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all-might-can-smash-me · 4 years

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Dad/Family headconons

Masterlist

Aizawa, Taishiro, Toshinori, Sir Nighteye, and Hawks

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead

Despite him being that kind of nonchalant, I don’t give a shit about anything kind of person.....he’s a family guy

Loves kids

He just wants you to have a huge army of kids following alongside you hand in hand to visit him at work.

Looks forward to being able to relate to someone else with his quirk

Doesn’t care if they are all girls, all boys, a mixture of both, or even fostering or adopting, he’s for everything

Was kind of afraid to open up about that side of himself when you two got married, but you are all for it too

Feels that he can handle it with your help thanks to having some experience with dealing with his students

Is slapped in the face with shock when you two have your first 2 or 3 kids because infants are, you guessed it, nothing like teens who are all emotional about becoming a prohero

Guess he would be prepared for whenever they would get to their teenage years

Except for periods because he didn’t know anything about them but he’ll probably take the time to learn about it from you

Still happy over his growing army though

Still loves the chaos of it all, plus it’s good to have Aizawa to control their quirks when they start to develop

The chaos also reminds him of his own time in school with his few friends he had....they were always so vibrant and loud unlike him and he kind of envied it (secretly)

Yamada and Kayama (Present Mic and Midnight) loves to visit his little army and spoil them with toys and snacks even if Aizawa disapproved of it

You helped hand out the toys and snacks.....Aizawa could suck it up

Napping piles are normal in this household, so don’t be freaked when you see all of your children curled up or around Aizawa under a pillow fort in the living room.

It breaks his heart everytime though when his kids beg to take a stray cat home and he has to say no....but he’ll end up going back on patrol to feed it and then probably cave in and bring it home anyway

He’ll just shrug off his children’s accusations of him being a ‘hypocrite’ for saying no to their pleas earlier and say something like ‘Well I said you couldn’t do it, nothing about me though’

The tea parties are lit and he’ll crush anyone at a video game

Taishiro Toyomistu/Fatgum

Really never thought about having his own kids until meeting Kirishima and Tamaki

Life was changed FOREVER since meeting them, now he would like to have his own family

It was kind of confusing to finally have the talk of having kids a couple of years into your marriage, but your views on having kids were changed too after meeting the two UA students

He let you on thinking just one or two kids were great, but you didn’t know if you should have been surprised that you were in the hospital room pushing out your 5th child

It was kind of funny to see Taishiro freaking out even if it was his 5th time next to you in labor

Your kids were so use to it they just sat out in the hallway doing their schoolwork or playing games on their iPads as Kirishima and Tamaki watched over them (your labor would always catch them while they were out on patrol)

I picture that all his kids are girls

He uses the excuse “just one more kid, maybe this time it’ll be a boy”, It’s NEVER a boy

I feel that he’s the dad to sneak home McDonald’s fries or ice cream to his kids despite you not liking it

Will take the blame when you catch one of your daughters munching on fries on the way back to her room (daughters will also try to take the blame, but how the heck could girls 13 and younger sneak out all the way to McDonalds)

He’ll also get all his daughters together to bake a cake and also decorate it. The creativity shown by his daughters will always amaze him.

He and his daughters would even clean up the kitchen together...mostly so that you wouldn’t get mad upon seeing the kitchen as a disaster

Gets way into watching Barbie’s Life in the Dream House and secretly really loves our queen Raquelle

All Might/Toshinori Yagi

Just wants one little girl

To spoil her ROTTEN!

Seeing his friend David Sheild’s daughter Melissa grow up and look so happy always made him envious. Young Midoriya also played a huge role in his desire for at least one kid

One child was enough for the two of you and thankfully your first and only child was a girl

Gran Torino will also spoil her rotten along with Sir Nighteye

Will not be embarrassed to be caught sprawled out on the ground with your daughter playing with dolls

He’s actually quite proud of the fact that he doesn’t mind getting down and dirty when it comes to playing with ‘girly’ things with his young daughter unlike other dads

Loves to play Studio Ghibli movies for your daughter.....but Yagi is way more into it

I say this because Toshinori will try to hide his tears while watching My Neighbor Totoro as your daughter is fast asleep on his lap.

He will also sneak in a rated pg-13 hero movie from the United States in when your gone too....and then he’ll act surprise when your daughter would repeat the fowl language she heard in the movie

He would and WILL spend hours on YouTube to learn how to braid hair and put bows in and ribbons

He would bring her to work a lot too to see class 1A in action

Daughter will forever be his ‘baby’, so he HATES the thought of her starting to date and get married.

So when she admitted that the boy ‘Todoroki’ in his class was handsome while heading home one day from his work, he swore off boys....

He wasn’t surprised though, she was always managing to get Todoroki to hold her hand while Toshinori would have class 1A doing scenarios in teams and showing off her hair to him and asking if he noticed anything different.

Todoroki is a good sport, he held her hand and always complimented her hair...

Yeah she was mad at Toshinori and you made him unswear off boys, especially Todoroki

Brings your daughter to work just to brag about how he did her hair to EVERYONE

Mirai Sasaki/Sir Nighteye

Eh....he didn’t want kids, never had the desire tbh

Though something about UA students’ charming personalities making these heroes want families. Mirio got him thinking one kid couldn’t be so bad

You were shocked when he asked to have a kid, but you agreed....after discussing it for awhile to make sure he wanted this

I picture him having one cute, little shy boy

Like the cute little boy with glasses who wears those cute shorts with a bug related shirt that just wants to search for roly-poly in the dirt and grass in the back yard

Very quiet and a bit shy around new people, but is literally the most polite little boy in the WORLD

Nighteye will use his quirk on his son when out looking for bugs to just see if he missed something in the grass or dirt, but that’s as far as he’ll use it

The reason why Nighteye thinks he’s so funny is because your son (and you of course along with mirio) are the only ones who laugh at his jokes, especially your son

Your son finds ANYTHING his dad says or does hilarious. His dad made a gasp of excitement along side his son upon finding a millipede? Instant laughter will follow

Those bouts of laughter from his son is the best feeling in the world to him

Tried to make your son an expert on All Might, but gave up when he came to his conclusion that your son just wasn’t into it.

It was kind of weird at first to find out his son was just simply NOT into heroes, but now he just loves the fact that his son likes what he likes and doesn’t let himself get swayed by others, even his own mom and dad

If you can’t make his little boy, his pride and joy, laugh? Sorry, but don’t talk to Nighteye or his son ever again

He will sit and listen to his little boy go on and on and on and ON about anything and never get bored (or show it). He will sit and listen intently about the cool facts about the bug he found or a plant.

He’d even listen to the longest explanation about a tiny little squiggle on a piece of paper that he drew on if it was being told by his little boy.

Will even put a meeting on hold just to answer a FaceTime from his son from your phone just to listen to him talk about a leaf he made a pressing of....and will sit there with the volume all the way up on his phone too so the others in the room can hear as well.

Will spend all night pinning bugs to a board to frame and label just for your son

Keigo Takami/Hawks

He didn’t even want to date tbh

Though when he met you? The cliche ‘love at first sight’ happened and soon the two of you were married pretty quickly and boy was he a happy man

He didn’t really even want kids either. He just didn’t want to have kids and somehow they end up with a childhood like his that’s not the greatest or most normal, plus he was happy with the little domestic life with you.

But then IT happened. You know, when a mommy and daddy love each other very much and poof, a baby? Yeah....

He was TERRIFIED, but once your first child came into the world, a new sense of happiness sparked within him, like his own eyes opened for the first time to the world

This happened twice more, ending up with his happy family consisting of you, his two boys, and his little girl.

He’s the kind of dad to have his wallet FILLED with pictures of his kids and you. He will shamelessly show them off to fans while on patrol and also to Endeavor....even if he’s seen them a trillion times. Also his office is filled with framed pictures too

He also gets in trouble a lot along with his two boys for playing to rough and loudly within the house by you, especially for flying and being too competitive with video games and ANY activity he would take part in with them.

What can he say? His sons were like the best friends he was never able to have as a kid, he wanted to take in the beauties of having an energetic family

He doesn’t play favorites, but when it comes to his little girl? Sometimes he’ll catch a feeling of her feeling like she’s the odd one out when it comes to her two older brothers and he can relate to that feeling.

So he’ll set aside some dad and daughter time to do the things she likes, like read, color, and draw

He would even let her do his hair with tiny braids and color pieces of clip in hair and many butterfly clips. Keigo would also then wear it out proudly on patrol and check his reflection MULTIPLE times to make sure everything was in place.

He would then shout to the press and paparazzi that his daughter did his hair, showing it off in the process

When the picture would come out with the headliner ‘Hawks’ New Look Thanks to Daughter’ for the news the next day, the look of pride and awe on your daughters face upon looking at the front cover of the magazines and newspapers at the store you and his family would shop at would absolutely melt his heart melt

He’s the first one to pull back the covers to let his children climb in when scared by a thunderstorm or the spooky shadow in their room even if they may be getting ‘too old’ to be doing that...according to Endeavor however, so that information might be wrong

Bribes his kids not to tell you that he entered the house through the window and not the front door

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esmealux · 3 years

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I'll bite. 13 and 35 look like they might be fun together. 😈

Thank you so much for this fun prompt, Shelly ❤ The opportunities seemed endless, but in the end I went with this. I hope you like it.

Once again, I screwed up at brevity, so this is 1.9K (:

13. Someone does something stupid + 35. 'You wanna bet?' 'Care to wager?'

Never make a bet with the Devil.

A deal, if you must. But do not bet against him.

Not because he’ll take your soul or anything; he won’t even necessarily take your money.

But because he can’t handle it. He can’t. He’ll stop at nothing to win, and when he doesn’t—when he can’t shoot down a bottle of vodka with a slingshot from 400 feet away, or blow a soap bubble with his nose, or fly to Sweden and back in under thirty minutes (the latter he did do, but a drug test showed he’d taken EPO)—he’ll walk around in a pathetic cloud of self-pity, sulking and pouting to an unbearable degree for days on end.

So if you care about the Devil, don’t bet with him. It’s for his own good.

It really is.

And yet-

Chloe picks up the dirty plates from the coffee table as gunshots fire around her. It makes her a little uneasy, how real it sounds through their newly installed surround sound system. One so expensive she doesn’t even want to know.

Their just as overpriced (and unnecessarily big) TV is bathing Lucifer in white-blue light as he stares at the screen intently. He did want to watch the movie with her, but she’s not much of a Weaponizer fan, and she’d like to clean up before she snuggles up next to him on the couch and inevitably falls asleep. As she’s gathered all the dishes in her arms, however, she can’t help but pause and glance at the film for just a second.

‘Yeah, like that could actually happen,’ she snorts, watching the car jump across a considerable gap in a bridge, flip mid-air, and land on all four wheels on the other side. ‘I mean, no one’s ever done that.’

As soon as the words leave her mouth Chloe knows she’s made a mistake.

Lucifer pauses the movie—because God forbid he misses five seconds of a film he’s watched thirty times—before he looks up at her with a lifted eyebrow and a devilish grin.

‘Is that a challenge, Detective?’

Chloe glares at him, her jaw clenching. ‘It’s not possible,’ she states firmly, which is even worse, because now he can only reply with-

‘Care to wager?’

Chloe wants to kick herself.

‘There’s no way in Hell you’re doing that,’ she tells him, nodding towards the paused screen before she heads for the kitchen to start the dishwasher.

‘Why? Because my worried girlfriend won’t let me?’ he calls after her. ‘I’m invulnerable, remember?’

Chloe refills her wine glass, generously, and returns to the living room.

‘No,’ she objects, careful not to spill Pinot Noir on the couch as she settles against Lucifer’s warm, silk-clad side. ‘I just know you’ll never forgive yourself when your beloved Corvette rams into a cliff.’

Lucifer gasps and scoffs. ‘As if I’d ever risk such a sweet beauty like that!’ He plucks the glass out of her hand and takes a sip. ‘And even if I did, she would not, because I would succeed, first try.’

‘First try? Really?’

Chloe grabs the remote and replays the last fifteen seconds. Looking at it a second time, it’s even more ridiculous. The background is so obviously a green screen it’s not even funny, the flip is clearly made using some sort of outdated CGI, and they haven’t even bothered making it look like there’s a real person in the car. Also—Chloe doesn’t remember much from school, but she’s pretty sure the entire stunt defies physics as the car leaps, practically flies over the 150 feet gap, all the while rotating 360 degrees sideways.

‘Maybe third,’ Lucifer admits.

Chloe shakes her head and sighs.

‘I can do it, Detective.’ He looks at her like it’s a threat. ‘And I will.’

Oh, he will definitely try. The determination in his eyes leave no doubt about that. But he can’t possibly copy that stunt with an actual car and an actual gap. There’s just no way. And she shouldn’t spur him on. She really shouldn’t. But the idiot’s gotta learn at some point, and if she’s gonna have to deal with his childish disappointment (and she will), she might as well get something out of it.

‘Fine,’ she shrugs. ‘What are we betting?’

He grins at her, brown eyes twinkling with excitement.

‘If—nay, when I win,’ he answers promptly, and Chloe rolls her eyes, ‘I’ll finally get that thing I’ve always wanted.’

Chloe stares at him, comepletely clueless. If his tone and stupid smirk are anything to go by, it’s not a pet shark he’s talking about.

‘One... re-enactment for another,’ he clarifies slowly, his dark gaze gliding over her body before his eyes flicker to the glass doors leading to their terrace—and their outdoor hot tub.

Chloe fights the urge to roll her eyes again.

‘Okay,’ she agrees, internally reminding herself it doesn’t really matter. She gives him a cocky smile. ‘And when I win?’

Lucifer chuckles as if he finds her adorably naïve. Asshat. Still, he says, ‘You’ll get anything you desire.’

Chloe thinks. There’s not much she desires he wouldn’t give her anyway. She could have him do paperwork for a month, but he’d just mess it up, and she’d have to listen to his complaints about ‘torturous boredom’ and ‘purgatory’. She could also go for something funnier, like have him wear t-shirt and sweats to work for a week. But that would just be cruel, wouldn’t it?

‘I don’t know,’ she tells him, but the words are barely out of her mouth before Trixie’s enthusiastic voice sounds behind them.

‘I might have an idea!’

Lucifer sighs and gives Chloe an unimpressed look before he shifts slightly in his seat to look at her daughter.

‘Alright, but only because your mum lacks creativity like a sober Faulkner.’

Trixie walks around the couch and comes to stand in front of them, a mischievous smile on her face.

‘Please don’t tell me it’s a unicorn on the cheek,’ Lucifer huffs, taking another gulp of Chloe’s wine.

‘It’s not,’ she assures him and holds out her iPad for him to see. It’s a doodle of a small, fluffy goat with pink fur. ‘I was thinking something more… permanent.’ With the hand that’s not holding her tablet, Trixie pats a spot on the left side of her upper chest.

Lucifer slowly removes the wine glass from his lips, and the sheer horror on his face makes Chloe snort with laughter.

He stares at the small, inarguably adorable drawing like it’s a personal insult, glances down at his chest with dread, and looks back to Trixie.

‘You little Devil,’ Lucifer grumbles, but there’s no trace of hostility in his voice. If anything, he sounds a little impressed. He grabs Trixie’s iPad from her outstretched hand and studies the pink kawaii buck for a second, as if he’s seriously considering saying yes to the deal.

Eventually, he sighs. ‘I’m in.’

‘Lucifer-’ Chloe immediately begins to protest. He’s not gonna win this bet, and she knows how downright intolerable he’ll be when he’ll have to get a cute, chubby animal—one that, to him, represents mockery and misconception—tattooed onto his skin. She's tired already, just thinking about all the whining she'd have to deal with.

But it’s too late. Her boyfriend and daughter shake hands, and the deal is settled.

Chloe palms her face.

‘Wait, what do you get if you actually manage to… whatever it is this time?’ Trixie asks, her small hand still clasped in Lucifer’s.

Chloe looks up at him, heat creeping up her cheeks. Their eyes meet shortly before he looks back to her daughter, visibly conflicted.

‘Eh…’

It’s not so much a word as it is a breathy, high-pitched sound, partly stuck in his throat. But it’s answer enough for Trixie.

‘Forget I asked,’ she quickly says, her face scrunched up in disgust. ‘I’ll be in my room.’

She takes her iPad back and leaves them alone on the couch.

‘So, I guess it’s tit or tat, then,’ Lucifer remarks with a chuckle, glancing down at Chloe’s chest.

She snorts and smiles, despite herself.

‘But, I mean-’ He grabs the remote and plays the scene a third time.

He must not see the same utterly absurd and almost comically impossible stunt she (still) sees, because he leans down and whispers in her ear, ‘Better start rehearsing your lines, Detective.’

Chloe shakes her head at him and snuggles closer to his body.

‘You’re lucky I like your mother,’ Lucifer mumbles as the needle pinches ink into his chest.

He’d driven off in a ‘cheap’ Porsche this morning and returned eight hours later, looking like he’d literally been fed to the wolves and with no Porsche.

‘Hey honey,’ she’d greeted him, hiding her smirk behind her cup of tea. ‘How’d it go?’

He’d answered with a grunt, blamed the Germans for making their cars too ‘praktisch’ and the Italians for not making theirs fast enough (he’d controlled for variables) and finally concluded it was all his dad’s fault because He ‘created that pesky gravity’.

Then he’d handed her an ornate, black business card and looked at her as if he’d picked his own casket.

