#Jazz understands and doesn’t want to lose her baby brother again

[noxcheshire]

Back at it again with my Danny is mom coded au’s, but this time it’s because of Clockwork that he suddenly has a whole ass teenage kid.

Clockwork had been bored or maybe he was playing a game against an opponent, or even lost a bet, whatever it was, he stepped in right as Jason was searching for his biological mother.

The DNA that would have registered itself as one Sheila Haywood, confirming Jason’s mother, glitched a terrible green across the screens of the batcomputer.

In those few moments of chaos Jason’s heart beat rapidly as he tried to figure out why the computer wasn’t working, wondering if his only chance to find his mom — his blood mom — would never find success.

Then as suddenly as things went wrong the DNA settled and pinged.

Jason watched, his chest tight, as one Danny C. Works, formerly Danny Fenton appeared onto the big screen.

Danny looked a lot like Jason, short cut black hair more straight than the subtle curls of Jason’s own; deep blue eyes, tired in a way that spoke of long days and nights, but with a warm happiness that made the familiar smile — the one Jason would see on himself every time he looked into the mirror — even more striking.

Jason didn’t linger too long on the male identifying gender, nor the fact his mom leaned more towards a masculine name or clothing.

There were plenty of male to female, and female to male leaning individuals that lived in Crime Alley. He had seen it enough to not even bat an eye at it, even now. After all, in Gotham you minded your business least you find yourself in business you can’t leave.

On a different monitor information of Danny C. Works piled for Jason to quickly browse through.

Danny was a senior engineer, no intimate relationships, and with no close connections to family outside of the tentative calls from Jasmine Fenton.

Danny was estranged from Jack and Madeline Fenton, a falling out that had occurred just a little before Danny’s high school graduation. If Jason calculated it correctly that would have been — around the season Jason himself would have been born.

Okay, so no grandparents then but I might have a maybe aunt. Jason scrolled further and stilled.

Twin toddlers: Dante and Danielle Works.

Jason had baby siblings.

He doesn’t let the sting of younger siblings consume him, doesn’t allow the whispering thoughts of why he had been given up when his younger siblings had been kept and so very obviously loved.

Jason took deep breathes, he didn’t have time to linger here. He had a family to get to, and a family he would get to.

It took almost all night to reach, the starlight night sky slowly and surely fading into cloudy wine as the sun rose, but Jason made it.

And when the door opened to his hesitant but firm knock, Jason was unable to speak. His mom — dad, maybe? Did they want to be mom or dad? — stood in the doorway, brows furrowed in confusion.

It was when Danny spoke his vigilante name did Jason only just realize that he was still dressed to the nine’s in his Robin costume.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #jason todd #Danny is mom to two de aged terrors #and will now be a mom to his newest terror #Dan and Ellie de aged due to circumstances when Danny left Amity Park #Dan and Ellie didn’t form until recently from their cores #he had run away with the two and didnt have any connections to other family or friends until Jazz finally tracked him down #but he threatened to go no contact again should she try and push him to return to Amity and speak to their parents #Jazz understands and doesn’t want to lose her baby brother again #clockwork meddled for whatever reason and now Danny is Jason’s mom au #Danny is going to mother that child so hard #yes he is an adult #Jason WILL be loved >:( #Jason is also going to be the best big brother #Dan and Ellie love their mom and big brother #they will bite #Jason thinks Danny is ftm #Danny is biologically male but is more built like Maddie #misunderstandings of gender #and further misunderstandings on how Jason and his two siblings were conceived #Vlad Masters being a theatrical creep #Jason will fist fight old men #he will also fist fight his grandparents

[dannyphantom-justiceleauge]

I'm glad you agree with Dani having wind powers. I have been thinking about the other halfa's and their powers and why they have them. Vlad is fire, which is volatile and hurts others but it can also keep people warm (perhaps there is hope for him in another universe) and is something often used in human invention and Vlad is very smart. Danny is his opposite, Ice. Unlike fire, ice could be used to subdue his enemies without hurting them (1/2)

(2/2) However Ice is also be sharp and dangerous (he can be mean sometimes) and it is cold, which could maybe represent how alone he feels. It could also be tied into his love for space as space is cold. If Jazz was a ghost, I think she would have water powers, since it's like a melted version of her brothers ice (lol). She is cool and collected and prefers to talk things out and understand rather than fight. She can also be rather overbearing sometimes, like an ocean. Sorry if this is long.

~ ~ ~

it’s interesting to think what the various halfa’s elements would be. makes me think of the into the spiderverse au. i like the idea that jazz would be water. it suits her. cool and collected, even sometimes associated with healing. but equally capable of devastation if used for violence. since psychology is her thing, i’d also draw a comparison to that. it’s used to help and heal, but when used by people like spectra it can be the most damaging attack possible. it can destroy people on a level deeper than physical. i’d likewise suggest that jazz would be the one to figure out bloodbending as a concept for this world, but would proceed to avoid using it. if she ever has a dark dan version of herself, i could see Black Jasmine being far more terrifying than him. when jazz goes bad, she’d go really bad

though in terms of what would push her to that point, it think it’d probably be more difficult and less difficult than what happened to danny. she is all about control and discipline. she’d use denial and psychology to manage for as long as possible. that is if it’s something that no one could have predicted or stopped. an accident. but if say it was a failure on the school or societies part... if say a case of bullying landed danny trapped in a locker during a ghost attack, unable to escape, and he died because of an attack that she was involved in. if he died with her not even aware that he was feet from her and in danger...

well i could see her losing herself in her guilt and anger at the world. he could have been saved. if he wasn’t being bullied, if the teachers had done something, if the ghost hadn’t attacked, if she had known he was there. like i said dark jazz is scary.

that aside, i also want all potential halfas to have elements associated with them now. we’re all pretty much agreed that tucker is electric type, due to his love of technology, but also his impulsiveness. electricity can do a lot of damage when not controlled properly and we’ve seen tucker on more than one occasion struggle with control. he’s overconfident and surprisingly reckless at times. when he’s in his element he’s fantastic but he’s been known to abuse power when he has it. i think that would be his main conflict as tucker ghouly, controlling his powers and using them responsibly.

sam would be representative of the element wood. which is associated with flexibility, durability, and strong emotions. because she’s our resident plant girl. she is willful and passionate but also stubborn and demanding. she demands the most of herself but also others, she wants everyone to thrive but sometimes forgets what’s best for her isn’t what’s best for other. her conflict might end up being empathy, because while she has it in spades, she doesn’t always know how to use it, if that makes sense. she tends to take things as a personal attack on her and her veiws when people disagree with her, which can be pretty dangerous, especially when people absolutely have reasons for their own opinions. she needs to learn to listen to others, if she’s going to be a proper hero

that would leave the final element, metal to val. metal is the most stubborn and inflexible of the elements. she’s strong and disciplined, unyielding in her attacks and views. but as we know that’s for better or worse. she really difficult to convince she’s wrong. she’d probably end up being one of the strongest out of them, she’d figure out the most ways to use her powers and how to shape metal to her advantage. i’m actually struck by the fun idea of val using her metal powers to make jewelry and running a small business selling it. this val would still manage to create a body armor and probably be better at maintaining anonymity with her ghost activity. though i also see her as overworking herself. she tries to do everything and ends up failing classes, alienating her friends, and too exhausted to think straight..she became a ghost before she was friends with danny, so i like the idea of them ending up friends, probably during the flour baby episode, and danny being the one to finally convince her to chill out and manage her health better. full human danny, is still all about helping people and is probably more stable and viably smart when he has time to do his homework. he’d probably offer to help her study and manage her business when too busy, and just having someone to lean on means everything to val.

until of course, plasimius kills jack fenton, and danny goes down the path of seeking vengeance and fighting ghosts. i actually don’t thing they’d know each others hunter identities at first, so they’d initially be fighting for real. danny is almost as stubborn as val. (ice is also inflexable until given the time to melt. and cold and harsh and deadly when angry). i see the green hunter being the most dangerous thing val has faced so far because danny is unrelenting. once she figures out who she’s fighting (i see her giving fenton a necklace of a star when he’s human and hunter losing the necklace during a fight and val discovering it and initially thinking it was stolen but figuring out the truth throughout the episode) fighting someone innocent, who’s justified, but still wrong, she’d be forced to learn to be more flexible and understanding, just to convince danny to stop. because let’s be real, she agrees with danny. plasmius killed his father, if she were in his shoes, he’d do the same thing, but she needs him to understand that she’s not the bad guy. not all ghosts are bad.

she’d also need to learn to be more flexible just to fight vlad/plasmius. because he is manipulative and her straight foward way of thinking and fighting would get her in trouble with him. i could see him framing her for a lot. he’d also be hanging around danny as vlad and manipulating danny that way. she’d essentially be fighting 2 different people who turn out to be the same person. vlad, the billionaire friend of the fentons who’s inserting himself into the grieving family’s lives and encouraging danny to fight vigilante justice. and plasmiaus the op ghost who literally murders people who get in his way. vlad would absolutely do everything he can to keep up the facade of innocent human. leaving all the damage to his ghost half. and val would struggle to prove that he’s evil.

that was a bit of a tangent, anyway. all of the halfa’s having elements associated with them and eventually having an ultimate team up in a universe that brings them together to fight something or another. a team up of the elements. vlad being there and joining the team up as still a villain who the team is suspicious of, but who they need to win. perhaps pariah dark escapes again but this time the mech isn’t available. and danny isn’t strong enough to face him alone. so parallel dimension team up. actually maybe not main danny’s universe. maybe it’s one of the other universes that can’t manage pariah dark on their own. possibly val’s again? if jack’s dead they don’t have a mech. might even be able to incorporate maddie inventing parallel-dimensional summoning in her attempts to bring jack back. bonus points if it’s vlad who’s funding this, knowing full well anyone summon would be unstable and turn to goo soon after arriving.

can you tell i love the into the dannyverse au? this was fun - Hestia

@nastyburger @guardianrex @five-rivers @ibelieveinahappilyeverafter @enigmaris

#Danny Phantom #dpjl #hestiawrites

[femmeharringrove]

see, it's not like steve's ever been good at coping.

it's bad after starcourt, but instead of dealing with it then steve just puts everything into healing others. he comforts eleven, stays on the phone all night with lucas or dustin, helps will learn not to fear the cold, gives billy a shoulder to cry on and a place to live.

and so billy gets a front-row seat to steve's self-destruction.

he doesn't think it's his place to speak, initially, but he does worry when steve leaves early in the afternoon and comes back wasted, bruises on his throat and traces of powder on his clothes. some weekends he doesn't come home, he goes to indianapolis and shows up late sunday evening with a massive hangover and billy just gets him to eat and drink a little before getting him in bed. steve's not eating enough, he's losing weight and billy worries because this is his best friend, not even heather matches their level. and steve's done so much good for him but he doesn't know how to return the favor - not until steve barrels out of the bathroom one night shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down his face. billy takes one look inside, catches sight of two life-changing sticks, and rushes out after him.

and it's then, when he finds steve out by the quarry in a panic, that he knows how to help.

"i didn't mean to get pregnant," steve sniffles, and the moment billy crouches next to him the brunette is shuffling closer, scared and in need of comfort. and billy's still working on the physical thing, learning it's okay to be affectionate, but he doesn't hesitate to hold steve as close as he can.

"i know," he murmurs. "it's okay. we'll figure it out. you aren't doing this alone, you hear me?" and initially billy thinks he's fucked up because steve starts crying again, but when this round of sobs passes the other boy gives him a shaky smile.

"you promise?"

"cross my heart and all that shit." and that's just it. whatever steve needs, billy's got him.

steve initially doesn't want to go through with it, but decides ultimately it could be a good thing. he's thought about parenthood before, always wondered if he could be a better father than his own. this is a chance to prove it. and billy gives him all the support in the world. nobody messes with the only child of the harrington family, they can't afford the fallout, but he's always gotten dirty looks after coming out and they get worse now that he's pregnant. but billy follows him everywhere now amd anyone who gives him a look has to face the blonde's anger. and sure, he's not where he once was. he's still putting on muscle and learning to use his hands again, but half of what makes billy hargrove scary is the way he presents himself, the glare that suggests he knows people won't mess with him. and they don't, amd they don't mess with steve either for the same reason.

and when billy isn't around to do the protecting, steve's got others. joyce has kicked people out of melvad's before, for harassing a fifteen year-old steve. and five years later she still does it, voice calm and eyes steely. claudia is at every appointment he has, making sure the other nurses and doctors call him by the right name and pronouns. she's there when steve sees the baby's hand for the first time and has a breakdown because he's growing a whole person and doesn't know if he'll really be able to take care of them.

and claudia, she remembers being confused and a little judgemental when steve came out as steve, but that was before she caught him shuffling down the aisles of the library one day, small and clearly anxious about everyone he came across. thirteen year-old steve had lacked the easy confidence he sported now, and it was when she saw him that it sort of clicked. she didn't understand how someone could be a gender other than the one they were born as, but she made a point to greet him as steve any time she saw him and made an effort to accept him. now he's like the older son she never had, dustin's big brother, and when he weeps frantically over the daunting trial of parenthood she takes him by the shoulders and gives him the most serious look she can muster.

"nobody is ever ready for parenthood," she tells him, and one hand comes to wipe his tears away. "but you have exactly the heart for this job. you're going to be the best father in this whole town."

which steve doesn't agree with. the best dad in town is hopper.

hopper, who's been harassing people for harassing steve for years, but is more aggressive about it now because steve really means something to him now. sometimes, eleven calls him her brother, and hop figures, yeah, the kid could use a dad. so he makes a habit of checking up on him, and it gets more frequent now because he's also checking on billy, and with a baby on the way hopper's protectiveness is at an all-time high. nobody wants to fuck with the chief, so no one fucks with steve.

when the harringtons find out, steve's dad is livid, but it's steve's mother who keeps him from lashing out. the couple can't stand the blow to their social life and so it's off to lansing for them, a fresh start or whatever. the house stays under their name, though, and steve and billy make it theirs. the cosy master bedroom becomes steve's, billy finally decorates the guest room downstairs as his own. his mother calls sort of regularly, she's not thrilled about the situation but she's eager for a grandbaby to spoil, and steve counts that as a blessing.

of course, the party freaks out when steve announces his pregnancy. it's not like they didn't know steve could get pregnant, but they've never considered the idea that he would. eleven, max, and will are immediately thrilled, discussing baby names and wanting to pat his belly - especially el, who's never really experienced a pregnancy. mike and lucas are a little weirded out, but mike brings steve a bunch of baby books left over from holly and lucas donates his own old toys, declaring that baby harrington was going to be the coolest baby ever if he got to help look out for the little one. dustin doesn't know how to feel initially, which stresses steve out, but when someone throws a slur at steve three weeks after that dustin flips out, yells himself hoarse at the fucker, and declares himself steve and the baby's most ardent protector. the whole group has already discussed babysitting schedules and, yeah, maybe steve did cry about it, but he's pregnant and it was probably the hormones and not anything else, thank you.

robin gently berates him about sleeping with strangers out of town when she finds out, but after that she takes her position as aunt very seriously. within four weeks she buys three outfits, five stuffed animals, and a french record to help the baby learn the language.

"no such thing as too early," she says as she drops it on the dresser in steve's old room. the new nursery.

it's a labor of love, mostly by billy. woodworking is a big help with his hands so he was all too happy to make a crib himself. again, steve cried, but this time he feels it's justified. billy's put a rocking chair in too, and a record player too - "your taste in music is shit," he'd deadpanned as he brought the thing in. "someone's gotta culture the little snot." amd billy does that all the time, he's called the baby a snot, a turd, a little shit, all that jazz. but his face is softer than it's ever been and that makes steve smile every single time.

steve's labor of love starts five weeks early, much to his horror, and it hurts like a bitch. he gives birth early in the morning after a rainy night. she's a little replica of steve, down to the moles on her cheek, and he doesn't think he's ever known love until he looks at his daughter and feels the almost painful swell in his chest. he cries as he hugs her against his chest and swears on his life he'll do right by this wondrous little girl. her name is nikita - no, not after the elton john song, though later when she asks that's what he tells her, just so she can throw her head back and groan, "daaad!"

no, she's named after his grandmother. and she gets rosaline for a middle name after billy's mother. because, even if they didn't say it, it's clear billy intends to co-parent. he doesn't call it that, he just says he's helping a friend, but he's the one who changes her diaper at night and bounces her to sleep listening to metallica and teaches her to eat spaghetti.

and originally, he's the one she calls dad.

first it's baba, which steve thinks is in reference to the fact that billy bottlefeeds her, and billy thinks it's similar enough to "billy" to not be anything more than that. but she gets older and learns to say billy and steve, and still calls him baba. baba and papa. and to the outside world it makes sense, they're a little family, steve and billy ooze a chemistry anyone else can't deny. but it takes them three extra years to get with the program and become a couple.

to this day, niki claims there aren't more clueless people out than her dads when it comes to love.

#steebie writes #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #i'll come up with a name for this au later but y'all should ask me about it

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Some Trans!Danny Thoughts

When this hit its second page, I moved it to a new post.  In no particular order of importance.

When Danny was a year old and learning to talk, he spent two hours getting in a power struggle with his then-three-year-old sister where she pointed to him and said “Danielle” and he said “Dannel” back, and then she told him “Jasmine” and he answered “Jassem”, and it ended with two kids in tears and Maddie having straight-up given up.  This was not so much a gender thing as a “kids getting into a screaming match about nothing of import” thing.  Instead of trying to fight the point, Maddie decided that her kids were now named Dani and Jazz, and that mostly resolved the issue.  It was also extremely convenient later.

Maddie and Jack are not, shall we say, the most attentive parents in the world. Danny was in the third grade before he was required to attend a formal event of any kind (it was Jazz’s elementary school graduation), and while Maddie did manage to wrangle him into a dress, he scowled through the whole thing.  Then Jazz bounced down to them, grinning and bright-eyed, and dropped her robe onto his head, because it was June and too warm for it.  He spent the next hour running around like a wizard and destroyed the lower third of his dress and that was pretty much the ballgame on Danny and formal attire.  He wore jeans to his elementary school graduation.

Jazz started being mostly in charge of making sure Danny had clothes that weren’t, A, full of holes, or B, contaminated around when she was twelve. She decided to do the big sister thing right and took him to Target, whereupon Jazz immediately got decision paralysis. This turned into Danny, ten, and Jazz, twelve, staring at each other in the baby clothes section like they had walked into a parallel dimension, until finally Danny very slowly lifted up a blue newborn onesie covered in elephants and said “I think we’re in the wrong section,” and then they had to sit down on the floor so as not to knock anything over while they lost it.  It was a weird day for the Target employees.  Jazz pulled it together enough to turn Danny loose and tell him that he needed three t-shirts, a jacket, a pair of pants, and underwear, but not enough to actually dictate anything about the clothes he found.  If her sister wanted to run around in block colored t-shirts and a boy’s hoodie, that was between Danny and God.

The ONE dysphoria headcanon I will be including is that Danny was one of those people who went from completely flat chested to a C-cup more or less overnight when he was eleven and suddenly all the mild discomfort he’d ignored through most of his life crystallized.  Jazz offhand said that they should go buy a couple bras, because she needed some more too, and Danny fully blue-screened out for five minutes before Jazz snapped her fingers in his face and went “Hey, Earth to Fenton, are you okay?”

“I don’t want to do that,” Danny said.

“What, go shopping?  Listen, we haven’t gotten lost in a store since--”

“I don’t want to get--” Danny stopped there, because he was suddenly really not prepared to say any of the words that might go at the end of that sentence.  “Can’t I just not?”

“Not—buy a bra?” Jazz asked carefully.

“Yeah.”  And Jazz’s baby sister blinked at her from under the shaggy overgrown pixie cut she’d been getting since she was old enough to have preferences, and Jazz thought, a little idly, well, Dani won’t be able to look like a boy anymore, if she looks anything like me and Mom.  

And then Jazz, budding psychologist, opened her mouth, shut it, and said, “Tell you what, how about we don’t worry about it right now.”  So they didn’t, and watched a movie, and then after Dani went to bed, Jazz hauled one of her secondhand psychology textbooks off a bookshelf and started doing reading.

Three days of intensive research later, she sidled up to Danny and said, “Hey, I have a weird question. Do you even want to be a girl, or what?”

“Sure,” Danny said, distracted by frowning over his summer homework, in the universal tone of I’m really not listening but okay, yeah.  “I—hang on, what?”

“Would you be a girl if you had the option?”

Danny blinked at her, again, and said, like Jazz was an idiot, “Would you?”

“Yeah,” Jazz said.  “I like being a girl.  But I was thinking that maybe you might want to start school as Daniel?”

And then it was Dani’s turn, Danny’s turn, to open his mouth, shut it, and say, “Is that—a thing?”

“Sure,” Jazz said with completely unwarranted confidence.  “I’m sure I can figure it out.”

Danny went over to Tucker’s the same afternoon and said, in a tone of total shock, “Hey, did you know I was a boy?”  And that was pretty much the end of that conversation.  The conversation with Sam also featured Sam’s very earnest attempt to convert Danny to being goth, but that was because Sam was going through a Phase and tried to convert anyone who asked her anything about clothing.

Jazz helps Danny figure out how to explain to their parents.  Since it doesn’t involve ghosts, Maddie and Jack could really give a fuck what pronouns their kid uses, and since it doesn’t really change anything except that Jack starts calling him “Danny-boy” instead of “Dani-girl,” it’s not…remarkable.  

Later, Jazz is going to think about that conversation, and about the way their dad boomed a laugh and said, “From your face, I thought you were going to tell us something awful—like you were a ghost!  Sure thing, Danny-boy, sounds good.”  And she’s going to understand why Danny told them one secret and not the other.

Danny’s pediatrician is just relieved that, at Danny’s pre-school yearly physical, Jazz’s only weird question is “can you prescribe hormone blockers” rather than something like “hey if you eat something contaminated with ectoplasm do you think that’ll have effects or…?”  (Someone please put this woman out of her misery.)

Danny’s wearing his binder during the accident, which is very convenient, don’t get him wrong, but also that was his favorite binder and he’s annoyed about it getting permanently removed from his wardrobe.  It didn’t do that rolly thing at the base of the elastic, it’s hard to find binders that don’t do the rolly thing.  Sam listens to him complain about it twice and then she tries to smother him with a pillow and accidentally slam dunks him through his bed.

Also, he initially has some concerns about whether he can take his binder…off as Phantom?  You’re not supposed to wear a binder while you exercise, Jazz has drilled this into his head, and it’s not until after his first major dustup with a ghost that he remembers, huh, fighting ghosts probably counts.  Some experimenting proves that, while Phantom is a lot more…structured than your average ghost and his suit does come off, it can’t really sustain itself without him for long.  If he leaves a glove or torn clothing behind, eventually it’ll start to crumble, or, more alarmingly, melt.  On the upside, the suit seems to repair itself, and can straight up regrow any pieces that he loses.  A little more experimenting proves that Phantom doesn’t breathe except to talk, and even that seems to be mostly habit, so Operation: Fight Ghosts In A Binder is a go.

Real conversation:

“So…this is Dani,” Danny says, doing kind of a ta-da gesture at the long-haired ghost who, undeniably, looks exactly like him, if a little younger.  “She’s my clone.”

“Hi,” Jazz says gamely, and the ghost waves back.  “What are you two going to do about the name thing?  If you’re both named Daniel it’ll get confusing.”

“My name is Danielle,” the girl says, bemused.  “It’s Dani, with an I.”

“She’s not trans,” Danny says with a shrug.  Jazz feels about four hundred questions hurl themselves at the back of her teeth, and she takes a deep breath, and Danny is already smirking by the time she wrestles down the impulse to never stop talking.  “I told you it would kill her not to be able to write a paper on us,” Danny tells Dani.  Then he turns back to Jazz and says, “So, Vlad gave me a free sister and she literally does not own clothes.  I figured you could take her to Target and have a meltdown in the baby section.”

“Danny!  God, you’re such a brat, that was one time,” Jazz says, flushing, and she grabs Dani by the hand and drags her off while Danny cackles at their back.  “Congratulations on your jerk brother,” Jazz tells Dani.  “He’s giving me grey hair.”

“Don’t worry about it too much,” Dani says.  “You’ll match.”  Jazz narrows her eyes and Dani grins, unapologetic.

It makes Danny grin like an idiot the first time the Amity Times publishes a (nominally complimentary, before shit hits the fan) headline about the ghost boy, and he keeps a copy of the article.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #danny fenton is TRANS and you cannot STOP ME #jazz fenton #these are almost as much about jazz if i'm being honest i REALLY love jazz #anyway these are borne on the tide of my dissatisfaction with how every single trans danny thing is about dysphoria #i knoooooow okay i know i get it i know i GOT THE CONCEPT #can we PLEASE get some jokes up in here. some affirming stuff about jazz using her hyperfixation to figure out how to support her brother. #some stuff about how sam's entire conversation with danny was 'so if you're a dude are you going to change your look?' #'because i think maybe an eyebrow piercing or some gauges--' 'i'm not changing my look i like my shirts sam' 'danNY YOUR SHIRTS ARE BORING' #PLEASE give me sam (a bisexual goth drama queen) dunking on her boyfriend for dressing like every boring straight boy ever #(in any universe tbh come on folks) #danny was always going to end up tall but since he goes on t when he's 16 he's VERY tall #and since he's doing ghost hunting 40 hrs/week when he goes on t he also ends up PRETTY BUFF #(remind me to write some stuff about the following: how relieved danny is when he turns 25 and really doesn't look much like dan at all) #(and how profoundly uncomfortable danny is when his voice drops and turns into something WAY too close to dan's for comfort) #also listen i know that not many trans folks actually do the whole 'this is basically just my name but gendered differently' thing #but i (a person with a feminine first name and a masculine middle name) did so just let me project in peace #at some point some kid makes a joke in phantom's earshot about 'do ghosts even come in trans or what' and he's like 'i'm RIGHT here' #i have...more of these #a queue we will keep and our honor someday avenge

[iliketowrite1996]

His Best Girl

    TRIGGER WARNINGS AND THEMES- single parenthood, death of a spouse, death of a parent, 

‘’Jasmine, put on your shoes and let’s go.’’

    ‘’Just a second, dad!,’’ the ten year old calls from her room, rushing around to get her things ready for the school day. 

    Ten years ago, Jasmine Lynn  Allen-Rogers was born and changed Steve Rogers' life for the better.

When Jasmine was born, Stevee was fresh out of college. He’d only been out on his own for about a year and had just gotten a job teaching art at the local Elementary School. That’s where he’d met his first wife- Petra Allen.

    Petra was the aunt of a student in one of his classes- she’d tagged along to a parent-teacher conference to see how her precious nephew was doing. Apparently the evening had made quite the impression on Petra, because she’d come to the school’s art show to see her nephew’s art work… and to talk to Steve. And he remembers the day so clearly- her ebony curls were pulled into a bun and she had her headrawp on. She smiled, talked, and fitted back…

    And slipped her number into his coat pocket before winking at him and getting into the van with her sister and nephew.

    Steve had called her the very next day, somehow timid and confident all at once. And oh, the two talked for hours, and ended up setting a date for that weekend.   One date turned into two, two dates turned into ten, and pretty soon - six months later, to be exact- Steve was on one knee and proposing to the girl of his dreams.  A courthouse wedding and six weeks later, Petra found out that she was pregnant.

    And so Jasmine Margaret Lynn Allen-Rogers was born on a cold December night, just one week before Christmas. She came into the world screaming and crying, tears coming to Steve’s own eyes as he looked at his baby girl for the first time ever before the nurses carried her off to be cleaned.

And he  will always say that Jasmine was one of the greatest blessings of his life, right next to meeting Petra.

    Sometimes, though, life doesn’t work out the way that we intend for it to. For example… Steve never planned on losing the love of his life. He never planned on picking Petra losing her life the night that Jasmine was born, never planned on having to bury his wife, never planned on having to move out of his apartment and move in with Natasha and Bucky so that Natasha, who worked nights, could be there with his baby girl during the day while Steve was at work.

    As soon as Jasmine had started daycare at one and a half, Steve had taken two more jobs- one as the photographer at a nearby church and one as a waiter at a diner on the weekends and three nights a week. 

    He had not anticipated having to work out a schedule with Sam, Bucky and Natasha- Natasha would get Jasmine ready and take her to day care, pick her up, feed her and bathe her, and Bucky would take over the night shift until Steve got off work at ten. If he didn’t have to work at the school and the diner the next day, he would get her ready for daycare. If he had to, Natasha would.

    On the weekends, both Natasha and Bucky worked, so Sam would take Jasmine during the day, until Steve got off at two. Then, Steve would take time with his daughter. On Sundays, he only worked evenings. He’d go to church, drop Jasmine off at Sunday School before going to service, taking pictures. After church, he’d take Jasmine to the diner for lunch and Sam would pick her up there, taking her to his apartment for a nap and snack until Bucky or Natasha picked her up and took her back to their place.

