up for it.

“It’s time travel!”

“That much we figured out,” Nora says dryly.

“No,” Len says. “That’s why the sequence is off.”

Mick is nodding, but that’s because he understands everything Len says. Even Lisa looks to him for guidance in understanding what the hell is going on in Len’s head.

(One day Nora will figure out how to deal with Lisa. She hadn’t really expected to adopt a second child, especially not one who was already out of the house and independent at sixteen, but she can roll with the punches. Barry certainly seems to act as though they’ve been siblings forever. That had been Len’s price, though, and the more she got to know Lisa, the happier she was to pay it. Lisa’s a good kid. Her good kid, now, and if that Lewis Snart thinks he can argue otherwise, he’ll being going up against the full fury of Nora Allen.)

“Listen,” Len says. “A traditional sequence is: boy grows up, boy becomes hero, boy meets mortal enemy, boy fights mortal enemy. Right?”

“Right…?”

“Add in time travel, though, and you can change the order of that. Say, take 'boy fights mortal enemy’ and move it back to the beginning.”

“Wait,” Barry says, alarmed and starting to raise his head only to be shoved back down by Mick. “Are you saying it’s my fault?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Nora says. “It’s the fault of the asshole who decided to attack a small child and murder his father.”

“Mom! Don’t swear!”

Nora shakes her head. She blames Henry for Barry’s slightly prudish streak. Or possibly all the time he spend with the Wests…

“But think about it,” Len says. “The lightning you described - yellow and red. We know Barry’s lightning is yellow. What if this second speedster, the man wearing yellow the same way Barry now wears red, what if his lightning is red?”

“So there were two speedsters that night?”

“Time travel,” Len says with satisfaction. “Our Barry - well, no, not our Barry, just a Barry - all grown up and trying to stop the bad guy, and the bad guy - that’d be Wells, whether he is our speedster or if he’s just assisting him - was bringing the fight back to when Barry was a kid. That’s how Barry ended up so far from the house - the future Barry rescued him.”

“But my dad?”

“He must not have died in the original timeline,” Len says. “But you still became the Flash. Wells keeps pushing you to go faster - he wants something from you, or more specifically from your speed. That’s why the speedster teamed up with Wells or decided to take on Wells’ identity; the Particle Accelerator was built remarkably fast for such a big construction project, so the speedster must’ve helped with it. Wanted to get you back to being the Flash because he needs you up to speed!”

“But why?”

“…no idea,” Len concedes. “But let’s not find out, shall we?”

“I’m going to call Iris,” Barry decides. She’d been the first person he’d informed of his new condition after they’d found out about it; she’d been delighted. Her (their?) other boyfriend, Eddie, worked with Barry on how to properly fight metahuman bad guys within the law, or as much as possible. “I want her input.”

“You do that,” Mick says, releasing Barry. “We’ll plan an ambush.”

“What about paradox?” Nora asks. “If Barry doesn’t go back, does that mess with the timeline.”

“The timeline’s already been adjusted, so I don’t think so -”

“Wait,” Barry says. “Could I go back? Now, I mean? Could I save Dad?”

Len scowls at him. “Kid. I know you’ve seen and read enough sci-fi for me not to have to tell you why that’s a terrible idea.”

“Future Barry who saved you probably doesn’t exist anymore because his history was so different,” Nora says gently. “If you go back and change it, we don’t know what might happen. Maybe I die instead of Henry. Maybe we both die. Maybe we all die. Maybe the world ends. There’s no way to tell in advance.”

“But Mom…it’s Dad. I could save Dad!”

“I loved your father,” Nora says, thinking of how that voice in her head still sounded like Henry after all these years. “I loved your father so much, baby. But if I knew one thing about him is that he loved you more than anything. He’d look at how you turned out - college grad, CSI, superhero, happy - and he’d be so proud. So proud. He wouldn’t have you risk that for him.”

Barry nods mutely and flees to call Iris, but Nora knows her words have sunk in.

It’s only when Len hands her a tissue that she realizes she’s crying.

Oh, Henry, she thinks. What a life we led. What a life we could have led, if we’d been together.

–

The capture of Harrison Wells - née Eobard Thawne, apparently, much to Eddie Thawne’s horror - is something of an anticlimax.

Once they confirmed via their cameras that Wells was the speedster rather than just assisting him, Barry picks a moment at random, then sprints and locks Wells into the cell designed to hold a speedster. Then he ties up his friends and calls for help.

“Sorry, guys,” he tells Cisco and Caitlin apologetically. “I can’t afford you guys letting him go.”

Cisco yells some things through the gag.

“No, trust me on this one, it’s not a Bivolo thing. It’s a -” he hesitates. “It’s a matter of justice.”

Eddie comes in and reads Wells his rights. Wells laughs in their faces and confesses everything freely, asking only for a chance to go back to his era using Barry’s speed, dangling a chance to fix Barry’s past in exchange.

“I’ve already decided against that,” Barry says. “You yourself said that time travel generally makes things worse.”

“I just want to go back to my era, Barry,” Wells says gently. “To go home. That’s not so much to ask.”

“You’re guilty of first degree attempted murder and very likely an argument can be made for first degree murder, given how fast speedsters think,” Eddie says. “We’ll get you a judge and a jury, but as long as we have a place to hold you, you’re not going anywhere.”

“You’re my least interesting ancestor, you know that?” Wells sneers as him.

“You make me want to consider a vasectomy,” Eddie shoots back.

Wells flinches.

“You will be held here pending trial,” Eddie says. “I’ll bring the judge here. We won’t be taking any chances.”

“You knew about the Particle Accelerator,” Caitlin says to Wells when she’s untied. “You knew the entire time, you knew, you knew what might happen to Ronnie, and you -” She turns away.

Cisco stares at Wells for a long moment before he, too, turns away.

There is a moment of excitement when Wells decides to take advantage of the judge’s arrival to try to escape, but as he lunges for her, Len ices him.

“Thank you, Mr. Snart,” the judge says, hand on chest.

“No problem, your Honor,” he says, holstering the gun. “Let’s call that one a clear-cut case of self-defense, shall we?”

“Let’s,” she agrees.

And that was that.

Life goes on.

…with superheroes.

–

“Now you listen here, young man,” Nora Allen says, hands on hips. “If you think you’re too old for me to put over my knee, you had better think again.”

Savitar squeaks a little. “I - uh - I -”

“Oh no you don’t,” she says. “No excuses, no justifications, no nothing. God or no God, I’m still your mother.”

“But -”

“You are coming home with me this instant.”

“But if I don’t kill Iris, I’ll never be born!” he yelps, throwing a helpless look at Barry, who’s wide-eyed with equally helpless sympathy.

“You listen to me, Bartholomew Henry Allen -” Nora starts.

“Oh god, it’s the full name,” Barry whispers.

“It’s been a while,” Savitar whispers, equally terrified.

“Both of you,” she amends.

“What did I do?!” Barry squeaks.

“Both of you are going to sit at my table, not make a single sound until I’m done preparing dinner, and we are going to talk over this whole matter like reasonable people having a reasonable conversation over pancakes.”

“Wait,” Savitar says. “Pancakes? Can I have some hot chocolate, too?”

Nora sighs. “Fine. Hot chocolate with mini marshmallows. But it’s conditional on your good behavior. Both of you.”

“I don’t want to fade into non-existence,” Savitar grumbles even as Barry nods. “That shouldn’t be debatable.”

“Sit!”

“Yes, mom.”

#dccoldwave #westallen #barry allen #leonard snart #mick rory #iris west #nora allen #my fic #anti joe west #tornado warning

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