Chloe had bit her cheek and hugged him before driving all three of them to the high-end tattoo parlour he’d requested.

‘You okay there?’ she asks him, letting him grip her hand tighter. The fact that he isn’t feeling any actual pain—‘any physical pain, Detective!’—makes his wincing all the more pathetic. Still, she feels a little bad for him.

‘No.’ He bends his neck to peer down at his chest, and pouts. ‘I’m not.’

Trixie grins beside him. ‘I think it looks cool!’

‘Of course, you do. You’re a twelve-year-old girl.’

The smile on Trix’ face turns into a smirk. ‘A twelve-year-old who girl you lost a bet to.’

Sighing deeply, Lucifer turns his head to scowl at her like she’s his annoying little sister and not the stepdaughter he’d go to the ends of the universe for.

‘It’ll be gone in a few months,’ Chloe reminds him, earning her a funny look from the tattoo artist.

The muscle in Lucifer’s jaw ticks. ‘It’s not even finished yet and I already hate it more than I ever did my bloody wings! How am I supposed to endure this… horned cotton candy for months?’

Chloe takes a deep breath. She brought this on herself. She knew she shouldn’t have made that bet with him. She knew he’d be an insufferable drama queen.

She also knows, after hours of hearing him moan, that he’s not gonna shut up about ‘deceitful special effects’ and ‘useless laws of physics’, much less the ‘vile, little creature marring his muscled chest’. Not unless she does something.

So Chloe does something.

For the second time in her life, she gets naked in—and out of a hot tub.

‘No moaning, then,’ she tells him, giving him a stern look.

Lucifer looks her up and down in awe and hunger, dark eyes lingering on the tiny red bikini he knows she’ll take off in a matter of seconds. ‘Now, there’s a promise I can’t keep.’

‘About the wager,’ she clarifies, but he’s not listening.

With a sigh, Chloe sinks into the hot, bubbling water, loosens her bikini top, and gets into character.

She is never, ever betting with the Devil again.

#deckerstar fanfiction #two part drabble game #writing #lucifer x chloe #chloe x lucifer #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #established deckerstar #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer on netflix #some point in the future #deckerstar fluff #fluff

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skippyv20 · 3 years

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🌳 ⛲️ 🌳 KENSINGTON ANON AND PG🌳⛲️🌳

KENSINGTON ANON and PG😊💜💜💜💜💜💜

KENSINGTON ANON AND PG 🌳⛲️🌳 … “ MARIA AND CHARLOTTE ARE IN THE PLAYROOM, CHARLOTTE IS ON HER IPAD…” Estas haciendo tu tarea …Si. Estamos escribiendo poemas para la clase de inglés …… KATE ENTERS…… “ what are you talking about? “…… “ mummy I’m writing a poem about Maria” ……” wonderful darling, how is her Spanish coming along Maria?” ……… “ She’s a natural ma’am, and little Louis is very good as is George “ … “ Maria you’re a gem, ok’ who wants ice cream” … “ Meeee, meeee, meeee.

🌳⛲️🌳THANK YOU SO MUCH DEAR KENSINGTON ANON🌳⛲️🌳

VIGNETTE #2 NUMERO DOS(#2)

APRIL 30/2021 VIERNES (FRIDAY)

MUCHOS GRACIAS (MANY THANKS)TO OUR CAMBRIDGE FAMILIA POR CON LINDA (FOR THE CUTE FAMILY)VIDEO.

KENSINGTON ANON I GUESS YOU DID NOT KNOW I HAD POR QUITO ESPAÑOL IN ME EH?😁😁😁😁MEANING I SPEAK AND UNDERSTAND A WEE BIT OF SPANISH!

WHAT AN ABSOLUTELY GLORIOUS DAY TODAY. THE SUN ☀️ IS SHINING. THE UNICORN 🦄 HAS BEEN WASHED WITH NO REMNANTS OF ANY NAUGHTY WORD. APOLOGIES SAID, ALL IS FORGIVEN AND FORGOTTEN. ON TO THE NEXT ADVENTURE AS THEY SAY WITH SUPERHEROES. OUR CAMBRIDGES ARE JUST THAT, SUPERHEROES 🦹🏻‍♀️🦸🏼‍♂️🦸🏼‍♂️(☹️NO EMOJI FOR SMALL SUPERHEROES, I GUESS THEY ARE SUPERHEROES IN TRAINING YEP THAT’S IT😁😁😁😁😁)THE ENTIRE FAMILY👩🏻👱🏼‍♂️🧑🏼👦🏻👧🏻 IS STILL EXCITED FROM ALL THE CELEBRATIONS 👰🏻‍♀️🤵🏼‍♂️YESTERDAY. 🥳 🎂 🎉 AND 🥂FOR MUMMY AND DADDY. THEY HAD SO MUCH FUN MAKING THE SPECIAL VIDEO FOR ALL OF US AND WE 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜IT SO VERY MUCH. THERE IS MORE EXCITEMENT WAITING IN THE WINGS, AS A CERTAIN UNICORN 🦄 LOVING PRINCESS WE ALL KNOW AND LOVE HAS A BIRTHDAY 🥳 🎂 🥳 ON SUNDAY AND SHE WILL BE SIX!!! I KNOW!! SIX!! WHERE DO THE YEARS GO?? EVERYONE IS GROWING UP SO FAST. CAN YOU PLEASE SLOW IT DOWN JUST A WEE BIT. 💜🙂💜. WE MOVE OUR MINDS EYE 👁 AGAIN TO THE HOME OF OUR FAMILY. 🏰, NOT EXACTLY RIGHT BUT HEY A GIRL HAS GOT TO WORK WITH THE EMOJIS SHE HAS😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣. WE MOVE IN ON TO SEE WHAT IS HAPPENING THIS AFTERNOON. 🎥👓. WE FIND NANNY MARIA 👩🏻‍🏫AND CHARLOTTE 👧🏻ARE IN THE PLAYROOM WHERE CHARLOTTE IS BUSY ON HER IPAD. SHE SPEAKS AS SHE TYPES. ESTAS HACIENDO TU TAREA. NANNY MARIA SAYS MUEY BUENO CHARLOTTA. (👧🏻CHARLOTTE HAS JUST SAID/TYPED SHE IS DOING HER HOMEWORK IN ESPAÑOL, SPANISH.) MARIA SAYS VERY GOOD. CHARLOTTE SMILES BACK AND CONTINUES. CATHERINE 👩🏻HAS QUIETLY ENTERED THE ROOM AND NOT WANTING TO DISTURB YET, SHE WATCHES. 👀. NANNY MARIA SAYS🗣 SI CHARLOTTA. SHE THEN CONTINUES TYPING AND IT REALLY HELPS TALKING ALONG WHILE TYPING. JUST LIKE WHEN ONE IS CUTTING PAPER IT HELPS TO MOVE YOUR MOUTH AROUND AND MAKE FACES AS CHILDREN DO WHEN USING ✂️ SCISSORS. 😂😂😂🤣🤣OH COME ON, YOU ALL REMEMBER THAT. ESTAMOS ESCRIBIENDO POEMAS PARA LA CLAS DE INGLÉS. MUEY BUENO ESCRIBIR CHARLOTTA MUEY BUENO!!! (CHARLOTTE HAS TYPED, I AM WRITING A POEM FOR MY ENGLISH CLASS. MARIA REPLIES CHARLOTTA YOU ARE TYPING VERY WELL) CHARLOTTE LOOKS AND SMILES 🙂😄BROADLY AT MARIA. AT THIS POINT, CATHERINE IS VERY CURIOUS 🧐🤨 TO KNOW WHAT THEY ARE TALKING ABOUT SO SHE SAYS 🗣 KNOCK KNOCK, MAY I COME IN? CHARLOTTE IS SO EXCITED. CATHERINE ENQUIRES, 🗣OH HO, WHAT ARE YOU TWO TALKING ABOUT? OH MUMMY! MUMMY, I AM WRITING A POEM ABOUT NANNY MARIA. CATHERINE IS DULY IMPRESSED AND ABSOLUTELY LOVES CHARLOTTE’S JOY IN ALL THINGS SHE TRIES. P.S. SO DO WE CATHERINE 💜💜💜💜SO DO WE!! CATHERINE REPLIES, 🗣THAT IS WONDERFUL DARLING. SHE THEN ASKS MARIA, HOW IS HER SPANISH COMING ALONG MARIA? NOW NANNY MARIA IS NOT THE LEAST BIT BIASED 🙄 BY HER LOVE FOR THE TERRIFIC TRIO💜💜💜. SHE REPLIES, OH MA’AM SHE IS A NATURAL. LITTLE LOUIS IS VERY GOOD TOO AS IS JORGÉ(GEORGE IN SPANISH💜💜💜I HAVE READ IN YOUNG CHILDREN, BEFORE AGE FIVE THEIR ABILITY TO LEARN NEW LANGUAGES IS OFF THE CHARTS AMAZING BUT LESSENS AS WE AGE. THAT PART WAS ME, PG. 💜💜💜) CATHERINE SMILING 🙂, GIVES CHARLOTTE A CUDDLE SAYING MARIA, YOU ARE A 💎 GEM!! THEN SHE SAYS, 🗣JUST LOUD ENOUGH SO BOYS EARS 👂 CAN HEAR TOO, WHO WANTS 🧊 🍦 CREAM??? OUT OF NOWHERE THREE DIFFERENT SQUEALS OF MEEEEEE, MEEEEEEE, MEEEE AND THE SOUND OF FOOTSTEPS COMING CLOSER…………..to be continued……continuará………..

DONE WITH THE GREATEST LOVE AND RESPECT FOR THE ENTIRE CAMBRIDGE FAMILY.

FICTIONAL ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES

APRIL 30/2021

💜🙏🏻🙂✝️💟PG💟✝️🙂🙏🏻💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

Thank you PG....wonderful 😊💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

#Ask Skippy #submission

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khattikeri · 4 years

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It really bothers me how tech illiterate Gen Z is.

It really bothers me how tech illiterate Gen Z is. And that’s including people born in the weird 1996-2002 era in between millennials and us.

Being able to use social media isn’t at all a substitute for knowing and being able to operate a damn computer. I know I sound like some crotchety developer from the 70s, but it really is terrifying how little some of the people my age and younger know-- and I’m nearly 20. Let’s get this out of the way: the oldest people in Gen Z are around 25. They are adults, and this is a major issue that will soon impact a majority of adults.

Onto the main issue: Generation Z is, as a whole, largely unused to operating computers in easy ways-- using keyboard shortcuts, being able to protect their privacy, being able to access content that isn’t legal (e.x. through torrents), even using Microsoft Office... I’m still unable to let go of 8th grade, 2014-15-- I had to teach one of my classmates how to use certain features of Microsoft Word, keyboard shortcuts, and a mouse. The basic ones. Like right-clicking, ctrl+C and ctrl+V, and using the dictionary feature.

At the time, I was woefully in awe of how stupid she was, and took it as a moment to roll my eyes and feel both smug and disgusted. Now, I know better than to write her off as an airhead who didn’t know something I’d assumed was universal.

I was fortunate enough to have been born in 2000, and to have gone to an elementary school that was still in the odd middle ground between “let’s educate the kindergartners about computers!” and “eh, screw it, we don’t have that much funding and their parents will probably teach them at home anyway.”

I learned the proper method of typing when I was five. We went to our school’s computer lab at least once a week and practiced and learned. I learned about the different parts of a computer (kindergarten edition, so nothing detailed about internal parts, but my parents are software engineers who taught me later down the line).

And then... they just stopped. The last time I, as a kid, did any sort of computer learning or proper keyboarding that was school-initiated was 1st grade. At the latest, that’s the first half of 2008.

For perspective, children born in 2008 are now 12.

I don’t know how else to describe how bad it is. Time is passing. Older people think that Gen Z is “tech literate”, but it simply isn’t true. We are social media literate. We are wary of online advertising (but still fall prey to it, thanks to shifting marketing strategies). We use social platforms like Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Tumblr. We care about social issues. But unless we teach ourselves, we know next to nothing about information technology.

Our parents, overall, did not teach us. Schools, in their haste-- whether that be out of sheer laziness or lack of funding or some twisted combination-- failed us.

Putting aside things like piracy of entertainment or being able to use all ten fingers to type, our security is at jeopardy. So many companies take advantage of and actively prey on us for our computer illiteracy and lack of knowledge on digital privacy.

Even I’m not well-informed enough to make a real write-up on it. It’s something I’ve noticed, and something I’ve read enough about and been taught about by my own parents and my own technology classes in college to be afraid of. People can’t do research. They can’t use keywords.

I’m being somewhat overzealous, but it is a problem how quickly basic things like using computer parts, doing in-depth research on your own, and privacy are just not being taught to young kids anymore. I haven’t stepped foot in elementary school in a long time, so maybe things are different now, but I highly doubt five and six year olds of today are being taught about computers via computers instead of using interactive iPads.

This isn’t to say that everyone in Gen Z knows nothing. I am Gen Z. Many, many kids and adults born in Gen Z are fully aware of the ramifications of this issue and others related to it. But there’s just as many, if not more, who aren’t.

TL;DR... There’s a lot Gen Z wasn’t and still isn’t being educated about when it comes to computers and tech, and it’ll definitely lead to problems later down the line.

#long post #there's a LOT more i could talk about but im incoherent and wanted this off my chest #namely like. how young children aren't learning to write properly bc they're so used to tapping and swiping screens with one finger #it's very scary how the touchscreen and instant gratification era is hindering youth knowledge on tech #keri chats

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purplesurveys · 3 years

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1256

surveys by taco-tuesdays

What steps would you take in order to track down a thief? Not too far, honestly. I accept things pretty easily so if I’ve processed that I’ve been robbed, I am most likely to just let it go. I’ll feel like shit, of course, but I would just let it go and scold myself for failing to be attentive.

What is something that one of your family member collects? My mom used to collect printed table napkins from different restaurants, but obivously she hasn’t been able to continue that for the past year and a half. My dad and brother used to collect magazines but both stopped a few years ago.

What would you do if you were able to have lunch with the queen? The journalist in me will probably just ask her questions about her everyday life, how she spends it, what she’s into and what she’s not into these days.

If you got to create a new flavor of ice cream, what would it be? This is a little hard considering there are a lot of small businesses out there already getting creative and quirky with ice cream flavors so it’s just hard to tell if a certain flavor has already been invented or not. One thing I haven’t seen, though, is curry. I’d buy a pint of that in an instant.

What are some questions that you would ask your favorite celebrity? His latest vlog finds. He once shared a video of this smaller content creator, so I’m guessing that’s what he likes doing in his spare time and I’m sure he would have a bunch of other just as interesting recommendations.

If you were able to set up a stand, what would you sell? Street food.

Would you like to go deep sea diving? Why or why not? Yeah. I’m always willing to try daring, not-the-safest-thing-in-the-world activities haha.

What would life be like if you lived on a cloud? The realist in me just wants to say I’d plummet straight to the ground.

What would you find at the top of a magic beanstalk? Idk, my creativity can’t be bothered to be challenged.

What is one food you would not want to have rain down from the sky? Durian. It would hurt and stink like shit.

Which animal's characteristics are similar to your own personality? I don’t really assign sets of personalities to animals.

If you were in a department store, which aisle would you check out first? I personally still go for the toys/video games section first HAHAHA

What are some of your hobbies? They include going to museums, exploring new food and restaurants, traveling to different cities and countries, and reading about history.

You've opened a store that only sells purple items - what do you sell? BTS merch hahahahah duhhhh

What is something important that you've lost, and did you ever find it? I lost a rosary that came straight from the Vatican. No, I never found it again. I feel bad about it not because it’s a religious object, but because it came from my grandma.

Have you ever moved to a new school before? If so, how did it feel? I mean, I had to change schools when I was moving up from high school to college, but I’ve never changed schools within the same chapter of my studies, like in the middle of elementary or high school. But to answer the question, it had been a very liberating and empowering experience. I hated the rules in my Catholic school and there were so many elements from that place that made me hide so much about myself. The fact that I could wear shorts and curse and attend rallies and cut class and make my own class schedules in college felt incredibly freeing and satisfying.

What would've happened if Cinderella never went to the ball? See magic beanstalk question.

If you had one day to do anything at all, what would you choose? I would drive to Tagaytay and find a cozy restaurant and eaaaaatttt awaaaayyyy.

What are a few of your favorite songs? I really really like Singularity by V, Over the Hills by Hayley Williams, and So Far Away by Agust D and Suran.

Have you ever legitimately forgotten to do homework? All the time. I never wrote down homework.

If you were a witch, what kind of a spell would you cast? On who? I don’t care about casting spells on people. I just want my cravings to show up in the snap of a finger hahaha. Can that be part of a witch’s scope of work? Kjdgfhsdfskjfhs

Do you enjoy autumn leaves or spring flowers more? Why? I wouldn’t know. I experience neither over here.

What is your favorite sport to play? What about watch? Table tennis. Favorite to watch would be either tennis or pro wrestling.

Have you ever gone on a cruise before? To where? Yeah. It was an East Asian cruise so I traveled to Shanghai, Jeju, and Fukuoka.

What would you do if you were invisible for a day? Probably go to the bigger houses in the village and see how fancy they get.

Depending on where you live, why might a day of school get canceled? Typhoon, floods. A lot of places are incredibly prone to flooding, so as long as it’s been raining super hard the chances for a class suspension will get high.

What types of transportation do you think we will see in the future? I dunno. It seems like we’re at that point where everything is in the process of being invented or perfected already.