    When Jasmine was four,Steve did not expect to get a generous offer from Sam Wilson, Steve’s buddy from college, who offered to split the first year of rent with Steve so that he and Jasmine could move into a small studio apartment now that Steve could afford it. So, he quit his job at the diner and kept his job at the school and church. He’d be able to stay on the same schedule as Jasmine, because he’d pick her up from her pre-school’s after school program, take her home, make dinner, help her with her homework. Bath,hair, bed time, and finished up any work until he turned off his own light three hours later at 11.

    When Jasmine was seven, her aunt, Petra’s sister, contacted Steve for the first time since Petra’s funeral. She felt guilty having spent all these years out of contact with her former brother-in-law and niece,and she wanted to make amends.Several lunch dates later, and Steve has his Friday nights to himself as Jasmine goes off to spend time with her cousin and her auntie.

    Three years later, their routine has changed quite a bit.  Now, Steve is paying on a small, two bedroom apartment for him and his daughter. Jasmine now attends the elementary school where he works, so they ride together. They leave together at 4:30, when Art Club and Glee Club Practice are over. They come home, cook dinner, do her homework while he grades essays and projects, watch some television then it’s off to bed.

    Yes, in the past Steve has had to adjust to different ways of doing things. And it's been a struggle, but one thing remains- Jasmine is the light of his life, and he’d do anything for that girl.

    Currently, he wishes she’d pull on her rainboots and get to the living room.

    ‘’Come on, Jazz. We need to get a move on.’’

    ‘’Coming, daddy,’’ Jasmine announces, bouncing into the living room clad in her purple raincoat, hat, and boots, the new jeans Steve bought for her last week peeking out, ‘’I’m ready!’’

    ‘’Perfect,’’ he announces, guiding her to walk in front of him as the two of them get ready to leave the apartment, ‘’Remember, glee club is canceled until they find someone to take over in Mrs. Monroe’s place. You can either come with me, or go with Aunt Patty.’’

    ‘’I’ll go with you,’’ Jasmine announces as she and Steve make their way to the elevator, the fifth grader bouncing as she goes, ‘’I like art club!’’

    ‘’Okay,’’ he laughs, getting onto the elevator with his daughter and pressing the button for the lobby.

    ‘’So, what are we gonna eat for dinner tonight? We’ve got to go shopping,’’ Steve informs his daughter as they go through the lobby.

    ‘’I think we should go to Uncle Bucky’s and Aunt Nat’s house! She makes good lasagna.’’

    ‘’She is working a double shift. And Bucky goes to work at three. And Sam went to visit his sister Delaney in Texas for the week. So you’re stuck with me, chickadee,’’ Steve uses the nickname he’s been using for Jasmine ever since she was born.

    ‘’In that case, can we eat tacos again?’’   

    ‘’Sounds like a plan to me,’’ he tells her, taking her wrist to keep up with her on the busy New York sidewalk.

    It’s the middle of September, and the leaves are beginning to change. The weather today is slightly rainy, and Steve, being the fun-loving dad he is, is hopping into all of the puddles with Jasmine as they walk the three blocks to the elementary school.

    Once there, Steve gives his puddle-jumping-buddy a high five before she heads off to Mr. Isaac’s class and he heads to his art class.

    ‘’Good morning, Mr. Rogers!’’ DeShawn, Jasmine’s best friend, greets as he rushes down the hallway.

    ‘’Good morning, and walk, DeShawn!Steve responds to the young boy, who slowed his pace as he enters Mr. Isaac’s class.

    The hallway is full of activity- kindergartners trailing their teacher, Mrs. Parker to class, and the fourth graders are trailing behind Mr. Stevens as he does attendance on the way to his room.

    As soon as Steve does get into his classroom, he turns on his music, hangs up his coat, and leaves the lights off.

    Steve loves to start his day in the dark- music playing as he waits for the students.

    For the first period of the day, he has  Ms. Pott’s third grade class- so before his room is filled with the sound of twenty-four, eight and nine year olds, he enjoys a bit of time to himself, drinking the coffee he’d brought with him. 

    No later than 8:10, after morning announcements and the Pledge of Allegiance, do Ms. Pott’s kids file into the classroom.

    ‘’Good morning, Mr. Rogers,’’ Pepper Potts speaks, watching her students file in, ‘’How are you this morning?’’

    ‘’Doing well, Ms. Potts,’’ he speaks, taking a hat off of a student’s head as he enters and giving it to Pepper, ‘’No hats, Michael.’���

    ‘’Sorry, Mr. Rogers,’’ Michael mutters,taking his seat.

    ‘’Will you be joining Tony and I for dinner tonight,’’ Pepper question as Steve watches her class take their seats. 

    ‘’No, I can’t tonight. Jasmine has just gotten over her cold, and I really think we just need to go home and relax later.’’

    ‘’That’s too bad! Tony’s godsister, Sharon was looking forward to meeting you. Maybe next time. Alright, class, 31. Mr. Rogers better not have a tough time out of this class or there will be no movie Friday. Do you understand?’’

    ‘’Yes, Ms. Potts,’’ the class chorus, and Pepper flashed a grin at Tony before leaving so that he could close the door.

    And the day goes pretty quickly from there- he’s grateful that Jasmine’s fifth grade class has music today while he takes Ms. Hill’s class today. He doesn’t see Jasmine until she pops into class on her lunch hour while Steve takes his planning period, asking for a dollar so that she can get a treat at lunch.   

    In fact, the only new thing is that he does have a new student.

    ‘’It’s okay, Olivia. There’s no need to be afraid.’’

    Mrs. Storm, the kindergarten teacher, is ushering her students into the class… all except one: a tiny little girl with her hair in two puffs who is looking at Steve from behind her teacher, hand gripping Mrs. Storm’s skirt as she peers up at Steve through her glasses.

    ‘’Mr. Rogers, this is Olivia Reed. She’s new today- she just moved here from Arizona!’’

    Steve smiles at the young girl, crouching down to see her with a smile, ‘’Well, hello! I am so excited that you get to be in my class today! Don’t you want to come in?’’

    The Young child timidly, but quickly, shakes her head before hiding her face i the skirt of Mrs. Storm’s dress once more.

    ‘’I guess I could take her back to class for the day…’’

    ‘’No, no, that’s okay. Listen, Olivia, I’ll tell you what- why don’t you come into class with me and you can help me pass out the art supplies for our class. How about that?’’

    Slowly, but surely, Olivia reaches out and takes Steve’s waiting hand, accepting his offer to help out and causing Mrs. Storm to sigh in relief as she rushes back to her classroom.

    Passing the supplies out seems to help Olivia calm down, and he watches her exchange the brown crayon for the pencil to write her name as she finishes her self portrait.

    ‘’I used yellow because I have blonde hair, see, Mr. Rogers,’’ Daniella, Pepper’s niece, pipes up, ‘’And Olivia has brown hair, and Billy has black hair, and-’’

    ‘’And I think it’s time to start putting our supplies away! DeLynn and Drake, collect the papers. DeLynn gets the girls’ papers, Drake gets the boys. Sierra, Alex, Alejandro and Efua, get the supplies from your group and put them in the bins. Olivia and Zion, collect them.’’

    The whole process takes about ten minutes- it is filled with ‘’Mr. Rogers told ME to do it!, ‘’I’m not done!’’, and ‘’Teacher, what are we supposed to be doing’’, but it is done by the time that Mrs. Storm comes to pick up her students.

    ‘’Thank you, Mr. Rogers- sincerely.’’

    ‘’It’s no trouble,’’ he smiles, kneeling to say goodbye to Olivia, ‘’Bye, Olvia! I’ll see you on Friday, okay?’’

    She doesn’t respond verbally, but she gives him a thumbs up.   

    And that, to him, is as good as anything to show progress..

        ‘’There. Now you’re all set for bed,’’ Steve tells Jasmine, who stands and looks at the twists her dad just made in her hair.

    Her hair is growing pretty fast. Steve, who had to take lessons from Sam’s sister and watch countless Youtube tutorials, is learning to work with her curly hair. Gone are the days of her being content with wearing her hair in braids and pigtails- she is branching out.

    She is growing up.

    And Steve finds that he is both happy about it and a bit melancholy at the same time.

    ‘’Daddy,’’ Jasmine begins as she climbs into bed, ready to be tucked in, ‘’Can I ask you a question?’’

    ‘’Sure, honey,’’ he tells her, setting her alarm clock for her.

    ‘’What did mommy’s hair look like?’’

    Steve pauses before looking at his daughter.

    He’s talked about her mother before, sure. She came home from preschool crying one day, and he had to tell her what happened. And he knows that her aunt has spoken about her plenty of times. However, he stops there- he can’t quite bring himself to look at the pictures. Because though he’s come to accept it, he still feels that if he looks at her pictures, that is going to make it all happen, all over again.

    And that’s something that he’s sure  he’ll never be ready for her.

    ‘’It was… she had really, really curly hair. She liked to wear it in an afro. And it was just a bit darker than yours- ebony black, actually. She loved to wear it in twists, too.’’

    Jasmine pauses from where she is touching her hair, a grin playing on her lips, ‘’Really?’’

‘’Mhm,’’ he smiles a bit, remembering, ‘’And she looked so beautiful with her hair in any style. Just like you. But we’ll have to talk more about her tomorrow, honey. It’s already late and we’ve got to go to school early tomorrow.’’

‘’Okay, daddy,’’ Jasmine nods, allowing Steve to tuck her in, ‘’Daddy, do you think you’ll ever get married again?’’

You know when someone asks you something and you literally have no response?

That’s Steve. Because Jasmine has never asked that question in her ten years of living. So, he does the only thing that he can think of- he attempts to change the subject.

‘’Maybe, I will Jazz. Maybe. But, hey, I’ve got everything I need. And you’re my daughter, my best girl! Now, get some sleep, honey.’’

‘’Good night. I love you!’’

‘’I love you, too, sweetheart,’’ Steve presses a kiss to his daughter’s head before turning off the light and exiting.

    So she’ll definitely bring it up again, but at least he’s bought himself sometime. And, besides, he’s not pressing the issue. He hasn’t been on a date in a while, but he can’t.He’s so busy. And Jasmine needs him- he’s got to help her with her grades and she’s so excited for the big concert coming up at church, and needs him to help her with her solo for her audition. 

    So, no, he’s far too busy to be dating. And, he’s pretty sure that he’ll never fall in love again- not the way that he was with Petra. And he’s content with that. He loves his job, he loves his friends at work and church, he loves the makeshift family with old friends. So, no, he doesn’t even need to think about a new relationship. He’s got everything he needs.

    But what Steve is about to find out is that life has a way of surprising us.

    And that some of our biggest blessings, can be found in the things we never even knew that we wanted.

DISCLAIMER- I do not own any Marvel characters, galaxies, planets, cities, countries, etc. I just love making new stories. 

@ashanti-notthesinger @destinio1 @afraiddreamingandloving @starsshines-blog @airis-paris14 @syreanne @chaneajoyyy @90sinspiredgirl @shemiahsmelanin @zillmonger @skysynclair19 @marvelpotterlove @constantlycravingtheunknown @imaginewhoever @wakanda-inspired @pocmarvelworks @theunsweetenedtruth @dreampovx @adrioola21 @supremethunda @thisiskayesworld @mcusocialimagines @priya212  @kumkaniudaku  @airis-paris14 @alexundefined @fonville-designs  @dramaqueenamby  @mellowjellow6 @oceanscorazon @nerd-lovely @fonville-designs @akimi-youngblood @yoyolovesbucky 

#marvel fanfiction #marvel series imagine #marvel imagine series #steve rogers x reader #captain America x reader #black reader insert #single dad steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers x reader imagine #steve rogers x you #marvel fanfic

[ain-t-bovvered]

15X11 Commentary

I’M AN ASSHOLE THAT FORGOT I STILL HAD THIS EPISODE TO FINISH LOL.

Bunch of tired and caffeinated Europeans ( plus a sleepy American) scream together, and then die and try to get on with their day ( lol AS IF)

@smol-and-grumpy​​​ (Nat)

@dean-winchesters-bacon​​​  (Kat)  

@waywardbaby​​  (Zee)

@ain-t-bovvered  (Giulia)

Nat: 3

Nat: 2

Nat: 1

Nat: go

Giulia: lol that tapping tho

 Zee: The hissing again

Giulia: Didn t need the hiss

Nat: All good thing must come to an end

Nat: Ew

Giulia: This song tho

Nat: "Big Sam left Seattle"

Zee: He’s too mousy

Giulia: DADDY

Zee: Oh the snacc

Zee: Tf?

Nat: Ah

Giulia: AAAH JEEZ

Nat: Yum

Giulia: he had to have that deep voice. Damn

Nat: Who dat

Zee: Of course

Giulia: Yummy

Giulia: I hope the Winchester won’t kill him

Giulia: Wow

Zee: Ouch

Zee: Welcome

Giulia: MY BABY

Nat: Ah the other daddy

Giulia: LOVE HIM

Zee: When did his voice get so deep?

Nat: snorts, they really went right

Giulia: WHY DIDN T THEY USE THE PHONE

Zee: Silent mode

Nat: SILENT MODE IS ALWAYS AN OPTION.   I AGREE

Giulia: what a dad

Zee: Old school bitches

Nat: That smolder

Giulia: Change your diet

Zee: Damn. Does he really sound that deep?

Giulia: Jensen doesn t

Nat: Jensen doesn't but he does have a loud voice

Giulia: Compensating for last time’s kick

Giulia: HEWWO

Giulia: Agent Watts

Nat: Working a Case in Alaska

Giulia: Lizzo

Nat: I'm too old for this shit

 Zee: Jack

Giulia: AAAAAH BB

Nat: WHAT

Giulia: AWE BABE

Nat: BABY

Giulia: AWE

Giulia: DON T

Giulia: MY HEART

 Giulia: THAT FUCKING UGH

Giulia: WOW

 Nat: LOL

Zee: Stop shouting y’all

Nat: WE'RE ON A BUDGET

Giulia: wow

Nat: Two forks

Nat: awe

 Zee: Awe poor babies

Giulia: Snort he’s lactose intolerant 

Nat: I feel you Dean

Zee: Nuts is good

Giulia: Nuts is good

Giulia: Yeah

Nat: NUTS IS GOOD

Zee: He should shut his face

Giulia: Yeah you are

Giulia: THAT POUT

Nat: Sort of an accident. Yeah

Giulia: DEAN CONTROL YOUR FACE

Giulia: sounds like a job for them

 Nat: OH NO

Giulia: OH UH

Zee: He’s so done

Giulia: aaah not ready for cas reaction

Nat: CAS IS DONE

Giulia: AAAAH

Zee: I mean you can stab him but not baby

Zee: Oh shit

Nat: WHAT

Giulia: AW JACK

Nat: NO

Giulia: I DON T UNDERSTAND

Nat: WHY

Giulia: oh ok

Zee: A heart?

Nat: NO

Nat: JACK BB

Giulia: Lol those bar are always the same tho

Zee: Tf is that coin ?

Nat: Winchesters are broke

Zee: Two waters

Giulia: Waters

Nat: Two waters

Nat: PAX

Zee: Pax

Giulia: PAX

Nat: PAX THE SNAXX

Giulia: TO THE MAXX

Giulia: look at him

Nat: so deep

Zee: What she said

Giulia: He’s getting me distracted

Nat: touch it

Zee: Touch it

 Giulia: TOUCH IT

Nat: i'd love to

Giulia: don t mind if I do

Giulia: Average

Zee: Control your fucking lips

Nat: lol of course "keep playing"

Zee: Is this the deep voice ep?

Nat: It's probably a criteria to be cast

Giulia: Can he stop with his hands

Nat: I know

Giulia: When he was 4

Nat: Swinging clubs before you were born snorts

Zee: Between naps and snacks

Giulia: The triangle right

Nat: you saw it too. THANK GOD

Giulia: of course. 

My eyes went : ZOOOOOM

still me: 

Nat: I swear it was on purpose

Giulia: He’s so strong

Giulia: Oh

Zee: I think I miss important

Nat: What

Nat: that fucking smolder

Nat: stop your lips

Giulia: Yeah

Nat: fuck off

Giulia: What she doesn’t say

 Nat: oh oh

Giulia: I DON T LIKE IT

Zee: Lots of hands close-ups, I ain’t complaining

Giulia: ah

Giulia: Sam

Nat: Bundles of eggs?

Giulia: Witch hex bags

Giulia: IT’S REALLY NOT

Nat: ah

Zee: Does she really not know ?

Nat: OH, she knows

Giulia: Where is the snac

Zee: should have walked away

Zee: There’s one

Nat: What

Giulia: Ah

Giulia: MY OTHER BABY

Giulia: MURDER BABY

Nat: Wha does Jack want

Giulia: hearts

Zee: But why?

Nat: I'm on a roll

Zee: Sucks you in

Giulia: What he said

Nat: OnE mORe GamE

Giulia: I heard Daddy out of dean’s mouth and im not ok

Zee: I’m dying here

Giulia: NICE

Nat: He's so full of himself

Giulia: KICK MY ASS TOO

Giulia: SO COCKY

 Zee: Smack is better

Giulia: NO KICK IT

Nat: oh no

Giulia: AWE

Zee: Rodeo

Giulia: are we spending this whole ep with jazz music and pool

Nat: Sam so proud

Zee: Hell of an ep

Giulia: Stop that tongue

Nat: Apparently not

Nat: OH shit

Nat: He ded

Zee: The crinkles

Zee: I’m dead

Giulia: Dean will be happy

Nat: Dean won't like this. He just involuntarily killed a man

Giulia: Yup

Zee: Great

Nat: shit

Giulia: Yup

Giulia: Awe Sam

Nat: Sam's always so righteous

Giulia: Well he actually doesn’t seem so bummed

Zee: Annoyingly so sometimes

Giulia: Baby treat me right

Giulia: AWE HE GOT IT RIGHT

Nat: No, because he's really set to beat Chuck

Giulia: yeah

Zee: Awe his face

Giulia: SNORT

Nat: Ah Cas showed his badge right?

Giulia: yeah

Nat: Did ya see?

Nat: He was holding it up the wrong way?

Giulia: .

Giulia: PAX

Nat: She's the one who played you, Dean!

Giulia: the fuck he is

Giulia: Dark castiel?

Zee: A what ?

Giulia: With that black trench coat

Zee: I want cas dressed like that

Giulia: He should have had the black trench. In the promo he was

Giulia: Ok but how is Jack alright now 

Nat: Billy got work for him

Zee: Hello

Giulia: HEY SNACC

Nat: See. It's her

Giulia: AWE SO YUMMY

 Nat: He's bulkier than Dean

Nat: I CAN ALWAYS MAKE MORE SONS

Giulia: Can I be in that sandwich tho

Nat: A beach read?

Zee: Beach read

Giulia: Beach read

Giulia: Wow

Nat: YES YOU ARE BABY

Giulia: AHAHAHAHAHAH

Nat: TOLSTOY

Giulia: TOLSTOY

Nat: Tell her

Giulia: don t touch sam

Giulia: OF COURSE SAM

Zee: Oh come on

Giulia: HEY STOP THAT

Zee: Thanks for the recap

Giulia: so tired of people hurting my innocent baby ok

Nat: Jack's not afraid because he knows that he's gonna come back

Giulia: Completely innocent

Giulia: U like children

Giulia: Yuck

Giulia: Kill him

Nat: YEAH you fucking pedo

Giulia: AAAAAH

Giulia: DAD

Nat: so billy sends Jack out to kill those

Giulia: NICE

Zee: Dad to the rescue

Giulia: I AM NOT PREPARED

Nat: That eyebrow

Zee: We could use some more light

Giulia: SOB

Nat: Sammy you got this

Giulia: He is so worried

Zee: So focused

Nat: Liver failure... and she looks at Dean lol

Giulia: Liver failure

Zee: THE god

Giulia: Little guy

Giulia: Squirrley as hell

Zee: Welcome to the club

Nat: When you apes climbed down from the trees... aw

Giulia: Thanks

Giulia: Oh this is actually interesting tho

Nat: Get her on board and then go against Chuck

Zee: She knows Chuck

Nat: I mean

Giulia: All the gods

Zee: And when you lose

Nat: Dean lol

Giulia: YAS SAM

Zee: Learnt from my brother

Giulia: No stop it

Nat: NO

Giulia: NO

Zee: There’s always a catch

Nat: DON'T

Giulia: STOP

Zee: They will say yes

Giulia: OF COURSE

Nat: WHY DID KNOW THAT SAM WOULD SAY YES

Giulia: AWE SAM

Giulia: not to the Winchesters

Zee: 15 years

Nat: Ok, but now beat her alright

Giulia: SUCH HEROES

Nat: But like, she fucking lives in a pool hall. What are the odds

Giulia: I ‘m sick of this music and pool tho

Nat: Hate it

Nat: NO

Giulia: Of course

Nat: Are they gonna die

Zee: Fuck

Zee: They can’t yet

Giulia: Thanks

Nat: Ah right, still 9 episodes to go

Nat: Our luck will do that on its own

Giulia: Awe

Nat: Wait what

Zee: She let them out

Giulia: Sob

Zee: Our kind

Nat: Awe

Nat: She helps them

Zee: Make him play yours

Giulia: Make him play yours

Zee: Mojo back

Giulia: Awe are they back to normal

Nat: Awe

Zee: Yes

Nat: Good

Giulia: Dean stuffing his mouth with cheese

Nat: Scratcher

 Nat: lol

Zee: Porn

Giulia: Sob

 Giulia: What was that high note lol

Nat: Back to back double cheese burgers

Nat: Oh oh

Zee: Wait for it

Nat: Oh oh

Giulia: can t wait for jack

Nat: Oh Oh

Nat: OOOHHHHH

Giulia: SOB

Giulia: HEWWO

Nat: AAAAHHHHHH

Zee: So much hurt

Giulia: AAAAAAAAAAAH

Giulia: SAAAAM

Nat: I didn't think I would cry

Giulia: SOB

Giulia: NO

Giulia: STOP DEANP

Giulia: HE LOOKS AT CAS

Zee: Our son is back

Giulia: SOB

Zee: And you let him?

Nat: every day I wanted to come HOME

Giulia: awe Jack bb

Giulia: Grandfather

Nat: He's afraid of me.

Giulia: YES HE IS

Nat: JACK WILL BECOME THE NEW GOD

Giulia: OF COURSE

Giulia: but they just said that there can’t be no god

Zee: So it won’t be the Winchesters?

Nat: It's plausible that Jack will take over.

Nat: He's not God-god. He's Jack-god.

Nat: Ok, so promo then I need to leave

Giulia: UGH

Giulia: if don’t come I’m dead

Giulia: ...same

Giulia: Snort

Giulia: I need Jesus

Nat: What I say

Zee: March 16!

Zee: Hate it

Nat: Sob

Zee: It’s been established

Giulia: I just wish they could change the finale date

Zee: I mean why do they have to drag it like that?

Giulia: There are festivities or some shit idk

Giulia: The superbowl?

Giulia: Whatever

Zee: Oh that shit is on?

Zee: We have a month and a half to find a solution

Nat: There. He showed it the wrong way first?

Zee: Yeah he did

Zee: Lovely dork

Giulia: Ah shit I was writing here and look after he turned it around

Zee: Me too

Nat: Yes hi hello, this is Pax the Snaxx

Zee: Yes hi hello

Giulia: Fuck

Zee: I didn’t ask for this

Nat: Apparently, I don't care

Zee: Apparently you’re a bitch

Nat: Apparently, he's not been always a snaxx

Nat: Because

Nat: snorts

Giulia: Aaaaand it’s gone

Giulia: I love beards, my god

Zee: So fucking vanilla

Giulia: I can’t taste anything

Giulia: This tho?

....the flavour is amazing

Giulia: Yum

Zee: I can’t complain about this flavor either

Zee: Nat started chaos and now she’s sitting somewhere laughing like the evil bitch she is

Nat: No, like I've seen other pics of him and I will spare it for you. But like in the ep he's a damn fucking main course

.

.

.

If you want to get tagged send an ask HERE or to @waywardbaby​ or a smoke signal, idk whatever I’m tired af.

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#spn commentary 11 #Episode commentary #SUPERNATURAL COMMENTARY #spn commentary #supernatural 15x11 #spn 15x11 #15x11 the gamblers

[merlinistheredheadedstepchild]

Wolf Moon - June 5, 2011

Opens on police searching the woods and dogs barking

Is that house ever the McCall house again? Pretty sure it doesn’t ever look like that

How exactly is Stiles hanging from the roof? Do his knees bend backward? “No a body of water.”

God they’re such babies in this. Stiles is way to jazzed about the body being cut in half. Scott is little red riding hood.

Beacon Hills Preserve- No Entry after dark

Stiles is wearing a light blue Beatles shirt and plaid and hooded cargo jacket and khakis Scott is wearing a burgundy AE zip hoodie and light wash jeans Only one of these is an acceptable outfit

It is raining and thundering Scott nearly gets trampled by a dozen deer and loses his inhaler Cell phones don’t have flashlights on them yet Oh look, half a dead girl When werewolves attack Scott nearly gets hit by a red SUV after escaping the alpha

Beacon Hills High School- Est. 1941

Stiles has a navy target shirt and a hoodie under a blazer Scott has on so many layers and the ugliest appliqué tee shirt

Introducing super powers and Allison Argent

I like her scarf and her hair and her jacket Lydia that skirt is not dress code approved

Man I wish the girl who comes up and complains about Allison hitting it off with Lydia had stuck around. Or that she was Erica.

There is so much American Eagle in this episode

State champs three years running because of Team Captain Jackson This is clearly from when Lydia and Jackson were meant to be a grade above them.

Introducing Coach And his first pep talk

A whistle twenty feet away nearly breaks Scott’s brain It’s the bomb-di-bomb song! Jackson’s so fucking dramatic

“It was like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball.” “I can smell the mint mojito gum in your pocket.”

Stiles jumps to lycanthropy in about seven seconds, but to be fair Scott did say he thought he saw a wolf

Introducing a very baby faced Derek Hale Close your mouth Stiles

“He’s only like a few years older than us. His family burned to death in a fire like ten years ago.”

Cats gone wild That is a skyscraper pretty close to the animal clinic it’s also pretty close to where I live (it might be the mall parking lot?) Glowing eyes and dog obedience Allison has a ‘I’m not like other girls’ speech. Which I do not like. Scott cowboys up and asks the new girl out

And then he wakes up in the woods, in a cave, by a creek. In the fog. Not muddy at all. But there’s an alpha on the prowl In daylight (which is contrary to stuff we learn later)

“My mom does all the grocery shopping.”

“I’m sleepwalking three miles into the middle of the woods and I’m pretty much convinced I’m out of my freaking mind!”

“You’re not gonna believe what the animal was. It was a wolf.” Stiles went from joking about werewolves to believing in werewolves and it took like, three days

Coach’s second pep talk Jackson’s so agro

Scott is incapable of making angry face But we get some more super powers

Why are there so many print outs?

Lycaon Wolfsbane Silver Where did that history of lycanthropy book come from Stiles? It looks fifty years old. Who wrote it?

Stiles is wearing a white Lucky Brand tee Scott again has all the layers So much gray and the worst blue

The full moon’s tonight “You’re cursed Scott.” “Your blood lust will be at it’s peak.” Stiles nearly gets his brain smashed in trying to cancel the date

Introducing Melissa, mom of the year. Scott is old enough to drive. Which means he was probably has a fall birthday, right after the cut off.

Scotty, the tee shirts Allison’s cute though. Blazers are great Derek creeps on the party and makes a dog behave Oh look, bad music-less dancing Lydia, why are you creeping on Scott while making out with Jackson? Is this supposed to be a hint about her future arc? Stiles, did you really wear a button up and a tie to a party? Not a blazer too

Derek, sweetie, I know that you’re just being protective of Scott but you come off so creepy But also he’s clearly supposed to be young enough to easily blend in at the party My guesses on ages in this episode are Scott- recently 16, Stiles- about six months into being 16, Allison- eleven months into being 16, Lydia- 10 months into being 16, Jackson- recently 17, Derek- about half way into being 19. This all changes a number of times throughout the show and no one ever knows how old anyone is. Except for Erica.

The music in this transformation is fantastic Kinda psycho-ish Understandably Scott got vibes off Derek and made assumptions Superhero landing Drool and pointy ears

Introducing the jeep and Stiles running like there’s something wrong with him Victoria does not have time for Stiles

The werewolf run is just terrible but his face is cool It’s weird that his body is so hairless when he’s got mutton chops

Hello Mr. Argent

Hey look, Derek actually saved somebody It’s sweet that he’s so willing to save Scott And by sweet I mean fucking heart breaking “The bite is a gift.” “I don’t want it.” “You will. And you’re gonna need me if you wanna learn how to control it. So you and me, Scott, we’re brothers now.” Just get right up in the wounded, confused teenagers face and spout some culty non-sense

Scott’s priorities are Allison hating him Stiles’ priorities are how to figure out this werewolf thing and not even a little bit Allison Allison accepts his vague apology and we find out her dad is a hunter End episode One

#Teen Wolf #Teen Wolf Rewatch #tw s1 #Wolf Moon #1.01

[pennywisethedancingclownofderry]

Happy Holidays @give-me-food-and-ninjago !