What were some of your toys you always played with when you were little? I liked kitchen sets and anything with lots of buttons, so like toy telephones or cash registers.

If you were a movie star, what would a day in your life be like? I have no clue apart from the fact that I’m just glad I would assumedly have more than enough money to buy whatever I’m craving whenever I want hahaha.

If you invented a time machine, what year would you like to go to, and why? Realistically I wouldn’t change a thing; but if I had to answer this question I’d go back to 2016 and never ask out Gab a second time, so that the next four years wouldn’t end up being such a waste of my time.

What is your favorite holiday and why? I don’t have one. I’m not a big holiday ~celebrator.

What is something that you like to do while on vacation? Try food I’ve never tried before. The more unconventional or obscure, the better.

If you could meet any fictional character from a book, who would it be? Eh, don’t really have anyone in mind.

What are some common places that people tour when they come to your city? There’s the waterfalls in the upper part of the city – I’m just not sure if it’s still a popular spot but it certainly was when I was a kid. There’s also an art museum that I’m certain is a lot more frequented now.

What's one food that you did not enjoy as a child, but do as an adult? Curry.

How would having no electricity affect your daily routine? I wouldn’t be able to attend work, at least not for the whole day. It would also feel a lot warmer without the electric fan, which would in turn make me cranky.

If you had one wish, what would it be? A renovated room with a dedicated corner for all my merch.

Say someone gives you a magic sweater. What happens when you wear it? Idk.

If you built a new city, how would you convince people to move there? I wouldn’t.

What is one of your favorite movies? Why is it one of your favorites? Two for the Road. It has Audrey Hepburn, it’s a realistic rom-com, and the chemistry between the two leads is superb.

If you were given a certain amount of time to live, would you want to know? Yeah for sure, I would want to know in a heartbeat.

What would you do if you were able to stop time? I don’t know what I would do, but that would be a nice...opportunity, I guess? to experiment with or try out certain decisions and see how well or unwell they would work out to be. So that when time resumes, I’d know better on how to best handle a situation.

Do you think that long distance relationships would be for you? I wouldn’t actively go for it, but I’m not shutting down the possibility either.

Is there a popular social media platform that you don't have an account for? I have one for all the main ones, I think. Even Instagram, I made an account not too long ago to finally join the platform.

How old were you when you found out about Santa, the Easter Bunny, etc? I never knew the Easter Bunny was a thing until I started taking these surveys at like 14. I never really believed in Santa either, and the only figure I was super disappointed to learn that it didn’t exist was the tooth fairy.

Who is your favorite Disney Princess? Rapunzel.

Which freaks you out more - clowns or porcelain dolls? Porcelain dolls. They look more innocent, which somehow makes them creepier.

What was the last mistake that you learned from? Hm, just a minor work thing that would be too complicated to explain here.

Do you prefer "regular pencils" or mechanical ones? Why? Regular. I always break off the tips of mechanical pencils.

What is one little-known music artist you'd recommend? Andi made me listen to The Drums recently and I’ve been loving their sound so far; they would be perfect on a road trip. I’ve only listened to one album, though.

What is your favorite Pixar film? Toy Story!

Who was the last person to send you any sort of message on social media? Angela sent me a video meme.

Where were you on September 11th, 2001? I don’t know...probably already being put to bed. Either way I wasn’t fully conscious yet as I had only been 3 and living on the other side of the planet.

Name your favorite green vegetable. Broccoli, spinach, bell peppers, or asparagus. IDK I love veggies hahahaha

Could you handle a friends with benefits type of situation? Not for me. I’m not even into sex.

Do you prefer using a brush or a comb on your hair? Comb.

What's your favorite flavor of potato chips? SALTED EGG. I’m obsessed; I had like five bags this week alone.

Would you rather build a snowman or a snow fort? Why? I dunno; I’ve never tried making either.

At what age do you believe children should begin having screen time? I’m not too sure at this point, but I do know I don’t plan on being too strict with my kids. I’d let them watch stuff on an iPad from like age 3 or 4, but one thing I would change from how I was raised is putting a limit on their screen time, maybe half an hour to an hour a day.

If you had to give a speech, what would it be on? I’d be down for any topic as long as I was given ample time to research, honestly. I like public speaking.

#survey #surveys

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currentfandomkick · 4 years

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Marinette’s Villainy Lessons with her Uncles, Victor Zsasz, Jerimah, Riddler and Ed

Reminder, the rouges know her as Jillian Strange and are aware her cover in Gotham is Jillian Smith in public.

Most people would think a hitman and casual murder would make a horrible, horribly godfather. At least for morals.

Well, her father is Strange so he’s not most people. Her Maman had to have dated him or something so she probably isn’t normal either, Marinette would think as lessons began.

“Okay, now today we’re going to review how to take down someone bigger than you. What do you do first?”

Marinette hummed. “Check what’s on them and around them. Look for weapons and weak points while keeping distance.”

Uncle Victor smiled. “Good job Jill!”

Marinette beamed at that. “Second step?”

“disarm them.”

“Good, now next thing?”

“Exploit wekanesses. Use weapons if possible.”

“In the kitchen, no knives open. but there’s a spork.”

“Spork?”

“Don’t question it. what do you do?”

“aim for the eye?”

“Good! popped out eyes are very distracting. Now, after that’s done, what do we do?”

“Run away and call the family.”

“And why not the police?”

“Batman will know. And he and the police will take me away.”

“And do we want that?”

“NEVER!”

“That’s my Jilly bean. Now, self defense in theory you have down. and you kept up with punch practice, right?”

“And kicks and the bendy-training.”

“Flexibility. You already have strength down, so we can focus on lean muscle like gymnasts and acrobats for you.”

“If i become an acrobat does that mean i have to be nice to batman?”

Zsasz shook his head. “Just because bat is in it, doesn’t make it his.”

“He calls his boomerangs batarangs. I’m not taking chances.”

“Now, its all in the wrist, Bend it back, like that, when the target is close.” Jerome hovered over Marinette, watching her form closely.

“I need to do this to take out the bad guys right?”

“If a bat goes after you when you’re with one of us, hit them hard.” He wouldn’t have Strange and whoever Jill’s Maman was after any of them for losing her mid-lesson to a zealous Batman or Robin.

“Knees are better targets right?”

“Since you’re not allowed to kill, yes.” Jerome still didn’t get that rule, but whatever. His niece followed her Maman’s rules most of the time, and was adamant about that one. it made lessons more difficult, but they worked around it.

“Maman said something about it staining the soul,” the girl threw the knife, just missing the target.

“Eh, mine’s fine.” He didn’t regret any of it, something about him being incapable of remorse.

“They were bad people right?”

“Of course, i don’t hurt actually good people--they make it so things don’t happen in the first place.” After all, letting things happen was bad too, and worse as far as Jerome was concerned. He still remembered everything his family did and how no one said anything about what was done to him. Silence and acceptance was far worse than doing in his books.

“Like Uncle Victor?” Marinette was still fuzzy on good and bad and the in betweens. her Father said its because binaries can’t contain her understanding so she needs another frame of reference or something.

“Like Uncle Victor,” Jerome agreed, watching Marinette closely as she sunk the next knife into the cereal box. “Now, i think we’ve done enough with weapons for now. Want to practice trapeze tricks?”

“But Aunt Harley isn’t here.”

“Safety nets are there for a reason.”

Marinette considered it for one second. Then bolted up the post and threw each trapeze into one another., making them swing for a challenge “I can’t fly for a few hours!”

“Good! Sooner you get used to falling, the less scary it is, trust me!”

“Okay!” Marinette grinned as she got a running start. She loved lessons like this.

Uncle Riddler decided today was a software programming day. And a cyber-crime day, she guessed. But those are always boring--she practices these with Hero Stalker and sometimes Max in Paris anyways.

“See, this is how you beat their firewalls, a simple virus that looks like a normal email. when it’s opened then we have access to the servers and get the information we want, okay?” Riddler was trying to be more clear with her today. Ed was probably trying to keep control.

“How long does it take?”

“Varies.”

“Can we get icecream while we wait?”

Riddler almost sighed. almost.

“Why?”

“Why not? We can’t build anything without the base and Father said no more autopsies in the kitchen.”

“It wasn’t even a human, just a bird. but nooo, that’s traumatizing and damaging to your mind.”

“But it was cool!”

“I know, i know. Bodies are just bigger puzzles... Hm, what’s broken when spoken Jilly bean?”

“The ice cream machine at McDonalds. And Silence, but that one’s an easy answer... OH! hero’s name is a honophone with crazy!”

“Batman.”

“Yep! Did he find the new base yet?”

“Nah, Dent got him off the trail last with another robbing spree.”

“Oh, is it going to Mr. Freeze for his research or bills or the RKC?”

“I... am pretty sure Rose stole it so your group won this time.”

“Yes!” Marinette fist pumped. “I told them operation bouncy ball would work!”

“....I. is that why they were everywhere.”

Marinette grinned back. “Just like you all keep saying, misdirection is the key to getting what you want when dealing with someone with more.”

Riddler grinned, the one that spelled doom for everyone else. “Our little jilly bean is already pulling off jobs on her own! I’m so proud!”

there was shift on his face, his stance altered and he was more... Uncle Ed than Uncle Riddler. “Jill, we talked about this. You need to be at least thirteen before you start plotting on your own.”

“I had co-conspirators of age so i didn’t break that rule!”

Uncle Ed was in control now. “I curse the day Dent taught you about malicious compliance and loopholes.”

“No you don’t. You’re just mad i used it against Dent and you missed him tripping on everything. Don’t worry, Ghoul had cameras and made a montage.”

Uncle Ed’s lip twitched. “Really?”

“Ice cream and we watch.” Mairinette knew her horrible stealth uncle had to be good at something. business things.

“Oswald is a terrible influence on you.”

why wasn’t this working? Wait, this is Riddler... “Ice cream please?”

“... fine. but no sparkly sprinkles.”

“But those are the best kind!”

“Jillian Strange,” Uncle Ed warned. “We do not leave evidence at the scene of a crime. Your favorite sprinkles leave evidence everywhere. Do you want to answer to your father about spoiling dinner again?”

“.... No. But after?”

“I want to know who gave you a metabolism like this, but sure. No telling Strange.”

“Okay!” Marinette ran off to the kitchen, returning with a large bowl for herself--half the gallon Ed noted--and a more normal serving for himself. “Here! and this is the video,” Marinette pulled out her ipad and played a few minutes of Dent tripping over various bouncy balls swarming his base.

“You really are a baby mastermind,” Uncle Riddler cooed. “Remind me to set you up with Puzzles later.”

“Huh?” Marinette looked up from her empty bowl.

“Nothing,” Ed said, almost glaring.

“Oh, are you two fighting again? I’ll clean up until its over. Then we can work on the reality augmentation glasses, right?” Marinette asked with her infamous kitten eyes.

“Of course, I think you’ll like the new coding patterns we’ve been working on..”

Hope you enjoyed a slice of Marinette Strange Dupain Cheng’s Gotham life.

Bonus:

“Jill, why are we missing a gallon of ice cream?”

“Uncle Ed took it.”

“...Please tell me it wasn’t for another biology lesson.”

Marinette thought for a moment. She is bad at lying. but letting her Father come to his own conclusions isn’t lying, right?

“I have to remind him that biology lessons are for his base again then, wonderful. I will bleach the counters. Put on something while i do.”

“Breaking News,Poison Ivy’s Plants are out of control again.”

“Rose ran away again!” Marinette yellled.

Strange took a deep breath. “Get her room ready, I’ll call Harley.”

Marinette nodded, wandering off to find Ghoul and Frost in the ‘extra room’ already. “So who’s turn is it to tell Aunt Ivy to stop?”

“You’re here the least.”

Marinette groaned. “Do i get a disguise?”

“Green wig, colored contacts, and some baggy clothes i can feel you trying to burn.”

“If i had heat vision it wouldn’t be trying.”

a few minutes later, the boys worked on fixing up the room while Marinette walked through the plant infested section of Gotham. The vines moved away from her, cuasing the few semi-conscious to stare at her.

“Aunt Ivy! She’s on her way to my place, ok!”

Poison Ivy dropped to Marinette’s level, appearing from a bunch of vines. “Why didn’t she tell me!”

“You do this but at home when she does.”

“She knows better!”

“She’s six. She really doesn’t. Did you feed the flowers human blood again?”

“They were already dead, and they weren’t even half decent poeple. just abusers and pedos this time.”

“Did you tell her or...”

“They’re my children, why do i need to tell my non-plant daughter what her sibblings are eating?”

“So she doesn’t think you’re murdering for fun.”

“Oh right, that..”

Marinette casually curbing the rogues while learning how to villian and applying skills in the opposite direction will be a trend in the au. And they support her 100% when she does this as that’s their girl, theirs!

they tolerate whoever she adds though. eventually.

#maribat #maribat au #marinette strange dupain cheng #bio!dad au #bio!dad strange #ml au #my au #my ideas #everyday in gotham for marinette is like this

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nightofthewerehunty · 3 years

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So I’ve forgotten how to use tumblr on my iPad and I can’t do the cut for a read more. Sorry, guys. But here’s my Peaky Blinders fanfiction on the relationship between Thomas and Ada. I’ve given the link to AO3 above so use that if you’d like to comment. Cheers!

Rot

When she’s feeling unkind towards herself, she thinks there’s a rot somewhere hidden, festering and spreading through her veins. Soon it’ll reach her heart. Or maybe that’s where it was hidden. Where it started, her black heart. Ada would know if she ever payed attention to that particular organ. Kidneys? Sure, have a look. Liver? Yes please, she needs it to drink. But her heart? Well, does it matter where the rot came from once it gets there? Ada doesn’t think so. And she feels it, burning and burning and burning away inside her chest until its all she can do not to cut out the charred organ herself. She thinks of Freddie, not out of love which may seem cruel, but out of curiosity. Would the infection have spread if he was alive? If she was a romantic, which she’s not, she’d have said that she doesn’t have a heart to infect. Buried it long ago with her husband, and then again with her morals, and then again with Grace so maybe Freddie’s death started something but it was something that would have happened even if he lived. Taken a little longer, maybe, but happened all the same. When she’s feeling kind towards herself, she gives the rot a name; she calls it Thomas.

Ada spends her life reading the moods of Thomas Michael Shelby and she’s perfected it after the war. She’s learned to hear the unspoken in his words. The threats behind his whims. It’s business, Ada. That’s what she tells herself and that’s what he says. It’s all just business. Legal. Illegal. On the books or off. It doesn’t matter. It’s just business. But that was before Grace, before the Russians. Tom’s different now and all her hard work of understanding him is thrown to fucking shit. How can she hear his unspoken words if he doesn’t fucking talk anymore? It’s all just lists now. Pieces of paper she has to burn when she’s through and it takes everything inside her not to chuck Tommy into the flames with his small written words. Did you get my list, Ada? Did you make your list, Ada? Have Arthur and John got their fucking lists, Ada? And Pol says he’s grieving, to give him time and he’ll be back. Back with the family where he belongs and Ada thinks while Polly drinks that Tom’s never belonged anywhere. At least, not after France. Not after the mud and the blood and the fucking bleak midwinter that the brothers always reference as if she doesn’t know what it means. As if it was something far removed from her. As if she wouldn’t be losing her entire fucking family if the bleak midwinter where to rear its bloodied, muddied head.

Ada knows about grief. She’s studied it her whole life. First with her mother and then with her father. Then Freddie and that took more than she cares to remember to make it out the other side. But she had Karl and that was important. Tommy has Charles and that’s good, but what Tommy needed was Grace. Ada won’t speak to love on another’s behalf, but if she was forced to, she’d say that Tommy belonged with Grace. And if she was drunk, like proper drunk and asked, she may even say it was Grace who lifted Tom out of the mud and the tunnels and the blood. Then Polly would roll her eyes while sipping her whiskey and Ada would remind her that she’d already said she didn’t want to talk about love while she fills her glass back to the top again. Back to the top, Ada thinks and swirls the contents of her glass. Tommy’s always trying to get back to the top. Top of the business. Top of the family. Top of the earth and tunnels and mud and fucking everything else he was before he was buried in France.

“What if you don’t get back?” She finds herself asking him one evening after too much wine and too many cigarettes and then a few more whiskeys to remind herself why the wine was too much.

“Back where?” He says after a pause to light his cigarette and he stares. His eyes catch the light of his flame and the gold of his whiskey, and for one moment, for one short, tiny, little fucking moment, he appears as a man. Just a man with his vices.

“I don’t know, Tommy. Wherever it is you need to get back to.”

Thomas puts out his cigarette with force; it’s his favorite thing to do when he doesn’t like the direction of a conversation. When it feels out of his control. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Thorne,” he says and his contempt rolls off his tongue into her ears. She’s not Ada tonight. She’s a stranger sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. And if she wasn’t so angry at being shut out, she might revel in the idea that she understands him again. That he’s back to speaking words and not writing them.

“What I mean is, Mr. Shelby,” she spits, “will it be worth it? All this? All you’ve done?” Ada watches the questions roll off Tommy’s face as he reaches for his cigarettes again. He slips one between his lips with an upward tilt of his mouth; it’s the sorta expression he wears when he finds things funny.

“I don’t know, Ms. Shelby.” So she’s back to being a Shelby now. Tommy always did like it when she fought back. That’s our Ada, he’d say when she’d come home with her bloody lips from her scraps by the cut. What poor soul crossed you today, he’d joke as if he didn’t know the reason for her bruises. As if they could pretend in that one childish moment that they weren’t scum. The lowest of the low. Poor and Gypsy and fatherless and motherless. Our Ada, he’d say as if they didn’t all spend every fucking second of their lives outside their home fighting because the world picked the fight first. “Is it worth it?” Tommy muses while he lights the tip of his smoke and stands. “You tell me,” he says and walks to the cabinet to pour himself another drink. “Those furs, that wine, your home in London. Is it worth it, Ada?”

“I’m not talking about me, Thomas,” she says angrily while sloshing some whiskey from her glass. She wasn’t expecting him to ease back into his gentle threats as soon as he began speaking again. But that’s her fault. Tommy’s a cornered beast. She knows that. Grief can make an animal still but it’ll never defang it.

“And what are you talking about, eh?” He asks louder than her outburst without turning away from his liquor cabinet. “You talking about business?”

“Fuck the business, Tom! For fucks sake!” She yells. “When was the last time you saw Charlie? You spend ten minutes with him every morning and night, that’s it,” Ada takes a pause to sigh and sip her drink. Tommy won’t look at her. He sinks his head down to rest by his glass. “He asks for you, Tom. And that’s so important right now, that he’s asking for you.” He raises his head to down his whiskey. She’s pissed him off; she can tell by the slam of his glass and the jerky motion of him refilling it. She’s too close to saying what Tommy won’t allow to be said. Grace may be dead, but God help you if you acknowledge it.

“And what does it matter to you? Eh?” He stalks towards her and points, his full glass held in front of him as if it were a bayonet at the end of his loaded words. “What is it you fucking want, Ada?” The hardness of his face makes her tense more than his volume. And then she understands his words and they pierce her skin like little needles all over. The words travel up her veins and through her blood. There it is, she thinks. The fucking rot. That he really believes this to be a transaction. That Ada would ever use his pain like that. “Please fucking tell me,” he continues, “so’s I can give it to you and you can get out of my FUCKING HOUSE.”

“I’m here because you asked me to watch your son while you were away, you fucking asshole!” She’s had too much whiskey to handle Tommy unhinged. She’ll just make it worse, she knows that. She should stop talking, go to bed, but she’s so angry and it’s that fucking infection. That rot spreading out through her heart. Tommy’s a curse, she thinks. “I tell you there’s a child up there asking for his father and the first thing you think is ‘what’s my angle?’ It’s love, Tommy. And children need it.”

“Don’t fucking tell me how to raise my son, Ada.” He lowers himself down with his words and she finds herself inches from Tommy’s wide-eyed rage. “I love him,” he says, “And I would do fucking anything for him so don’t fuckin’ talk to me about love.”

Now she needs to be quiet. Tom’s one of those wire-trapped rooms he talks about from France. And right now, in this exact moment, he’s handed her the wire cutters. Ada knows to stay still in these situations but the whiskey, or maybe it’s the wine, makes her clumsy.

“She’d want you to spend time with him,” she says and she can see the explosion in his eyes before he turns and throws his glass at the wall. She found the fucking grenade alright. Tripped right over it. He grabs her chin with his now free hand and Ada thinks about the days when he just wrote fucking lists. How could she be so naive as to think talking with him was better?

“She’d want a lot of things, Ada, so many fucking things. And the first thing she’d want would be to not be fuckin’ dead.” She’s aware of the pressure from Tom’s fingers but it doesn’t bother her as much as the difference between Tommy’s face and his voice. He’s so pale and still with his wet and red-rimmed eyes. He barely moves his lips while speaking and he looks hollow. Looks dead. But his voice shakes over every word, every syllable. She can feel the grief and anger settle between the centimeters that separate their faces. He’s losing to it. Or maybe he lost long ago and she never wanted to admit it. Tommy tightens his grip on her. “So don’t sit in my fuckin’ house, drinking my fuckin’ whiskey and tell me what Grace would want.” The second he spits out the words, he pushes her face back and lets go of her chin, but it takes days for Ada to forgot the feeling of his fingers digging into her jaw.

There’s so much to do in London and Ada needs to feel alive. Being surround by death her whole life, she thinks she deserves it. And todays version of life is in a pub with a man and lots and lots of gin. He’s a foreigner, an American, which is better for her since he doesn’t know what her last name means.

“Your drink, Ms. Shelby,” the barkeep says while setting her gin and tonic in front of her. He spares the American a nod and moves on.

“He didn’t ask you to pay,” notes the yet unnamed man.

“Got a tab,” Ada shrugs. “But more importantly, have you got a room?” The American returns her flirtatious smile.

“Of course,” he says,”Would you like to see it?”

The act is enjoyable enough and the American, named Frank she’d learned, is a generous lover, but once it’s done, she just wants to be home. Take a bath, have some tea, maybe read a little and then go to bed. She tells herself it’s late, and it is, but she knows that’s not why she wants to go. Poor Ada, she thinks. Wants so bad to feel alive but gets tired of it after only four hours.

“I’m here until Thursday,” says Frank. “Will I see you again?”

“Doubt it,” Ada says while fixing her stockings, “But you’re a good man. You’ll be alright.”

She turns the key to her door and steps into her home already warmed by a fire. She hadn’t done that. Cautious now and wishing she’d let Arthur give her that gun Monday, she sets her purse on the table near the door. For’s protection, he’d tried to tell her. Just in case, but ya don’t need to worry, Ada. We got men out there, he’d said, we’ll keep ya safe. Safe, she thinks now as she creeps down her hallway. She’ll never be fucking safe, not with family like hers. Not with her last name - either of them.

“Whose there?” She calls out before she gets closer to the drawing room.

“Hello to you too, Ada,” comes Tom’s reply. He stands by the fireplace, a glass of Ada’s whiskey already in his hands and a smoke hanging from his stern-set lips.

“Fucking Christ, Tommy,” she snaps while pulling off her gloves and tossing them onto the chair. “I locked the door. You said there weren’t anymore spare keys.”

“I lied,” he says, “Where’s Karl?”

“With Pol, but you already knew that seeing as how you know everything.” She hasn’t spoken to Tommy since she set off the bomb back at his place. That was almost three weeks ago.

“I know you wouldn’t take the gun from Arthur,” he says after a sip of his drink. Ada walks over to pour one for herself and snatches the offered cigarette from Tommy’s outstretched hand. “It makes me uneasy, Ada,” he continues, “You out there, unarmed.” He motions towards the outside with his drink.

“He says you’ve got men watching the house.” She stops to drink and smoke.

“We do,” he agrees and clears his throat, “But it still makes me uneasy.”

“Imagine that,” she scoffs, “Thomas fuckin’ Shelby, uneasy.” She turns from him to sit on the couch. She’s too tired for this. To decipher the meaning behind his words.

“Yeah,” he nods, “It makes me uneasy. You walking around unarmed, meeting with foreigners, going back to their hotels.” So that’s what this is, she thinks. He’s not uneasy. He’s mad. But Ada’s mad too. Fucking enraged, actually. The audacity of Tommy, thinking he can come into her home and wait up for her like she’s some fucking child who snuck out the house.

“Why don’t you just say what it is you want to say, Tommy,” she says. “Because if it wasn’t a foreigner, it be some man from London, or some poor soul from Birmingham. Or maybe it’s that I was out at pub? You think that improper now, is that it?”

“You usually stay out this late, Ada?” He asks without answering any of her questions.

“No,” she bites out. He nods and turns from the fireplace to sit in the chair across from her. He sets his drink on the table between them and leans back in his seat. So self assured. So fucking full of himself in her home at two in the fuckin’ morning. She hates him and with that hatred she feels the heat of that festering rot closing in around her heart, making its beats wild and bucking like a untamed stallion chained in her chest.

“That’s good,” he says. “Good it’s not a habit for you to be stepping out with American men named Frank until two in the morning.”

“Oh my god,” she sighs while she hangs her head low into her hands. “He’s not important, Tom. He’s here on holiday. He doesn’t know shit.”

“I know,” he says after a pause and sip. “I know a lot about Frank as it is. I know he arrived Sunday. He’s leaving Thursday. And he’s got a room down at the Richmond.” He stops to clear his throat and put out his cigarette. “He’s a banker,” he continues, “Works with Fryman’s Investors. Divorced. His ex-wife lives in Vienna with her bohemian lover. The bohemian’s a painter.” She can feel him watching her. Seeing if she’ll react to his words. She doesn’t want to look up. To see the smug expression he’s wearing. She’s so fucking tired, so fucking tired of this. And of him.

“I can do what I want, Tom,” she says, “I can see who I want, and I can fuck who I want.”

“Can you?”

She jerks her head up at his question. “Yeah, I fuckin’ can,” she says while staring into his cloudy blue eyes. If their not clear, his eyes that is, it means he’s drunker than he acts. Damn the Shelby men and their fucking alcohol tolerance. How long had he been drinking her whiskey waiting for her to get home? “So is that it, then? Are we done now? Can I go to bed like I wanted to when I got back to my fucking house?” She finishes her words with the last of the whiskey in her in glass. Tommy shifts in his seat to bring out his cigarette holder and lighter before he stands and grabs the whiskey off the mantle. He fills his glass, then Ada’s, and he sits back down while straightening out his jacket like a fucking king.

“No, we’re not done,” he says and lights up a smoke. “There’s some business.”

“I don’t give a fuck about business, Tom!” She snaps. “I want to go to bed.”

“There’s some business that you need to know about,” he continues as if she never spoke. “It’ll affect the family, and that includes you, no matter how much you fight it.” He points at her with his cigarette. “So from now, stay away from London pubs. Stay away from foreigners. And get back home before ten.”

“I’m not a child, Tommy.”

“Yeah?” He says sharply as he leans forward, “Then stop fuckin’ acting like one.”

She wants to cry. Not because what he says hurts; that doesn’t matter anymore. Ada wants to cry because she’s not allowed to have anything. Her home? That’s Tommy’s and the endless supply of spare keys he seems to have is proof enough of that. Her whiskey? Paid for by the Shelby Brothers Limited. Her time? Well, there’s a curfew in effect for that and watchdogs to enforce it. And now, her body. The last bit of herself she foolishly thought she owned. Tommy’ll decide who she can give it to, and if she’s being honest with herself, although honesty has always hurt Ada, she’s never really believed it belonged to her anyway. His grip on her heart tightens and tightens and tightens until the stallion bucking away inside her breaks under his slip lead. Tommy’s always had a way with horses and apparently that extends to the fucking metaphorical one she invented to justify the wild beats in her chest.

“It’s not fair,” she says, “It’s not right. You can’t control people like this, Tom. You just can’t.”

“Everyone else is following the same rules, Ada.” He breathes out smoke with his words. “And they don’t seem to have a problem following them.”

“Because who can say no to Thomas Shelby?” She shakes her head, and downs her whiskey, and reaches for another cigarette. She needs something in her hands or she’ll be tempted to lay them on Tommy. To make him feel every blow to her ego he’s ever dealt.

“No, because when I tell them to do something,” he says, “They know it’s for their own good. They know it’s for a good fucking reason.” He leans over to fill her glass again. From her bottle. Sitting in her chair and still ruling over every aspect of her small, little life.

“A good reason? Yeah, I bet you’re just fuckin’ full of them, Tommy.”

“Ada.”

“Fuck off, Tom!” She says loudly and drunkenly. If he keeps pushing her, she’ll let go. Just let the gin and the whiskey do the talking. God, how she wishes she would. Someone has too. Someone has to fucking stop him before he breaks everything. Before he breaks her. “I have to be up early,” She says, “I have to get Karl from Polly in the morning. Just let me go to bed, Tommy, please.” It’s the alcohol in her that lets slip the please. She’d never beg sober.

“Alright,” he says as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s alright, Ada. We’ll talk again. Soon.” She doesn’t follow him to the door. She just waits to her the click of the lock before she lets loose her tears.

II.

The restrictions are lifted soon enough when the business is resolved, but Ada can’t stop thinking about it; the chokehold she felt that night. She can’t stay here. She’ll go raving fuckin’ mad. She tries to remember herself. The woman who fell in love with Freddie Thorne. The woman who stood in no-man’s land between two of the stupidest groups of men she’d ever witnessed. Where’d she gone? Ada begins looking for her. In her lipsticks. In her perfumes. In her silk robes. Where could she be, the old Ada? She doesn’t allow herself to consider the worst; that the old Ada died. Succumbed to the infection called Thomas Shelby. She hears Karl waking in the other room and she stands from her kitchen table, silk flowing behind her as she walks through the cold hall towards her son. Sometimes, she feels afraid to love him. Karl’s all she has that’s rightfully hers. And if she acknowledges it, if she makes her claim, she knows Tommy’ll make his. He’s part of the family, Ada, she can already hear him saying it. Ada opens the door to Karl’s bedroom, and her son turns his beautiful, little face towards his mother.

“Good morning, my love,” she says softly and crosses the room to sit on his bed. She smoothes the soft hairs of his head and leans in to kiss his temple. Thomas will never have her son, she thinks with her lips pressed against Karl’s skin. She pulls back and smiles with wet eyes. “Let’s get you some breakfast, yeah?” she says while prodding the boy from his bed. Her son’s a Thorne, not a fucking Shelby, and if Tom ever tries to take Karl from her then God help him. She’ll take his fucking eyes. And it’s with that thought she realizes she knows where to look for the old Ada.

Of course, she still lets Karl see his cousins. It’d be cruel to deny the children like that. Kids are kept far away from the business anyway and that’s all the interaction Tommy gives Ada nowadays. So she gets confused when Tom stays sitting after she gives the name of the Bolshevik agitator. Then he mentions the position in Boston and while he describes it, she knows that he knows how fucking scared she is. And being the gracious man he is, he offers a different continent and a whole fucking ocean to protect her son from him. She knows it’s the closest she’ll ever get to a promise from Tom. Her son’s a Thorne, would say the ocean separating them from him. It’s also the closest she’ll get to acknowledgment from Tommy about his treatment towards her. It means he knows about the slip lead, the infection, and the fucking rot she’s tried so hard to keep hidden. Thomas fucking Shelby knows everything and still nothing matters to him.

She gets closer to Lizzie then she ever thought she would. Ada tries hard to not judge others, but Lizzie’s reputation had stood between them so long that she forgot. And it’s not until late one evening at the Shelby Brothers Limited almost four hours after close that Ada realizes she thinks of Lizzie as a friend. She watches the tall, dark haired beauty pour herself a drink and she sees the tired lines running through Lizzie’s face and the way her body struggles to keep her hand from shaking while she pours.

“You alright there, Lizzie?” Ada asks.

“Yeah,” Lizzie chuckles, “I’m alright.” Ada knows that line. Says it herself about five times a week.

“Is it Tom then?”

Lizzie chokes on her drink but Ada can tell it’s a laugh. “Is it that obvious?” Lizzie asks while wiping her mouth. “Of course it is,” she continues, “It’s fuckin’ stamped on my forehead.” She walks back over to where Ada sits and sinks into the chair next to her. “It’s my fault, really,” she says and takes the cigarette offered to her from Ada. “You know, I thought,” she pauses to light her smoke, “Working here, getting paid as secretary and not a whore. I thought it’d make me feel better. So it’s funny, really, how much worse I feel.”

Ada wants to tell Lizzie that she’s not a whore. Not anymore. But she can’t. The words get choked up in her throat and make her want to gag. Because they’re not true, are they? And Lizzie’s past might make it easier for the reformed street-walker to accept Tommy’s treatment. To take his words and actions as the paid wounds they are. And maybe that’s what Ada hates most about him. That he makes her, his sister, feel like a common fucking whore. Every bit of her up for sale.

“Well, you know Tom,” Ada says as she stands and pours herself another glass of whiskey. She holds the bottle out for Lizzie and the beauty leans forward to take it from her hands. “Everything has its price,” she says with a swig from her drink, “And God knows he’s got the money to pay for it.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Lizzie says while holding out her glass with a shake of her head. Ada clinks the glasses together and smiles.

“You’re not alone,” she says softly, “Not anymore.”

“It was simpler when he just wanted to fuck,” Lizzie muses then she looks up at Ada with a slight blush. “Sorry,” she continues, “I know he’s your brother.”

“Me? Related to Thomas Shelby?” Ada asks. “That’ll be the fuckin’ day.” She finishes the brown liquor in her glass and puts out of her smoke. Then she considers Lizzie’s words and she finds herself asking a question before she’s had time to think about asking it. “He doesn’t fuck you?”

Lizzie stops mid-sip to bring her eyes back from their distance and look to Ada. She swallows and sets her glass on the desk in front of them. “No,” she says, “Tom’s been seeking other women these days. Never the same one. Never more than once.” Ada nods as if the information fits into some sorta puzzle she didn’t know she was solving. “They all look the same though,” Lizzie continues, “And I don’t say it meanly, but they all look the fuckin’ same.”

“Like Grace?” Ada asks as she grabs another cigarette and lights it.

“No,” Lizzie says as she pours herself more whiskey. She caps the bottle and pushes it away from her. “No, Ada,” she sighs, “Not like her. None of them look like Grace.”