I was your secret santa partner! I'm sorry that I wasn't able to find the time to familiarise myself with your oc's and I wasn't able to find a way to stick Morro in there anywhere so I hope this will suffice! It's under the cut! (Nevermind I can't figure out how to cut it off sorry everyone)

Thankyou to @coco-jaguar for hosting the event and affording everyone this wonderful opportunity!

Cole peered in through the glass, grimacing when he was forced to wipe away the misting of breath that condensed against the tank’s visage.

“Are you satisfied with your purchase?” Pixal’s voice was cool, yet it held a trace of amusement as the nindroid watched the gecko’s movements alongside him.

“Yeah I am! Look at the little guy!”

The ‘little guy’ in question was currently sleeping inside the faux cave that served as a shelter for the reptile.

“So, what will his name be?” Cole turned to face the android, forehead creased.

“I don’t know really, haven’t thought about it.”

Despite the lack of forethought alluded to in the previous statement, the gecko hadn’t really been a spur of the moment purchase, though it may have seemed like that to the other residents aboard the Destiny’s Bounty. Cole had been considering getting a pet for months and had spent many a late night on his phone, researching pet enclosures and care, hurriedly shoving the phone under a pillow when he heard footsteps patrolling outside the bedroom door.

Luckily, the assorted ninja no longer shared a bedroom, meaning that he didn’t necessarily have to run his plan by the others. However, that wasn’t to say that he had kept his newest acquisition strictly a secret, it wasn’t long after he’d decided on a pet that suited him that a certain curly-haired motor mouth had caught him comparing the prices of tanks on his phone.

‘Pets R’ Us’ was offering a tank for about $90, however ‘Petz Mart’ was offering one of similar specifications, except that it was priced at $150. The only difference? ‘Petz Mart’ had a warranty that lasted about a year longer than its competitor.

A weight landed on his shoulder and Cole jumped as his assailant offered his opinion. “I think you should go with ‘Petz Mart’, can’t beat a longer warranty!” Cole flinched around, staring at his friend’s freckled visage. Jay’s grin split nearly from ear to ear as he watched the earth ninja sputter and choke on his own spit.

“Sooooo, what are you doing? Looking for “Rocky 2 point-“

Cole slammed his hand against the lightning ninja's much maligned 'mouth of lightning' with a hiss. “Shut up!” he glanced about the empty kitchen, concerned that more busybodies would suddenly make themselves known.

He glanced back at his friend and was grateful to find that, as opposed to being offended, Jay seemed to be nothing other than amused. Cole could feel him smirking behind his callused palm and one gingery eyebrow ascended higher and higher up his forehead.

Jay then did the predictable, and utterly disgusting. Licking up the earth ninja’s sweaty palm, the broad grin stretched to near nightmarish lengths, painting his face in a sadistically humourous light.

Cole retrieved his hand with a noise of deep disgust, eyebrows scrunching together.

Jay noticed this movement and couldn’t help but quip, “I’m just saying! I didn’t think you needed any more pets than that lovely pair of caterpillars on your face!”

Said caterpillars then attempted to take their relationship to greater lengths as they pressed further together.

Jay laughed, noticing Cole’s glare. “Oh come on! It’s a joke! What are you doing anyway?” he inquired, not very subtly changing the subject.

Cole sighed. “I’ll tell you if you promise to keep that big mouth of yours shut!”

Jay responded, for once, nonverbally, by miming zipping his lips shut and then, somehow, throwing away the zipper.

“I want to get a pet, okay? I’ve been looking into it lately and a gecko seems like a good fit to me! They sleep a lot and-“

Now it was Jay's turn to physically silence the other. “Okay! Okay? I get it, I don’t need the whole rant.”

Cole turned his eyes downward, “Well isn’t that ironic?”

Jay chose to ignore, or simply didn’t hear the thinly veiled insult. “Sooooooo. . . What are you going to call it?”

Cole blinked back at him. “I don’t know, not yet at least. I’ll figure it out when I meet them.”

And so, Cole’s hypothetical pet remained unnamed, yet even when he did first lay eyes upon the miniscule reptile, still he had no idea what to name him.

Kai was the next to learn about the new acquisition to the ninja family and as he came across the gecko he came up with what he considered to be the most creative and cutting edge among pet names.

“Scales!” he claimed. “Scales is a great name for a lizard!”

Cole frowned, nowadays that seemed to be his default expression. “But we already know a Scales and I don’t think we know him well enough to go naming pets after him!”

Kai nodded, giving his version of what was considered to be understanding. “How about . . . Godzilla, then?”

Cole fixed him with the coldest glare he thought possible. “No.” He stated, steely tone leaving no room for argument.

Zane was the next to come across the gecko, exploring his friend’s room in the hunt for dirty washing.

“Why don’t you name him something with cultural or personal siignificance? Like after the first Spinjitzu master or your father?”

Yet again Cole shook his head. He couldn’t really see any reason to name a lizard after the first Spinjitzu master.

Besides, 'Lou' seemed a stupid name for a gecko.

Nya's take on the situation was just as unhelpful as she attempted to list the unnamed gecko’s physical features as a way of selecting a name for him.

“Spots?” She drummed her callused fingers across the bedside stand Cole had selected to hold the tank.

Cole didn’t even bother to lift his face from where he had mashed it into his pillows, which were luckily softer than those afforded to him on Chen’s island.

“No.”

Nya hummed, peering into the tank.

“Webby?”

Cole frowned. “Webby?” he repeated.

Nya turned and began pointing with her right hand at the junction between finger and thumb on the left.

“You know, like the webbing between your digits.” To emphasise the point the water ninja began to enthusiastically waggle the fingers on both her hands.

Okay, she was definitely doing jazz hands at this point.

Cole groaned. “He’s a leopard gecko, he doesn’t have webbed feet!” he snapped.

Instead of being offended, Nya grinned. “Sorry, not everyone’s a lizard expert, you know?”

She looked back at the tank, peering intently at the gecko, who stared straight back.

Eventually the water ninja was the one to lose the staring contest. Straightening, Nya turned once more to the earth ninja.

“Scales?”

“Your brother already suggested that.”

Nya’s grin flickered as a look of disgust crossed over her features.

“Well, that’s one great mind I don’t want to think alike with.”

Lloyd didn’t so much as offer advice on naming the gecko, but rather sat on Cole’s bed with a book of baby names. The earth ninja had no idea why he had such a thing. When asked Lloyd offered little to no explanation. Stating that he’d bought it for personal reasons.

Of course Cole could respect such a thing, and as such he didn’t question the green ninja any more.

“Aberforth?”

“No.”

“Abraham?”

“No.”

“Adam?”

“No.”

“Then what do you want to call it?”

Cole couldn’t honestly answer. He could only hope that the next person he asked would be more helpful.

“Sensei Wu?”

The old man didn’t offer any verbal answer, instead fixing his aging eyes on his hopeful student.

“I’m trying to find the right name for my pet.”

“Hmmm.”

“And no one’s really offered any good advice for what I should name him.”

“Hmmm.”

Cole blinked. “You’re not going to help me either, are you?”

The elderly teacher’s lips curled upward into a fond smile. “No, Cole. But I believe in this situation it is best not to offer one’s own opinion but to allow the other to formulate their own.”

Cole hummed in response, fixing his eyes on the aging boards of the land bounty.

The two sat in silence for hours, the elder deep in meditation as his student pondered his gecko. Eventually, Cole looked up to meet his sensei’s eyes.

“Ferdinand.” He mumbled, eyes fixed on the teacher's face. “Ferdinand sounds right.”

A small smile began to form on the teacher’s face. “And is that the name you think fits your pet?”

Cole smiled as he thought back to the gecko. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it is.”

Cole peered through the pristine glass of the tank.

“Ferdinand?”

The gecko’s eyes blinked from inside the tank.

Cole smiled. “Ferdinand it is then.”

#ninjago #ninjago secret santa 2019

[belphegor1982]

Well, officially presenting the first chapter (on AO3 and here) of my Mummy story I’m in the process of resurrecting :o)

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: The O'Connells are required by the English Government to bring the Diamond taken from Ahm Shere from Cairo to London. Things get interesting when Jonathan bumps by chance into an old friend of his from Oxford, Tom Ferguson...

Chapter 1: Old Friends (on AO3 here)

Cairo, Egypt, 1937

A tourist’s first impression of this part of Cairo was mostly a blinding white light. The little houses, the blazing sky, the glittering sun, even the dust flying around helped complete the effect.

Of course, as soon as your eyes – and mind – adjusted, you could see and feel the dust settled on absolutely everything, including your ears and nose, the layers of grime, the heaps of donkey and mule droppings in the streets… and if you were very careful, you could catch the hand of the passing pickpocket sneaking for your wallet, as it was in any metropolis big and noisy enough for passers-by to be distracted.

Not that this particular thought worried one particular Englishman currently sauntering across the streets of Cairo. As a fairly skilled pickpocket himself, Jonathan Carnahan didn’t need to eye every corner warily – all he needed to do was to watch his own self and make sure that no belongings of his landed in anyone’s pocket. Or vice versa.

Jonathan turned round a corner, whistling a jaunty jazz tune. Despite his cheerful demeanour, he was feeling slightly miffed, having gone out in the hopes of finding something for Evy’s birthday and coming home empty-handed. Lucky thing that he still had a couple of weeks to go. After years of searching frantically for a gift at the very last moment, he was determined to get his hands on something she might like – and preferably something that didn’t involve puzzle boxes, big black books, and three-thousand-years-old mummies rising from the dead. That was over. He, for one, had had his share of insane stuff like that.

Thinking of their last trip to Egypt all together wiped the smile off his face. It had been two years, but how could he ever forget that horrible, ice-cold feeling that had left him completely numb, as he sat down next to the dead body of his sister, trying to comfort his nephew and failing so thoroughly? He had never felt so miserable in all his life. Since his life included a stint in the trenches and being chased by the undead more times than necessary, this was saying something.

There it goes again. Jonathan shook his head, and quickened his pace. He’d got fairly good at actively ignoring this kind of memories, but it was getting harder when they kept popping back up without a warning. Unlike his brother-in-law, for whom this part of the world meant little else than bloody unnecessary conflict, the inside of a gaol, and the aforementioned undead, Jonathan didn’t really mind returning to Egypt. He’d had quite a few fond memories of the place before the whole nasty mummy business. It was the reason behind the trip that bothered him a little.

Two years ago, the second before the oasis of Ahm Shere sank into the ground, Jonathan had taken as a souvenir – and compensation for his troubles – the enormous diamond resting atop the pyramid. He’d felt very proud of himself for that, and it had come to him as a nasty bit of shock when Evy had told him there was absolutely no way he would take it to London. Yet, after much arguing on his part, and even more talking and coaxing on his sister’s, he had finally admitted, despondently, that she might be right after all.

The Cairo Egyptian Museum of Antiquities had offered him a tidy sum, but it had not really consoled him – not when he had been strong-armed to give a substantial part to Izzy as compensation for his troubles. Since the man never knew the real value of the gem, however, said compensation amounted to a quarter rather than the half he had been demanding, a fact which Jonathan adamantly refused to feel guilty over.

Even Evy reminding him that the diamond couldn’t be safer than in this hidden room, under the constant, hawk-like watch of the Medjai curator, had not been quite enough. The diamond was beautiful – gleaming white, inlaid with elaborated gold and pearls – and big – the weight of it had nearly pulled Jonathan down from the dirigible. Parting with it had not been easy.

And now, just a few months ago, the British government had contacted Evy and Rick through the curator of the British Museum where Evy oversaw the seven Egyptian galleries; they had decided that the diamond was no longer safe in Egypt, with the Italian army invading Ethiopia not so long ago and the ominous tidings from Germany, Italy and Spain – the O’Connells had been kindly asked to return to Egypt, and accompany the diamond on its way to England. Which had meant, in a more prosaic way of putting it, that they were mandatory volunteers. The look on Rick’s face when he had explained it to his brother-in-law had been a murderous one – partly because he hated the idea of being ordered about, mainly because Evy was more than enthusiastic about it.

Alex had told his uncle afterwards of the row they’d had one night, thinking he was sound asleep. Poor kid had never heard his parents truly fight in the space of ten years, and that had obviously disturbed him. To tell the truth, it had disturbed Jonathan himself, who saw Evy and Rick as the perfect couple in so many ways it was disgusting. Egypt – especially its supernatural side – had lost its charms for Rick ever since Ahm Shere. There was no way in hell he’d let his wife go there alone.

“And he said that Mum was ‘a magnet for trouble’, that each time they went to that ‘damn place someone died’, and after that Mum shouted something rude –”

“Rude? Evy? Are we really speaking of my baby sister there?” Uncle and nephew had been sitting on the carpet on the floor of the latter’s bedroom, back against the bed. Jonathan quite liked it when he went over to ‘baby-sit’ Alex – Evy had finally come to trust him when she and Rick had to go out for whatever reason, and they usually had a good time together. That evening, though, Alex had sat silently, looking crestfallen. When Jonathan had eventually managed to get him to talk, it was rather late in the night, and Alex ought to have been put to bed long ago. But neither of them were very eager about it just then.

His uncle’s attempt at humour got a reluctant smile from Alex; he repeated what Evy had said to Jonathan, who let out a low whistle. “Indeed. Even your dad would call it rude, I guess.”

Alex gave another slight smile, and snuggled beside his uncle. A tad uncomfortable at first with this rather unusual display of emotion, Jonathan put an arm around his nephew’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “Hey. Want a piece of advice from your old uncle?” Alex nodded, not saying anything. “Don’t worry too much. I’ve seen your parents together for twelve years, and if there’s only one thing I’m sure of in this world – they are so in love it’s sickening. It’s always been this way, and I’m sure it’ll always be this way.” Alex raised his eyes. Jonathan looked down at him, winking. “Get used to it, partner. We’re doomed.”

A moment’s silence passed, more comfortable and relaxed than it had been a few minutes earlier. Then Alex raised his blond head to ask, “D’you think we’ll go back to Egypt, then?”

“I don’t know.” Jonathan shifted slightly on the floor. “I wouldn’t say no to a trip there – the country’s a fine one. And after all, we’re talking about my diamond here, dammit.” Alex snorted, and Jonathan chose to ignore it. “Seriously, I like the place. I spent most of my time as a kid there.”

“Well, I’d love to go.” The passion in his nephew’s voice echoed his mum’s whenever she spoke of Egypt, and it wasn’t lost on Jonathan.

“You sure? I would’ve thought that you would hate it, actually. You didn’t have what I’d call a good time last time you went there.”

“You only say that because you were scared to death most of the time.”

“It’s not true.”

“Like hell it isn’t!”

Jonathan managed to give Alex what he thought was a stern look. The boy just grinned.

“And you kiss your mother with that mouth.”

“Bet Dad hasn’t taught me half of what he knows.”

This time, they both chuckled. Then Alex scrambled out of his uncle’s arms and looked at him in the eye. “Why won’t he go back to Egypt?”

“Well, it’s – it’s complicated.” No it’s not. “I guess he doesn’t want to – lose you or your mum again.” Jonathan swallowed. “And to tell you the truth… I have to agree with him on that one.”

“But it’s only for the diamond!” Alex exclaimed. “No Book of the Dead, no mummies, no ancient curses. Only a stupid diamond to take to England.”

Jonathan grinned. “The problem is, each time your mum began her sentence by ‘It’s only’ something, the world went upside down and your mum and dad had to save it. Mostly because they doomed it in the first place. If my memory serves me right, it was first the Book of the Dead, then the chest with that bloody Bracelet of Anubis.” Jonathan shook his head. “Seems you take more after Evy than I thought.” He winked at Alex to make him know he was only being half serious; but Alex went on.

“Okay, I understand that he doesn’t want to lose me or –”

“Let me clear that up, Alex,” Jonathan interrupted, his voice low and serious for once. “It’s not that he ‘doesn’t want’ to. You know him, there’s not many things on earth he’s afraid of, but he’s scared out of his wits at the mere thought of losing one of you two. And that’s saying something, because your dad’s one of the bravest blokes I’ve ever known.”

Alex was silent for a moment, pondering his uncle’s words. Then his jaw clenched, and he looked away. “Uncle Jon?”

“Yes?”

“At Ahm Shere, I was – I was scared to death when – when Mum…”

Jonathan felt a knot tighten in his chest; he shifted closer to his nephew and put an arm around him again. “I know. I was, too.”

After a whole week of deliberation, Rick and Evy accepted the government’s mission. And after another fourteen days of heated debates, Alex was allowed to go with his parents to Egypt, apparently thanks to the high marks he had received in school. But Jonathan suspected that this decision had a lot to do with his nephew’s ability to wear out any guardian when he didn’t want to be left out. Thankfully the boy had never tried his infamous tricks on him, a fact that made Evy wonder endlessly.

In the end, Evy and Rick officially broke the news about the trip to Jonathan; not wanting them to realise that he had known for almost a month, he feigned to be pleasantly surprised, and asked if they minded him going along for the ride. Evy said yes almost immediately, but Rick muttered something about the return of the whole O’Connell-Carnahan family to Egypt bringing down plagues and destruction upon the world.

So, after a surprisingly uneventful flight from London to Cairo, and an equally calm trip to their ‘old haunt’, as Jonathan liked to put it, they were settling down peacefully. The lack of major events so far had made Rick more relaxed, even if he still looked as if danger was about to bear down upon his family any time. But the fact remained that they were to stay in Egypt until the London and Cairo Museums agreed on several points which still needed to be discussed. Ah, the joys of bureaucracy.

Jonathan was jerked out of his train of thought when he finally felt the afternoon sun’s fantastic heat on his head and neck, and wished he had taken Evy’s advice to put on a hat. They had arrived the day before, and while Evy discussed the diamond case with the curator of the Museum of Antiquities, and Rick took Alex to see other things than desiccated corpses, Jonathan had sneaked out to take a stroll, and try to find a fitting birthday present. Evy was a tricky one when it came to gifts – she didn’t seem to like flowers, trinkets or pretty dresses like other women Jonathan knew; but she was crazy about anything that reminded her of Egypt. It had been that way ever since she was old enough to know what she wanted, which had come very early indeed.

Maybe the best thing was to ask O’Connell what he would be giving her, and either get ideas or just contribute to the purchase, as he had done before. But that bothered him. After all, as his one and only sister, she did deserve something special.

Quite lost in his thoughts this time, he barely registered that he was walking past the Museum before somebody knocked into him, hard enough for both of them to crumple, breathless, on the ground. It took Jonathan thirty seconds to get his lungs in working order again and, instinctively, check his pockets for anything missing.

“So sorry I bumped into you, man, din’ mean to,” came the voice of the attacker. Jonathan’s eyes widened at the sound of this voice and he squinted up at its owner.

“Ferguson? Is that you? Tommy Ferguson?”

The fellow shook his head, still looking a bit dazed; then his own eyes, round and brown, went even rounder as he stared at Jonathan. “Carnahan! What the hell are you doin’ ‘ere?”

“Glad to see you too, old chap,” laughed Jonathan, standing up and dusting himself off before offering a hand at the man on the ground, who accepted it gladly.

He hadn’t seen Thomas Ferguson since some time after the end of the war, what felt like ages ago. They’d made quite a pair at Oxford, the two of them – the scrawny, foppish Southerner with the quiet grin and the sticky fingers, and the broad-shouldered, round-faced Scouse with the laughing eyes and the deceptively innocent face. They’d rowed for the Dark Blues for a bit, got properly pickled on Boat Race Nights, and helped each other out of many a tight spot.

As soon as Tommy was on his feet he was wringing Jonathan’s hand with all the energy he’d been famous for as a boy. “Sorry, Jon, mate, I was a bit stunned –” After all these years, he still retained some of that accent, too! “– ‘S’not everyday you bump into a pal from Oxford in the middle of Cairo! How’d you get here, for starters?”

“Well, I followed my sister,” Jonathan replied, grinning. In fifteen years or so, he had not realised that he had actually missed this accent. “She’s giving a hand to the curator of the Museum of Antiquities – she’s something of an authority now, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh yeah? That’s fantastic. I haven’t forgotten how you’d talk about her, y’know. On and on and on. I’m curious to see what she looks like.”

Jonathan stole a glance at the entrance steps of the Museum, and turned to Tommy with a smirk. “Really? Well, if you really want to, I suppose I could…”

His sister had just appeared on the stairs, accompanied by the curator, an elderly man with greying hair and whiskers. Tommy followed Jonathan’s gaze and looked at them, goggling at Evy in particular.

“Jonny – are my eyes mistaken, or is this gorgeous woman Doctor Evelyn O’Connell? I’ve read about her, she’s famous in my line of work… According to what I’ve read, she was one of the first people to make it out of the City of the Dead alive –”

Jonathan’s grin widened as he nodded. “Yes, that’d be her.”

Tommy rambled on as they walked closer to the stairs, “That’s bloody amazing! I thought she’d look, you know, like in the pictures in the paper, the bookish type with glasses – your typical Southern spinster”, he added with a wink. They waited for the curator to bid her goodbye, and Jonathan, greatly enjoying the situation, crept up on his sister to kiss her on the cheek.

“Hey there, old mum – how’s your day been?”

Evy started, then her expression shifted from slightly irked to a smile at her brother’s laugh. She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Jonathan, the things that amuse you…”

“You’re just miffed I startled you. C’mon, I’d like you to meet someone – an admirer,” he added with a grin to Tommy, who stood there, his eyes wide. “Thomas Ferguson, an old school friend of mine. Tommy – Evelyn Carnahan O’Connell, my famous baby sister.”

Evy held out her hand, which Tommy grabbed and shook heartily. “So you’re the old scoundrel’s sister? No wonder he spoke about you – though you don’t quite fit the description now…”

“What exactly did you tell your ‘school friends’ about me?” asked Evy, warning in her voice, though the twinkle in her eye did not quite disappear. Nevertheless, Jonathan preferred to ignore her question, earning a hard nudge in the ribs.

“So, what did you say your ‘line of work’ was?” he asked Tommy.

“Well – don’ laugh. I work at the British Consulate in Cairo, specialising in antique stuff. Oh, I’m sorry, Dr O’Connell,” he stammered with a glance at Evy who had an eyebrow raised, “I mean I’m one of the chief agents in the British Antique Research Department.”

“I’ve heard of you!” exclaimed Evy. “At least of that Research Department. They’re gradually cutting off public funds – encouraging individual financing – that won’t do any good for scientific research. Such a stupid decision is only going to –”

“So you lot are the ones she kept fuming about for half a year!” Jonathan snorted. The infamous Ferguson rotten luck struck again.

Tommy looked dejected. Evy must have seen this, because she bit her lip and said, in softer tones, “Look, I’m sorry I snapped at you. But as my brother said, I’ve been – rather upset over this. There’s been some pressure on the British Museum lately by private patrons who threatened to pull out their funding on some… sensitive collections. Without the Crown to back us up, we might have to cave in to their ridiculous demands.”

“I’ll – I’ll tell my superiors about it,” said Tommy, still looking unsure. “See what I can do. Surely that won’t be much, but… Well. I’ll have tried.”

“That’s nice,” Evy said cheerfully, taking Jonathan’s arm and starting to walk. “Look, the two of you – I’ve had something of a rough day, so I’ll go home, if you don’t mind. You can –”

“Brilliant idea!” said Jonathan, flashing a grin at his sister. “I thought of going to the Sultan’s Kasbah, but you might find it a tad – let’s say – dingy, my good friend.”

“Worse than the Turf?” Seeing Evy’s puzzled look, Tommy explained, “Sorry, private joke. I mean the Turf Tavern, that’s where I saw him for the first time. Me family didn’t ‘ave much money, you know, so I used to work there to pay for my studies. Very nice pub, didn’t deserve the reputation.”

“I’m sure you did indeed see a lot of my brother there,” Evy slipped in slyly. Jonathan threw a mock glare at her.

“To think you are almost my only family. What a shame.” Then, as Tommy looked uncertain, “Carry on, Tom.”

“All right. So I was one of the only students who needed a job, and there were some others who thought that it was – how’d they put it? – a ‘disgrace’ to our university.”

“Preposterous,” said Evy sternly. “As if money could take you further than talent.”

Jonathan bit back on the cynical comment that crossed his mind. Sometimes Evy’s naïveté baffled him.

“Right,” said Tommy uncertainly, glancing at Jonathan. “So, one day, a little bunch of lads come in, and Jon here was sometimes hanging with ‘em at the time –”

Evy glared at Jonathan in advance, and he threw his hands in the air. “Don’t look at me like that! I haven’t done anything!” Evy’s gaze softened, and Jonathan finished, “…Yet.”

That earned him a playful slap on the arm, and a laugh from Tommy, who went on, “Anyway, one of the blokes orders somethin’ or other, and starts to poke fun at me. Well, I was used to it, so I let them be. Then they continued, and I finally noticed that skinny lad in the corner who was makin’ fun at them for making fun at me. Didn’ quite understand what the hell was going on – oh, sorry, Dr O’Connell – what was happening.”

Evy smiled. “You’ll have to watch your mouth in front of my son, but otherwise it’s fine. And please, call me Evelyn.”

Tommy beamed. “Right, uh, Evelyn. So, uh –”

“What he didn’t know at that point,” interrupted Jonathan, “was that I had my eye on that fellow – what’s his name – Farbow. He owed me quite a bit of money, but wouldn’t repay me. So I was looking for a way to get him back for it.”

“And get the rest of his wallet in the process, of course.”

“Evy, he owed me seventeen pounds. And he was not what I’d call a ‘decent bloke’ – nasty, disdainful piece of work he was, and his little friends with him. Always a dirty word about the Scouse who worked at the Turf Tavern, just because he didn’t belong to his snobby little world. I did the community a favour, really.”

“Don’t push it, Jonathan,” warned Evy.

Tommy carried on. “Well, I was glad there was at least one person who didn’t think like Edwin Farbow – nice change. Then Farbow said something – I don’t remember what it was about, I jus’ remember it made me really angry, really. An’ it’s not a pretty sight when I’m really angry at someone.”

Jonathan remembered, but thought it wise to keep his mouth shut.

“An’ – an’ I just lost it, y’know? I dropped his tea over his ‘ead –”

“I say, that one was pretty funny,” Jonathan said, smiling widely at the memory. The strangled yelp that had followed had definitely been one of the best parts.

“So they all leaped for me, obviously – began to punch me, the six or seven of them – hey, I still managed to get back at them!” Tommy added quickly, as if defending his honour. Evy hid a smile, and it occurred to Jonathan that that last sentence had something very Rick-like about it. “But I’m not a fool. I know a losing fight when I’m in one.”

“Don’t tell me. Jonathan bravely threw himself into the fight to take on as many attackers as possible.” There was mischievous laughter in Evy’s voice, and her eyes were twinkling. If any other than her had quipped that way about him, Jonathan would probably have taken offence, or at least pretended to. But they knew each other enough not to cross the line.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Well, that wasn’t quite Jon’s style – I don’ know, might’ve changed since then. But yeah, he did. One moment I was squashed under six or seven guys, the nex’ I found out we were two on the floor.”

Evy began to laugh. “Why, Jonathan? My Jonathan, in a fight, for someone he barely knew?”

At that Jonathan cleared his throat, a mite embarrassed. “I told you, I was looking for Farbow’s wallet. That was the perfect diversion – you should’ve seen that twit looking in every corner for his lost wallet afterwards. It was three months before he gave up.” And it’s lucky you didn’t see me then. I was a bloody mess. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing.” Evy smiled. “You never told me that.”

“Should I have?”

“I don’t know, it’s – it was nice of you to do that, even for the wrong reasons. I’m proud of you.”

Jonathan felt an unexpected lump rise in his throat. Not a very big one, but enough to keep him from talking for a few seconds. It was always like this whenever she said something really nice to him. It caught him off guard each and every time.

“We’re home,” announced Evy after a little while, stopping in front of a door.

“Nice house,” commented Tommy, taking in the sand-coloured neat front and the curtains at the windows.

“Our ‘old haunt’ since the family moved to Egypt,” Jonathan said, opening the door and stepping aside to let his sister in. “Evy wasn’t even walking then.”

“I do believe I was,” Evy protested.

Jonathan snorted. “Oh, you weren’t. You crawled.”

Evy seemed to resist the urge to slap her brother and walked into the living room, her nose in the air. She was greeted by two simultaneous voices:

“Mum!”

“Hey, hon.”

Jonathan waited a few seconds, then walked into the room in turn, and grinned at the sight of his nephew looking genuinely eager to see him. He was not fooled, however – as soon as Evy wasn’t looking, Alex mouthed the words “Got one?” and frowned as his uncle shook his head. No, he still had no present for Mum’s birthday.

Then Alex peered behind Jonathan and saw Tommy standing there, looking uncomfortable at the family reunion.

“Uncle Jon? Who’s that?”

“Who, him?” Jonathan pointed at his friend, and Alex rolled his eyes. “Tom Ferguson, was in class with me at Oxford. I ran into him by chance today.”

Tommy stepped past Jonathan and held out his hand to Alex, nearest to him. “Hi – glad to see ya. Jon’s nephew, eh?”

“Yeah,” said Alex, eyeing him with all the suspicion of a ten-year-old who’d seen what he had seen. Behind him, Rick’s eyes spoke loads about his own distrust. But mistrust towards Jonathan and everything related was par for the course on his part, and, admittedly, reasonable.

“Thomas Ferguson, British Antique Research Department,” said Tommy, holding out a hand towards Rick, who shook it slowly, still reluctant.

“Rick O’Connell.”

“So you’re Dr O’Connell’s husband? Pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m impressed, you’ve no idea.”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “Impressed?”

“It seems I’m rather famous in the Research Department,” said Evy, laughing.

“Make that infamous,” quipped Jonathan.

“The Department owes your wife a huge amount of information about some obscure periods of Egyptian hist’ry, as well as the major part of serious knowledge we’ve got on Hamunaptra,” Tommy pointed out, and Evy blushed. “She’s a legend – one of the original three who managed to go to Hamunaptra and live to tell the tale – but – I assume you’re another one?”

“Yeah,” said Rick, looking a bit nonplussed. Jonathan definitely didn’t regret bringing Tommy in. Seeing Rick O’Connell confused was a very rare occurrence, too rare to be missed.

“I never knew – who was the third one?”

Jonathan was now struggling to keep a straight face. Rick blinked, and pointed at his brother-in-law. “That was him.”

“You!?” God, the look on his face was priceless. “You were at Hamunaptra?”

“Yes,” risked Jonathan, laughter rising in his voice. “And believe me, it wasn’t quite the picnic. Oh, by the way, there were four of us, not three.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Rick roll his eyes and grinned, undaunted. This was proving to be a fun evening.

__________

1937 was a conscious choice on my part, and so was the choice to make it two years after Ahm Shere. I know that in the film we clearly see the caption THEBES – 1933, but 1935 is the date at the back of the DVD and at the back of the novelisation. Besides, in the film, Red (the bald-ish one of the three thugs) states that the events of TM happened "nine years ago", and Alex is eight. I'm not good at maths, but I chose to trust it nonetheless. There are other explanations to the date goofs, both Doylist and Watsonian, and this is mine.

Hope you liked/will like the rest!

#Fairy Tales and Hokum #my stuff #fanfiction #the mummy #the mummy returns #the mummy films

[sunevial]

The Pianist

Commissioned by @zephyrus-gryphon (or more accurately, my way of thanking him for donating to my glasses fund)

A bit of a thought experiment, this piece follows the character from Death Parade, the Pianist. What might she been have like in life?

---

The lights dimmed, bathing the concert hall in gentle shadows until there was only a single white spotlight shining down on the stage. Space filling chatter fell to nothing more than the barest of whispers as eyes turned towards the main attraction of the night. There were no dancers in colorful costumes, no actors ready to belt out emotional lines, just a simple grand piano and a woman in black. She raised her arms, slow enough that it seemed they were breathing deep, and placed her fingers onto the keys.

 Light burst from the stage, grabbing audience members by the ear and demanding that they pay attention for just this short burst of time. It flowed, it swayed, it rose and it fell, it pushed them to the edge of their seats and flung them back until they were helpless to do anything except ride out the storm. If there was magic in this world, this was it, and they were getting perhaps their only chance to see it done by a master.

Perhaps it was lifetimes later when the spell broke; perhaps it was only minutes. The hall was left in stunned silence as the woman stood and gave a polite bow. Only then did everyone leap to their feet, applause breaking their stupor and reminding everyone that this was, in fact, not a dream. 

Among the commotion, a young girl remained with her eyes on the stage, drinking in the sight of the woman in black and the instrument at her side. She closed her eyes, desperately searching in her mind for a place to remember the song by so that she would never lose this experience, this memory. Music had found its way into her life, and she could never go back down the path she had started down. 

With wide eyes filled with wonder and resolve, the little girl tore her eyes away from a dream made manifest and tugged on her mother’s skirt. 

“Mom, I want to do that too.”

Her mother blinked a number of time, face softening with each one as she realized the determination in her daughter’s words. 

“It’s going to be a lot of work, you know. It’s going to take a long time. It’s going to be hard.”

The little girl simply nodded.

“That’s okay. I can do it.”

---

“Beside the bone fractures and the torn muscle tissue, not to mention you have a severe concussion and I still have no idea how you managed to survive a broken neck, there’s probably going to be quite a bit of nerve damage in your hands.”

The words jumbled together after that, meaningless strings of phrases that meant nothing and would mean nothing. Unable to so much as move her head, her eyes flickered without purpose between the harsh white walls and the harsher hospital lights. All manner of monitors for her breathing and her heart rate and who knows what else beeped in steady patterns, the sound maddening in its ever repeating loop. There were so many wires in and around her body that she was honestly surprised the doctors hadn’t replaced all of her organs with gears and cogs.

She was supposed to be grateful. She was supposed to count her blessings that she was so much as breathing after the car had rolled over five times, the same accident that left her mother paralyzed from the neck down and made her baby brother lose an arm. She was supposed to feel lucky that she would make a nearly full recovery except for some problems with fine motor control.

Piano was all placing fingertips to delicate keys, light touches or hard slams for different styles and genres and time periods, stretching wide for octaves or pinching them tight for smaller intervals, the quick dancing movements of jazz piano or the flowing runs of classical music, all turning precision technique into art. 

Straining her eyes, the girl’s eyes fell on the black hands of a nearby clock. Seven thirty at night. She was supposed to be practicing an accompanist piece for her friend’s senior recital in a month. She was supposed to be hammering away at jazz charts for her band’s performance next week. She was supposed to be memorizing one of Mozart’s piano concertos for her college auditions.

She was supposed to begin learning the song that made her heart sing and fill the world with light and wonder.

The doctor kept rattling off her recovery plan, reading off lists of medicines she needed to take and the exercises she was supposed to do once everything had healed.

The girl said nothing. Shock had dried her tears.

---

Her daily walks to class forced her to pass the music school. At the very least, the practice rooms inside had soundproof walls.

Shrugging her backpack higher up onto her shoulders, the young woman put her head down and picked up the pace as fast as her legs would allow. Vines and moss held the old bricks and yellowing windows together, trailing up towards the small belltower. A small garden sat under the windowsills, white flowers clinging to the last bit of summer’s warmth. It was a refuge for stressed arts students, lost English majors, and environmentalists needing a quiet place to light up and let their minds wander.

Four weeks, and she hadn’t stepped a single foot closer to the building than necessary.

The accident had forced her to pull all of her college applications, spending an unintentional gap year remembering how to sit up and wiggle her toes, bend over and crawl and take her first steps once again, brush her teeth and brush her hair, get dressed and use a knife and fork again. Each day had been an opportunity to give up hope entirely. Each day, she made the choice to try again. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was simply trying to spite the world.

Whatever it was, the first time she walked around the block alone nearly made her cry. 

It had been enough to send her applications in once again.

Not everything had returned. Shoe laces were hard to get right without a helping hand or a half hour of slow, painstaking work. After one too many balls were thrown in frustration, she switched to slip ons. Her handwriting was barely serviceable as chicken scratch, much less something that could be reliably used to take down notes for later. Thankfully, the professors didn’t mind being recorded that much. As for piano, well, there was nothing wrong with a career in education. Teaching the next generation was a noble pursuit, one that would end up doing good in the world.

Not that she had even tried going back, instead jumping at the chance to offload her piano paraphernalia to a neighbor. She shoved sheet music into every box she could find, tore her room apart until she was sure that not a single practice book remained, even offered her standup piano for far less money than it was worth. Trophies were stripped off the wall. Ribbons found a dark corner of the attic. In less than a week, all signs of the offending instrument were gone.

There would only be disappointment if she tried.

She had resolved to keep moving forward, even if something got left behind.

A window flew open, black shutters banging against the sides of the building and carrying the forlorn striking of a piano’s keys. The song tugged at the corners of her memory, winding around her like a siren’s call as images of a darkened stage came to life.

Eyes fixed to the ground, she plugged her ears and walked away.

---

“You know, I wish I had picked up an instrument as a kid.”

The woman looked up from her reading, raising an eyebrow at the other mother waiting in the dance hall. Colorful crayon drawings and messy coloring book pages covered up every inch of wallspace, turning every surface that wasn’t a mirror into a haphazard mess of color with patches of white paper strewn between. Little children bounded across the dance floor, feet moving somewhat in time with slow, steady beats of the man at a beat up piano.

She couldn’t help but tap her foot in time.

“Never learned?” the woman asked, eyes searching for her daughter amongst the sea of black leotards and bunned hair.

“Well, I played violin for maybe a year. Parents didn’t push it, and I thought it was dumb and boring, so I didn’t even bother trying” the mother said with a slight laugh, her gaze far off and filled with a longing sorrow. “But that doesn’t count. I don’t remember a thing. Can’t read music, couldn’t tell you what the strings mean or what one piece is from another. Now I’m just kicking myself because man, wouldn’t that be a cool skill to have.”

“You know, it’s never too late to learn.”

The mother laughed. “Says the teacher.”

She returned with a slight smirk, eyes flickering across the hall and trying to land anywhere else but the upright instrument. With each pass over, it was harder to tear her gaze away. “You know, I actually used to be pretty good at that when I was a kid,” she said, pointing a finger across the way. “Got a lot of awards for it, went to a couple of championships. Really could’ve gone somewhere big with it.”

“So why’d you give it up?” 

“Car crash.”

Words died on the mother’s lips, only nodding in simple understanding as the simple beats faded to a close and a cluster of children ran across the room to waiting parents. There was no spell that had been broken, no masterful revelation of the arts for either the adults or the children.

And yet, her foot continued tapping.

Noticing her daughter more engaged with a gaggle of friends, the woman rose from her seat and crossed the floor, each footstep following the rhythm that had been playing all throughout the class. As a solo instrument, a steady beat was the hardest thing for any piano player to learn. There was no one to follow, no one to lead, just the speed the player wanted to take and the instrument.

She could keep time. The hardest step was already done.

With trembling fingers, she placed her hands on the keys, remembering the feel of a familiar chord, one she still remembered despite just wanting to move on and forget. But how could she forget something so utterly real and raw. One breath in, one breath out, and she struck them down.

The piano was horribly out of tune.

But the sound still rang true. 

---

“Mom, come on, we’ve gotta go.”

“Let me just finish this up,” the woman said, fingers lightly dancing across the piano keys and filling the space with sound. The coffee shop was bathed in sunset’s glow, casting deep shadows on the faces of people buried in their readings and writings. Each table had a small vase of white flowers picked from the garden outside. Paintings from local artisans lined the walls, a motley assortment of picturesque landscapes, blurred street corners, and thought provoking portraits. 

She came every Saturday at two, setting out a small tip jar on the antique piano and playing a number of tunes she had practiced throughout the week. They were never perfect nor polished nor something that would be worth paying money at a fancy venue, but it was good enough for the sleep deprived patrons of a small cafe. The owners were understanding, the people were polite, and she always came away with something by the time night fell.

As it turned out, grading papers for ten years had been almost better physical therapy than what the doctors prescribed. The finesse and grace of her youth was long gone, but she remembered where to place her hands and how to read inbetween the black notes splashed across sheet music. Speed and technical ability would come with time. 

Time, patience, and a lot of practice books.

As her fingers danced to a gentle halt, the song faded into the evening until there was nothing left but the grinding of coffee beans and the occasional muffled cough. Some of the regulars looked up, giving polite claps and nods and finally checking the clock only to realize it was far later than anyone had thought to give attention. Others remained absorbed in their work, eyes focused on piles of papers or personal sketchbooks. 

But even their ears twitched.

The woman stood up, gathering the music back into her satchel and pulling the lid back over the keys. With a gentle smile on her face, she shoved a handful of dollar bills and coins into her pockets and wove through the small mess of coffee tables. Her daughter was waiting outside, arms crossed placidly over a leather jacket.

“That sounded good” she said, flashing a smile and stretching out her arms. “Really good. When’s your concert debut?”

She laughed. “Oh please, I’ve got a long way to go before that happens.”

The two started down the road home, a familiar and gentle tune being hummed along by both mother and daughter alike.

Her daughter knew it as a bedtime lullaby.

---

Low heels clicked on the wooden floor, piercing the nearly silent hall with every step. The audience was hidden behind a curtain of shadow, the occasional face of an old friend or one of the many students she taught over the years just barely illuminated by the stage lights. They stared at a simple white backdrop, at an old woman in her best dress and hair done up nice, at a grand piano set in the middle of the stage.

With every step, the woman saw a new face in the crowd. Her daughter, now grown and setting off on her own path in life, sitting proudly in the front row with a gaggle of grandchildren. Her old colleagues from the school, gathered together and whispering about the after party and if there would be enough cookies and lemonade for everyone. Her folk band, waiting in the wings for their turn to join her on the stage. Students from nearly every class she had ever taught, each presenting her with a new stack of music at the end of the year. The baristas from the coffee shop, collectively deciding that the cafe could afford to take a day off if their Saturday entertainment couldn’t be there. The women from her church group, each having begged for nearly ten years straight before she gave in and took a place in the Sunday band.

The faces went on for what seemed like miles.

Every seat had an expectant face. Watching.

Waiting for something to happen.

She took a seat at the piano, hands gracefully running over black wood almost shining under the lights. Her music was already in place: classical, jazz, folk tunes, renditions of popular songs, a couple of pieces she had crafted over the years.

And before them all, a piece she needed no paper for.

She raised her arms with grace and beauty.

Magic sprung forth.

---

The lights were white. Her dress was black. 

A woman sat at the piano, playing a song that she knew must be played in remembrance of the woman currently resting in the casket. The line of mourners moved with the slowness only the dead can command, winding its way through the pews and far out the door. Besides the ever present swaying and building music, there were only the sounds of choked tears and low confessions.

And still, the woman played on.

“What’s that song?” a boy asked, respectfully taking a seat on the bench. He was one of the grandchildren, old enough to remember the tune from the house but never old enough to learn its name.

“Moonlit Night,” the woman replied, never taking her eyes off the keys. “It’s a song of sorrow, of ages gone by that only exist in memory and will eventually fade away. Your grandmother loved it dearly.”

He nodded slowly, the light in his eyes wise beyond his years. His gaze flickered to the line of mourners, watching them with a curiosity and an understanding only a child could truly make manifest. “She was…really loved, wasn’t she?”

“Your grandmother touched the lives of a lot of people. She was a teacher, a mother, a grandmother, a good friend, a pillar of the community,” she said, the ghost of a smile appearing on her face. “What was she to you?”

The boy glanced over to the casket, heavily obscured with the bodies of the performers, then back to the grand piano before him. For the first time since the doors had opened and the family service had taken place, he seemed to be lost in thoughts that were no longer just sorrow. Minutes stretched between them, and still the song played on, sending out light and darkness, joy and sorrow, magic and the mundane out into the world

“She was a pianist.”

The woman smiled true.

The song began anew.

#commissions #commission #zac #my writing

[ladydcrling-blog]

what up thots, your fave chaotic libra is back and still the worst™. for those of you who don’t know me, my name is lara. i like red lipstick, ihop pancakes, and arctic monkeys. i would sell my soul to alex turner if he ever asked. i’m super excited to be back and write this lovely, naive, self-sacrificing idiot. the mom friend to end all mom friends. your fave holly golightly-wannabe, lady !! ( hit me up on discord at lara elisa marie#5676 to plot !! )

「 — 𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪. 」

you are born to JIM and ELIZABETH darling. you are a gift. everything they could ever want. you live a comfortable life in a comfortable home, with parents who love you oh so very much. your are part of a PERFECT plan. you are the LAST piece of the puzzle, the baby girl they needed to make their life COMPLETE.

they dote on you, they ADORE you. you’re their precious, perfect gift. doe-eyed and angelic, you’re the apple of their eye, always the center of attention. everything you ask for, you have. you don’t know what the word “ no ” means.

you have always been GOOD girl, a nice girl. you never kick or scream, you barely even cry. you never give your parents too much trouble. you don’t color outside of the lines, never make a fuss. you always do what they tell you to do. you never QUESTION anything.

there’s nothing too EXCITING about your childhood. you’re a SWEET girl with rosy cheeks and candy lips who watches movies in black and white, listens to jazz music on your mother’s record player, and always eats her vegetables. you play with dolls and dream of the day you’ll have a life of your OWN, but for now you’re content playing house.

you’re entering your TEENS when you notice your parents seem distracted. you don’t get the same ATTENTION you used to, and you try not to get too upset over it, surely things will go back to normal soon, but it’s not until they sit you down and say the word “ baby ” and your heart drops to your stomach that you understand what’s going on.

you’re no longer the CENTER of their world. you feel cast aside, and forgotten. you’re suddenly a burden as they prepare to welcome someone NEW. a shiny, happy baby with more promise than you. you try not to be too upset. you’re excited for the new bundle of JOY. but you can’t help but feel like you’ve DISAPPOINTED your parents. like you’re not ENOUGH.

the baby comes, and you LOVE him. as difficult as the transition has been, there is NO DOUBT in your heart that you would do anything to protect your baby brother. you would give your LIFE for him.

everything is different now, but it’s not BAD. different can be good, you tell yourself, over and over again. you take CARE of the little thing, until one day you can’t. they TRUSTED you, and you let them down. the one thing you vowed NEVER to do. you almost LOSE the thing they love the most, and disappoint everyone you CARE about.

it was a small mistake, but you TRIP over your own good intentions. you need everyone to know you always had the BEST intentions, and you never meant to HURT anyone, please, they have to understand. it doesn’t really MATTER now, but you need to let them KNOW.

you have to make a TOUGH choice — no good deed goes unpunished, and you take it upon yourself to PUNISH your mistake. you no longer feel WORTHY of sharing a home with the DARLINGS, so you UPROOT your life, and move in with a woman you barely know, but are supposedly related to. you make the CHOICE to step away.

you’re in a brand NEW place, and things aren’t as comfortable anymore. you keep to yourself. you stay indoors, for the most part. the world outside is SCARY and unfamiliar. you feel safer inside.

your aunt is STRICT and tough. you no longer have the same liberties as before, and you are convinced this is what you deserve. you feel trapped, both by your own FEARS and by your new keeper. you spend your days staring out the window, and for once you feel the need to break free.

you’ve never been on your own, but you MAKE it. you go out, get a job. people always did tell you you had beautiful HANDS. you use them to work out of your aunt’s house, and live on your OWN.

you make new FRIENDS. take new risks. you realize there’s a whole world outside your HOME, and you have an ITCH to explore it. there is so MUCH out there that you haven’t seen. little by little, you break OUT. you have to. you can’t keep living in a CAGE. you are no longer the DELICATE flower you used to be. you’re still soft, but you’re BRAVE. you’ve made a name for YOURSELF, the only person who you belong to.

「 — 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪. 」

ZODIAC SIGN: cancer ( june 22nd ) PERSONALITY TYPE: esfj — the consul ENNEAGRAM: type 2 – the helper TEMPERAMENT: phlegmatic HOGWARTS HOUSE: hufflepuff MORAL ALIGNMENT: true neutral PRIMARY VICE: pride PRIMARY VIRTUE: charity ELEMENT: water

this is my girl !! my fave girl !! i love her a lot, so i hope you guys do too.

like her nickname suggests, she’s everything a lady is expected to be. she’s polite, proper, kind, and gentle. she cares so much her little body almost can’t contain it, this woman has the Biggest Heart.

she gets attached to people quickly, or at least she used to. now, she’s learned to protect her heart, because she knows things can change in the blink of an eye and if she gets too attached, she could end up hurt.

still, that doesn’t mean she won’t mom you and all your friends. she’ll take care of you and everyone you know, text you to make sure you got home safe, offer to pay for your food if you’re low on cash, and basically just adopt you, even if you’re older than her.

while still living with aunt sarah, she had a bit of a rebellious streak, finally daring to challenge everything she’d been taught when she was younger. now that she’s on her own and doesn’t have anyone telling her what to do, she’s calmed down. but she won’t let anyone boss her around.

she’s become more impulsive and spontaneous, trying to take risks and new chances on life.

she’s been living on her own for the past 4-5 years, and has spent that time breaking out of her comfort zone and trying new things. she’s enjoying going out of her own. going to the movies by herself. eating dinner alone. she takes pleasure in all those little things. she enjoys social events, but she’s no longer afraid of being alone.

she takes very good care of her hands, since they’re her source of income. it’s not uncommon to see her out and about with a pair of gloves on, even in the summer.

another reason why she wears gloves is because she’s picked up a nasty smoking habit, no doubt due to spending so much time with tramp. she keeps it under control, and won’t even touch a cigarette without gloves on.

she loves pasta !! she’s a total foodie, and will definitely cook way too much pasta, say she’ll save half of it, but eat all of it.

i’ll probably add more to this later on but !! this is my girl pls come plot with me. smash that like button and i’ll come to you !! i’m open to any and all sorts of connections !!!

「 — 𝕖𝕩𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕤. 」

THEME SONGS: cassiopeia – sara bareilles | get free – lana del rey | suddenly i see – kt tunstall | dog days are over – florence + the machine | whole lot of heart – ingrid michaelson | moon river – audrey hepburn PINTEREST: xx PLAYLIST: xx

#carthayintro #「 𝕗𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕦𝕡 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕝𝕦𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕣𝕦𝕟 — muse. 」

[jjkfire]

Escape; pt.10 (epilogue)

Reader x Jungkook // (???)!AU // 14k words

Summary: Everyone has a number over their heads that says how useful they are to society from 0-100. You have a number ‘4’. You leave the city for some peace but you meet your cocky neighbor who seems to get on your nerves.

Genre: Fluff

Y/LN refers to your last name/family name

A/N:  Hi wow hello. Look here! It’s the epilogue to Escape! This is for all of you who have been extremely encouraging throughout the series and have shown me love and support throughout it all. I love you all so much because truly this series is my baby! It was my first attempt at a long chaptered fic! So basically anyway this is for my ogs who’ve sent me such sweet things about escape @thekookiecrush @hxsungwoon @katthecaptain @wide-awaker @revolutionbreez @orixiro @parkheehi @misxing-you @megjin @antaedepressant @marrauderr @minsuxga (the pregnancy ask… im suing you!) AND OF COURSE NOT FORGETTING MY BB @wicdrop and also all you anons out there! i remember all of you!!!!

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5  // Part 6 // Part 6.5 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9

Previously…

Here’s a recap because it’s been too long!  Jimin’s in jail after being caught trying to steal floor plans from Y/L/N Logistics (He was blackmailed by Jeon Logistics). Hoseok played a part in that and he was the one who falsified the audio clip that made you think Jungkook was in a relationship with you to decipher DIADEM. Jungkook didn’t tell you it was Hoseok because it’ll break you. You hear the original clip that Jimin had recorded of that night, proving Jungkook’s innocence and after hours of searching, Jungkook finds you in the local park, holds you close as you cry, begging for his forgiveness and he forgives you, of course he does because none of this is your fault. –> or skim through part 9 bc I feel like this was a horrible recap

Jungkook hates Hoseok with a passion and every time he sees his face, he just wants to put in a solid punch for your sake but you’ve warned him against doing so many times before and he wonders how you do it, how you always take the high road so easily. You seem to forgive people left and right, no matter what it is they’ve done to you and he truly finds it unfathomable that you don’t hate his family with a burning passion because he does. Blood is thicker than water you murmur to him, telling him to reconcile with his family but he simply shakes his head, unable to find it in him to do so, to forgive both his and even your own family like you’ve done.

Jungkook dislikes your family, he’s made it very clear but you convince him that despite their flaws, you still love them very much, so he holds back the insults, clenching his jaw to stop the words from spilling out whenever he sees them. He never wants to be associated with either Hoseok or your family because they both only bring you pain and yet here he is, sitting in your father’s cozy office, sandwiched between your father and brother while Hoseok sits on the sofa chair on the opposite side, a smug look on his face.

This is Jungkook’s last resort. He’d never be caught dead with these people but for your sake, he pushes away the anger, putting on a calm expression because hell if this doesn’t work out, he’s completely run out of options.

The meeting you had with Jimin’s lawyer had not gone the way you had expected. You had barged into her office with a million-watt smile on your face, the pen drive with the recordings in hand, the key to Jimin’s release, but she destroys all your hope with a single sentence.

“Were these recordings obtained legally?” She asks and the look on your face is enough to give her the answer she seeks.

“Then I’m afraid this would be inadmissible in court.”

“B-but you need to listen to them! They blackmailed him into doing it!”

“It doesn’t matter what’s on there because we can’t use it in court.”

Just like that, you leave her office feeling dejected, broken even because you were at a total loss of what to do. There wasn’t a single thing you could think of that could help the man that was quite possibly the only person that kept you going, that cheered you on in your adolescent years. He was the closest thing you had to family and you felt utterly useless because he was there for you all the time, every damn time but now, when he finally requests a favour, you can’t seem to step up and provide.

“Y/N, you win some and you lose some,” Jimin shrugs and you can’t help the tears that start to roll down your cheeks. All you can think about is how the world is so unfair. That in a perfect world, a man with so much love, so much kindness would never be sitting across from you in an orange jumpsuit, a 5 year sentence hanging above his head.

“Don’t cry,” He frowns placing his hand on the thick glass screen that separates the two of you.

“I’ll get you out of here somehow, I promise,” You mumble into the handset. “I’m not giving up.”

“Y/N, it’s honestly fine. They’ll probably let me out earlier for good behaviour and all that jazz,” He smiles.

“That’s still years, Jimin,” You sob. “You were coerced, blackmailed, and that’s a crime too.”

He let’s out a low hum, completely at a loss of what to say because you were right.

“I begged them you know? Dad and my brother…” You sigh. “I told them to drop the charges, showed them recordings, everything! But they said it’ll only put the company in a weaker position and the Jeons would’ve gotten what they wanted all along.”

“That’s true,” Jimin exhales. “It’s a smart decision on their part.”

“Smart decision? Jimin, they chose the company over you!” You shout. “You’ve worked for us for years now, you’re like family to us and they still chose the goddamn company over you.”

Jimin can only offer you a sad lopsided smile because such is the way of the world. Not everyone had a heart like yours, not everyone was willing to put a billion-dollar company on the line for the sake of their secretary.

“Don’t worry,” You murmur. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Y/N, it’s okay,” He sighs. “There’s nothing more you can do now.”

“There has to be something.”

He shakes his head at you because you’ve always been mightily stubborn.

“Don’t waste anymore of your time,” He mumbles. “Just move on, be happy and I’ll be out before you know it.”

“How can you expect me to just do that?” You frown. “If the roles were reversed, I know you wouldn’t stop too.”

A light laugh escapes Jimin because it’s true, he wouldn’t. He’d do everything, work himself down to the core until he could find a way to guarantee your freedom.

Wrap it up! You hear the guard shout at you and just like the numerous times you’ve visited him before, a sudden pang of sadness runs through your body.

“Not again,” Jimin groans playfully. “You cry every time.”

“Shut up,” You manage to say between sobs and Jimin wishes more than ever that the barrier between the both of you could just dissolve so he could pull you into a tight hug.

“I’ll see you soon okay?”

“Well, you know where to find me,” He laughs, eyes twinkling and you scowl at him.

He waves you a quick goodbye and though you try to stop them, the tears just continue to stream down your face.

Jimin’s okay, he really is but you never seem to acknowledge that concept, your puppy dog pity eyes always staring at him as the guard leads him out of the room and he always looks back just in time to see the guard on the other side giving you a consoling pat on the back.

Did Jimin want to be in jail? Of course not. Did he in some way deserve jail time? Sure… and it’s his mistake, he admits, that he found himself in this position anyway and yet his biggest regret of all was causing the people that cared for him to hurt the way you do. He absolutely feels like breaking down whenever his parents come in to talk to him but he puts up a front, smiling, hoping that they would spend less time worrying about him. But god, you. Nothing hurts more than seeing you cry, nothing hurts more than seeing you beat yourself up every time your plan doesn’t work out. He hated that he put you in this position because he was supposed to be a brother to you, he was supposed to take care of you but here he is, with the roles reversed in the worst way possible. He never tells you but every time he returns to his cell, he lets his measly thin mattress, if he could call it that, soak up all his tears.

“Pleasure to see you again, Jungkook,” Hoseok smirks. “What? Not going to grab me by my collar this time?”

It takes every ounce of willpower within Jungkook to stop himself from cussing the life out of Hoseok and he manages to calm himself down but Hoseok doesn’t miss the way Jungkook has his fists clenched by his side.

“Let’s just try to keep the conversation civil, shall we?” Your father grumbles.

“I understand you have a favour to ask?” Hoseok purrs and his sickly tone makes Jungkook feel like gagging.

“A favour is a nice way to put it but I’d rather classify it as a threat,” Your brother grins.

Hoseok straightens up in his chair, suddenly unsure of what exactly he had walked into.

“Jung Hoseok,” Your brother begins. “Let’s just get straight to the point. We need you to testify.”

“Testify?”

“In court, against the Jeons.”

“Are you crazy? They’ll kill me if I ever did that,” He scoffs, shaking his head.

“Right, that’s what we thought you would say,” Your brother sighs. “You know, we heard you’ve been talking to Y/N again,” Your brother begins, smirking.