Ada tucks her conversation with Lizzie away into the cobwebbed corners of her mind. Then she forgets about it and it stays tucked away there for all of about three weeks until she goes to visit John and Esme. It’s a lively household. Makes makes her home feel haunted by comparison. If it’s not the children, running around and yelling at the top of their lungs, it’s Esme and John themselves screaming. And for all the yelling and noise that can be heard at their home, she knows it’s a happy one. They both have tempers, she won’t lie about that, and they both have too much pride. Ada’s been between enough fights of theirs to know that. But they love each other. And she bets Thomas didn’t see that coming when he forced them to get married. But isn’t love always Tommy’s weakness? She sits in the parlor of John’s home and listens to Esme loudly tell him that she didn’t want company tonight. That’s fine, thinks Ada. She doesn’t want to be here either. But Shelby business can’t wait, can it?

“Did you want some tea?” Esme asks with narrowed eyes as she sits herself across from Ada.

“No,” she answers as she takes off her gloves. “But I’ll have some whiskey if you’re pouring.”

“We’re always fuckin’ pourin’ round here,” Esme mutters as she grabs two glasses and a bottle off the mantle. “John’ll be down soon.”

“Okay,” Ada nods as she looks around and then she feels compelled to add, “It’s not just John, you know? Who I’m here to see.”

“Sorry for not jumpin’ for joy at seeing Tommy’s favorite lapdog,” Esme says as she takes a healthy gulp from her glass. Ada sighs and drinks her whiskey. She used to be close with Esme. She’s not really sure where the relationship went sour, but it probably has something to do with the rot. Ada’s missed a lot of things trying to fight the infection. At least the Gypsy will still drink in her presence. “So what were you doing there then?” Esme asks.

“Doing what where?” Ada says and fishes her cigarette holder out of her pocket.

“At the Ritz,” Esme continues, “My cousin says she saw you. Walkin’ arm in arm with Thomas after midnight.”

“I haven’t been to the fuckin’ Ritz,” Ada says. “Tell you cousin to get some fuckin’ glasses, yeah?”

Esme shrugs as if her earlier words didn’t mean anything. “I’m just tellin’ you,” she says, “So’s you can be more cautious in the future. Eyes out there everywhere.” Ada stops before she lights her smoke. She doesn’t understand.

“I’m not lying,” is the only thing Ada can think to say. “I wasn’t at the Ritz.” John walks into the room as she finishes her sentence.

“Fuckin’ hell, Esme,” he says as he grabs a glass from above the fireplace and walks towards the bottle on the table. “I told you it wasn’t Ada,”

“Right,” his wife agrees, “And now I asked her myself so I believe you. Both of you.” Esme stands and finishes her drink. “I trust my ‘usband to tell me whatever it is you got to say so I’ll be leavin’ now.”

“Yeah, fuck off,” John calls over his shoulder as he pours himself a whiskey. “Fuckin’ hell,’’ he mutters.

“Still in the honeymoon period, eh, John?” Ada can’t help but tease.

“Fuckin’ honeymoons,” he says while shaking his head. “You know, we haven’t taken it yet? Our fuckin’ honeymoon. And every time I ask her where she wants to go, she says she wants to go the fuckin’ pastures. Like I want a honeymoon spent in horse shit. Can stay in Small Heath for that.” He tips the contents of his glass down his throat and turns towards Ada. “So what’s he got to say then?” He slams his glass on the table and wipes his mouth. “Another fuckin’ list?” John asks as he holds out his hand.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “It’s another fucking list.” Ada shifts in her seat to bring out the folded piece of paper from her pocket for John.

“Great,” he says as he snatches it from her hand. “I was startin’ to worry, you know? Hadn’t gotten one in the last eight fuckin’ hours.”

“He’s trying his best, John,” and even Ada doesn’t believe the words she says.

“Yeah, I know,” John says as he swipes at his nose. She figures their sibling bond is the only thing that stops him from pushing the lie. He pulls a cigarette out his pocket and sits in the chair Esme left empty. “I believe you,” he offers as he lights his smoke and for one moment Ada thinks John might be stupid. “That it wasn’t you at the Ritz, that is,” he continues, “Not the other fuckin’ thing.” He motions towards Tommy’s list with his words. There it is, Ada smiles to herself. You can’t bullshit John and it’s good to know that hasn’t changed. He reaches for the bottle to pour another drink and sinks back into his chair with his full glass. He looks beyond strained. More like defeated. Not that it’s unexpected given the circumstances, but John’s usually faster to bounce back from Tommy’s callousness. But it’s been going on for nearly four months now so she can’t really blame him. His vest is crumpled under his jacket and it brings out the little boy hiding in his features. Ada knows if Arthur saw him like this, he’d slap his back. Come on now, he’d say. Things to do, Johnboy, ya know how it is. But it shouldn’t be like that, should it? It’s wrong, what Tommy asks of his family. Our Johnboy, she thinks and puts out her cigarette. Boy is right; he’s got too much youth left to let Tommy beat it out of him like this.

“But she did look like you,” he says and his words spark that tucked away memory of her conversation with Lizzie. “And it’s not the first time it’s happened.” He looks to the side as he speaks and lights the almost forgotten cigarette in his hand. “I wasn’t gonna say nothin’ but Esme.” He stops and sniffs before he gulps half the whiskey in his glass. “Well, she’s little rough, I know,” he continues, “but she’s a good woman.” John stops again with a sigh. He shifts in his seat and takes a long drag from his smoke as if he needs to consider his words carefully. As if what he’s got to say is something Ada won’t want to hear and he’s need to figure out how to frame it first. God bless him, she thinks. John may be able to see through bullshit, but he sure as hell can’t hide his. “It worries her,” he says, “that’s all,” and that he ends up on those words after all his seemingly careful deliberation bothers her. How odd. How honest. How like her Johnboy. Ada doesn’t know what to say so she drinks instead.

Regardless of her current standing with Esme, Ada respects her. The woman has intuition and the backbone to defend it. Esme reminds her of Polly sometimes and she wonders if that’s how Pol might’ve been while young. Headstrong, loud, and drunk, but full of the world’s secrets. Ada sits by Polly’s desk at the Shelby Brothers Limited late one evening and watches the older woman write in shorthand, her pen moving like wildfire across the paper.

“What?” Asks Polly.

“Nothing,” Ada shrugs. Pol stops writing and looks up at her. “Really, it’s nothing, Pol,” Ada says. The older woman stares at her a moment too long before she looks back down at her paper and begins her furious writing again.

“Sure,” Polly says, “It’s always nothing, isn’t it?” Ada rolls her eyes at Polly’s words. “This whole family is full of nothing.”

“Don’t take your anger out on me, Pol,” she sighs. “Whatever he’s done now, it’s not my fault.”

“Who said anything about me being angry?” The older woman snaps as she slams down her pen. “And why should I be angry? It’s doesn’t have anything to do with me. Nothing does, nowadays.” She opens her cigarette case and pulls out a long, black smoke before tapping it on the desk. Polly lights her smoke while narrowing her eyes at the flame then flicks the smoldering match to the ashtray. “So you’ve thought about Boston?”

“Yeah,” Ada says after a pause to light her own cigarette, “I think it’ll be good.”

“It’ll be a lotta work,” says Pol, “But that might be what you need right now. God knows a bored Shelby is a curse on the world.” Ada thinks about reminding Polly that she’s a Thorne now, but the words take too much effort so she lets them stay resting under her tongue. Her Aunt has her eyes closed with her head leaned back against the top of the chair. If Ada’s going to ask what she wants to, what she came here to ask, it should be now. While Pol is resting and unawares.

“Has Esme talked with you?” Ada asks.

“Oh god, why?” Asks Polly as she sits up straight in her chair and puts out her cigarette. “It’s not the count, is it?” she continues while standing and turning towards the back room containing the safe. “I swear, the women these boys bring into our home.”

“No,” Ada says before Pol can leave the room. “It wouldn’t be about business.”

Polly stops with her back facing Ada. “Should we have a drink?” She asks while turning towards the draw hiding the always present bottle. “Feels like this is a conversation where we’ll want one.” She pours two glasses of whiskey without waiting for Ada’s reply. Then the older woman walks back to her desk and holds out the glass for her niece before sitting back down. “So what would this talk with Esme be about?” Polly asks after a sip.

“Well, if you haven’t had it yet, you can’t tell me, can you?” Says Ada.

“I thought I was asking you,” says Pol as she slips out another black cigarette to sit between between her lips and then lights it. She sits quietly with her eyes focused in the distance and Ada can see her mind running through all the possibilities. “What’d John do this time?” Polly finally asks.

“Nothing,” Ada chuckles, “At least not yet, anyway.”

“Right, so it’s not about business and it’s not about John,” Polly muses and traces her fingers over her lips. Running more scenarios, Ada thinks to herself with a smile. Then her eyes shift back to Ada’s and Pol drops her hand from her face while setting her glass down on the desk. “Is it Tom?”

Just as Ada is about to nod, she sees a figure in the corner of her eye, watching them both from the doorway; an ember at the tip of his smoke illuminates the face in the dark. “Tommy! Christ!” Ada cries.

“Oh god, is it that bad?” Polly asks while seemingly unaware that the topic of their conversation stands behind her in the doorway. As if his name somehow summoned him like devil he is. He moves silently into the room like a fucking ghost.

“Hello, Pol,” he says but his eyes stay steady on Ada. Polly gasps and puts her hand to her chest.

“Oh fuck,” she sighs and moves her hand from her chest up to her temple. “Lost about five years just now and I don’t have them to lose, I’ll have you know.”

“Have I interrupted something?” He asks as he sits in the empty chair next to Polly and across from Ada. His sister drinks from her whiskey and looks away from Tom’s eyes.

“You did,” says Polly, “but when have you ever cared?” She stamps out her smoke with her words. “So what are you doing here?” She continues. “Arthur said you wouldn’t be in until noon tomorrow.”

“Arthur doesn’t know everything, Pol,” Tommy says and Ada stands to refill her glass. “I’ll have one,” he adds and clears his throat. Ada looks up at the ceiling willing God to give her the strength she needs not to throw the bottle at Tommy’s head before she grabs another glass and fills it. She sets the bottle down harder then she means to and Tom raises his eyebrow at the sound.

“Sorry,” says Ada and hands him his drink before sitting back in her seat.

Polly shifts her eyes back and forth between the two siblings. “Right,” she says, and Ada knows her aunt’s trying to read the unspoken in the room. Well good fucking luck, Ada thinks. Lately, even she doesn’t know what Tommy’s not saying.

“Well, continue your conversation then,” he says before he takes a sip of his drink and fixes his jacket. “What does Esme need to talk with you about?”

“I don’t know,” replies Polly. Ada can feel the older woman carefully measuring out her words. “We’ve only just established it’s not about business, John, or you,” she continues.

“You’ve established that, have you?” Tom asks while staring at Ada. Her pulse quickens under his eyes and she reaches for another cigarette. “I wonder what it could be then,” he continues, “Sounded important, from the way Ada said it.”

Ada’s heart leaps an entire beat and she takes a gulp of her drink. He’d heard her. He’d heard the whole fucking thing. Does he already know? Did John tell him? It doesn’t seem like something John would share with Tommy, but maybe he didn’t have to. Tom’s smart. He could figure it out on his own. Then Ada has a thought and she feels herself grow cold as she considers it. What if he hasn’t been trying to hide it? She replays John’s words now. But she did look like you, he’d said, and it’s not the first time it’s happened. Jesus Christ. The whiskey in her stomach makes a jump for her throat but Ada catches it with a small gulp of air.

“You alright, Ada?” Tommy asks and she nods as she leans forward to light her cigarette off his offered flame. She’s thankful she didn’t have to light it herself or else the shaking of her hand would have been made clear.

“It’s just women’s talk, Tom,” Ada says while avoiding his eyes and leaning back in her chair. “It wouldn’t interest you.”

“This is an equal opportunity enterprise, as you both know,” he says. “What makes you think I’m not interested?”

“She just wants to Pol to do her gypsy witchcraft,” Ada says while pointing at Polly with her smoke and she feels her aunt watching her as she speaks. “Tell her the sex of the baby and other mystical unknowns.” Please God, catch on Aunt Pol, Ada thinks. She can’t calm the beats of her heart, not with the infection so close, so hot and burning.

“Of course she does,” Polly says firmly. “Who else would she go to? Doctors?” She laughs with her words and her laughter soothes a bit of Ada’s heart. Her Aunt Polly is such a clever woman. “Those men in white coats wouldn’t recognize a woman’s body if it wasn’t stretched out beneath them.” And even Tommy cracks a smile at Polly’s words.

“I’m here for the ledgers,” he says in answer to Polly’s question asked long ago and puts out his cigarette. Polly nods and gathers the stack together. “I want to look over them before my meeting in the morning,” he says after finishing the whiskey in his glass. He stands and accepts the books that Pol holds out for him. “You leaving, Ada?” He continues while towering over his sister. “I’ll give you ride.”

“I’ll just get a cab, Tom.”

“It’s safer,” he says, “riding with me. Come on, let’s go.” He walks towards the door and holds it open without waiting for her reply. Polly watches Ada with wide eyes as her niece stuffs her cigarettes back into her purse and stands. Her clever Aunt, Ada finds herself thinking again. Of course Polly’s worried too. How could she not be when Tom doesn’t even try to disguise it?

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders fanfic #Ada Thorne #Ada Shelby #Thomas Shelby #Sibling relationship #Gaslighting #Manipulation #Emotional abuse #Incest if you squint

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cee693 · 4 years

Text

Give us bread, Give us salt, Give us wine.

Cee693

@allaboutmybucks: Barry and Iris spending time together before impending Crisis. I think I'll make this request a two-parter with the next one being a tiny bit less angsty.

In the end, the true state of their feelings wouldn’t be found in in the grand gestures. It wasn't in the breakfasts that had started overflowing with his favorite foods since he’d returned from Earth-3. It wasn't in the luxurious trips around the world. Trips that had them both ignoring the fact that most of the places they went to were from a list they’d compiled two years ago as an Anniversary Bucket List.

It wasn't in the proclamations and declarations of undying love.

It was in the little things.

It was in the touches, the hand holding that was a bit too tight. A goodbye kiss that was a second too long. It was in Barry’s breath catching when some budget forms arrived on his desk at work. He was supposed to fill in his request for the next fiscal year. Which began December 10th, 2019.

It was in Iris hitting ‘unsubscribe’ after receiving her routine alert from her pharmacy to go in for her next three-month supply of birth control pills.

It was in Barry getting into the habit of putting on their record player and getting Iris to dance around the kitchen with him while he cooked them dinner.

It wasn’t something he normally did. They’d danced around their kitchen more times than they could count, but it was usually after dinner or in a spontaneous burst in the day.

Mostly, because Barry was mindful of keeping his wife away from any open flames or boiling pots.

Iris’s track record in the kitchen was… not great. That’s why Barry tried to always have dinner ready to go after work so there was no chance of her getting involved.

But, that week, Iris had come home from work and greeted Barry over the blare of the upbeat record spinning and he hurried to kiss her before twirling her in his arms and sliding her into his work space.

The first time it happened they'd laughed so hard and danced for so long, Iris had to tag in and help him finish cooking so that they could eat before midnight.

The following night, Iris came home to the same sight: Barry happy and singing to music. This time with a bottle of wine chilled and ready for her. Iris kissed him soundly because that glass was exactly what she needed after the day she had.

Unfortunately, their bottle opener was mysteriously vanished so Barry asked her season and baste the roast he had in the oven while he ran out and got a new one.

By the time he returned (suspiciously long for a speedster), dinner was finished and ready to be served.

The next few days were the same and the two of them settled into a nice little routine of cooking and dancing.

Iris didn’t know what brought on Barry’s sudden good mood, but she didn’t question it. She loved seeing Barry like this: all care-free and happy.

Since his trip to Earth-3, Barry took care to carve out time, just the two of them, but she really appreciated that this last week there was no sense of dread in their time together only joy.

And the fact that he was like this with an apron on, sleeves rolled up his forearms as he snuck her bites of food was also incredibly sexy.

She couldn’t resist one night pressing up against him and kissing him sensually. She meant for it to be a quick kiss, but Barry had her up on the counter in seconds.

“Wait,” she pulled back after several minutes of being carried away. “The food's gonna burn.”

Barry shook his head and kissed her again. “Chicken's still marinating. Trick is to add baking soda and let it sit. It tenderizes the meat." Of course he said that last part with extreme innuendo as he kissed the side of her neck.

She liked it when he talked food. As much as she called him a nerd, anytime he flexed his intelligence, it was a huge turn-on for her.

She said as much another night when he swayed them in time to Nat King Cole right in front of the oven. Iris mentioned that the warmth coming from it was divine and Barry whispered that the 375° was just about the perfect temperature for anything.

To Barry’s credit, it took her almost two weeks to realize what he was doing.

And at first it stopped her in her tracks and knocked the air from her lungs.

She’d gotten home from work early and had just texted Barry to let him know when the lightbulb just randomly went off.

She went over the last two weeks of dinnertime in her head and when her suspicion was confirmed she locked herself in her office and cried until the sun went down.

By the time Barry came home, she pulled herself together and dried her eyes, but she resolved to not step foot out her office until tonight’s meal was on the table ready to be eaten.

Iris heard the front door open and close, then the shower run for a few seconds before she heard him back in the kitchen rumbling around.

When Billie Holiday began wafting through the loft, Iris correctly anticipated Barry coming to her.

He knocked on her door and she sluggishly got up to let him in.

"Hey," Barry greeted happily as he entered her office. He leaned down and kissed her sweetly. "How was your day."

"It was fine," Iris responded delicately. "How was yours?"

“Eh. Long. I missed you. I picked up some chicken and shrimp for alfredo? That sound okay?”