“Yeah, exes can be friends,” He shrugs. “What does this have to do—"

“But I’m not so sure if she’d consider you a friend once she finds out you’ve been on a 5 year long mission to figure out diadem. That you had a hand in putting someone she cares for in jail. That everything between the both of you is a lie.”

“What are you trying to say?” Hoseok taps his foot nervously, hands fidgeting in his lap.

“Well for starters, I’m trying to say that in one phone call, I can have her here and you can watch as I show her this,” Your brother throws out a bunch of papers back from 4 years ago when Hoseok was still dating you, transcripts of him talking to Mr. Jeon on what he’s found out about the company. “And this, or this, or this,” He continues, throwing out paper after paper of all of Hoseok’s misdeeds, even the shoplifting record that Jimin had previously threatened him with. “But most importantly, this,” He smiles, playing the play button on his phone.

“Did you get all of that?” Mr. Jeon asks.

“Yes, sir. I heard it all loud and clear. I have the code written down too.” Hoseok responds.

“Alright then, let’s call Jimin and end all of this tonight.”

Hoseok sits in his chair stunned. He had been caught off guard because he thought he was called here for an offer, perhaps some money for some information but it looks like he had read the situation all wrong because how did they get the original voice clip for that night?

Hoseok wants to scream out aloud in the room, his heart pounding, his head beginning to ache because everything between you and him isn’t a lie. Maybe parts of it are but what he felt for you then and what he feels for you even now isn’t a lie. You are the one that got away, you are who he has always pictured growing old together with… and maybe everyone else thinks it’s ridiculous but truly he just knows, that it’s you… that you’re the one and you always will be.

He sounds crazy, he knows but if only the two of you had met in a different lifetime, maybe things would be different because nobody sees the years of history the two of you have together. They don’t see the hushed words that were shared between the both of you on an overcast day, you with your head on his stomach, him sprawled out on the grass as both of you talked about how unfair the world was, about your hopes and dreams that may never come true. They don’t see how the two of you had planned it all, the perfect getaway once both of you had collected enough money to get out of this city, to perhaps settle down in a modest house by the beach with no one to judge either of you for the less than magnificent numbers glowing above both of your heads. It’s the fact that he knows you’d be happy as long as you had your carving tools and him happy as long as he had you.

Everyone in this room only sees him as a villain but couldn’t they see that he was a victim in all of this too? That if only you and him were blessed with numbers as high as any of theirs, none of this would be happening. He loves you, more than you can ever know or anyone for that matter. He knows, he’s ‘deluded’ or whatever but you’re the only person he’s ever met that didn’t look at him like he’s just a 65 that was born to help the high nineties to achieve their dreams and neither did you look at him like he was just someone who should be angry and bitter, forever cursing the system. You looked at him like he had dreams to pursue, like he could have the world in the palm of his hand if he just did what his heart desires. He remembers your words ringing clearly in his head, no matter how many years have passed, clinging onto it like it’s his lifeline because it’s the only time he’s ever felt anyone believe in him.

“Well, what do you think?” He asks, turning to you, chest heaving from the hip hop number he had just performed.

“That was amazing, Hoseok!” Your eyes still wide as you try to process the fact that it was really him that had danced so fluidly as if the bones in his body didn’t exist. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner that you could dance like that?

“It’s just… I’m not that good,” He mumbles. “I’m still working on—”

“Are you kidding? You’re straight up the best dancer I’ve ever seen.”

“Well I don’t think you’ve really seen a good dancer because… I’m just not on par, you know?”

“You are,” You answer, your eyebrows furrowed. “You should do something with that talent. Don’t let it go to waste.”

“Nah… It’ll be a waste of time. I’m a 65, Y/N. People like me don’t get anywhere.”

“You can deny it all you want but you’re a great dancer and nothing you say can convince me otherwise. I’d kill to be able to dance like you,” You smile at him. “You’re gonna be so good they can’t ignore you. It won’t matter what your number is, you hear me?”

Loud and clear. He had heard you loud and clear.

Ah, he sighs. How he wishes you were right but you’ve always had your head up in the clouds, always over optimistic. But, it was always nice to hear words like that every once in a while… It almost had him believing in it himself.

“So, are you willing to testify? Or do you want to break Y/N’s heart all over again and perhaps face some jail time too?”

“W-what—,” A deep breath, one filled with defeat. “What do you need me to do?”

And for the first time since he’s entered this office, Jungkook smiles.

As promised, Hoseok takes the stand, revealing intricacies of the entire plan, from private emails to recordings, the court sees it all from start to end. The Jeons are trapped in a corner, having no way to refute the edited evidence provided, one that Hoseok had altered to leave himself out from being implicated. How were they supposed to know the man they entrusted with destroying all the evidence would turn on them like this? What could the Y/L/N’s probably have on him that would make him switch his allegiance?

The slam of the hammer comes soon after the jury’s verdict, Jimin nearly in tears as they unlock the handcuffs around his wrists, finally a free man. Hoseok sees the undeniable smile on your face, one he takes credit for and you turn to him from the floor, mouthing out the words thank you with tears in your eyes. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he wishes he could tell you but he’s dug a grave far too deep for himself and he admits that he’s lost his chance with you.

If he was being truthful, he had lost you all those years ago but that doesn’t mean he still wishes that somehow the circumstances were different, that there weren’t so many secrets between the both of you. He wishes more than anything to turn back the clock a few years, both you and him carefree, being delinquents and loving life despite the crappy hand life had dealt the both of you. Alas, wishes are only that, just wishes and he knows now that he’s somehow made up for breaking your heart all those years ago and maybe with this, you would forgive him for the horrible mistakes he’s made, ones you’re not aware of. His heart breaks when he sees you in Jungkook’s arms but at least he knows you’re happy and that’s the best gift you could give someone you love. Happiness.

Your texts to Hoseok goes unread and your subsequent calls go unanswered. You think maybe he’s just nervous, afraid that you were going to lash out at him now that you found out that he had previously worked for Jeon Logistics. You wonder when exactly he got that job and why he had never mentioned the fact to you over your recent conversations with him. You’re left confused and in the dark because he had been eager to reconcile over the lost years just days ago but somehow it was like he had vanished into thin air. Perhaps he had decided to take off like he had the last time around when he broke your heart and it makes you frown because for whatever it was worth, he had brought joy to your life when you were just about at your lowest and for that you would always be grateful, even if he had left a deep emotional scar, one you had just recently been able to rid yourself off with Jungkook’s help.

You wanted him to know that you had forgiven him years ago, something Jungkook says he doesn’t understand but you try to explain to him that it wasn’t worth it, holding onto so much hate within yourself. Wherever he is, you hope he’s happy because even when you were with him and even through the recent texts he had been sending you, you could still sense the same old Hoseok, the one that was bitter and skeptical about life. You had tried many times over the course of your relationship with him to get him to see life in a better light, to show him that despite the circumstances, both you and him deserved to be happy and so wherever he is, that’s all you wish for him, that he’s finally happy.

And that he is. He’s happy because you are and though he may have given up his identity and taken on a new one, a deal he struck up with your father to protect him from the wrath of the Jeons when they’ve done their time, he’s trying his best to live his life the way he knows you wanted him to. Do what you love, you would always say and here, halfway around the world, he is. He joins a dance studio, a small one, teaching kids hip-hop during the day and choreographing intricate pieces when the sun has set and you were right, you always were, he laughs. Hoseok’s the happiest he’s been in years and you’ll never know but it’s all because of you. Maybe in a year or two, you’ll forget about him but he knows he’ll never forget you, not in this lifetime, not ever and he doesn’t believe in reincarnation but for the sake of you, he sometimes wishes he does because oh, what a love the both of you would’ve shared.

It’s been perhaps three months since you were bawling out of happiness in the living room of the Park household now that Jimin was finally reunited with his parents and his mother insisted that both you and Jungkook stay for dinner, a true family dinner she announced, and you had cried even harder upon hearing her say those words.

It’s a lot calmer now than it was months ago, the press finally leaving both you and Jungkook alone, off to pursue more pressing issues, or rather not-so pressing issues but either way, you’re glad you’re able to finally take Buster on a walk without being bombarded by flashing lights and mics shoved into your face. The small town you live in, hidden in the hills returns to normalcy, serene and quiet like it should be. Your days go on like normal, Buster barking at squirrels outside as you head to your old cabin to get some wood carving done. While Jungkook is busy at work, you busy yourself with your trade, packing your wood pieces up to be sold at the bazaar you often go to sell your works at. There are a lot more people than you remember, many customers coming around your store trying to drop hints to get you to talk about what really happened in the aftermath of the arrest of the Jeons but you send them away with a tight-lipped smile. Why doesn’t everyone understand that it’s something you just want to put behind you?

After months of job searching, Jimin finds himself empty handed, his criminal record the first thing employers see when they search up his name and Jimin sighs, returning home empty-handed again after yet another interview. It’s after much pestering from both you and Jungkook that Jimin accepts the position of being Jungkook’s private secretary and though he’s apprehensive at first, Jimin takes the job anyway because as far as he knew, he probably never wanted to touch the logistics industry ever again. 

The learning curve is steep and he struggles with all the complicated terms Jungkook throws his way but he remains determined, trying his best to keep up as Jungkook leads him through the tech industry. As always, Jimin proves himself to be highly adaptable, surprising even Jungkook with how much he has learnt in the span of just a few months. In no time, Jimin sheds the secretary title, becoming almost some sort of a partner in crime to Jungkook. Together, they comb through the start-up industry, pouring money into apps they believe in, the money they get in return when the apps hit the market is beyond Jimin’s wildest dreams. It’s an arrangement Jungkook loves wholly because it means he gets to spend more time with you now that he didn’t have so much on his plate.

From the first I love you to the 100th, Jungkook thinks it’s a 3 letter sentence he’ll never get tired of hearing or saying. The first few times you say it to him, your voice is barely a whisper, almost like you don’t want him to hear it but whether you shout it out or mumble it to him, it still fills his chest with an unbelievable warmth, a feeling only you can invoke out of him.

Love.

It’s a strong word but it’s the only emotion that can describe how he feels about you. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

He loves you when he wakes up just minutes before you, dried up drool on your face and your hair a mess but your features are so calm, so serene that he can’t help but feel like he’s the luckiest man on the entire earth for having the privilege of waking up next to you.

He loves you when you’re chasing Buster around the house as he refuses to get toweled down after his shower and you collapse onto the couch, your shirt slightly drenched in soap water, telling him that Buster is only this stubborn because he had spoiled the dog rotten, which was true to some extent but he couldn’t help it, Buster is simply too adorable.

He loves you when you notice that he’s been having a hard week at work and you do everything in your power to make his day better and that could be watching his favourite movie for the umpteenth time or baking those goddamn fudge brownies that he could never seem to have enough of but most of the time, all he needs is to snuggle up next to you, your comforting touch almost healing to him.

Sometimes he feels he’s only half as good of a partner as you are to him and he feels horrible because he wishes he could make you feel even a quarter of what you make him feel. Funnily enough, you feel the exact same way because you feel like nothing you do could ever live up to what he’s done for you. It was as if he was looking into one of those too good to be true romantic comedies that he watches too much, Jimin often says about the pair of you. Both you and Jungkook seemed to live in perpetual confusion, always thinking that one didn’t deserve the other and you both even had a cute dog to boot, the final piece to a happy family. He couldn’t think of a better pair who deserved to live out an actual romantic comedy other than the two of you.

The ladies in town often question you when you think Jungkook would pop the question and you dread it, especially when they ask you when he’s sitting right next to you. The two of you always blush beet red before you retort, maybe I’ll be the one to get down on one knee! Which always seems to shut them up.

You were happy with the relationship you had with Jungkook and so was he. You didn’t see the rush in getting engaged because what you and he have for now, is perfect and if anything, you didn’t want him to feel pressured, like he had to give you some stupid, expensive ring, as if without it, what the two of you have was anything less special.

Perhaps all the pestering makes Jungkook reach his breaking point because he comes home later and later sometimes, so late that you fall asleep with your phone in hand, waiting for his text to tell you that he was on his way. As usual, the ladies in town plant seeds of doubt in your mind, asking you if you smell perfume on his shirt when he comes home, a clear sign of infidelity, they murmur. You don’t want to doubt Jungkook because you trust him with your heart, with your life but you do admit that you catch a whiff of a sweet-smelling perfume, one that isn’t yours. It’s probably one of his client’s perfume you reason but he’s been working late almost every day of the week for close to a month now and you hate what you’ve become, you hate how you’re sniffing the shirts he throws into the laundry basket to see if you could smell that now familiar scent. Curse the ladies in town for making you feel this way.

Maybe he’s finally gotten tired of you, you sigh. Maybe the glaring number 4 he sees above your head everyday makes him resent you because perhaps he’s thinking, he can definitely do better. You shrink into your older self, the one that’s unconfident and scared. Jungkook can sense that something is off, you know he can because he takes a day off work just to spend time with you but you can’t help but feel this niggling sensation that he’s doing this as a parting gift, one last week before he says he thinks he’s done with you for good.

“Babe, i-is something wrong?”

“Hmm?” You hum in question, trying your best to hide your emotions.

“Did I do something wrong? You’ve been… distant lately.”

“I-I don’t really know what you mean.”

“Maybe it’s just me,” He sighs. “Work’s been killing me and I know I haven’t been home much… but I hope you know I’d spend every single second with you if I could,” He murmurs, stepping up to you, pulling you in close. He giggles lightly when he sees you blush. It’s amazing how you still shy away whenever he says anything remotely cheesy.

It’s hard for you to decipher what exactly is going on but you can tell he’s being sincere and everything doesn’t seem to add up. You hate that you’re doubting him like this when there hasn’t actually been solid evidence to say that he’s cheating on you.

“I know,” You smile meekly and he takes the chance to kiss you on the lips, his thumb caressing the apple of your cheek.

“What do you want to do today? I’m all yours today, I promise,” He smiles, switching off his phone just to prove that nothing was going to come in between the both of you for the day.

“Honestly… Can we just have a lazy day?” You mumble, laughing and he shakes his head as he laughs in return. He would’ve been surprised if you had suggested anything else.

Jungkook manages to convince you to spend the day lounging by the lake that the house looked out to, Buster lighting up at the words swim! Already speeding out of the house when you open the door. Both you and Jungkook spend hours simply laying side by side, laughing at each other as Buster enjoys his swim. You’re maybe into your second bottle of beer, soaking up the warm rays of the sun when he suddenly rises to pick you up, running down the length of the dock and jumping in with you in hand. You wrestle with him in the water, Jungkook laughing wildly at how furious you were but your grumbling soon turns to laughter too and you cling onto Jungkook like a koala, too lazy to swim yourself. It’s when he shrugs you off his back, turning around so he can hold you to his chest that you feel warmth bloom in your own because his smile lights up your world and you love him so much, you really do.

“I love you,” You smile, pulling him in closer for a kiss and he mumbles the same words back to you over and over again in between the kisses he plants on your lips. Screw those nosy ladies that make you doubt the man before you, screw the perfume you smell on his shirt because in this very moment, all you know is, a love like this cannot be fabricated and maybe it’s because you want to believe it but the way he says those 3 words to you, you don’t think he’s off spending his nights saying them to someone else.

As Jungkook waits for you at the shore of the lake, he can’t help but laugh at how similar this looked to when he had first spotted you here, Buster beside you, yourself in that adorable bathing suit of yours and good god, how much has changed since then and now. You skip down the length of the dock, linking arms with him when you finally reach him, and he thinks that he has to move the timeline up because he can’t wait any longer. But no, he has everything planned out, every single detail and it’s going to be absolutely perfect.

Jungkook hates, hates, hates it when he’s having a lovely Sunday brunch with you at the diner, completely lost in your eyes, loving the fact that he gets to spend every second of the day with you, only to be rudely interrupted by the extremely loving and yet, overbearing old ladies that would pop in for a meal at just about the same time.

“So, when are you going to buy her a big diamond ring? You wait long enough, someone else might swoop her up, you know?”

Jungkook blushes every damn time because of course he knows, you’re a gem, one in a million and he’s so lucky to be able to call you his girlfriend but it’s been two years now since he’s met you (again) and everyone and their mother knows that the both of you are so in love, that sometimes they forget that the both of you aren’t married, not even engaged.

Truth is, Jungkook has had the ring for close to 6 months now. It’s buried deep at the back of his sock drawer, a sizeable 15-karat diamond, surrounded by many fewer, smaller diamonds. It’s beautiful, grand and very, very expensive but it’s the only ring he believes can show you just how much he cares. He had spent hours in the store talking to the jeweler, viewing ring after ring just to make sure he could get you the perfect one. He’s been waiting and waiting, wondering when exactly would be the right moment to ask you or if he should put it off for another year because he didn’t want to scare you. He knows giving you the ring has a finality to it, that it means commitment, which is something you fear deeply.

“Diamond rings are overrated, and the diamond industry is horrible,” You groan at the ladies who’ve made themselves at home in the booth you and Jungkook were sitting at. “Child labour, slave labour and all for what? A shiny rock?” You scoff, shaking your head. “I don’t need a diamond ring, I don’t want one,” You huff, crossing your arms.

Jungkook feels a pang of fear strike him in his chest, worrying at the thought of you screaming in horror if you had found the ring or worse! If he had dropped down on one knee, the ring in hand… he can only imagine the look of disgust on your face. For the first time ever, Jungkook is grateful that the women had stopped by to pester the two of you today because he knows he’s getting rid of that ring first thing tomorrow morning.

Months later…

It’s the anniversary of the day he had first met you, yes, that would be the day he saw you at the gala when you were 8. You probably don’t remember the date, but Jungkook does, his diary entry from years ago telling him about the fateful day he met a girl that made the stinkin’ dinner that much bearable.

He’s been planning this for months now and as he stares down at the weather app on his phone, he frowns for there is a 50% chance of rain. Luck never really was on his side, the universe forever conspiring against him, he believes. The thumping sound in his chest and the way his palms seem to sweat no matter how many times he’s wiped them on his pants tells him that the day is finally here, that after months’ worth of hard work, he’s finally ready.

Jungkook had given both himself and Jimin the day off and begged him to take you to town, or anywhere really, just far from the home you shared with him. The moment you leave the house, waving him goodbye as you jumped into Jimin’s car, he goes into overdrive mode, pulling up his phone to dial the florist as he headed to the basement to pull out everything he needed to make tonight perfect.

It’s a little past 8 when Jungkook gets a text, one that informs him that both you and Jimin were going to be back soon and he lets out a deep breath, looking into the mirror one last time before standing in front of the door to wait for you, bouquet in hand.

“I’m ho— Oh?” You stumble backwards when you’re met with Jungkook standing right in front of you, shoving the flowers in your face.

“I uhh, picked these up on the way home from work,” He lies, a nervous smile on his lips. “Thought of you when I passed by them… so yeah.”

“Thank you, babe,” You grin, pecking him on the cheek before you take the bouquet from him.

“You’re dressed fancy,” You murmur, placing the bouquet on the counter. “Are you… going somewhere?” You question, unsure if he had told you he had some dinner to attend. Was that this week or next week?

“N-no, I just wanted to look nice for you,” He smiles and you laugh, quirking your eyebrow at him.

“Do you know what day today is?” He questions, grabbing your hand, leading you up the stairs.

“A Tuesday?” You answer, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you shuffle behind him. “Kook, what’s going on?”

“It’s the anniversary of the day we first met… when we were 8,” He grins, hand still intertwined with yours as he walks you all the way up to the final floor of the house, the rooftop patio.

“How do you remember that?” You question, laughing. “You should’ve told me over the weekend! I would’ve gotten you someth—“

Your sentence is cut short as you take in the way the patio has been so beautifully lit up, fairy lights hanging over a make shift blanket fort that Jungkook has created. It looked like something off Pinterest and maybe that’s why you had caught him on the website weeks ago, looking through some pictures that looked very similar to what was in front of you.

“Kook, what is all of this?”

“I know I haven’t been home lately,” He frowns, shuffling in his spot. “And, we’ve missed so many movie nights so, I thought I could make it up to you with this,” He beams, tugging you along to take a seat with him amongst the numerous amount of pillows laid out atop the mattress.

“H-how did you get this mattress up here? And where did you find all these pillows? And that projector thing— Did we always have one?” You question referring to the huge screen that was set up in front of you.

The pure shock on your face is enough to send Jungkook into a laughing fit and he can’t help but place a kiss on your lips. God, you’re adorable.

“We’ll talk about that later,” He laughs, busying himself with the movie system he had set up for the night. He puts on the movie the both of you had meant to watch in the cinema 2 weeks ago but a last-minute meeting meant that the two of you had to miss it. Jungkook had pulled every single string he could just to get this movie for his own personal viewing before it’s available to the masses ala pay per view or DVD and he now owes a few too many people a favour or two but it’s all worth it if it’s for you.

“Are you… some kind of miracle worker?” You gasp. “Jungkook seriously… how did you get this movie? Isn’t it still showing in the theatres? How did you do all of this?”

“Through the power of my love for you,” He beams and 3, 2, 1, there it is, the signature scrunch of your nose. He laughs as you scowl at him, mumbling under your breath and he snuggles up closer to you even as you attempt to shove him away. It’s a hobby of Jungkook’s to throw cheesy lines your way because he knows you hate them and by hate them he means he knows you secretly love them.

It’s maybe 15 minutes into the movie when he feels a light drop of water on his cheek. No, no, no. Please no. He thinks maybe if he ignores it, the rain will simply go away. You look up to the sky, putting your palm out to check if that had been rain or you were just imagining it. You don’t stand there thinking for long because the drizzle soon becomes light rain and the two of you are quickly getting up to set away the snacks that Jungkook had laid out. Within seconds, the rain comes pouring down and you’re laughing as you try to wrap everything up into a blanket, quickly rushing into the house as he unplugs the wires, trying to lug both the speakers and the projector indoors.

By the time the two of you are able to get mostly everything into the house, the both of you are absolutely drenched. Though you’ve taken the situation very lightly, laughing as you tried to dry your hair with a towel, Jungkook has decided to sulk in a corner instead.

“Babe, aw come on, lighten up! The night’s not over yet. The movie just started,” You smile as you bring the towel up to wipe away the rainwater on his face.

You set up the movie in the living room as Jungkook dug his hand into the bowl of soggy popcorn, still frowning as he takes his seat next to you, watching the movie with you silently, only daring to speak when the credits begin to roll.

“I had everything planned out,” He sighs. “This has been months in the making,” He sulks.

“And I appreciate it,” You smile. “It was perfect,” You kiss him on the cheek, bringing your thumb up to stroke the apple of his cheek.

“No… I just… this all went down a little differently in my head.”

“Jungkook, I loved every second of tonight. Stop beating yourself up over something you couldn’t control. It was just a little rain.”

“I know but—”

“It was perfect, really. Tonight has been one of the best nights of the year. I had so much fun,” You smile cupping his face with both hands and he still has a small pout on his lips. “I love you so much, you know that? I know I don’t say it as often as most usually do but I really, really love you.”

“But it’s just… Y/N,” He breathes in deeply, his hands removing yours from his face as he sinks to one knee. “I had a whole speech planned out, one that would coincide with the ending of the movie but I’m so nervous, I’ve forgotten everything.”

You see Jungkook on a singular knee his hand holding onto yours softly and your chest tightens.

“You’re everything to me, you really are, and I can’t imagine a day without you. I always look forward to the end of the day because it means I get to come home to you and that’s all I ever want,” He smiles. “Forever.”

You’re staring at him, your eyes almost popping out of your sockets and Jungkook allows himself a few seconds before he asks the question that’s been on his mind for close to a year now.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… Will you marry me?”

“Jungkook…” Your voice barely audible as you look at the man before you, all teary eyed. “Yes, I— Yes!”

There’s an audible sigh of relief just before you pull him up for a kiss. The smile he has on is unbeatable and he kisses you again and again, almost like he doesn’t believe that you said yes. With shaky hands, he slides the ring onto your finger, letting out a deep breath when he finds that it fits just right.

“Don’t worry, it’s white sapphire, not diamond!” He exclaims as he watches you examine the ring. “Y-you said you hated diamonds so I, uhh got rid of the diamond one I originally bought.”

“What?”

“You told the ladies… you hated diamonds because… you know, slave labour and child labour and—”

“Jungkook, that was… that was just to get them to shut up, I didn’t really mean it… I mean I did but— You bought two rings?”

“Well I bought one, the diamond one… but I made this one,” He murmurs, blushing. “Yeah you can tell can’t you… I know, I should’ve just got it professionally made but I uhh thought it’d make it more special… if I made it but if it’s a little wonky and doesn’t fit well then you know why.”

Jungkook shrinks away, a little embarrassed because he hadn’t really thought about what your reaction would be when he tells you that he had made the ring. In his mind, it was the perfect gift, considering that you were an artist yourself… He thought what way to tell you better that he loves you and appreciates you by giving you something that couldn’t be bought with money, that was one of a kind, not 100% perfect but is filled with love and hard work, something like you.

“You made it? Like physically?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’ve been home late… One of my clients owns a jewelry workshop on the side and when I told her my plan, she offered to help me out.”

You’re crying and Jungkook’s scared because oh god, now you think he’s some cheap asshole who didn’t get you a diamond ring but then he hears you laugh as you wipe away your tears, your hands pulling him in for a hug.

“Y-you don’t like it do you? I’m sorry I—” Jungkook’s stammering, trying hard to salvage the situation and you pull away from him to plant a lingering kiss on his lips just to shut him up, just to tell him you absolutely love it.

There’s a moment of comfortable silence as he watches you examine the ring and he’s biting his lip nervously, hoping you can’t see the flaws as clearly as he does. He doesn’t know but you can’t see the flaws, not even a single one because you’re too busy admiring the fact that Jungkook had (with minimal help) crafted a ring! He had modeled it after the diamond ring he originally bought but… you didn’t need to know that. You murmur words of wonder and amazement beneath your breath and in that second Jungkook thinks it’s worth it. All those late nights, all the moments of pure frustration as he tries to twist the metal in just the right way or moments of pure nervousness as he tries to hide the tiny pricks and cuts on the pads of his fingers from you, it’s all worth it just to see the delight on your face.

“It’s funny,” You smile, as if embarrassed. “The ladies tried to convince me that you were cheating on me and I… I kind of well, was semi-convinced because of the late nights and perfume on your—"

“Cheat? God, Y/N, no, never.”

“I know, I know but it was just…” You murmur looking down at the ring nervously, and he waits for you to continue your sentence or say anything really but Jungkook can see how the main piece of white sapphire seemed to be slightly crooked.

“Listen, i-if you don’t like the ring I can always get you a diamond one again.”

“Jungkook, no,” You laugh, cupping his cheeks. “This is perfect. I love it,” You smile.

The shy smile he gives you makes your heart feel like leaping out of your chest and also melting into a puddle at the same time. For the longest time he only gazes at you, his eyes looking at you as if you are the entire Universe and to him, you are.

“I love you,” He sighs sweetly, turning his head so he could leave a soft kiss on the inside of your palm.

You don’t have to say it back to him, he already knows you do too, but he loves hearing it anyway and when you finally say I love you too between the kisses you pepper him with, he thinks he can’t possibly have a day better than this one in his entire life.

Fortunately, that’s a lie. With you, there came many more days he considers the best day of his life but really with you he couldn’t pick. Okay, no, that’s also a lie. There’s a handful of days he can pick out and he’s really trying to keep himself to a limit here so, he settles on 5 special days, of course, not including the day he got engaged to you.

one

It’s the day or really days right after the two of you get your marriage registered, having called Jimin and his family down to the office with only a few hours’ notice to be witnesses to your marriage. It’s spontaneous, ridiculous, much like your relationship with Jungkook but when he proposed the idea of it the other day, it didn’t take more than a second for you to shrug and say, why not? You should’ve known Jungkook and his spontaneous ideas were never really that spontaneous because he’s standing in front of you, presenting you with an itinerary of just what the two of you were going to do at Ko Lipe, a post-marriage gift, he says. You had on the most adorable expression, one mixed between shock and pure joy before it all fades and you furrow your eyebrows.

“What about work? Don’t you have a lot going on right now?”

“Ahh, I closed all my open-ended deals in the last month just for this… Just for you.”

Ugh, even he cringes at how goddamn cheesy he is when he’s talking to you but it’s almost as if his mouth had a mind of its own sometimes. You hum at that, pursing your lips so your smile wouldn’t show. He must’ve planned this months in advance. Spur of the moment thing my ass, you scoff mentally, but it’s more of a you’re-such-a-thoughtful-dork-and-I-love-you kind of scoff rather than a mean-spirited one. How does he always seem to know that your answer to any of his ‘spontaneous’ decisions will always be yes?

“So, you’re saying we’re going to have a week’s worth of privacy? No phone calls to interrupt us? Just you and me?”

“Just you and me,” He nods. “I’m leaving my work phone at home, see!” He pulls the drawer of the side table to show you the handphone that’s usually glued to his ear.

“No! I mean don’t do that… What if something goes wrong at work?”

“Then Jimin can deal with it,” He smiles.

You stand there thinking if it really is a good idea to just up and leave the country when you had found both you and him plastered across the gossip section of every major news outlet and magazine this morning, the mere mention of the two of you getting married enough to cause an online frenzy. It’s the story everyone’s ever wanted, the Jeon and Y/L/N rivalry finally put to an end by love. Except, both you and Jungkook know the truth, both your fathers and perhaps even brothers will forever be at loggerheads, even more so now that the Jeons were behind bars.

“Come on babe,” He whines. “It’ll be our very own island adventure!” He exclaims, placing a pair of sunglasses on for you and a straw sun hat on himself. 

“You’ll get me to go even if I do say no, won’t you?” You laugh and he winks at you because it’s the truth. He already had your bags packed… which would explain why you couldn’t find your favourite pair of shorts this morning.

Just like that, you’re whisked off to Ko Lipe, in a private jet he had borrowed from one of his clients. The press back home is having a field day, everyone wondering just where the two people the public want to see the most have disappeared to. You look down to your phone to see multiple missed calls from your parents and your siblings as reporter after reporter show up at your family’s residence, badgering them for comments. They didn’t know what to tell the press because well, they weren’t informed of the whole marriage registration debacle themselves!

All of that is the last thing that’s on your mind as you bury your toes in the sand, gazing out into the vast ocean blue. You aren’t given much thinking time anyway as Jungkook drags you out to do any form of extreme water sports that the private resort offers. Be it parasailing or going for one of those jet ski tours to the remote neighbouring islands and caves, it’s like you don’t even have time to catch your breath before he’s pulling you to the sign-up booth, looking for something else to do.

I, Island, Ko Lipe. The answer to the I of DIADEM, the family code that comes to you naturally no matter how long it’s been since you’ve been forced to recite it. It’s a thought that comes to you in passing as you’re laid out on a deck chair, finally being able to rest after Jungkook’s daily dose of adrenaline inducing adventures. This place, this island means so much to you and it means so much to Jungkook too. It’s been years since you’ve been back here, perhaps even longer for Jungkook and every single day spent here has been like a dream. You remember this island to be a place where you finally felt like you belonged in your family and you’re glad that now that you’re here again you don’t just ‘feel’ like you belong to a family, you know you’re part of a family, because right next to you is the man you’re going to marry, technically you already have. He smiles at you when he catches you staring at him, blowing you an obnoxious kiss just so he can see you scowl at him. 

You hope he feels the same way you do, hope that he knows you can’t ever replace the love his mother has for him, can’t replace the memories he has of this island when he was much younger, exploring the island as his mother chased after him but you hope he allows this trip, the numerous moments you’ve had with him to add on to the fact that this island will always be special to him. If only you knew you didn’t have to hope. Jungkook’s already committed to documenting every single moment of this trip, having had taken an unreal number of photos along with hours upon hours of footage just so he could look back on it all whenever he wanted to because he feels this whole week has been the best damn week of his life.

two

The two of you return home after a rather exhausting yet refreshing week at Ko Lipe. The press has seemingly forgotten about the two of you or have simply given up on trying to locate either of you. Jungkook spends most of the week working from home and you decide against leaving the mountains at all, neither of you wanting to deal with a publicity shitstorm. It’s perhaps months after, when the two of you know that you’re definitely in the clear that you decide to send out invitations to your wedding, a relatively small one with no less than 50 people that’s slated to happen in the backyard, next to the lake. To be fair, most of the attendees were going to be the people from town, the only outsiders would be your family and Jimin and his family. Jungkook adamant as he is, refuses to extend an invitation to his step-mother, unwilling to forgive the fact that she had allowed his father and brother to go to the lengths they did in order to try and be level with Y/L/N Logistics. You don’t argue with him, respecting that it was his decision to make and honestly, regarding your own family, you aren’t quite sure if they are actually going to show up considering the fact that you hadn’t personally called them back after the whole out of the blue marriage registration fiasco, only sending them a text to confirm that yes, you had indeed decided to marry Jungkook.

The wedding day comes faster than Jungkook could have imagined and suddenly he’s sweating nervously as he stands at the end of the aisle, the guests rising from their seats as the wedding march begins to play. The ceremony is simple yet elegant, only a small flower arch at the end of the aisle and 50 white chairs at either side of the white carpet. Every single seat is occupied, all except one because it’s Jimin who stands beside you, arm linked with yours as you walk down the aisle. Your breath almost gets caught in your throat when you spot your family amidst the crowd. The blank faces on you father, mother and brother tells you that it must’ve been your sister that had dragged all 3 of them here. You send her an appreciative smile because though growing up in that house with your family hadn’t been great, you still do in fact share the same blood and you still do love them, despite their flaws. 

You look forward when you hear Jimin let out a light laugh, and this time it’s like your breath is taken away when you finally lay eyes on your soon to be husband. He stands tall in a classic suit, looking dapper and handsome as always. You can see the way Jungkook has already started to tear up and you guess that’s why Jimin had been laughing but truth be told, you were on the verge of tears yourself. Jungkook feels almost light headed when he sees you standing next to him because you look unreal, absolutely gorgeous in all white. Your dress isn’t the princess type with a long train but it’s a rather modest one, a simple number that seemed to drape over your body perfectly, hugging you in just the right places but more than that, it’s your face, like you’re almost glowing and Jungkook’s heart picks up it’s pace because the day he has been dreaming of is finally here and he keeps thinking that he must be the luckiest man alive to finally (almost) officially be able to spend the rest of his life with you.

The crowd coos as Buster makes his way down the aisle, the small box containing the rings attached to his collar. He’s clearly enjoying the attention because he stops to pose for photos, almost stealing the show! But, he makes it to the end in timely fashion, stopping next to Jimin so he could detach the box from the collar. Nervously, both you and Jungkook take the rings from the box.

Jungkook starts with his vows first and his voice cracks when he starts, almost unable to hold back the impending tears. He clears his throat with a laugh before he looks up to gaze at you, telling you that he hopes you know that by marrying him you’re going to have to live with the fact that he always seems to fart up a storm every morning and that although he apologizes for it, it’s something he can’t control, and he hopes it’s something you won’t leave him for once he’s old and gray, and out of money.

Jungkook doesn’t even have to look at the paper he has in his hand because he already knows what he wants to tell you by heart. Aside from his mother, you are the only person that sees him for who he is, for who he can be and who he wanted to be. You bring out the best in him and with you by his side, he truly thinks he’d be able to do anything. He promises you a life full of adventure, happiness and genuine love because you deserved the world and he was going to give you everything he could. 

You regret choosing to go second because now you’re forced to wipe away your tears while you read out your vows, because really, how could you listen to Jungkook speak like that and not cry. When you begin, you’re stammering and Jungkook offers you a soft smile before reaching out to gently wipe away a stray tear or two. You let out a deep exhale, abandoning the piece of paper that you had worked day and night on because the words on there just weren’t good enough to explain how grateful you are for the man before you. All you really want to say is that you’re so glad that Jungkook loves you wholeheartedly for who you are, and you promise to love him the same. The world has always told the both of you that the pair of you just aren’t destined to be but to hell with that. You believed in creating your own fate, your own destiny and you’ll be damned if Jungkook wasn’t a part of that. If soulmates exist, you are quite sure that he is yours. He knows you inside and out, perhaps even better than yourself and you know you’d never want to spend your life in the arms of another for he truly is your escape. You tell him that you only hope to be his too and he laughs shaking his head and utters 7 words that has your heart flip-flopping in your chest.

“You’re not my escape,” He smiles. “You’re my home.”

When the two of you finally slide on the ring on each other’s finger, there’s cheers that ring around the backyard, Buster barking excitedly as the two of you share the first kiss of your official ceremonially confirmed marriage. There isn’t a person in attendance that feels bitter about the marriage, not even your family despite the unreadable expression on their faces. Truth be told, they’re happy for you. You deserved better, more than they’ve ever given you, they were human enough to admit that and they’re glad that you finally have someone that can give you everything they never did.

When the ceremony is all over and done with, it’s just an hour before sun down, enough time for the two of you to change out of your respective outfits for something more comfortable. A short drive later, you find yourself with your hand intertwined with Jungkook’s as the two of you sat by the grave of his mother, listening as he tells her about the day, tells her he wishes she was here. You let your other hand rest on top of his and you tell her thank you, thank you for giving birth to the man that you love so much and that you intend to care for him, like she had, until the end of time.

three

The story of special day number three starts perhaps almost two years into the marriage, almost 6 months before said day. You’re sat at the table with Jungkook, friendly conversation going around between the other people seated at the table. It’s the anniversary of the founding of the town and every single resident has found themselves at the local square to celebrate, eat and drink the day away. You’re looking further off in the distance, having zoned out of the lovely little discussion that was going on around you to look at the children running circles around each other, giggling and talking amongst each other, your gaze ever so warm and fond.

“Do you think you’ll ever want any of your own?” The lady beside you asks and Jungkook perks up to listen to your reply, knowing the answer to this question full well because he’s asked you once or twice before when you’re cuddled up next to him in bed.

“No, they’re too much work,” You laugh and the lady laughs along with you agreeing to your statement. Everyone thinks it’s true, that you don’t want children of your own because they’re messy and loud but Jungkook knows better, knows the look in your eyes whenever you look at them from afar, it’s one that people have when they’re looking at something they can’t have. Jungkook thinks that it has to do with your childhood, that your parents, no matter how much you refuse to admit it have scarred you so deeply that you can’t possibly fathom having a child on the off chance that in a moment of anger, you would say something to your child that was remotely similar to what your parents had said to you over and over again over the course of your childhood. People often say that children will take after their parents when they’re older and if anything, that is your worst nightmare, to become the people who had caused you so much hurt.

Jungkook joins in the conversation, nodding that the two of you simply wouldn’t have time for a child, which is a lie because Jungkook would do anything to make sure he has time for his child, if he had one that is. But he lies, lies for you because he knows what will follow after if he doesn’t say anything. They’ll badger you with questions like: But who will look after you when you’re old if you have no children? Do you hate children? Are you sure you’ll never want them? He prefers to take the brunt of it, letting them know that he wouldn’t know the first thing about being a father but of course that’s a lie too. Jungkook knows just what kind of father he would be. He would be everything his father wasn’t.

It’s exactly 5 months and 3 weeks since that dinner, since you had that conversation that made your stomach churn, which actually is quite funny since your stomach has been doing a lot of that lately even without having been asked the classic question of why you haven’t thought about having children yet.

You refuse to think about it, refuse to admit that certain smells, one that are completely normal, like the fudge brownies that you usually bake suddenly makes you feel like throwing up or the fact that you had literally forced Jungkook to drive you to the city in the middle of the night because your fried chicken craving was driving you insane.

Something at the back of your mind tells you that these are classic signs of… of… you don’t even want to say it because maybe if you didn’t, it wouldn’t be true. You think back to the past two weeks or so, acknowledging that yes, maybe you had allowed Jungkook to forgo the condom but that’s because you had been on the pill, right?! Not like you had missed a day or two in the past week, right?! Not like your period isn’t on time this month, right?! You wondered how many more lies you could tell yourself until you would have to drive down to the pharmacy in the city to pick up, you know, that special stick? The answer is not many because in just a few hours you’re in your bathroom with the stick in hand, wondering if you were supposed to pee on it sitting down? Standing up? Did it matter? You let out an annoyed groan before reaching into the box to pull out the instructions.

Two blue lines stare back at you and you let out a small scream. You pee on another stick… or maybe 5… just to be sure, you know? And now you’re looking down at 6 sticks that tell you the same thing… that you’re, that you’re… you can’t even bring yourself to say it.

You stuff everything into the plastic bag from the pharmacy, keeping at least one stick because… you had to tell Jungkook right? You keep the test somewhere in the back of your closet, beneath a pile of clothes, trying to form sentences in your head, wondering how the news would sit with him but first, you needed to accept reality and somehow you just refuse to.

You’re skittish around Jungkook for the next few days and though he notices it, he doesn’t bring it up because usually when he gives you time, you’ll let him know whatever it is that’s on your mind. He thinks you’re upset with him, waiting for him to figure out whatever it is without telling him and he’s trying so hard, running through every single thing he had done over the past week just to see if he could find whatever it is that he had done wrong. Was it because he forgot to flush the toilet that one day? It is isn’t it?

It’s the day, D-day, you proclaim. It has been a full week since you’ve taken the test and you’ve had exactly 7 days to think of what to say. You think a short speech would suffice… butter him up first and then apologize for missing the pill or something… but it’s not that part you’re really worried about, you sigh. It’s the fact that you’re going to have to raise a human being and you know Jungkook won’t say no to the idea, in fact you know he’ll be ecstatic, but he hasn’t thought it over like you. You’re not worried about the finances, or the fact that you’ll be incapable of loving the child, because you’ll do nothing but love your child, cherish them, but you’re worried your child won’t love you back or that Jungkook wouldn’t either because… you’re you and you’re flawed in the worst possible way, in a way that you couldn’t change even if you tried.

You’re so busy thinking that you hadn’t heard Jungkook come through the front door and you quickly stuff the pregnancy test behind you, between the pillows on the couch you were sitting on.

“Y/N, babe, listen,” Jungkook smiles nervously as he takes a seat beside you on the couch, loosening the tie around his neck. “I know you’re upset with me but I swear I thought I flushed the toilet—”

“I’m pregnant,” You blurt out and you immediately shut your eyes because fuck you were supposed to shower him with compliments first! Tell him that it had been an honest mistake, that you had forgotten that you had missed a pill that week when you told him he didn’t need the condom.

“You’re pregnant,” He murmurs, and you let out a sigh, an apology on the tip of your tongue when you look at him, his eyebrows furrowed together as if he had never heard the word before. “You’re pregnant!” He repeats, his face somewhere between shock and joy as it finally dawns on him why you’ve been acting so weird lately. A large smile finds it way onto Jungkook’s face and he’s about to engulf you in a hug, pick you up and swing you around in his arms but then he sees the way your bottom lip wobbles and suddenly there’s a stream of tears rolling down your cheeks. He’s stunned for a second because wait, was that not the reaction you had wanted from him?

“Babe… Hey, Y/N… What’s wrong?” He quickly asks, scooting closer towards you so he can hold you close, wipe away your tears. You’re only shaking your head, sobbing so hard that it makes Jungkook’s heart break into two. He lets you take your time, simply gripping your hand when you produce the pregnancy test from behind the pillows, the two lines showing that you are indeed, pregnant.

“What if… what if,” You hiccup, sobs chopping up your sentence. “What if our baby’s a 4?”

Oh, ohhh, Jungkook understands now, realizes just why you’re crying.

“You’re going to end up hating me and our baby will too,” You mumble, picturing just what it’ll be like, complete silence in your house, absolute distaste burning behind Jungkook’s eyes when the number begins to glow above your child’s head.

“I…,” Jungkook’s at a complete loss of words, unable to comprehend just why you’d think that. “I’d never hate you,” He says rather sternly, as if he’s upset that you’d ever think that.

He catches it, the look on your face, one that says you didn’t believe him at all. It’s because he doesn’t know, you sigh, doesn’t understand what it’s like and you’ve experienced it one too many times, how people accept you at first despite your number but one by one, they all seem to leave you in the dust.

“Nothing will ever stop me from loving you… nothing,” He breathes, bringing up his hand to stroke your cheek, imploring for you to look at him. “Do you understand that?”

You neither nod or shake your head, your eyes simply downcast as you fiddle nervously with the pregnancy test in your hand.

“Whatever our baby’s number is, even if it’s a damn zero, I’m gonna love our baby all the same,” He smiles, prying the pregnancy test out of your hand so he can hold yours. “And I will always, always love you. That will never change.”

This time, you give him a little nod which makes him smile and he uses his thumb to rub comforting circles to the back of your palm.

“What if.. what if our baby hates me?” You frown. “I don’t want our baby to go through what I did, Kook,” You sigh, your shoulders drooping down as you refer to your painful childhood, the fact that you were viewed as if you were like scum simply because you had a single digit number. You don’t want to bring another human being into the world just for them to feel nothing but pain.

“Our baby won’t,” He reassures you, his tone strong and sure as if he was promising you that, but you know he can’t change what others would think of your child. “You and I are going to love our child so much that the sun is going to shine out of their ass because all they’ll ever know is love,” He smiles. “And, I’ll fight everyone and anyone who tries to hurt them or you, you hear me?”

You let out a light laugh, appreciating how Jungkook could make you feel better no matter the pain you feel in your chest and you smile at him affectionately. He takes the chance to press a light kiss to your cheek as if to let you know that he understands how hard this must be for you, that you must’ve been going over these thoughts again and again for some time now. The smile you have fades as quickly as it came though and he sees you lick the corner of your lips, tears threatening to reappear again.

“I… I won’t force you to… you know have a child,” He whispers, his hand giving yours a short squeeze. “It’s up to you love.”

“No, I want to keep it,” You answer almost instantaneously.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jungkook tries to hide his excitement but he does a horrible job of it because he’s quite literally bouncing in his seat.

“I’m so happy, I really am,” He smiles before he calms down considerably, letting out a deep exhale as he placed his hand on your cheek to get your attention. “Listen I… I want this but only if you do. Don’t just say yes because you think that’s what I want you to say.”

“No, no,” You laugh. “I want this, I do.”

You really did, and maybe you just needed to hear that Jungkook was going to be with you every step of the way, that your child, no matter what, won’t have a childhood that’s anywhere close to yours.

“We’re having a baby,” He murmurs, almost as if he was talking to himself, then he turns to you. “You and me, our own little human!”

He’s so endearing it makes your heart hurt. He presses a kiss to your lips, something he had been wanting to do since you had uttered the two words that has made this day one of the best days in his life. He tells you again and again that he loves you and you tell him the same, thinking you’ll never grow tired of him, of his love. It’s a thought that begins to falter later on during the pregnancy because it’s as if your child is having a fucking karate lesson in your belly, kicking non-stop, especially when you wanted to sleep. Sometimes you almost feel like strangling Jungkook, wanting to scream at him because it’s his fault! He did this to you! He was the reason there’s a baby in your stomach but he pacifies you with fried chicken, even if it’s 3 am in the morning so, you let him live to fight another day. To be honest, this whole pregnancy thing scares Jungkook a little because sometimes you were moody, downright scary but he can only try his best to make the whole carrying a child in your belly thing less stressful by massaging your feet. For the most part, watching your stomach grow with size has been entertaining and he makes sure to take a picture each week just because and usually it’s a relatively ordinary process but one time you beckon him over, making him lie next to you.

“Watch this,” You smile as you lay on the bed.

He’s staring at your belly curiously, unsure what he’s supposed to be looking for because he sees it every day, leaves a light kiss on it all the time. Then he sees it, your belly moving as if there’s something growing inside and he lets out a light yelp. You laugh uncontrollably as Jungkook stares with his mouth agape. Of course, he knew you were pregnant, that you had a baby growing inside of you but yet he hadn’t really comprehended that until now. He whips out his phone just to record it because do people know babies do that? He didn’t. He wonders what Jimin would think of it.

“Okay, now go get me some fried chicken,” You command after having had enough of Jungkook rubbing his palm over your belly, just to be sure that it was your belly that was moving and not just him imagining it.

“Yes ma’am,” He answers with a salute.

four

Jungkook wishes he has more to say about this day but to be fair, he felt like he wasn’t even fully present on the day himself because he was genuinely about to shit himself when you told him your water had broke. He rushed you to the hospital, not forgetting to grab the bag that the two of you had already packed in advance, knowing that this day was approaching.

As you go through labour pains, you grip his hand, hard and Jungkook swears he might have a hairline fracture on a finger or two because boy did you have a grip but he understands and it’s a small price he’s willing to pay considering it isn’t him that is pushing out a human out of his damn body.

When he hears the first cry, his heart almost stops beating and then starts beating at twice it’s normal speed when the doctor turns to him to speak.

“Would you like to carry her?”

Her! A baby girl! Which he already knows from the ultrasounds early on in the pregnancy but still! Anyway, back to the question, would he like to carry her? Yes. No. Yes. No. What if he drops her?

“I’m uhh, not sure how to carry—”

The doctor laughs softly before he gives instructions to Jungkook like he has to many new fathers. Jungkook sways his crying child in his arms cooing at her as you look up at him with tired eyes. Even in your exhaustion, you manage a few tears, a lot less compared to Jungkook who’s kind of almost sobbing in the operation theatre.

_________, He murmurs the name the two of you had decided weeks ago. It fit her perfectly, he thinks, even if at this point, all babies look the same to him.

It’s the best day of his life… or at least one of, he smiles. He cradles his little baby in his arms for a few more seconds before he steps closer to you, letting you hold your child for the first time. A family, he sighs. A real one. And he was going to make it the best damn one.

five

Jungkook is cautious with his daughter at first because she’s tiny, fragile and he’s afraid he might break her by just touching her but his heart becomes goo in his chest whenever he sees her fidget in the crib, kick out her tiny little feet or you know just… breathe in general. He’s absolutely whipped for his child and why shouldn’t he be? He loves her and thinks she’s the cutest baby to ever exist and he doesn’t care if the lady in town says all parents think that their child is the cutest because she’s wrong, his child is the cutest, ever, no question about it… even if she’s the reason he gets exactly 0.2 hours of sleep every night. He won’t lie, parenting is extremely exhausting and he’s fought with you over these past months more than ever but in the end it’s all worth it when she’s asleep in the crib and he drags himself back to bed to cuddle with you.

Watching _________ grow up is magical to him. From the day she manages to sit up, to the day she manages to murmur things, to the day she takes her first steps with absolutely no help at all (which he managed to record!), every single milestone makes Jungkook smile until his cheeks begin to ache. He simply can’t believe that he has a child, often pointing down to her in the crib before looking at you to say, we made that! To which your reply is often, yeah, and I did most of the work, which he admits is true but still, the child is half him, he often reminds you.

He loves his daughter with everything he has and would completely spoil her if it wasn’t for you who was there to keep him in check and he thinks he’s done absolutely everything he could to make sure she knows that he loves her and yet, she still hasn’t said the thing he wishes to hear the most. She’s a 98, just like him which honestly, came as a surprise to both you and him but despite the matching number, she doesn’t do what he expects of her, doesn’t say what he’s been hoping to hear for a while now.

It’s frustrating for Jungkook but in all of her 7-ish months of life, she’s said a grand total of 3 words, that being,

Doggy, because Buster, he’s just a charmer. From babies to old ladies, he had ‘em all in the palm of his… paws.

Yum, often repeated twice, was codeword for I’m hungry and you better feed me before I start screaming.

And the one he was the least happy about,

Mama

You could see the pure disappointment on his face when his daughter uttered it not once, not twice but three times in a row as she stretched her hands outwards, wanting to be carried.

“I’ll carry you!” Jungkook exclaims. “You just have to say it! Say dad!” He instructs her but she simply turns away, looking at you as you swoop her up into your hands.

He repeats the word ‘Dad’ to her like a goddamn parrot, day in, day out, hoping that one day she would repeat after him, but she doesn’t. Jungkook’s given up hope, stops trying after weeks of saying the same word over and over, silently waiting for the day his daughter acknowledges him.

Luckily for him, the day comes not too long after when it’s a summer day where Jungkook is lazing around on the carpet, his daughter laying atop his chest, taking a nap. He has his hands beneath his head, eyes slowly fluttering as he feels himself drifting off to sleep but he’s startled awake when he feels his daughter move groggily on his chest letting out a few whines.

“_______, are ya awake?”

More whines before she’s rubbing at her eyes sleepily.

He places his hands on her, gently stroking her back as her eyes finally flutter open and a light smile finds it’s way onto Jungkook’s lips. It’s a miracle she isn’t crying like she usually does when she wakes up from her nap. She stares curiously at him as if there were a thousand thoughts going through her adorably tiny head.

“Dada.”

Jungkook stops breathing for a second and his mouth hangs open, in shock.

“Dada,” She repeats.

“Y/N!!!!” He screams, picking off _______ from his chest. “Get your phone!”

“What?” You call from the kitchen, your tone almost nonchalant as if Jungkook wasn’t witnessing the most important moment of his life right now.

“Your phone! Now!” He shouts as he scrambles to his feet, cradling _______ against him.

He makes his way to the kitchen to find you still busy, looking through the fridge, having absolutely no urgency to comply to Jungkook’s request. He stops right in front of you and you look up at him confused.

“Say it,” He coos, looking at _______.

She only gazes at him curiously, not understanding what he’s saying because of course, she’s a toddler.

“Doggy,” She replies, pointing to Buster who had just walked into the kitchen and you laugh boisterously when Jungkook’s face crumples in hurt.

“Jungkook,” You snort. “Leave her alone, won’t you? She’ll say dad someday… Just be patient.”

“She said it! I swear she did!” He exclaims. “Twice!”

“Yeah, sure she did,” You scoff.

“Did too!” He grumbles before turning to _______ . “Dad. Say it, say dad,” He coos, and you bring a palm to your face because here he goes agai—

“Dada.”

“Ha! Won’t you look at that!!!” He’s practically jumping and if he wasn’t carrying her, he would’ve probably done a summersault, a cartwheel, maybe even a damn split.

“Who’s your favourite parent? It’s me isn’t it?” He smiles down at _______.

“Please,” You laugh. “She’s only said it onc—”

“Dada!”

“Yeah, you’re right! That’s me! I’m dada! And you love me more than mama don’t you?”

“Dada,” Is her reply and Jungkook’s screaming internally because wow, what a day today is. The best day of his life. It’s the best damn day.

You want to be mad at Jungkook for being so annoying but again, it’s like he’s a huge man child and he’s so stupidly endearing that you can’t do anything but laugh.

“It’s okay, Y/N. Don’t be upset,” He smiles. “You’ve held the title of favourite parent for far too long okay? It’s time I had my chance.”

You only nod at him, giving him his moment of glory, pecking him on the cheek because how can you resist a man who argues with you about whether your daughter loves you or him more when your parents barely acknowledged your existence.

It’s been a simple day, a relatively normal day, at least for you… Jungkook would have something else to say about today but just like him, you concur that it’s one of the best days of your life because life isn’t really about the grand, great things to you, it’s about the simple things. It’s about how right now, you have a husband that loves you unconditionally and a daughter that you love unconditionally and really, that’s more than you could ever ask for. You no longer live each day, wishing the misery would end rather you live each day, embracing the love and happiness that you find around you. That isn’t to say every single day is just sunshine and rainbows, of course there are bad ones, many in fact, because life isn’t perfect but the good outweighs the bad and that’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Maybe life hasn’t played out the way you’ve always wanted it to, the family residence you called your home for so many years was still cold and unloving but life is about growing, about changing and if you had done neither maybe you wouldn’t have felt a world of hurt when everything seemed to have crumbled around you years ago but neither would you be feeling an unrivaled amount of happiness today, having Jungkook tease you over the fact that your daughter had switched allegiances, that he is in fact, the favourite parent to her. He’s insufferable, he truly is but maybe Jungkook was right when he gazed upon you as you finished saying your vows to him, the 7 word sentence he uttered at the altar still one of your favourite things he has ever said to you because it’s true, he isn’t your escape, he is your home.

p.s: wew it’s the end! this time for real! thank you all for reading!!! it’s been such a journey (’:

p.p.s: the explanation for why the daughter has a 98 is that technically the oc’s number is really high too because she’s a twin remember? (like flashback to chapter 7). Twins are special and it’s kinda known that they in general have really high numbers… just that in the mc’s case, it was unfortunate that the sister did not survive and hence the number couldn’t be re-balanced. also, about oc finding out about her twin… well, maybe in the distant future when one of her parents passes away…

I hope this epilogue answers all your questions but if you have any other questions, I’d be happy to answer!!! (like honestly really happy so ask away!) Thank you all so much for reading escape (‘:

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5  // Part 6 // Part 6.5 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9

#bangtan bookclub #kwriterskollection #kpopwritingnet #bts fanfic #bts scenarios

[robininthelabyrinth]

Could i offer a prompt where barrys dad dies instead of his mom? Im just so tired of the dead mom trope...

Fic: Tornado Warning (ao3 link)Fandom: The FlashPairing: Nora Allen/Henry Allen, Leonard Snart/Mick Rory, Barry Allen/Iris West, Barry Allen/Iris West/Eddie Thawne

Summary: Nora Allen doesn’t know where the man in yellow, the man in the lightning, came from, but he killed her beloved Henry right in front of her and she knows deep in her gut that he’s after her beautiful baby Barry.

There is no way in hell she’s going to let that happen.

—————————————————————————————–

It happened in a flash.

She remembers every second.

She doubts every one of those seconds.

She came home late, driving home on instinct in the dark - she’d been worried about picking up the dry cleaning in time and whether the milk had already expired, whether Barry would want pancakes tonight for the millionth time, a dozen ultimately unimportant things - she’d settled in at home, kicked off her shoes, walked in humming -

And then he attacked.

At least, she thinks it was a him. Crackling lightning, a whirlwind, a figure surrounded by light, blurred too fast to see -

She screamed, she’d been screaming -

Barry ran downstairs -

Henry had been there, Henry turned to him at the doorway, Henry told him to run -

Run, Barry, run!

Barry had run, but in another flash of light, Barry hadn’t just run, Barry had disappeared - the man screamed in rage - he was after Barry, then, after her baby, and she realized it at the same moment that he blurred again, grabbing the knife from the kitchen and lunging at her -

This is not how I should die, she remembers thinking, a single moment of clarity in the terror.