“Sure. That's great thank you.”

"Want to come out?” He asked.

"No."

"We could pop open that bottle of red we got from the Uco Valley. Best in the world."

"No. Sorry, I'm busy,” Iris responded, half-heartedly holding up the first magazine she touched.

Barry deflated a little. “Iris. I haven't seen you all day.”

She sighed and felt a bit bad. "I guess I can work at the dining table."

Iris grabbed her laptop and a notebook and followed Barry out to the living room. She settled at the dining table and let him get to work in the kitchen.

Of course tonight, though, Barry seemed to be having a bit of trouble in the kitchen.

"Damn it," he muttered a third time. Pots clanked and there was a definite sound of something spilling on the floor.

Still, Iris resisted the urge to take pity on him and ask him what was wrong. She knew in reality it was nothing at all.

Barry was a terrible liar, but he always gave valiant performances.

"Hey, I'm sorry,” he called out to her minutes later. “I know you're busy but could you help me grab the cream in the fridge? My hands are full."

If she wasn’t so angry, Iris would have been a little disappointed that that was the best he could come up with. She thinks for that lie to be believable she's supposed to pretend that he's not the fastest man alive.

She sighed and stood up. "How much cream?"

Barry nodded to the ipad on the counter. "Recipe's over there."

Iris scowled a bit and peeked at the tablet before she went to the fridge and checked. "We're all out."

"Oh really?" Barry exclaimed, voice higher than normal. “Darn.”

Iris stifled an eye-roll at the bad acting.

"Well, we could make a substitute for cream. Could you grab some milk and some butter? Just measure out a fourth of butter and three-

Iris huffed in frustration and slammed the fridge door.

"-I know what you're doing, so just stop it," she demanded.

Barry blinked and halted his chopping. "What?"

"I know what you've been doing, Barry," she repeated. "Putting out music and wine and finding any way to pull me into the kitchen. Pretending that you can't literally do all of this by yourself in seconds. Whispering off little culinary facts in passing."

"You've been teaching me how to cook," she accused.

"What? No, I haven't!" Barry exclaimed. He tried to sound confused and offended, but he was turning really red.

"Yes, you have!" she fumed.

Tears pricked her eyes. "Why though? Do you want to make sure I don't burn the loft down when you're not around to cook anymore?"

Her voice broke and she looked down, trying hard not to break again. "Is this your way of trying to prepare me for a life of dinners alone?"

Barry put down his knife and turned off the stove. He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"I just … I'm sorry. I just wanted to give you some pointers that I knew you would remember," he admitted guiltily.

Iris's chin quivered. "You manipulated me."

"I'm sorry," he said again sincerely.

"I knew you wouldn't want to learn if I told you why."

"Yeah, well you're right about that," Iris sniffed, upset. She went to the dining table to pack up her stuff.

"Iris, wait. Please. I just don't know what to do anymore," he told her desperately. "I'm just at a dead end."

Iris whipped around and glared at him for his very poor choice of words.

Barry sighed, frustrated with himself. He tried again "I'm sorry. I am. I know that this wasn't really fair to you. I just want… I need to know that you'll be okay after Crisis. And part of that is making sure you eat."

Iris turned back around to the table.

"That's not something you can control though is it?" she asked weakly, unwilling to face the look in his eyes. Unable to face the words he was saying.

She didn't want this.

She didn't want to talk about this or think about it and she was angry this was in fact what the last few nights have been about.

Happy memories now tainted by their morbid ulterior motive. Everything in their lives touched by this death sentence.

"I don't know what else I'm supposed to do," Barry whispered tearfully. "I… I can't think of you here alone not eating, or only getting by on takeout or tv dinners for one."

Nausea flooded her stomach at the thought. But, he wasn't wrong.

That was her future.

That's what life would be without her husband. Without a child.

Just her. Here alone. No one to break bread with. No one to come home to after a long day. No one with a glass of wine or a tray of brownies waiting for her.

Just solitude.

A sob ripped through her and Barry was at her side in an instant, pulling her close and profusely apologizing.

“I'm sorry, please don't cry,” he begged. “I made a mistake.”

Iris wrestled free from him. "As much as you feel that it's not a choice to die, when you do things like this it seems like it is. It seems calculated and thought-out and it feels like a choice you're making every day.”

“I didn’t want to do this. And it’s not fair that you planned this,” she said, upset. “It's out of your hands. You've accepted what the Monitor said and you’re leaving, but please, don’t try to tie up the loose ends Crisis is leaving behind into a nice little bow.”

“Iris, that’s not-”

She swallowed nausea and just left her stuff where they were. “-I’m going to bed. You should take your time cleaning up before you come upstairs.”

Barry took the hint to give her space and he let her go.

Iris took a long hot shower before she climbed into bed completely exhausted.

It was quiet now.

Ms. Holiday’s voice had ceased.

Iris heard the vague sound of a good bit of glass crashing somewhere downstairs and she was almost grateful for the sound of Barry’s anger.

After weeks of subdued acceptance, it was refreshing to hear signs of emotion in her husband.

And then it was quiet again.

She figured it was over an hour before Barry finally trudged up the stairs and into their bedroom. He creeped by her to the bathroom and she heard him brush his teeth and change for bed.

When he slid in beside her, Iris was still clearly wide awake.

She didn't turn around and Barry didn't expect her to.

He didn’t try to talk to her and Iris didn’t expect him to.

But, his arm slid around her waist at the exact moment she reached behind her to pull him close.

Because, regardless of if they had a choice or not, these were their last days together. And they would spend every one of them side by side.

Iris rocked back and forth in her chair at the Citizen berating herself again and again.

She felt like the biggest hypocrite. She was filled with so much anger and there was no one to be blamed for it. None of this was fair.

Her husband was selfless and good. Everything he did, he did with her in mind.

Barry had done nothing wrong two nights ago.

He certainly hadn't done anything she hadn't done in the past.

She had tried that a few times. Tried to get her affairs in order. Tried to leave instructions for Barry that she knew he would need after Savitar killed her.

After Kadabra's offer went unaccepted and Barry's trip to the future came up short, Iris had bought a label maker and went to town around the apartment, putting up little reminders and facts for her fiancé. Like the Wi-Fi password he could never remember and the best times to go to the farmer's market for the sweetest peaches.

And, though she kept it tucked under her side of the mattress, she'd even began keeping a notebook marking down which of her things should be donated to which charities.

She thought she'd done a good thing.

Thought she was making the future easier for him. Until she came home from work and found all her labels torn off and ripped up and the label maker and her secret notebook dumped in the trash.

When she confronted Barry about why he'd done that, she saw that he was very, very upset, but was trying hard to reel it in.

His voice was shaking when he told her that all of that wasn't necessary. If he needed the Wi-Fi password he would just ask her. And that they'd agreed to never let him go to the farmer's market alone again after the Peony Debacle.

He didn't even acknowledge the notebook. Just demanded that she never do anything like this again. And then he left the house and only returned several hours later.

Iris never wanted to look back on those dark, dark months leading up to her supposed murder. She never wanted to revisit the fucked up headspaces she and Barry were forced into for five months. Least of all with a twisted sense of longing. But, that's where she was now.

What happened three years ago and what was happening now are two sides of the same coin, but the way they were being handled couldn't be more different.

Back then there was fire.

There was anger.

There were slammed doors and passionate declarations of resistance.

There was unwavering belief in defiance and blood oaths of protection.

No matter what loop they were thrown, Barry never lost faith that she would somehow survive. Not one single moment. Not once in five long, grueling months.

And when Iris wavered, when she wasn't so sure herself, Barry shouldered her pain and he found faith enough for the both of them.

But, that was then.

Back when there were flames. Back when there was fight.

Now? Now it's just quiet.

Just unceasingly quiet.

It had only taken Barry two days to lose all hope. To accept complete defeat. To accept death.

Two. Days.

And she was pushed to do the same.

Well, the truth was that she didn't. She didn't accept his death. She never would.

But she couldn't fight fate. So where did that leave her?

In silence.

That's all there was now.

Barry's silence was submission, but hers was seething. It was storming. With no hope for an outlet. Because the hero had already accepted demise.

The silence was deafening. It was demoralizing. And now it was made even thicker by their argument.

Iris scoffed and sat up. If she couldn’t fight the world than she would put her energy into something she could control. There were victories still to be found in the everyday. And if that’s all she could have, she’d fight like hell to claim them.

Barry sighed miserably as he cleaned up and locked down his lab for the night.

As far as he knew, there were no pressing Flash duties at Star Labs so he could just go home. But, he didn't know if he should just yet. There was a chance Iris was still at work and he didn't want to hang around the quiet apartment without her there.

And if she was home already, he was hesitant to do the awkward dance they'd been doing the last few days.

It was a blend of having stilted conversation and clinging to each other.

It was exhausting. And it wouldn't sustain them much longer, but he couldn't find their way out.

Crisis was inevitable. It was coming.

And the two of them would never agree on what needed to be done.

No matter how much she bit her tongue, Barry knew how Iris truly felt about him accepting his destiny. That's why he knew he had to lie to try and prepare her for a small part of life without him there.

And she had every right to feel the way she did.

He was in her shoes not long ago. He'd never forget the feeling of that sucking hole in your chest when you're facing the death of your soulmate.

Barry rubbed his eyes roughly. He’d go home. There was no sense in avoiding Iris. No matter what storm they were facing, it would be together.

He locked the door to his lab just as his phone vibrated. He pulled it out and saw a message from Iris.

Meet me at Jitters when you’re off..

He was out CCPD and outside of the coffeehouse in seconds.

It was late. Jitters was already closed for the night and there was no one inside. Which made him apprehensive.

Why had Iris called him here? Was something wrong? Was she alright?

He phased through the doors and looked around.

It was pitch black, save for a dim light coming from the back. “Iris? Are you in here?”

Hurried steps came from the kitchen and he sighed in relief when he saw his wife come around to the front counter.

“Oh! Hey, I wasn’t expecting you so quickly. I thought you were still at work.”

“I packed up early,” he explained coming closer. “What’s up? Everything alright?”

She looked calm and in one piece. She was drying her hands on a small towel and when he got close enough he saw that she was wearing an apron.

“What are you doing?”

“Everything’s fine,” Iris assured. “I just thought these industrial grade stoves and fire system would be a safer bet than our kitchen.”

“Safer for what?” he wondered uneasily.

“I made us dinner,” she told him simply.

“You cooked? Dinner?” Barry repeated, dumbfounded. He didn’t know what he thought this meeting was about but it definitely wasn’t that.

Now that his attention was there, though, he did smell savory richness coming from the kitchens.

Iris nodded. “Yeah.”

Barry could see that she was still somewhat- not defensive, but on guard. Cautious.

He didn’t want to question if that meant she understood where he was coming from last week just in case that wasn’t the case.

“Wow. That’s- that’s really great! I’m sure it’s great. Thank you,” he smiled softly.

Iris gestured for him to grab a seat at the counter. “I didn’t think you’d be out of work so early, so there’s still a few minutes left until the food’s ready.”

“That’s no problem at all.”

Iris studied his face before she sighed and looked down.

She reached over and grabbed the bottle of wine she’d chilled and poured them each a tall glass.

It was the bottle of red they’d gotten from Argentina. It tasted like heaven. And, though it wouldn’t have a huge effect on Barry, it helped ease the tension in both of their shoulders.

“This is perfect,” Iris moaned as the hints of berry and clove slid down her throat.

“Good choice,” Barry agreed, impressed.

“Oh!” Iris suddenly remembered. “I almost forgot.”

She hurried to the back and returned with a large platter. “Some hors d'oeuvres. I made broiled oysters.”

Barry's brows shot up. “Did you really?”

Iris shrugged. "I think I was being spiteful making something so dramatic," she admitted. "The main course isn't nearly as fancy though."

She came around the counter with the large platter and set it down between them.

Barry lifted the lid and saw that she had in fact made oysters. And they smelled and looked amazing.

"This looks incredible," he complimented with wonder.

"Try one," Iris told him.

Barry only hesitated briefly (as great as it looked, he had been on the receiving end of the adventurous side of Iris's cooking many times before) before he slid a shell off the plate and downed it.

"Holy shit, that's amazing," he exclaimed in disbelief. He looked at her excitedly. "Iris, this is amazing!"

Iris's was still a bit standoffish, but as he thanked her and tried two more oysters, her shoulders loosened and the smile on her face widened.

"Thanks," she said genuinely as she shrugged. "It was no big deal, I just followed a recipe."

By the time the oven timer went off, Iris had settled into the seat beside him and the two of them took turns polishing off the seafood.

She spent a few minutes in the kitchen this time and when she came back she was holding a very large pot. "Okay. Full disclosure, this took a few tries but I eventually got the hang of it."

She carefully put down the sizzling pan and uncovered it dramatically.

Barry was hit with the mouthwatering sight of chicken and shrimp Alfredo.

Barry grinned widely. “That’s my girl.”

“And I used butter and milk cause, funnily enough, somehow a coffeehouse was completely out of cream,” she teased.

Barry chuckled heartily and Iris joined in and soon they were laughing hard at such a simple joke, letting the tension of the week melt away.

Eventually, they gathered themselves and Barry helped Iris dish out the pasta.

She waited with bated breath as he took his first bite and smiled with relief when he told her with complete and utter seriousness that it was the best bite of food he’s ever had in his entire life.

And Barry was sure all was forgiven when she took his fork and fed him the rest of his plate, sneaking bites herself and catching up with him on her day.

By the time they took their last bites, Barry felt warm and stuffed. “That was the best meal I’ve ever had,” he said contently. “Thank you.”

“Glad you liked it,” she smiled. “I guess I can tuck that recipe away for future use.”

The mood sobered up some at the reminder of the future. Iris sighed painfully and sipped the last of her wine.

Barry gently cupped her cheek and turned her back to him. “I’m really sorry about before. You know I was just trying to help. Right?”

“I know,” Iris promised. “It’s just that this is all really hard. It’s more than it just being food, Barry.”

Tears pricked her eyes. “I know I can't cook very well. I know that. And when it was just me I really didn’t care too much to learn. But, I’ve always liked trying. For you.”

He knew that was true. Iris always cooked for them at Joe’s more out of a sense of duty to pull her weight and ease the stress on her working, single father.

She never cooked for Eddie. Never once felt the desire to. She dated him for over a year. She'd lived with him for five months. But, she only ever tried to cook for him once. He'd gotten run down with the flu and after a few days she thought maybe she ought to make him chicken noodle soup. She got as far as almost slicing her thumb clean off chopping up some carrots before she threw everything out and grabbed a takeout menu.

But, after she and Barry started dating and then especially after they got married, Iris loved cooking all sorts of meals for him. They never ended well, but Barry was an expert at making Iris think otherwise.

Barry Allen was the only man who could ever make Iris West want to spend hours huddled over a hot stove or a skillet and read over complex recipes until her eyes crossed.

“After all we’ve been through. After this life we’ve only just started together, it’s just supposed to go back to it just being me at the table?” Iris cried. “I’m just supposed to do normal, mundane things like this as if half of me isn’t gone? You’ll be gone, Barry. Who cares if the I’m living off pork rinds and gum. What the hell difference does it make?”

Barry wiped her tears before wiping his own. “You have to care, Iris. Because if you don’t it will be that much easier to lose the purpose in everything. Food will seem pointless, but then so will washing your face and pretty soon getting out of bed will be too much of a hassle. And who needs to go into work when you’re the boss? I know, I know exactly what my life would’ve been like if you weren’t there after I lost my parents. I saw what my life was like in the future after Savitar. That can’t be your life.”

He shook his head and put his hand right over her heart. “Everything I have. Everything I love is right here. The choice to keep this beating is mine. But, I won’t be here to protect it anymore. To take care of it. That’s only your choice. It’s a choice you have to make. And choosing to keep going in spite of all the pain that’s coming will be the hardest decision you’ll make. It will hurt like hell, but you have to do it. And if something as tiny as making yourself a plate of food after a harsh day is what keeps you going so you don’t collapse or shut down, then you have to do that too. You will have to take care of yourself even when it’s the last thing you’ll want to do. Especially then. I just wanted to try to find a way to help you do that.”

Iris closed her eyes, tears fell harder.

She was wrong. She was wrong before. Barry’s acceptance was full of fight.

Her husband was still full of fire.

Iris nodded. “I will. I’ll try to take care of myself. And I’ll try to stay on top of my meals. I promise.”

Iris felt the desperation ease from his grip. Felt the tension melt away in his exhale.

“Three times a day?” he asked when they separated. He hoped for a positive answer, but had no expectations.

After all this time neither of them had any illusions about the cost of grief. She knew the reality of what she could offer him.

“Once per day is going to be pretty lucky I think,” Iris told him, smiling sadly.

Barry swallowed despair at that. It was the truth. Still he tried to bargain up. “Two times.”

Iris sighed.

“One full meal and a snack,” he amended.

“One full meal and a snack,” she compromised.

He kissed her then, sealing the accord in love.

“I love you,” he said softly when they pulled away.

“I love you,” Iris responded.

She rested her head on his shoulder and Barry wrapped his arms around her tight pulling her as close to him as their bodies would allow.

The feel of her heart beating against his side lulled him. It was always the thing that would keep him breathing.

Several minutes later, something caught his eye on one of the counters. “Did you make those?”

He pointed to a pile of cookies sitting high on an ornate glass plate. They didn’t look like anything Jitters sold.

“Oh wow, yeah. I forgot about dessert,” Iris chuckled.