And it wasn’t, though sometimes she wishes it was.

The man - the creature - was fast, but Henry was already leaping towards her, she reaching for him, and she caught his hands and pulled him towards her, through the whirlwind around her -

And the knife meant for her struck him, instead.

She screamed again.

No - not Henry - no!

The man in yellow disappeared.

“You have to hold the knife in,” Henry gasped, blood bubbling on his lips, always the level-headed surgeon, the mild-mannered man she’d fallen in love with in college, never losing his head no matter what. “Only chance not to bleed out - Nora - Nora, I love you -”

“I love you,” she whispered. “Henry - Henry -”

That was how the police found her.

–

It takes her unforgivably long to realize the police weren’t on her side.

She’d known that, of course she had - she was a college professor, for heaven’s sake; you think she wasn’t hip to how the police state wasn’t necessarily friendly once you were in custody?

No one says “hip” anymore, Henry’s voice in her head reminds her, warm and loving as always.

That was the only voice of his she’d ever hear again, now. He died on the way to the hospital.

They didn’t tell her the entire time she was at the station, no matter how she’d begged to hear if he was all right. If Barry was all right.

Instead, they handed her a cup of coffee and let her dry her eyes (a hopeless task) and they started asking her questions.

It wasn’t until the questions started turning to her and Henry’s personal life - if they fought, if there were marital problems, bizarre questions that she couldn’t understand the purpose of - that she’d remembered herself and asked for a lawyer.

“Don’t see why you’d need one,” Fred said genially. It’s Fred Chyre - Joe’s partner. Joe’s here, too. Joe was Henry’s friend, as far back as college; they’d bonded over their interest in blues and jazz. Since Nora was utterly uninterested - my tone-deaf little pigeon, Henry’s voice laughed in her ear - she’d been happy to let Joe be Henry’s plus-one for all of those events, while she went out with her own friends. It worked well for them. “Is there a problem with us asking about your relationship with Henry?”

“What?” she asked, blinking. It hadn’t been that at all, honestly; she’d just recovered from her shock enough to remember the lessons of her childhood: always ask for a lawyer. “Oh, no, nothing at all. I just remembered that I hadn’t asked for one yet. I think I have a number - I can call one myself and explain, if it’s easier, or we could ask for a public defender for the time being -”

“Introducing a lawyer just makes this whole process more difficult,” Fred said, shaking his head. “I mean, you have the right to one, of course, but it’d be so much easier to figure this out if they weren’t involved - they always muck things up, you know, lawyers, with all their fiddly technicalities - and we all really want to catch the person who did this to Henry and put him or her behind bars -”

“Him or her?” she asked, frowning. “I already told you - it was a man - there was a whirlwind - lightning -”

“Yes, you told us about that. Why don’t we talk about the last few weeks instead?” Fred suggested. “You and Henry were arguing, weren’t you?”

“What? No,” she replied, and that’s when she noticed how fixed his smile was, how cold. “No, don’t be absurd - wait. You don’t - do you think I had something to do with it?”

“We’re not saying anything,” Joe said.

“Was Henry ever abusive?” Fred asked, oozing sympathy. “Is that what happened?”

“What?!” she exclaimed. “What are you - Henry abusive - I don’t – why are you even asking that?!”

“We understand you recently had a miscarriage,” Fred said.

Nora went still and cold, all of a sudden. “Who told you that?”

Fred went silent, but the way his posture shifted towards Joe was damning.

“That is private information,” Nora said through numb lips. Henry and Joe were close; of course Henry would have mentioned it to him, how hard they’d been trying to give Barry a little brother or sister, how they were grieving together. But that Joe would mention it onwards, to people she barely knew like Fred Chyre? That was unforgiveable. “And irrelevant. Joe, what’s the meaning of all these questions?”

“We just want to know what happened,” Joe told her. His face is unfeeling.

“But - asking about my miscarriage? Asking if Henry was abusive? Damnit, Joe; Henry’s your best friend!”

“Yeah,” Joe said, his face twisting, ugly with rage. “And you killed him, you bitch.”

Nora rocked back in her seat as if she’d been hit.

Fred turned an annoyed glare on Joe, his friendly façade cracking to reveal irritation. “Damnit, Joe, if you can’t stick to goddamn script, you can’t sit in on the investigation, you know that -”

There was a script.

They were trying to pin Henry’s murder on her.

Oh, Nora knew all about policemen and their scripts, their nice and tidy little friendly faces that smiled even as they noted down the words they would use against you, uncovering the private facts of your life in their quest for an easy arrest and a quick end to the whole affair. She knows all about how innocent men and women go to jail over fudged evidence and good-enough-for-conviction circumstances, especially when one of the police decided he had it in for you and that it was your fault. She knows all about it.

And she will be damned if that happens to her without a fight.

Henry’s best friend or not.

“I think,” Nora said very carefully, “that I’d like to see my lawyer now.”

And that’s almost all she said for the next four hours, ignoring every petition and threat and wheedling they did to try to make her forget about the request, until they finally gave in and got her one.

The only other thing she asked for in those hours was to know if Henry was all right.

If Barry, her baby, her precious wonderful baby, was all right, if he’d been hurt, if something had happened to him -

They refused to tell her until the very end.

Nora Allen is still very angry about that.

–

The first lawyer she gets – and she has the money for one, thank god, and she’s never been happier to be a middle-class white woman in her life, as depressing as it is to have to think about things like that – tells her that the evidence doesn’t look good and suggests that she plead domestic abuse as the cause for the murder, accepting a plea deal that was more punishment than anything else.

She fires that one and gets another.

The second lawyer says the same thing, more or less, but that she’ll do her best to fight if that’s what Nora wants. It is. Nora’s going to fight this all the way to the bitter end if she has to.

Henry wasn’t abusive, and she won’t say that he was to knock ten years off a sentence she shouldn’t be serving at all.

The second lawyer also says that there’s something fishy about how they’re doing the prosecution.

That part makes Nora actually sit down and listen.

“They’re pushing too hard,” the lawyer tells her. “They’re going to offer you another deal.”

“I already told you, I don’t want a deal!”

“We’re going to listen to the deal,” the lawyer says implacably. “Because just knowing what the deal is will tell us loads about how much they think they have against us – and why they’re so goddamn eager to close a case involving the death of a generally beloved but otherwise not well known surgeon. It’s not like this is a big deal, all the papers and televisions talking about it; yeah, it’s a matter of discussion, but it’s not a 24/7 media circus. So why are they trying to close it so quick?”

Nora bites her lips, but nods.

She tells her lawyer about Joe, about how he irrationally blames her for it, and her lawyer nods thoughtfully.

“That might do it,” she says critically. “We might be able to use that. Let’s see how this goes.”

The deal, when it comes, is –

Nora is very happy for all of those years of work at the college, all that training in keeping a straight face when people say stupid stuff (students, yes, but especially other staff), because otherwise she would be losing her temper.

“I’m sorry,” she says very politely when they’re done, the assistant district attorney and Joe, sitting side by side across the table in front of her. “I’m not sure I understand. You want me to plead guilty, go to jail for at least twenty or thirty years, and I’m supposed to accept this offer…why, exactly?”

“You have family to think of, Nora,” Joe says. He sounds reasonable. He always sounds reasonable, except for that one little reveal he’d had in the investigation room – the ugly anger that lurks there, sorrow for Henry mixing in with anger at her, blaming her. Worst of all, Nora knows why he does, and it has nothing to do with her at all - they always got along fine, both of them loving Henry more than each other, but a nice cordial relationship nevertheless. No, this is all about Joe and Francine, and how he hates her for abandoning him and Iris, how he blames her for everything. This is all of that coming out and aimed at her like a gun. It’s unprofessional, that’s what it is. “You need to think about your family. What about Barry?”

“What about Barry?” she asks. “I was under the impression that he’s at a foster home right now, at least until the trial is over.”

She’d never regretted not having a larger family more. They were all dead and gone, both hers and Henry’s parents, and none of them had anyone else. They’d had each other and thought that was enough.

“He is,” Joe says. “But the foster system - well, it’s a very harsh place, Nora. Very hard on kids, going from one house to another, jumping school districts in the middle of the year. You don’t want him to live the rest of his life among strangers, alone.”

“So if I accept this deal –”

“We’ll make sure he’s placed somewhere nearby, somewhere safe and stable, with people who love him –”

“People like you, you mean,” Nora says, getting it.

Her lawyer is silent, watching, vigilant in case Nora says anything amiss.

They both see Joe blink, taken aback, like he thought she wouldn’t see what he’s doing. Joe always did think he was a reasonable man, even when he was being incredibly unreasonable. He’d always thought he was sneakier than he really was, too. “Of course,” he says, rallying. “You and Henry always said that if something happened to you –”

“Consider that revoked,” Nora says harshly. “I wouldn’t give you permission to raise Barry if you were the last man on earth.”

Joe has the audacity to look surprised, like he thought she would just – go along with it.

Henry probably would’ve, but Henry’s a bit of a pushover, especially where Barry is concerned. Nora was always the one who imposed discipline in their family.

“Nora –” Joe starts.

Nora smiles.

It’s not a nice smile.

“Firstly,” she says, “I believe it would be more appropriate for you to call me Mrs. Allen.”

He flinches. Still surprised by her audacity to question the righteous Joseph West’s judgment call.

Still ashamed, just a little, by the reminder that she was the one Henry had chosen to wed and that she claimed his name as her own.

“Secondly,” she says to her lawyer, “I think that I want to sue.”

“I think,” her lawyer says, “that I agree. We can file against the city, the DA’s office, and the CCPD -”

“Wait, wait, wait,” the ADA running the case says, holding up her hands. “Sue? On what basis?”

“Malicious prosecution,” Nora’s lawyer says. Nora likes how slick and hard and professional she is. “A policeman who’s friends with the victim shouldn’t be involved with assisting the DA’s office in prosecuting the case. Gives rise to questions about revenge as the motive for pushing it so hard.“

“This is not about revenge -” the ADA starts.

“It’s especially inappropriate,” the lawyer continues, undeterred, “when the city starts mixing in questions about adopting children with a prosecution. Especially when the policeman pushing the conviction is also the one potentially adopting the defendant’s child - and even more especially when it’s one with a convicted felon for a wife.”

“A what?!” the ADA exclaims. She scoots a little away from Joe.

They’d been sitting pretty close, Nora notes. She recalls now that Joe had mentioned something about having a bit of an office romance with one of the DAs; this must be the one.

“You never did file for divorce from Francine West,” Nora’s lawyer says. “You’re a married man, Detective, and she’s a felon who still technically has rights to your house. That means it’s not a safe environment for children who might be exposed to a repeated drug addict, a potentially dangerous one.”

“Now wait a minute –” Joe starts.

“You go anywhere near my Barry,” Nora says to Joe, very sweetly. “And I will make sure Iris knows every last lie you’ve ever fed her, you son of a bitch.”

“Maybe we should have this conversation without you, Detective West,” the ADA says, clearly realizing that she’s made a terrible mistake in thinking that Joe’s presence would make Nora more susceptible to simply taking the deal.

“But –”

“Now, Joe!”

Joe goes.

The ADA turns back to them.

“My client is not pleading guilty,” Nora’s lawyer tells her. “My client is, however, going to be going to the press and explain in explicit detail exactly how the CCPD and the DA’s office have conspired to bully her into giving up her parental rights and freedom just because they can’t be bothered to actually do their jobs.”

“I’ll be sure to mention the fact that you’re dating Joe,” Nora says, watching the ADA rear back in alarm even as her own lawyer’s eyebrows shoot up. “The newspapers do love a good public corruption case.”

“It’s hardly corruption,” the ADA says stiffly, but she knows it doesn’t look good. Not when Joe’s helping her prosecute this case, and is moving to adopt Nora’s child.

It looks a lot like child-stealing, to be honest. And as much as Nora hates it, hates how dirty it makes her feel to even think about it, she is, in the end, still a middle-class white woman, with all the privileges that affords her. She’ll be a sympathetic guest on every talk show in the country within days - the right-wing ones, because Joe’s a black male carrying a gun, and the left-wing ones, because Joe’s a policeman, and in any case she will accuse him of trying to steal her baby away in every court of opinion that will have her.

To save her baby, Nora is going to use every last weapon she has and stain her soul as black as she has to. To save her Barry from a life without her, she’ll do anything.

“If you have the evidence to go out and fight me in court, let’s do it,” Nora says, her fingers interlaced in her lap to hide how white her knuckles are. “Because I promise you, I will make this as nasty and dirty a fight as I need to, because I am not letting you touch a goddamn hair on my baby’s head.”

“You’ll lose,” the ADA says.

“So be it,” Nora replies. Most criminals who insist on going to trial do; her lawyer warned her of that. But she can’t go down without a fight. It’s not in her. Henry was the kindness in the family, the sweetness, the desire to do good in this world; Nora was the implacable stubbornness, the insistent optimism, the fierce conviction that if you are right then you must prevail by whatever means you need to do it. “But by god, I will drag down as many of you as I can with me.”

“The evidence is all against you,” the ADA says, crossing her arms.

“The evidence,” Nora’s lawyer says. “The evidence initially collected by – Detective Joe West, correct? The same one applying for custody of my client’s son?”

The ADA bites her lip. “There’s nothing to support your theory that it was a third party attacker.”

“It is not a theory,” Nora says. “It’s a fact.”

“Your son thinks he saw a man in yellow in the lightning,” the ADA says.

Nora arches her eyebrows. “So you’re telling me that you have two witnesses to my side of the story.”

“A man in lightning,” the ADA emphasizes. “That sounds crazy.”

“What sounds crazier,” Nora’s lawyer says, “the idea that an eleven year old boy added in lightning to a story about a third party, a man in yellow, attacking his beloved father, or the idea that my client – without having spoken to her son once, a blatant breach of her rights as his parent – somehow fed him a stupid story that would clearly not survive scrutiny?”

The ADA grits her teeth.

Nora Allen was born and raised in Central City, with its rough and tumble politics, with its corruption, with its slums and its gangs and its organized crime. She is nothing like her soft-hearted husband, raised in softer, friendlier places; Joe was always closer to Henry than to her, and he underestimated her. They all underestimated her.

“I want to see my son,” Nora tells the ADA. “Now.”

They continue to refuse to let them see each other, but in the end they drop the charges before Nora’s final trial date rather than risk a down and dirty battle, and that means they have to let her go, and once they let her go, they have no reason to keep Barry from her.

He runs into his arms, crying, and she holds him close and swears to Henry’s ghost that she will never let anyone hurt him.

Not least of all the man in yellow, the man in the lightning. He’s still out there.

And he’s still after Barry.

Nora’s sure of it.

–

Nora starts by moving back to her old neighborhood, the one she grew up in before Great Uncle Wilbur died and left her family enough money to get her a ticket to Columbia and a brand new life.

Also got her dad a one-way ticket to enough liquor to go into the grave, of course, and her mom following shortly thereafter for lack of people to yell at since Nora wouldn’t put up with it, but there are still enough people around the old place that remember them.

"Eleanora!” old Grissom shouts happily from his porch. He probably hasn’t moved from that place since she left for college. “And you brought your young ‘un, too!”

“Barry’s my boy, Griss,” she says. “Barry, this is Grissom. Yes, that’s his real name; just like the TV show. He’s awful and he smells.”

Barry giggles.

“Is he the one you said babysat you when you were a kid?” he asks shyly.

“That’s right, my beautiful baby boy,” Nora says, petting his hair. “And now he’s gonna help babysit you while Mommy runs some errands, okay?”

“I hope you like Star Trek, m'boy,” Grissom tells Barry. “It’s the only thing I’ve got. But I do got lots of it, and it’s all courtesy of your mum.”

“I like Star Trek,” Barry confirms.

“Then go inside and see if you can get the old box to work,” Grissom says. “Not saying there’s no cookies in it for you if you can…”

Barry yips happily and runs inside.

“And what can I do for you, Eleanora?” Grissom asks, smile fading into something more serious. “Heard the pigs did you wrong in the end, even after you got that fancy degree and everything.”

Nora shrugs. “Central City doesn’t forgive or forget easy,” she says. “And neither do I.”

Grissom’s eyebrows go up just a fraction, which is all the surprise she gets for that particular turn of phrase. “Murder for hire’s a tough line, Eleanora. You sure you’re ready for that?”

“Way I see it, I don’t have much of a choice,” Nora says. “Can you get me some names?”

“Depends on who you want done in,” Grissom replies. “That cop that turned on you and yours?”

“No, not him,” Nora says. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

Grissom tilts his head in silent question.

“I’m gonna need someone real good,” she says. She’s been back in the neighborhood for less than a day and she can feel her vowels and subjects and adverbs sloughing off back into the gutter. “Best of the best. And not just a two-bit shooter, neither. I need a brain to crack a puzzle, hands to do what’s needed, and -” She hesitates for a second. “And I need someone to burn the fucker to the ground.”

Grissom nods slowly.

“Might be a long term job,” she warns.

“Might be expensive,” he shoots back.

“I’ll pay,” she says. “Cash, favors, whatever.”

“Why’s it so important?”

“Because the fucker’s after my Barry, Griss. He’s killed my husband and he’s ruined my life and he’s after my baby boy. You get me, Griss? For this, I’ll pay anything.”

He nods slowly.

“Can you get me what I need?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll get you what you need.”

“Good,” Nora says. “Good.”

And then she goes out to buy groceries.

After all, she has a growing boy to feed. He’ll probably want pancakes, Nora reflects. That’s his go-to comfort food.

–

“So let me get this straight,” the man drawls, long and low and Central City bred so deep in his bones that Nora wonders if they played together as children. “You want me to find a man who runs like lightning, who may as may not exist, who disappeared into the air, who you think might be after your boy.”

Nora nods. It’s a hard story to swallow. She wouldn’t be surprised if the man threw it back in her face.

The men. There are two of them, one larger than the other, looks like a thug, but Nora’s no slouch. She can see the intelligence glinting in their eyes.

She’s done her research. The finest thief Central City’s produced in two generations, ever since the great Kitt kicked the bucket back in the ‘40s, and his partner the arsonist.

Man like that doesn’t partner with a dumb thug, though, so she’ll not be underestimating either of them.

“You have any evidence this man’ll be back?” the man asks.

“Nothing but the rage in his scream when my son ran where he couldn’t find 'em,” Nora says. Her face and voice are calm, but her hands are gripped under the table and her knuckles are white.

She asked for the best of the best. This is them, without a doubt. If they say no, she’ll go forward, she’ll get others. But they won’t be the best.

She wants the best.

“Will you do it?” she asks.

He hums.

She stays silent, waits.

“You’re gonna need to put up with us for the long haul,” he says. “We’re not signing up for full time bodyguarding gig, mind you, but there’s no guarantee your man won’t wait a good long while before giving it another shot.”

Nora swallows. “You’re saying yes.”

She almost can’t believe it.

Her story is - unbelievable. She knows that. Intuition and a mother’s instinct; nothing of the sort that these criminals work with. Nothing but smoke and fantasy.

But he’s saying yes.

Leonard Snart smiles. His teeth glint in the light. “I like a challenge.”

–

Nora wasn’t entirely sure what she was expecting, but two notorious criminals coming home with her and making dinner wasn’t it.

She’s not about to let Mick-Fireball-Rory alone in her kitchen alone, though; she hovers over him for a few hours until she realizes that was sort of the point, because she hasn’t seen hide nor hair Snart in those few hours.

When she looks for him, she hears them.

Snart’s upstairs. Barry’s room.

He’s sitting on the bed, feet up, boots on the bed like the mannerless boor he is. Barry’s beside him, feet also up, arms wrapped around his knees.

“- and that’s all I remember,” Barry’s saying.

“That’s all you think you remember,” Snart corrects. “I bet you there’s more you haven’t thought of – the feel of the air, the smells, everything. We’ll work through it, though; no need to worry now.”

“You’re gonna catch him, though, right? You’re gonna catch the guy that killed my dad?”

“I’m gonna do my best,” Snart says. “And my best is pretty good.”

“But what if he doesn’t come back, not for years and years?”

“Then we’ll be keeping an eye out for you,” Snart says. “For years and years, if that’s what it takes. And for what it’s worth, kid - it’s gonna be in the next six months, or it’s gonna be years and years, as you put it.”

Barry wrinkles his nose when he frowns. “Why?”

“Two types of people in this world, kid. Thinkers and doers. One type, the thinkers, they plan shit out. They over-think shit. They’re paranoid. They go into contingencies. But doers? Doers are different. They don’t pause, they don’t think, they just do. So if they’re a doer, it’ll be in the next few months. If they’re a thinker, it’ll be years. But it’s one or the other. Never both.”

Barry nods. Nora can see his back straighten, his shoulders broaden. He’s being talked to like an adult and he recognizes it. “So depending on what he does, we’ll know more about him.”

Snart points at him. “Exactly.”

“How do you deal with him?” Barry asks. “Either way?”

“By being better at it than he is,” Snart says. “I’m a thinker. My partner, he’s a doer. We’re real good at what we do, and we balance each other out. We’ll out-think the bastard from both sides. Now, I make no promises, kid. Life ain’t certain. But we’ll do our best and our best is damn good.” Snart turns to look at Barry. “But I need you do something for me, kid. I need your best, too. I can only do so much; if you’re the target, kid, then the rest of the heavy lifting, I need you for. Can you do that?”

Barry looks at Snart, and Nora can tell that he believes him. Nora can tell that he believes him, believes in him, for the first time since it happened. For the first time since Henry died, she sees hope in her son’s eyes. She sees her beautiful baby boy smile with hope and faith and joy, and mean it. Just like he used to. Henry’s faith and goodness, her endless stubbornness and strength, together in one.

“Yes, Mr. Snart,” he says. “I’ll do that.”

Snart makes a face. “Not 'Mr. Snart’,” he says. “Snart. Or Len, if you like.”

“Thanks, Len,” Barry says. His face is glowing like the sun.

Nora sighs. She supposes that means Snart and Rory are sticking around.

She turns around and goes back to the kitchen, where Rory has miraculously failed to light her kitchen on fire.

Dinner is delicious.

(Mick lights the stove on fire making dessert, but Nora still considers it a win.)

–

The man doesn’t come in six months.

“Planner, then,” Len says. “Give him time. We’ll be around.”

They play the long game, instead. It’s fine - it’s good, even. Barry gets to go to school. Gets to grow up. High school. College.

He remains friends with Iris West, magically enough. Nora never forgives Joe West for not siding with her, of course; Barry is never permitted to go home with Iris, though Iris is always welcome at theirs.

Iris protests about the injustice of it once. Age 17.

Nora tells her the entire story, from beginning - Henry’s friendship with Joe, back in college - to the end. She uses no emotion, tells it as dispassionately as she can, but she leaves nothing out.

Nothing.

“Francine?” Iris says haltingly. “My - my mother? She - she died when I was six.”

Nora says nothing.

“Didn’t she?”

“I’m only telling you what happened,” Nora says. “I owe your father nothing, but you aren’t him, so I don’t mean to hurt you. But you are seventeen years old. You can decide to do with the information what you like with it.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Iris demands. “You hate my dad, you’ve hated him ever since -”

“That’s true,” Nora says, and thinks that Henry would never have done what she is doing, but she likes to think Joe wouldn’t have blamed Henry, if she were the one who was dead. That they were better friends than that - worthy at least of the benefit of the doubt, instead of the policeman’s immediate assumption of guilt. But she isn’t Henry. Not at all. “I do. But you don’t need to believe me, Iris. Just look up Francine West in Keystone City. Or perhaps she’s going by her maiden name -”

“No,” Barry says quietly from the door. “I asked Uncle Len to do a bit of research for me - for you, Iris. She’s going by West. I have an address, if you want it.”

“You knew?” Iris whispers.

“I asked you if you wanted to know a secret that was being kept from you,” Barry says, clearly referring to an old discussion because Iris nods. “You said if your dad didn’t want you to know, you’d rather wait for him to tell you. So I didn’t. And I waited - and waited - and waited -”

“He was never going to tell me,” Iris says. “Was he?”

“Maybe,” Nora says, giving Joe that little bit of grace, parent to parent, even though personally she thinks Joe would’ve waited it out until Francine was buried in the ground and then sighed in relief that his life was never found out. “But you’re right, Iris. I hate him. So unlike you, I’m not going to respect his wishes and help him lie to you. Good luck.”

After it all passes over - well, after Iris has successfully applied for early placement at her university and is no longer speaking to Joe, anyway - Joe storms up to Nora, spitting accusations.

Nora warns him, twice, to go away.

He doesn’t.

She punches him in the face.

“Maybe next time,” she says to him, sitting on his ass, blinking in disbelief, “you’ll learn that lies aren’t a valid life strategy - either for parenting or for policing. Come near me ever again and so help me, I will slap a restraining order on your ass, and I’ll go to your boss to get it if I have to.”

Mick gives her a high five.

Barry gives her a dirty look.

(Iris calls her and tells her that it was very not nice, but also good for her - and would Nora like to meet her newly-found brother?)

Nora’s pretty sure they’ll make up eventually - Joe’s an ass and Nora’s never going to forgive him, but Iris West’s a bigger person than that, even if the treatments she’s going through to help save her mother’s life are taking their toll - but until then, she’ll welcome Wally West to her dinner table and watch Barry’s awkward flirting dance with Iris get even more awkward with the addition of a younger brother peanut gallery.

–

“Something’s wrong,” Mick says.

Len’s fingers are drumming ceaselessly on the table. He and Mick are tense right now, after that big fire and the ensuing fight they had, but they’re still together. Not all the time, no, they’re still bitter and sore, but a thinker like Len knows he needs a doer like Mick to keep him in check and Mick -

Well, Mick just knows what he knows. He feels what he feels. He does what he does.

And when he says something’s wrong, something that Len hasn’t spotted, he’s always right.

“Given that you’re at my table, I’m not surprised,” Nora says dryly. She organizes her papers - she works at a private company, now, Mercury Labs, instead of at a college. Too much scandal to continue being a college professor, but there’s always work for a chemist. Barry took after her and went to college for chemistry - she’d always rather hoped he’d make a late break for pre-med, but that wasn’t to be - and now he was working as a CSI at the CCPD.

Joe recommended him. Probably Iris’ urging - he and Nora would never get along, even if their kids were probably going to end up married to each other, but he was at least mature enough to put it aside to help Barry.

He hadn’t had much of a choice, now that Iris was working as a cop, too, following her childhood dream over his attempts to sabotage her.

It did make the CCPD staff-and-family barbecues awkward, though. Nora attends every single one of them, smiling at all the veteran CCPD officers that flinch when she walks by.

(“You’re a magnificent troll,” David Singh tells her when she delivers cupcakes to his office to congratulate him on his promotion. “I admire your devotion to the art.”

“Living well is the best revenge,” Nora tells the one cop that refused to assist in her prosecution.

“Damn right,” he says, and takes a cupcake.)

“Do you know what’s wrong?” she asks.

“If I did, Snart would’ve planned for it already,” Mick grumbles. He rubs at his eyes. “City feels wrong.”

“He’s right,” Len says abruptly. “Something in the air. Wrong. Out of balance. Like a tornado warning, you can taste it in the air.”

Mick nods. “It’s coming.”

“All the people in town are antsy,” Barry says, voice tinny from the speakerphone on the table. He was still on the train back from Starling - one of his investigations into the supernatural. “Everyone who was born in Central can feel it. I don’t know why, but petty crimes are way up recently.”

Nora nods. She’d hissed at the person who cut her off at the grocery store - actually hissed - and they’d snarled back. That wasn’t normal.

Tornado warning indeed.

“Do we think this is the man in yellow?” she asks Len and Mick. She can’t imagine why else they’re here.

Mick shakes his head. “Not unless he’s involving the whole city in what he’s up to.”

“Which he might be,” Len says. “He wants something.”

His fingers keep drumming on the table.

“I’ve heard about him,” he adds. “A few sightings, nothing concrete. But he’s out there, our man of yellow and lightning. More sightings in the last few months than for years before - he’s building something.”

Barry sighs. “My train from Starling comes in this evening,” he says. “Gonna try to make the STAR Labs opening ceremony, but I’ll probably be too late, so I’ll go to the office and take a look at the statistics again.”

“You do that, BA,” Mick grunts. He rubs at his eyes again. He looks tired; his eyes keep drooping. “Be careful.”

Len’s fingers keep drumming on the table.

“Will do, Mick,” Barry says. “Anyway, we’re about to hit a tunnel. I’ll tell you all about my trip when I get home.”

He hangs up.

“Something’s wrong,” Mick says. He’s slurring. “Something - Barry -”

He slumps over onto the table, starting to snore.

Len’s fingers stop drumming.

“You drugged him,” Nora observes. It took her too long to figure out, but that was what always happened with Len’s plans; she didn’t take it personally anymore.

“Something’s wrong in the city,” Len says. “He should be somewhere safe till it blows over. Him and Lisa, and Lisa at least agreed to go out of town.”

“He’ll be pissed at you going after Scudder and Dillon by yourself.”