Barry sped over and grabbed them, sliding back into his seat before Iris could notice. “Let’s try some then.”

“Ooh, baby I would not eat those cookies if I were you,” Iris warned seriously. “I don't think they turned out right.”

Barry waved off her doubts. "All of this was perfect. I'm sure they're fine."

He smelled the cookie then took a big bite to show her he wasn’t worried. But, as soon as the dessert touched his tongue, he regretted it.

His eyes reflexively bulged and he stopped chewing for a second before his sense kicked in and he made his usual sounds of content. "Mmm see?! Delicious!"

The cookies were burnt to a crisp on the underside, but somehow chewy in the middle. And he was certain Iris had mixed up her salt and sugar again, but he powered through and finished the whole thing.

He subtly tried to gasp for breath to clear the taste of ash from the back of his throat. He knew reaching for a drink would give him away so he smiled down at her instead and smacked his lips.

“Wow, gr-great stuff,” he prayed his eye didn’t twitched from the bitterness.

Fortunately it didn’t.

Unfortunately, Iris looked so pleased with his enjoyment that she offered him three more cookies, picking out the biggest ones she could find.

Barry ate them each with a smile, washing down the rancid taste with the joy on his wife’s face.

“Maybe I can do the cooking for the rest of the week,” Iris suggested as they walked home a few hours later.

Before dessert, from the delicious meal she’d prepared he would’ve readily agreed. This was what he had wanted in the first place.

But, the thought of those god-awful cookies made his stomach roll. Depending on what she decided to cook, he might very well not even make it to Crisis.

Still, he thought as he squeezed her hand and took in her eager smile, if that was how he went- at home eating his warm meal across from this woman who he loved more than life itself- it would be the greatest honor.

He grinned and nodded his head in agreement at the offer.

“That would be wonderful,” he said sincerely.

#Westallen #The Flash #Barry Allen #Iris West-Allen #Crisis on Infinite Earths

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theydontknowaboutusimagines · 5 years

Text

Outside The Rain - Harry Styles Series (Part 10)

Part 9

You were back in LA because you were needed in the studio to finish the album. Your group was so close to finishing it and announcing you coming back. Everyone had already decided on a single and it was going to be released in a few days, something none of you had announced yet. It was going to be a secret drop in the middle of the night.

And you had a pop up performance in about a week, which wasn’t going to be announced until the day before the performance. The day after tomorrow you would be on set filming the music video and you couldn’t wait. The concept was going to be super fun and it still didn’t feel real that you and the girls back together again making music.

Speaking of the girls, as soon as you got back from Italy, they hounded you about what happened with Harry and you being in the same place. Daisy, of course, called it that you two would finally get together. That was something else that didn’t seem real. The fact that you were now, not only in a relationship, but happy in a relationship was something new to you.

Since Harry went back to London after Italy and you went back to LA, you two have been texting or video chatting as much as you can with the time difference and your schedules. So far everything was going great, but it was still the beginning. However, you knew you needed to stop worrying and thinking negative thoughts or else they would happen.

Once you got the details for the upcoming show, you were going to invite him out to LA for it. He knew about the new album, but that was about it. You were currently at home, cooking yourself some dinner, while going over the final details you would need for the video shoot and the photoshoot for the single cover.

You were dancing around your kitchen when you heard your iPad ringing. You turned down your music before answering it and Harry popped up on the screen.

“There you are,” he smiled. “What are you doing?”

“Hey, I’m finishing up dinner,” you said.

“I bet it’s going to be delicious,” he said.

“It better be,” you laughed. “I’m starving.”

“How’s everything going with the album?” He asked.

“It’s going,” you said. “We’re about one or two songs from being finished with it. We’re filming the music video for the single in two days and tomorrow we’re doing the single cover.”

“And I still can’t hear the song?” He groaned.

“Nope! You’re going to hear it the same time as everywhere else,” you smirked.

“And here I thought hearing your music first would be a perk to being your boyfriend,” he pouted.

“Hey, I told you about the album and no one knows about that yet,” you said. “Or that we’re having an pop performance after the single is released.”

“Wait? What?” He said. “Hold up, when is this happening?”

“From now... about a week or so,” you said.

“And is this just going to be for the single or-” he asked.

“Full concert,” you said.

“And you’re just now telling me this!” he said. “I need to know these things, so I can be there!”

“Is this fanboy Harry or boyfriend Harry coming out?” You joked.

“Both,” he said.

You laughed,”It’s going to be at the Staples Center.”

“You’re gonna get me in, right?” He joked.

“I mean... I’ll try,” you smirked.

“Hey! You know you want me there,” he smirked.

“That I do,” you smiled. “We haven’t finalized a date or time yet, but we mostly just have to sign on some dotted lines.”

He nodded, “Sounds good. I’ll be booking my flight soon.”

“How’s everything going on with you?” You asked. “And isn’t it like super late over there?”

“I’d like to say super early seeing as how it’s almost 3am,” he said.

“It’s only super early if you woke up,” you pointed out. “Have you been to bed yet?”

“Nope,” he yawned. “I went out with Gemma and her boyfriend and some of our other friends. Then we all hung out here for a bit. They just left not too long ago. Since I was up, I thought’d I call my favorite girl.”

“Aww, aren’t you sweet,” you smiled putting your food onto a plate.

“But to answer your first question,” he said pushing his hair back. “Everything’s going great. I’ve got some things lined up to get the process of releasing my next album, but haven’t really picked a release date yet.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” you said. “You want to get upset with me for not letting you listen to my album, but you are also keeping your album from me.”

“Ever think it’s because you’re keeping your album from me,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, “Whatever.”

“You hated it when I’m right,” he smirked.

“Whatever,” you repeated taking a bite of your food.

He laughed, “As much as I love talking to you, I should probably let you go so you can eat and I can go to bed.”

“Yeah, you need to catch up on some beauty sleep,” you smirked.

“Don’t be fucking rude,” he scoffed.

“Oops,” you giggled.

“Anyway, I’ll talk to you later,” he yawned.

“Yep, I’ll send you all the details once I get them,” you said.

“Sounds good,” he said. “Night, baby.”

“Goodnight,” you smiled.

He blew you a kiss and you returned the favor before you both ended the call. You put your iPad down, turned up your music once more, and went out to your back patio to finish what was left of your dinner.

It was the day of the music video shoot and the set was everything. You all had decided on going with a retro roller-skate storyline and while it was going to be fun, it was also super hard. Everyone had spent the last few weeks learning and perfecting all the choreography on roller-skates. And yes, it was dancing on skates as well.

The set was inside a rink that had been decorated with bright neon lights, a disco ball, and tons of colors. Before hair and makeup, you each put on a pair of skates and did run-throughs on the skates, so everyone was comfortable prior to filming.

“So, what happens if one of us breaks our neck?” Daisy asked.

“Now why the fuck are you putting that out there into the universe? Like why?” you said turning a corner.

“Because we’re the same group of girls who fall at least once on stage every night and that’s not on wheels,” she defended.

“Will you shut up!” You groaned going backwards.

“I’m just saying,” she held up her hands.

“Quit saying it,” you laughed.

Once you all were comfortable with everything, you went straight to hair and makeup and changed into your first outfit of the day. When you were ready to go, you went to set and waited until the director was ready. While you were waiting, you took a some behind the scenes footage for when you would be building up to the release of the music video.

“How are you feeling about everything?” Rachel asked you.

“Great,” you smiled. “It’s amazing being back at with everyone. It’s like we never took a break.”

“I know,” she smiled. “This really feels right. I’m glad we didn’t try to do this at a different time. I don’t know if it would have been like this.”

“Me either,” you smiled wrapping your arms around her.

“Everyone on set!” The director shouted.

By the time you were on your way home, your entire body ached. You wanted nothing more than some dinner and a hot bath before you fell asleep for the next sixteen hours. It was quite late when you pulled into your driveway having been on set for more than half the day. Even though it was hard and tough on your body, you knew the end product would be amazing.

Plus, you also had fun, but you won’t be going skating for a long ass time. You opened your door and went inside. You had picked up take out on the way home, so you didn’t have to worry about cooking. You sat down on the couch, turning on the TV and started eating away. Halfway through your food, your doorbell rang.

You instantly froze wondering who it could be at this time of night. It wasn’t like it was super late, but definitely late enough for people to just drop by your house. You turned the camera on and saw nothing but a huge bouquet of flowers with legs. Now, you knew something was up.

No florist would be making midnight deliveries. It wasn’t until the person moved the the flowers a little bit that you realized it was your boyfriend. Forgetting about the ache in your legs, you quickly rushed over to the door.

“What are you doing here!?” You asked happily.

“Well, I was in the neighborhood,” he joked.

“Oh shut up!” you laughed. “Now, put the flowers down. They’re beautiful, but I really want to wrap my arms around you right now.”

He laughed walking inside, placing the flowers onto a table nearby and taking you into his arms.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” you smiled wrapping your arms and legs around him.

He laughed placing his hands at your sides. He pressed his lips against yours and you melted in his arms. It had only been a few weeks since you last felt his lips against yours, but in that moment it felt like years.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he mumbled.

“I missed you, too,” you smiled. “What brought on this surprise visit?”

He walked over to the couch, you still in his arms and sat down, “Other than wanting to see my girlfriend after a few weeks, I wanted to be with you when you dropped your single and everything that comes after that. Especially, since I’ll be traveling for a bit after it.”

“Oooh, you’re not going to be seeing your other girlfriends are you?” You joked.

“Not a chance,” he laughed. “You’re my only angel.”

“You did not just quote your own song,” you laughed.

“Now see, wouldn’t it just be me quoting me? I did write those lyrics,” he said.

“About another girl,” you pointed out.

“Right... yeah, I fucked up didn’t I?” He laughed.

“A little bit, but I forgive you,” you laughed.

“Good,” he smiled kissed your cheek.

“Want some pizza?” You asked.

“Sure,” he nodded. “Did you just get home?”

“I did,” you said. “My entire body hurts like hell.”

“God, what did you do for the video?” He laughed.

“Let’s just say it involved skates,” you said.

“Interesting,” he said. “Any footage for me?”

“Eh, maybe later,” you smiled. “Right now I just want to finish this pizza and take a nice hot bath.”

“Do I get to join?” he asked.

“Well, that is sort of our thing,” you smirked.

“That it is,” he smirked pressing his lips against your before grabbing a slice of pizza.

Once the entire pizza was gone, you and Harry headed to your room. You went into the bathroom, turning on the water and adding in a bath bomb. You grabbed two towels and threw your hair up, so it wouldn’t get wet. Harry wrapped his arms around you from behind placing his chin on your shoulder. He kissed your neck as he pulled on the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head.

He wrapped his arms back around you, “You’re beautiful.”

You giggled turning around in his arms, leaning up to press your lips against his. His hands moved up and down your back as he deepened the kiss. He snuck his fingers under the band of your bra before unfastening it and pulling it down your arms. You unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it down his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor.

You ran your hands over his chest, pulling on his necklace gently. He smirked picking you up and placing you on the counter of the bathroom. You wrapped your legs around his waist bringing him closer to you.

“I hate to waste water,” he whispered. “But I don’t think I can wait.”

You giggled reaching down to unbuckle his belt, “Well you better go turn off the water before we waste even more.”

He reluctantly removed himself from you to go over and turn the faucet off. Before he came back, he made a quick pit stop to his bag to grab something.

“I made sure to stock up this time,” he smirked walking back inside.

“My hero,” you joked.

“Shut up,” he laughed.

“Come here,” you giggled pulling him back down for a kiss.

A few hours later, the sunrise shined into the room. You woke up with one of Harry’s arms around you and the other was behind his head. You rolled over onto his chest and laid your hand over his heart feeling it beat beneath. You smiled to yourself knowing you could wake up next to him every morning. You knew it was still super early in the relationship to think about this, but how would you two go about moving in with the other.

Harry mostly lived in London, while you lived mostly in LA. Now, granted with your careers, you essentially could live anywhere and then travel for work if need be, but it would still be a bit decision. However, you couldn't or shouldn’t worry about that right now because that would be something you only needed to think about when the time came.

You heard Harry mumbling something causing you to giggle. You looked up at him and his eyebrows were a bit furrowed. You leaned up kissing his cheeks and the side of his mouth. Every inch you moved, your body was feeling the consequences of both the video shoot and your night with Harry. You worked your way down his neck and it was then when you felt his arms tighten around your waist.

“What are you doing?” He laughed. “Don’t you see I’m trying to sleep here?”

“Are you really complaining?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Never,” he smirked. “You can kiss me anytime.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” you smirked.

“On one condition, though,” he said.

“And what’s that?” You asked.

“One song,” he said. “Just let me hear one song. It doesn’t even have to be an entire song.”

“That’s bribery” you gasped.

“Eh,” he shrugged.

“You’re impossible,” you laughed.

“Nope, just want to hear what my girl has been working on,” he smirked.

“Fine, you’ll hear one song as soon as I hear one song,” you smirked.

“Now, that’s bribery,” he pointed out.

“Potato, potato,” you said.

“That doesn’t even fucking make sense,” he laughed.

“Whatever,” you said. “So, what’s it gonna be Styles.”

“Fine, fine, fine,” he said. “But first, breakfast. I’m starving.”

“Is that your way of telling me you want me to cook us breakfast?” You asked.

“I’ll cook,” he said rolling you over onto your back. “What are your plans today?”

“Nothing,” you laughed. “I can barely move.”

“So, Netflix and chill?” He smirked.

“Sounds perfect,” you giggled. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I am, too,” he smiled.

“Thank you for coming,” you smiled moving hair from his face.

“Anytime, baby,” he whispered. “Now, pancakes or waffles?”

“Waffles,” you smiled.

“Coming right up,” he smiled kissing you quickly before rolling out of bed.

You smiled to yourself as you watched him leave the room. In a little over twelve hours, your single would be dropping and your boyfriend was here with you. You couldn’t ask for anything more.

#One Direction Imagines #Harry Styles Imagines #Outside the Rain

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justlookfrightened · 5 years

Text

Butter My Biscuits

Prompt from @ noelfieldingisprettierthanme: Remember when Sally Field kept trying to hook her son up with Adam Rippon? Alicia Zimmermann is just as gungho about setting up her openly bisexual son Jack with famous tv chef Eric Bittle

Prompt from @cyn2k: I am so down with the Zimmerparents attempting to set up Jack with Bitty in any incarnation - chef, TV host, dancer, vlogger, skater, friendly neighborhood baker, anything. Because you know Bob would be just as bad as Alicia.

Edited to add: When I wrote this, I forgot the lovely and talented @wrathofthestag already wrote a fic where Bitty has a different kind of baking show called “Butter My Biscuits.” You should read it. We’ll wait.

Alicia huffed a breath, trying to dislodge the strand of hair that was dangling into her right eye. When that didn’t work, she rubbed at it with her forearm, trying to keep her butter-and-flour-covered hands from her face.

“Siri, stop the video,” she said, and the image on her iPad screen went silent and still.

She wiped her hands on a towel, breathed for a moment, and thought about pouring a drink from the bottle of vodka she’d pulled from the freezer to use in the pie crust.

Eric Bittle, host of “Butter My Biscuits,” had acknowledged the temptation when he mixed his dough on the screen.

“I have to tell y’all, drunk baking can be fun, but I wouldn’t recommend it for your first — or even your fiftieth — pie crust. Save the good vodka for while the pie is in the oven, or when you’re making zucchini bread or something like that.”

Alicia knew from watching every episode of “Butter My Biscuits” ever produced that Eric thought the best thing to do with zucchini bread was not to make it at all.

With her hands slightly cleaner and a renewed commitment to follow Eric’s instructions precisely, she restarted the video and concentrated on rolling the dough in smooth, even strokes. When her crust was the proper size and thickness, she watched Eric fold his crust gently around his rolling pin and lay it in the pie plate. She stopped the video and watched it again before trying it herself.

Not half bad, even if it wasn’t as pretty as Eric’s.

Now for the top crust.

“Hi, Maman.”

Crap. She’d pressed down too hard and ripped it.

“Siri, stop the video. Hello, Jack. How was your walk?”

“Good,” Jack said. “It’s less boring if I take my camera.”

“What did you get pictures of?” Alicia asked as Jack pulled the camera out of its bag, no doubt in preparation for showing her several dozen artfully framed photos of geese.

“Just some stuff by the river,” Jack said, lifting the camera and clicking the shutter before she was aware he was about to take a picture. “You look like you’re having fun. Is that the baker guy you’re always watching? The one with the accent?”

“Eric Bittle,” Alicia said. “And yes. I like his voice. He always says anyone can learn to make a homemade pie crust, so I’m putting his theory to the test.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Jack said.

He stood and watched for a few moments when Alicia started the video again, only leaving after Eric did a little victory shimmy after he got his pie in the oven.

Alicia put hers into bake as well, then made herself a martini to drink while she cleaned up. Jack would have helped if she asked — he really was a lovely man, and she and Bob had every right to be proud. He’d been home for three weeks now, almost recovered from the knee injury that ended his season. He’d be leaving soon, as he was about ready to transition to more serious training.

Alicia was glad he’d come to spend time with her and Bob in Montreal instead of moping around his condo in Providence. Jack really needed to get out more. After he’d come out as bisexual — part of the whole mess when Kent got outed by Deadspin — he hadn’t dated anyone, male or female. At first, he just wanted to let the story die, she had thought. But Kent had brazened it out, seen with a different guy on his arm every month, it seemed like. Once that got old for the paparazzi, two more players had come out.

At this point, she was pretty sure no one would care if Jack stepped out with a nice boy.

A nice boy like Eric Bittle, cute and blond and just Jack’s type. Eric Bittle, who had giggled on camera when he said, “Now, some of y’all have asked how I learned to bake. It was my MooMaw who taught me. She always said the best way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, and that sounded like a good plan to me.”

She took another sip of her martini and pulled her iPad towards her. She didn’t want to start anything if Eric was happily coupled, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t.

Nope. He had broken up with someone six months ago and was quoted several times lamenting his single status, most recently only two weeks ago. The boyfriend -- caught on camera cheating with a dancer in the Boston Ballet -- was bigger than he was, although Eric was kind of small, so that didn’t mean much.

The timer went off and she pulled her pie from the oven. It wasn’t as pretty as Eric’s -- and she hadn’t even attempted a lattice or those cute cut-outs -- but she thought it was pretty good, especially for a first effort.

She snapped a picture and opened Twitter before she could think better of it.

if the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, does that go for you, too @ButterMyBiscuits? Asking for @jzimmermann1!

And she uploaded the picture.

Alicia served the pie for dessert, to the general approval of Jack and Bob, and didn’t think any more of it.

Until the next morning, when Jack sat across the breakfast table with his phone out.

“Are you really trying to set me up with that baker guy?” he said. “Etienne called me. My Twitter is blowing up, he said.”

“Etienne?”

“He handles my Twitter account for me.”

Of course Jack didn’t tweet for himself.

“Ah. I may have suggested that Eric Bittle take an interest in you.”

“The baker on TV?” Jack said. “With the accent?”

“Yes,” Alicia said. “The cute one.”

“I’ll tell him to disregard it,” Jack said. “I love you, Maman, but I don’t need you to find me dates.”

“Really?” Alicia said. “How long has it been since you had a date?”

“I’ve been laid up.”

“And before that?”

“What are we talking about?” Bob walked in, still in workout clothes, from the gym in the basement.

“How long since Jack here went on a date,” Alicia said.

“Been a while, eh?” Bob said.

“Maman tried to set me up with TV chef,” Jack said. “On Twitter.”

He paused while he tapped at his phone.

“There. I apologized for you and asked him to disregard your message.”

“Um, Jack, how did you do that?” Bob asked.

“I sent him a message,” Jack said.

“Yes, but how?” Bob asked.

“On Twitter?”

“You two follow each other?” Alicia asked. “I had no idea you liked baking that much.”

“No? I just found his tweet and replied.”

“Oh, Jack,” Alicia said. “You’d better call Etienne and tell him what you did. Before everyone who follows you and Eric loses their mind. But first, show me his tweet.”

Jack held out his phone wordlessly.

The tweet on top said, if @jzimmermann1 can make a pie like this, I’ll be impressed. Almost as impressed as I was by his goal in Game 7 last year. But tell me the truth, @AliciaActs -- who made the pie?

Jack’s reply was underneath

My mother made the pie after watching your show. I’m sorry she bothered you. Please ignore it. But the pie was delicious.

A hundred likes and fifty replies already. At least Jack had notifications turned off. No doubt her own mentions were exploding as well.

“Why don’t I set this so you follow him?” Alicia said. “Then maybe he’ll follow you and you can communicate in private.”

She followed Eric Bittle, and noticed that he already followed Jack. Which meant Jack could have DM’d him. Now he would think Jack didn’t want to talk privately.

She opened a direct message and handed the phone back to Jack.

“When you replied to his tweet, everyone could see it,” Alicia explained. “You might want to apologize for that -- in private. In a direct message.”

“Need help?” Bob asked. “Gotta work that old Zimmermann charm.”

“No,” Jack said. “Please. No.”

******************

Alicia checked to make sure Jack’s room was ready and set the table for dinner. He was coming to spend one last weekend before training camp started, to celebrate the fact that he had been cleared to start camp with the team.

“I should be there around six p.m.,” Jack told her when he called the week before. “It would be better if we just eat at home that night.”

“You have a workout in the morning?” Alicia guessed. “I’m sure you’ll be tired. Your father can make something on the grill.”

“Fine,” Jack said. “But I’ll bring dessert.”

Alicia sliced peppers and zucchini to go on the grill when the meat came off, and put together a green salad.

“Bob?” she called. “Is the grill ready? Jack should be here soon.”

“Just about,” Bob said, stepping in from the deck. “I’ll put the steaks on after he gets here. Did you make a pie for dessert like you’ve been practicing?”

“Jack said he’d bring dessert.”

“Jack? Dessert? Are you sure he’s not just bringing a bag of fresh fruit?”

“He said dessert.”

The door opened, and Jack poked his head in.

“Maman? Papa? Do you mind if I brought an extra guest?”

Following Jack was Eric Bittle, dressed in neatly pressed slacks and a crisp shirt with a red bow tie. In his hands was a white pastry box.

“Hey, y’all,” he said. “Jack here said you liked my pie?”

#omgcheckplease #omg check please #zimbits au #prompt fill #my fic

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phorusrhacidae · 5 years

Text

so I’m feeling like making a social media post about things

you know what really annoys me

1. When people get off the train or platform and just, stand in the center of the exit looking around

2. When people try to cut in front of everyone to get on the train

3. When people are... fake laughing or screeching like a) nothing is that fucking funny b) if some rando can tell your laughter is fake then it’s REALLY fake

4. When swedish girls say “ba” och sen hon ba, och han ba,

5. When swedish boys and young men talk, well in general but especially if they are loud and end their sentences with ...eller?? and when they wear those stupid tiny beanies that don’t cover their ears or just SIT on top of their heads like, DIE

6. Kids saying sskskskks alleyop I don’t think anyone has ever said that irl, get off the fucking vine type apps which I can’t remember the name of rn.

6.5 The general notion about how they’re “the digital natives!!11!!! 1 !” and are therefore soooo good at technology and that is why every child should have an ipad all day every day....aaaaahahah well maybe I wouldn’t have such a problem with it if it were even a little bit true but just cause they’ve been banging on an apple touch screen since day one does not mean that they are at all computer literate and guess what they are usually.... not. at all computer literate so color me.... unimpressed.

7. When people are complaining about swedish food and what passes for “asian food” here and some ding dong has to chime in with “well ACTUALLY all the asian food you’re talking about is a westernized version” we fucking KNOW everyone fucking KNOWS that but why can you get delicious versions of vietnamese/ japansese/ mexican/ whatever food pretty much anywhere else in europe and in small towns in the US and NOT in the supposed capital of scandinavia? That is what we are talking about.

8. The way swedish people (don’t) raise their children. Up until about 2nd grade they are PRECIOUS ANGELS WHO CAN DO NO WRONG AND MUST BE CATERED TO AT ALL TIMES. Once they’re like 9 years old, “eh, they can take care of themselves” (not like they got any particular supervision before that but anyway). Sorry, but schools should not be democracies. Small children want to do things like play in busy streets and play video games all day instead of going to school. What they need to be doing is learning how to read and write, regardless of whether they want to or not, so why is their input taken into account in this context? hello is everyone insane

9. How super crappy versions of the same craft supplies cost 5 times as much here or don’t even exist.

10. I like salt licorice, but it has to be a certain TEXTURE. Swedish gummies are usually either too soft or too hard, like you try to chew them and they just stick to your teeth.

11. Boring swedish dudes who are not even good looking who have smokin hot girlfriends. I’ve met a few recently and I’m so confused.

Other thoughts I’ve been having lately:

1. banked slalom. It was cool, I should have done it more, and I should have been less afraid of being flung out of the track upside down like a wet noodle. It doesn’t hurt that bad. any ideas on how to squash legitimate fears lemme know.

2. Why is all the cool gear for dudes. does a dude the same height as me really weigh that much more?? Why are the now brigade bindings in the retro colorway only mens medium and large? How are bindings different for men and women, REALLY?

3. I want to go back to mayrhofen because I could have the park mostly to myself. There was also a junior park, which was adult size features made a lil easier with ramps, etc. In sweden it seems to be either tiny literal baby park or giant terrifying I’m not supposed to be here park and nothing in between. I don’t wanna be falling all over the place and getting stuck around a bunch of way-too-serious swedish douchebros and also... just feels better embarrassing urself in front of foreigners that you’re even less likely to ever see again/who you don’t speak the same language as.

4. Had a conversation with a friend the other day and she was like “how did you get to be so confident?? You never wear makeup” confident not really, try more. not caring and full of spite. I hate. HAAAAATE the whole “doooon’t compaaaareee yourself to othersss! looove yourselllf ” just, prioritize other things. I love not spending time on makeup or skincare or clothes. like I can admire when other people do it but that doesn’t mean I have to do it. I can still snowboard regardless of my looks and whether I love myself or not so who tf cares.

5. I don’t know what to do. My procrastination at the moment is INSAAANE and I think maybe it’s because I’m a) a lazy, stupid impostor and/or b) not sure where I’m going at the moment. teaching, not teaching. it’s so good, but also it reminds me all the time why I hate swedish people, fuck ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#sweden #swedish #living abroad #thoughts #no one looks at tags anymore do they

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akysi · 5 years

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Always wanted to do one of these, and now I have. :D 8 years of improvement, wow! I’m also really bad at picking things so I don’t know if I picked the ones that best represent my progress, but eh. I did some edits, but the original base for this can still be found here. Extended thoughts about each year below, it’s a lot! Here’s to bigger and better things in 2019 (please ;_;)

2010: I started drawing digitally in 2006, though regrettably I didn’t save any of the art I did back then. 2010 was when I joined DeviantART, and thus when I started uploading art online. I had frequented DA well before that though (from about 2007 I think), and influence from the artists I followed are pretty evident. A few notable ones were ShaloneSK, Fourth-Star (now SeaSaltShrimp), and thazumi, all primarily dragon artists. Though none of my traditional art is showcased here, this was still a time when I did it often, usually via doodles in class when I was bored. The digital art you see here was made with my first tablet, a Wacom Graphire 3, and Photoshop Elements 3 that came with it. I had little knowledge of file quality, layering, colouring, and other mainstays in using Photoshop properly. Humble beginnings are these! My art education at this point was limited at best, but art was always something I did in my spare time. And like all of the art years leading up to 2010, I drew almost entirely dragons. Aside from practicing foxes for a story I had at the time, I wasn’t interested in drawing much else. I didn’t draw people at all until college, but we’ll get to that. 2011: Christmas 2010 / New Year’s 2011 marked the time I got Photoshop CS5, a version of PS I still use today. For a while I was obsessed with the idea of PS’s Pen Tool, as I saw it could give me much cleaner line art than what I could achieve on my own. I was finally able to test that when getting CS5, and while it worked well for the time, I soon learned the tenets of line weight and tapering, something I would have to practice myself. Up to this point all of my lines were either shaky or fabricated via the Pen Tool, and it shows. This was also a year of trying to mimic Fourth-Star’s dynamic perspective...without any knowledge of how it actually worked. Not a lot of improvement happened here outside of that. 2012: This was the year I bought my Bamboo Create tablet, something I still use with my laptop nowadays. I remember trying it out at my friend’s house before I bought my own, and really loving how I was able to do the line tapering without the pen tool. It still took a lot more practice, but looking back now it was easy to see I was on the way to making line art one of my art’s strongest qualities; something that stays true today. I find it ironic that line art used to be one of the weakest aspects of my digital art, but I suppose that speaks to how far I’ve come. I did more fanart this year, oddly enough. I’d always done it before but I guess I felt shy about sharing it. Notable fandoms were Danny Phantom and Sonic. I didn’t grow up with either, but ended up liking them both a lot, and would doodle them as much as my dragons. 2013: I graduated high school and started my first year of art college, specifically Art Fundamentals at Sheridan College. At this point, everyone I knew pointed to that school (and only that school) for anything related to what I wanted to do; if it wasn’t fine art, go to Sheridan. So I went into college with a bit of tunnel vision at first, but I knew from the start that I would be gunning for animation. Not to animate specifically, but to do character design / concept art for animation. I would learn later on what having this tunnel vision would mean for me, but we’ll get to that later too. This is about the point where more expansion of design and subject matter occurs, albeit slowly. The art featured here doesn’t include my schoolwork, but the much needed increase of anatomy, structure drawing and other college level art courses started me on a path to better things. I still had a long way to go though, and Fundies could only do so much. Unlike most people I actually got decent practice from it given my limited art background, but I still can’t say it was at peak efficiency. This was the first year I actually started drawing people, and it certainly didn’t come without its growing pains.

2014: Surprising no one, I didn’t get into Sheridan after my first year, though that didn’t stop me from being disappointed at the time. I took what was effectively the second year of Fundies, called Visual and Creative Arts (VCA). This was the year that sparked my interest in graphic / logo design, an interesting turn of events all things considered, and that would stick with me a lot more than I expected. This year also featured a few smatterings of character designs, or more specifically design sheets with multiple views, costumes, etc. Character design was a required segment of the animation portfolio, so this is likely what spurred my practice in it, aside from my pre-existing interest. That does not mean I knew how to rotate a character though, yikes! At this point I’d gotten pretty good at clean line art in Photoshop with my current tablet, as well as the merits of high quality imagery. There was a lot of purple in this year and 2015, though that’s nothing really new for me.

2015: This was easily the busiest (and most path altering) year. Second semester of VCA happened during this time, but also what would be new beginnings for me. If I didn’t get into Sheridan animation, I had a choice to make for a plan B: Either stay at Sheridan for VCA Year 3 and try again for animation, or try to get into animation at another school. My buddy Amelia then dropped Seneca’s name in one of my elective classes, and I had no idea how much of a fateful conversation that would be. She mentioned it was considered a second to or even better than Sheridan, and that at least provided a clearer answer for me. A lot of trepidation followed: I didn’t get into Sheridan animation for the third time, and thus applied to Seneca (and a few other places). I was pretty scared of being a first year again at a new school with new people, and while my art definitely reflected the time I spent at Sheridan, I had no confidence in it being good enough for a portfolio given my track record. But low and behold, I got in! I was on my way to a three year rollercoaster of all-nighters, amazing ride-or-die classmates, and relentless, rigorous training. The art from this year does reflect this, both in quantity and quality of uploads, though in more of a “transition period” kind of way. This was the year I really started to draw human characters, most notably with the creation of my first comic project: Starglass Zodiac. This was the first time I had a story idea with a primarily human cast, much less a comic idea, though the designs for them didn’t start appearing in my uploads until the following year. As you might expect I didn’t have a lot of confidence in drawing people. Ironically, my first year of animation taught me all the skills I initially needed for the portfolios!

2016: When I mentioned a path altering year for 2015, I was referring specifically to the path in my art education. 2016 was a path altering year for everything else, and a polarizing one at that. 2016 was a year that was kind to no one, and while the details of what happened to me are not really relevant to this post, there’s no denying what effect it had behind the scenes. This was the year that I fully realized I’d developed symptoms of depression, and with my increasing anxiety to match, this didn’t (and still doesn’t) go so well. I don’t think that’s really reflected in my art, however. Regardless of my mental state, the outside view of my art still features the colourful characters that they always had. By this point I was in my finishing first year / starting second year, and this was easily the best time for me. My time to shine, if you will, at least when it came to character design class. We had an overarching story project that was perfect for SGZ, so I used that time to develop the characters. The double-edged sword of troubled times is my escapism is cranked to 11, so this was probably the year that spurred the most story ideas out of me. This year (and part of the next) started both Id Pariah and Feather Knights. I got my iPad Pro for Christmas this year too, and that proved to be a game changer in the amount of art I could make. I was already used to the Cintiqs at my school, and I was lucky to finally have a screen tablet of my own. 2017: The end of my second year and the beginning of my third and final year of animation. Classes split, streams chosen and a world of missed opportunities began. I didn’t do a lot of art at the beginning of the year, aside from the beginning of my Feather Knights stuff. On top of that, my college had a 5-week long teacher’s strike that literally no one wanted to be a part of, effectively derailing all hope for a good semester. Attempting to do a short film project with this happening was a recipe for disaster. During this strike was the start of my first month long challenge though: Huevember. It was an uncertain time, and most of us were not compelled to get much school work done. Completing Huevember did feel like an accomplishment though, as I was actually able to keep up with it even when school started again. I’d say this art year focused a lot on colour for this reason. What art I was able to complete outside of my schoolwork saw a lot of expansion in that area. In all honesty 2016-2018 tends to blend together for me, for better or worse. 2018: My graduating year. The strike did its damage to my final semester too, but ultimately I survived. Despite completing 5 years of college, my path became the most unclear. Third year taught me a lot of things about myself and how I approach art, but most were not positive revelations. The expectations set out for me are ones that I cannot achieve. However, I have more time than ever to do art, making this year the most art I’ve made to date. I also participated in Inktober, which reminded me how far I’ve come as an artist, despite not doing traditional art for what felt like a century. My illustrative work for Inktober ended up being some of my best art this year, and the prompts made me get creative in more ways than one. The dark cloud hanging over my head has not disappeared since 2016 however, and the toll that has taken shows more everyday. As far as my art was concerned I did more of what I loved, mostly in the form of character sheets and designs. It’s all I can do, for now. 2019, I have one thing to say: Don’t you DARE.

#art #artists on tumblr #art improvement #Akysi #Art by Akysi #Katie MacKenzie #Katie MacKenzie Art #digital art #2010-2018 #my OCs

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