Len shrugs. “I need to work,” he says. “Keep busy. Something’s going to happen to my city, Nora, and it’s aimed right at Barry. I’m good, but I’m a thief. I can stop a man. I can’t stop a nuke.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Nora says, thinking that he was exaggerating.

When STAR Labs went up, only hours later, she realizes he hadn’t been.

–

Barry does not wake up in STAR Labs, nine months later, to friendly strangers looking down at him.

No.

He wakes up in his own bed at home, in the downstairs bedroom next to the kitchen so Nora could keep an eye on him even when she was cooking or working from home - she’d gone on FMLA leave when it had happened, of course, but she was back at least part-time now. Tina was happy to let her work from home when she was doing non-lab stuff, and half the neighborhood was willing to take turns watching over Barry for the times that Nora did need to be in the lab.

That horrible man over at STAR Labs had been pushing her to let him take Barry in since day one, offering to treat him since the hospital didn’t know what to do with a boy who had no heartbeat but still kept breathing. She would’ve thought that he would’ve gotten over her refusal by now.

“I want to help undo the damage I’ve done,” Dr. Wells said that first time, his blue eyes sharp under his glasses. “Please, Mrs. Allen. I may be able to do something to help young Mr. Allen.”

Nora swiped at her streaming eyes. “What’s your success rate?”

He paused. “What?”

“Success rate,” she repeated. “What facilities do you have? What staff? Have you been rated by the review boards? What other patients have you taken in?”

“I think you misunderstood me, Mrs. Allen,” Dr. Wells said carefully. “I’m not a hospital - just a scientist.”

“Yes, a physicist, I know,” Nora replied. “I’ve read your book -” It’d been funny, actually; the man’s ghostwriter had been an arrogant snot. She hoped it was a ghostwriter, anyway. “- and I know your resume. You’re not a medical doctor, so I assumed that you’re helping the victims by setting up a clinic.”

“As a man of science, I think I can help Mr. Allen in a more individual -”

“A man of the wrong type of science,” Nora said, stressing the words. “Dr. Wells, I’m a chemist myself. I’m not a rube off the street you can wow with fancy science words. I want verifiable facts. Records. Statistics. What’s your success rate for the individuals you’ve taken in so far, that you think you can help Barry?”

Dr. Wells doesn’t respond immediately, a considering look in his eyes.

Fine.

She looked around and - “You there.”

The young man with the long hair, one of the two people that had come in with Dr. Wells, was investigating the hospital’s machinery and took a second to realize she was talking to him. He blinked. “Uh, me?”

“Yes, you. You’re with Dr. Wells, correct?”

“Uh, yeah. My name’s Cisco. Ramon. I mean, Cisco Ramon. Hi. Nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand. “You’re the mom of the guy we’re taking back with us, right?”

Nora’s eyebrows went up. “Now that’s presumptuous of you,” she said. “What’s your staff? I’d heard STAR Labs was down to a skeleton crew.”

Cisco stuttered, glancing between her and Wells. “Uh, yeah, I mean, it’s me and Caitlin and Dr. Wells, really -”

“Three people,” Nora said flatly. “And what’s your degree in, Mr. Ramon?”

“…mechanical engineering?”

“And yours, Ms…?”

“Snow,” the blond girl said, wringing her hands. “Caitlin Snow. I am a doctor, actually. Internal medicine and nutrition, secondary degree in biochemical analysis.”

Nora squinted at her. “What hospital did you intern at?”

“CCN for my residency, ma'am.”

“And you’re a private doctor now?”

“Not many places hire after you’ve been at STAR,” Caitlin said shyly.

“Not many physics labs need a doctor,” Nora said. “So you’re the only doctor to - how many patients?”

Caitlin looked surprised. “Uh, well,” she said. “I mean…”

“Your son would be the first,” Dr. Wells cut in smoothly. Too smoothly. “Mrs. Allen -”

“I’m sorry, but no,” she said. “My son will not be the guinea pig to your attempts at philanthropy or forgiveness or whatever the hell you’re doing this for. Thank you for your kind offer. Please go away now.”

They’d gone, but Wells kept coming back.

He was more aggressive, too.

“It’s a pity you won’t let us treat him,” he said sorrowfully. “I’m just trying to make good what I’ve done, a moment of penance –”

“Are you a religious man, Dr. Wells?” Nora interrupted.

“Why - no, not particularly. Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m not your priest,” she said. “And I’m not your shrink, either. I don’t have to listen to you be sorry about anything. Go away.”

He went.

“Hospital stays are expensive, Mrs. Allen,” he said the next time, oozing with sympathy. “I’d be happy to take him pro bono -”

Nora handed him a card.

“What’s this?”

“I think it’s called a GoFundMe,” Nora said. “I’m raising money for Barry’s care. Since you care about the financial burden so much, I’m happy to give you an opportunity to donate. But he’s not going to your facility.”

Wells left again. He was getting worse at hiding his annoyance.

“I’m starting to think he’s going to steal Barry from the hospital if I keep saying no,” she told Len, who is still recuperating from the ass-kicking Mick had given him over the 'drugged me to avoid putting me in danger for the explosion’ incident. Though they had at least started sleeping together again, at least.

Men. Nora will never understand them.

Len blinked owlishly at her. “Move him home, then,” he suggested, like it was obvious.

“I couldn’t -”

“Hospital themselves told you that they don’t know shit,” Mick said, bringing Len his dinner. “May as well not know shit at home with a nurse as not know shit in a hospital with a doctor.”

So she’d moved Barry home.

Len and Mick stuck around. They said it was the least they could do.

And that’s how it was that she was cooking dinner and arguing with Len and Mick over what type of sauce to put on the pasta when Barry woke up, yawned, got out of bed and came into the kitchen, scratching himself in uncomfortable places, saying “I like Uncle Mick’s marinara plan, Uncle Len; no one eats ketchup on pasta except you.”

Nora shrieks and flings herself at him.

Len and Mick don’t, but that’s because they’re emotionally constipated idiots. They are grinning, though.

“Welcome back,” Len says.

“You’ve been driving everyone up the wall, you know,” Mick says.

“What happened?” Barry asks. “The man in yellow?”

“No,” Nora says. “The Particle Accelerator exploded. You’ve been in a coma.”

“A coma?” Barry yelps. “How long has it been?”

“Fourteen years,” Len says promptly.

“What?!”

“Nine months, BA,” Mick says, swatting Len. “You know better to listen to this asshole.”

“Still!” Barry exclaims. “Someone could have had a baby in that time!”

“Speaking of which,” Nora says, utterly unable to resist. “Barry, you ought to meet your new baby brother. Mick, could you go get him?”

“Sure thing,” Mick says, making to get up.

Barry’s spluttering is hilarious.

“You’re all trolls,” he grumbles when they all stop laughing. “Trolls, trolls, trolls! Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to run to work to make sure I still have a job.”

“You just want to see Officer West,” Nora teases. Barry and Iris remained the most adorable thing she’d ever seen, and she’d seen Henry Allen attempting to wear pastels.

“Maybe,” he sniffs.

“Go, then,” she says. “I’ll make you pancakes.”

“With hot chocolate?”

“And mini-marshmallows,” she promises.

“Say,” Len says. “I don’t suppose –”

“Yes, you can have some too.”

The hot chocolate development was all his fault, anyway. Barry had been content with just pancakes, before him.

“You’re the best, Mom,” Barry says, and runs off.

Well, he tries to.

They find out about the super speed more or less immediately thereafter.

“Would you consider theft as a viable career alternative?” Len asks. He’s positively drooling.

Barry groans. “I don’t know what to do about this,” he mutters. “Man, if I hadn’t found that nice guy who offered me help -”

Nora’s spine goes straight. “What guy?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention? There’s a guy – he was measuring speed stuff down on the highway and flagged me down - he’s totally cool, said he’d be happy to help me figure this out - he works at -”

“No, let me guess,” Len says. He’s scowling, too. “STAR Labs.”

“Yeah! How’d you know?”

“Dr. Wells offered to help take over your care within a month of the explosion,” Nora says. “I said no. He kept asking. I said no. He asked to visit. I said no. He tried to go around my back, get info from the hospital. I thought about getting a restraining order, but I figured what the hell; I didn’t care that much, especially since I was moving you home the next day. He tried to come visit here. I said no. And now that you’re awake, his people are offering you help? Less than a day into you waking up?”

“Suspicious,” Mick agrees.

Barry is gaping. “But - why?” he asks in a small voice. “I like - I liked Dr. Wells. He’s a genius - he wrote those books -”

“Supposedly it was because he felt bad about what had happened,” Nora says. “But he never offered to help anyone personally - no one but you.”

“I went to STAR Labs after the first few times he came around to bug your mom -” Len starts.

“Broke in, you mean,” Nora grumbles.

“And it was set up as an infirmary for one person,” Len finishes, ignoring her.

“But if he’s willing to help with my speed…” Barry starts.

“Your speed? What about the fact that your clothing lit on fire, BA?” Mick says. “I liked that part.”

Nora swats him.

“Cisco - that’s the guy I met - he was really nice,” Barry says stubbornly. “And they have equipment that can help - stuff that can measure my speed, a treadmill that can handle high speeds, all of that.”

“A treadmill?” Nora asks, bemused. “What possible use is there for a super-speed treadmill?”

“Measuring a speedster’s running speed,” Len says. His eyes are narrow. “Barry, do me a favor and run up and down the stairs again?”

“But I like this shirt -”

“Then strip.”

Barry begrudgingly does a few laps in his underwear, blurring as he does.

“Interesting,” Len says.

“What is?” Barry asks.

“A treadmill made for super speed is just what we’d need to measure you,” Len says.

“Exactly!”

“There was a treadmill already there when I broke in, Barry.”

“…so?”

“Weird to have a machine that’s only use is for measuring a speedster’s powers before there’s even a speedster. Maybe you’re not the only speedster to come out of STAR Labs,” Len says.

“No - the explosion is what caused -”

“You spark when you run,” Len says. “Sparks. I bet if you ran in a circle, it’d come off as lightning. Lightning and whirlwind.”

Barry falls silent. “The man in yellow.”

Nora’s throat is tight. Henry’s murderer.

“We always knew he was aiming for Barry,” Len points out. “We always knew he was making a plan, a really big plan -”

“Dr. Wells’ work on the Particle Accelerator,” Barry whispers. “Mom - mom, it started -”

“Within a year of what happened,” Nora says, nodding. She’s read the biography, too. “But Wells was already an established scientist, and not one we’d ever met before! Why would he care?”

“Only one way to find out,” Mick says.

–

Barry is a terrible liar, of course, but he’s learned enough to get the job done. Cisco Ramon and Caitlin Snow clearly mean nothing but the best – even they talk about how weird it is that their boss seemed totally obsessed with having Barry in his grasp – but Dr. Wells remains abnormally interested in Barry.

Specifically, in Barry’s speed.

“So he’s super creepy,” Barry says with a sigh. “But nothing yet.”

They were out shopping. Grissom - who was still kicking, bless his heart - was having the building swept for bugs again. The electric kind, that is. It happened about twice a month; more, if his radio programs had managed to convince him that the government intended to harvest them all as alien sacrifices to the United Nations or whatnot. Since he’d actually found some bugs in the building a few times, everyone was more than happy to indulge Grissom’s paranoia.

The people in 3b, which Nora distinctly suspected of being Family, even insisted on it.

“We’ll figure it out,” Nora says. She’d been doing her own brand of fruitless research. Harrison Wells had a solid alibi for the time of Henry’s death, but he’d also undergone what could quaintly be termed a radical shift in personality shortly afterwards. Yes, his wife had just died, but the changes were - rather significant, to say the least.

Len broke into Wells’ house a few times to leave bugs of his own, borrowed from an unspecified friend. Nora didn’t really want to know. Mick did, in detail, since he hadn’t been invited.

Honestly, the sooner Len and Mick got over their little spat for good, the better.

Besides, the bugs hadn’t turned up anything that useful yet…

“Is Uncle Len still on for next week?” Barry asks, mind clearly going on lines parallel to hers.

“He’ll be a magnificent supervillain,” Nora says drolly.

“He is the best thief in Central,” Barry says, not without pride. “I got to help clean up one of his scenes a while back - right before the whole coma thing - and it was amazing, Mom. Totally slick. Not a trace of useable evidence.”

“I wonder how he means to approach it,” Nora muses. “Supervillainy and thieving don’t seem to be that similar.”

She’s right: one of them requires subtlety, finesse, and careful planning.

The other involves derailing a train on public television while literally ice-skating away.

Well, maybe not literally.

Still, what the hell.

“I saved them all,” Barry groans, rubbing his face. “But also - ow, ow, ow - that cold gun hurts -”

“Are you seriously hurt?” Nora asks.

“Well, no, not really…”

“I’ll make you hot chocolate and pancakes for dinner,” she offers. “My poor baby.”

Barry - who, as she’d suspected, was mostly after being spoiled rotten - beams at her.

Len comes back to the apartment much later than she would’ve expected. That little mystery is solved by the way his arm is firmly placed around Mick’s waist.

Looks like their little spat was resolved at last, thank god.

And all it took was -

“You gave him a heat gun capable of what?!” Nora shouts.

–

They’re almost certain that Wells is the man in yellow, now. They’ve collected enough evidence to that effect - walking without the wheelchair, for one, and also being in the same house as someone who can move as fast as lightning though the camera is to slow to identify who. But why he keeps toying with Barry isn’t clear until the day Barry accidentally travels in time for the first time.

“It all makes sense now,” Len crows.

“Would you like to share with the rest of the class?” Barry asks. His head is in Mick’s lap; he didn’t much appreciate being used as target practice a second time and had demanded at least an hour of Mick’s patented guaranteed-to-make-you-feel-better shoulder rubs to make up for it.

“It’s time travel!”

“That much we figured out,” Nora says dryly.

“No,” Len says. “That’s why the sequence is off.”

Mick is nodding, but that’s because he understands everything Len says. Even Lisa looks to him for guidance in understanding what the hell is going on in Len’s head.

(One day Nora will figure out how to deal with Lisa. She hadn’t really expected to adopt a second child, especially not one who was already out of the house and independent at sixteen, but she can roll with the punches. Barry certainly seems to act as though they’ve been siblings forever. That had been Len’s price, though, and the more she got to know Lisa, the happier she was to pay it. Lisa’s a good kid. Her good kid, now, and if that Lewis Snart thinks he can argue otherwise, he’ll being going up against the full fury of Nora Allen.)

“Listen,” Len says. “A traditional sequence is: boy grows up, boy becomes hero, boy meets mortal enemy, boy fights mortal enemy. Right?”

“Right…?”

“Add in time travel, though, and you can change the order of that. Say, take 'boy fights mortal enemy’ and move it back to the beginning.”

“Wait,” Barry says, alarmed and starting to raise his head only to be shoved back down by Mick. “Are you saying it’s my fault?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Nora says. “It’s the fault of the asshole who decided to attack a small child and murder his father.”

“Mom! Don’t swear!”

Nora shakes her head. She blames Henry for Barry’s slightly prudish streak. Or possibly all the time he spend with the Wests…

“But think about it,” Len says. “The lightning you described - yellow and red. We know Barry’s lightning is yellow. What if this second speedster, the man wearing yellow the same way Barry now wears red, what if his lightning is red?”

“So there were two speedsters that night?”

“Time travel,” Len says with satisfaction. “Our Barry - well, no, not our Barry, just a Barry - all grown up and trying to stop the bad guy, and the bad guy - that’d be Wells, whether he is our speedster or if he’s just assisting him - was bringing the fight back to when Barry was a kid. That’s how Barry ended up so far from the house - the future Barry rescued him.”

“But my dad?”

“He must not have died in the original timeline,” Len says. “But you still became the Flash. Wells keeps pushing you to go faster - he wants something from you, or more specifically from your speed. That’s why the speedster teamed up with Wells or decided to take on Wells’ identity; the Particle Accelerator was built remarkably fast for such a big construction project, so the speedster must’ve helped with it. Wanted to get you back to being the Flash because he needs you up to speed!”

“But why?”

“…no idea,” Len concedes. “But let’s not find out, shall we?”

“I’m going to call Iris,” Barry decides. She’d been the first person he’d informed of his new condition after they’d found out about it; she’d been delighted. Her (their?) other boyfriend, Eddie, worked with Barry on how to properly fight metahuman bad guys within the law, or as much as possible. “I want her input.”

“You do that,” Mick says, releasing Barry. “We’ll plan an ambush.”

“What about paradox?” Nora asks. “If Barry doesn’t go back, does that mess with the timeline.”

“The timeline’s already been adjusted, so I don’t think so -”

“Wait,” Barry says. “Could I go back? Now, I mean? Could I save Dad?”

Len scowls at him. “Kid. I know you’ve seen and read enough sci-fi for me not to have to tell you why that’s a terrible idea.”

“Future Barry who saved you probably doesn’t exist anymore because his history was so different,” Nora says gently. “If you go back and change it, we don’t know what might happen. Maybe I die instead of Henry. Maybe we both die. Maybe we all die. Maybe the world ends. There’s no way to tell in advance.”

“But Mom…it’s Dad. I could save Dad!”

“I loved your father,” Nora says, thinking of how that voice in her head still sounded like Henry after all these years. “I loved your father so much, baby. But if I knew one thing about him is that he loved you more than anything. He’d look at how you turned out - college grad, CSI, superhero, happy - and he’d be so proud. So proud. He wouldn’t have you risk that for him.”

Barry nods mutely and flees to call Iris, but Nora knows her words have sunk in.

It’s only when Len hands her a tissue that she realizes she’s crying.

Oh, Henry, she thinks. What a life we led. What a life we could have led, if we’d been together.

–

The capture of Harrison Wells - née Eobard Thawne, apparently, much to Eddie Thawne’s horror - is something of an anticlimax.

Once they confirmed via their cameras that Wells was the speedster rather than just assisting him, Barry picks a moment at random, then sprints and locks Wells into the cell designed to hold a speedster. Then he ties up his friends and calls for help.

“Sorry, guys,” he tells Cisco and Caitlin apologetically. “I can’t afford you guys letting him go.”

Cisco yells some things through the gag.

“No, trust me on this one, it’s not a Bivolo thing. It’s a -” he hesitates. “It’s a matter of justice.”

Eddie comes in and reads Wells his rights. Wells laughs in their faces and confesses everything freely, asking only for a chance to go back to his era using Barry’s speed, dangling a chance to fix Barry’s past in exchange.

“I’ve already decided against that,” Barry says. “You yourself said that time travel generally makes things worse.”

“I just want to go back to my era, Barry,” Wells says gently. “To go home. That’s not so much to ask.”

“You’re guilty of first degree attempted murder and very likely an argument can be made for first degree murder, given how fast speedsters think,” Eddie says. “We’ll get you a judge and a jury, but as long as we have a place to hold you, you’re not going anywhere.”

“You’re my least interesting ancestor, you know that?” Wells sneers as him.

“You make me want to consider a vasectomy,” Eddie shoots back.

Wells flinches.

“You will be held here pending trial,” Eddie says. “I’ll bring the judge here. We won’t be taking any chances.”

“You knew about the Particle Accelerator,” Caitlin says to Wells when she’s untied. “You knew the entire time, you knew, you knew what might happen to Ronnie, and you -” She turns away.

Cisco stares at Wells for a long moment before he, too, turns away.

There is a moment of excitement when Wells decides to take advantage of the judge’s arrival to try to escape, but as he lunges for her, Len ices him.

“Thank you, Mr. Snart,” the judge says, hand on chest.

“No problem, your Honor,” he says, holstering the gun. “Let’s call that one a clear-cut case of self-defense, shall we?”

“Let’s,” she agrees.

And that was that.

Life goes on.

…with superheroes.

–

“Now you listen here, young man,” Nora Allen says, hands on hips. “If you think you’re too old for me to put over my knee, you had better think again.”

Savitar squeaks a little. “I - uh - I -”

“Oh no you don’t,” she says. “No excuses, no justifications, no nothing. God or no God, I’m still your mother.”

“But -”

“You are coming home with me this instant.”

“But if I don’t kill Iris, I’ll never be born!” he yelps, throwing a helpless look at Barry, who’s wide-eyed with equally helpless sympathy.

“You listen to me, Bartholomew Henry Allen -” Nora starts.

“Oh god, it’s the full name,” Barry whispers.

“It’s been a while,” Savitar whispers, equally terrified.

“Both of you,” she amends.

“What did I do?!” Barry squeaks.

“Both of you are going to sit at my table, not make a single sound until I’m done preparing dinner, and we are going to talk over this whole matter like reasonable people having a reasonable conversation over pancakes.”

“Wait,” Savitar says. “Pancakes? Can I have some hot chocolate, too?”

Nora sighs. “Fine. Hot chocolate with mini marshmallows. But it’s conditional on your good behavior. Both of you.”

“I don’t want to fade into non-existence,” Savitar grumbles even as Barry nods. “That shouldn’t be debatable.”

“Sit!”

“Yes, mom.”

#dccoldwave #westallen #barry allen #leonard snart #mick rory #iris west #nora allen #my fic #anti joe west #tornado warning

[words-writ-in-starlight]

starlight! starlight!!! you're one of the few people I know who reads toby daye and pls I need to yell with someone about night and silence because IT WAS SO GOOD I'M DYING I HAD TO PUT THE BOOK DOWN AND WALK AWAY SEVERAL TIMES

@maelace​ asked:

Have you read the new October Daye book yet? Because oh my goodness I must know what you think!

Y’ALL

Y A L L

LET’S HAVE A CHAT

OKAY FOLKS

So, some FAIRLY INCOHERENT thoughts about Night and Silence, which I keep calling Nights and Silences because my brain really likes them plurals I guess:

FUCK AMANDINE!!!!!! FUUUUUUUCK AMANDINE!!!!!! I HATE HER SO MUCH!!!!!!  SHE DOES NOT APPEAR ONCE AND YET I AM CONSUMED WITH RAGE

Seanan does such amazing work on all kinds of mental illness stuff, which I think I’ve discussed before re: Toby Daye and her ongoing upward mobility, but fuck the entire Tybalt plotline was so crushing.  That’s what it’s like, is the thing, to watch someone you love retreating from you and not be able to do anything about it because you don’t want to hurt them worse, and I cheered out loud when he came back, and asking Ginevra to come stand in as regent was such a bittersweet scene because on the one hand yes Tybalt my love take care of yourself, but on the other hand I just want him to be okay.  (FUCK Amandine, by the way)

I would die for Quentin, just kind of in general, but I’m specifically really delighted with the subplot of “Quentin thinks Toby could do better than this arrogant tomcat,” and I’m so proud of my best bisexual prince son for calling Tybalt and apparently just ripping into a King with all the worst swears Toby has ever taught him.  I can’t goddamn wait for the King of the Westlands to be this charming, kind-hearted knight-ling whose impeccable etiquette and noble bearing is deeply and profoundly at odds with the fact that he has really kind of absorbed Toby’s problem-solving techniques.  

Aside: there’s nothing I want more than for this series to go on long enough for the Court of the Westlands to be scandalized by their young king jumping up from his throne and hugging a grumpy changeling dressed in a blood-drenched leather coat without regard for his fine silk shirt.  Even more than that, picture the scene.  It’s the coronation of High King Quentin Sollys, attended by royalty and the highest celebrities of Faerie, Sir October Daye grinning fit to split her face with her husband Tybalt and her adopted nephew, the recently ascended King of Dreaming Cats, all looking ready to die from pride.  Quentin’s parents are both crying perfect beautiful tears, as Daoine Sidhe do, and he’s about to be crowned and presented to the people and it’s great and then--  The ceremony is already underway when the door opens again to admit the Luidaeg, as her most terrifyingly Firstborn self, scowling like a storm cloud and gowned like a hurricane, and everyone is fucking terrified for a moment as she sweeps up the aisle toward the dais.  And then she breaks into a smile and holds out her hands to the Crown Prince, and Quentin laughs and rushes into her arms as he cries “I thought you said couldn’t make it!”  And everyone has a moment of religious fear when the sea witch pets his hair fondly and straightens his shirt and then presses a kiss to his forehead and declares to the room at large “You will be a king like none that Faerie has seen in many centuries, because you have a heart as strong and fair and kind as any I have ever seen.”

No one’s sure if it’s a blessing or a prophecy or just a moment of deeply unforeseen maternal affection from the goddamn Luidaeg, but suddenly the sea witch comes to visit the High King on a semi-regular basis and Quentin is delighted and...well, she was right.

Speaking of people I love, I love Danny?  The best rock boy?  He just wants Toby to talk about her feelings, it’s so sweet, I hope they invite him to the wedding so I can read about an eight-foot suit-wearing granite troll sobbing into a handkerchief about how proud he is of Toby.

I ALSO LOVE MAY, God, give me her and Jazz getting married please.  Also I would love to know more about Jazz--maybe a book with the core mystery including Jazz’s flock of Ravenmays?

SOME TAM LIN SHIT GOIN’ DOWN IN THIS BOOK, I GOT A LOT TO SAY

We all know I’m a fucking weak bitch for Tam Lin retellings.  Tam Lin being a lying piece of shit isn’t especially novel, but I LOVE the idea of Janet being the villain of the piece, however unintentionally?  I’m honestly enthralled.  Bitch...give me a novel...make the Luidaeg the main character and let me weep bitter tears for my beloved sea witch....

You know how I just had a whole bit about “Fuck Amandine” up there?  I stand by it.  Furthermore, FUCK JANET.  Every time she gets nasty with Toby I puff up like an angry cat.  

Incidentally, both Janet and Amandine had a (terrible) daughter they doted on, and when their daughter slipped away, they went out and got a replacement that they tried to force to be completely and entirely mortal, without regard for what their replacement wanted or what would be best for them--and ultimately, the person who took the most damage as a result of their selfishness was Toby both times.  Janet is, I guess, slightly better because she seems to at least care about Gillian, but she’s still...weirdly possessive?  She focuses a lot on how Gillian is hers, and hottest of hot takes, love and possession are not the same thing.

Sign me up for front row seats to all of Toby’s family losing their shit over how Janet treats her.  Sign me up for seats in the goddamn orchestra pit when, having started to realize that, actually, Toby did not bail on her, and that Toby is actually a great person who wants nothing more than to have a relationship on Gillian’s terms, and that Janet actively arranged events to drive Toby out of Gillian’s life and then convinced Gillian that Toby didn’t love her, Gillian fucking Comes For Janet’s Whole Life.

Again, the Luidaeg is dear to my heart beyond words, so honestly the fact that she saved Toby all the way back in An Artificial Night by breaking Michael’s Ride like Janet broke Maeve’s, right down to singing the ballad of Tam Lin to hold the magic in place...not to sound like a little old white lady, but that shit is breathtaking, yo. Talk to me forever about how Toby is the first family the Luidaeg has loved and been loved by in a long time, about how the Luidaeg used the same ancient magic that destroyed her life to save this woman who wasn’t yet her favorite niece from the man who used to be her beloved brother, about how the Luidaeg’s entire life is about taking the skins of tragedies and making something new.

Anyway, on to non-Tam Lin things.  Gillian...honey...you’ve been so lied to by so many people.  Toby is the only parent who ever gave Gillian a choice in which life she wanted to live, and it’s so sad.  All Gillian focuses on in the blood memories Toby sees is how much her car represents freedom and safety and...oh honey.  Oh baby girl.  If Janet and Cliff aren’t careful, now that Gillian knows that they manipulated the truth about Toby to completely take her away from Gillian, she’s going to straight up buck their rules and leave.  (I...want Gillian to live with the Luidaeg?  The only full Selkie in history to have the blessing of the sea witch, living with both feet in Faerie and getting coffee with her mother on weekends, turning the full count of Small Children Who Adore The Luidaeg from one to two.  Let the Luidaeg be Gillian’s weird aunt.)

LET TOBY HAVE HER DAUGHTER BACK.  On Gillian’s terms, because Toby wouldn’t want it any other way, but God, just let them have a relationship.  Let Gillian meet someone who doesn’t have Jocelyn’s blind hero worship or the Luidaeg’s ingrained sense of honor and who will tell her that her mom, A, did not voluntarily leave her, and, B, is legitimately rad as fuck.  And then let them start with awkward weekly coffee dates that turn into an awkward dinner at Toby’s house that turns into a slightly less awkward trip to the movies or something and so on and so forth until they’re close and Gillian understands how much Toby loves her and Toby understands that sometimes it’s okay to push for a relationship.  Because Toby’s willing to do the work, but she’s not willing to push for the relationship because she believes Gillian doesn’t want her around, but Gillian only thinks that way because she believes Toby abandoned her, and the only way that vicious loop is going to change is if Toby actually pushes the boundaries for long enough to explain.

It’s so adorable how Toby thinks Quentin’s gonna be her last squire.  My boy’s going to be gone for two months before Toby comes back to the house with a baker’s dozen children and a mulish expression.  Within a hundred pages she goes from “I’m never having another squire because I’m so unfit for this” to “I should reopen Home and run it myself” and I just.  I love her so much.  She’s so dumb.  She has such a good heart and she’s so dumb.  I’d die for her.  Every fifteen pages in any Toby Daye book I just end up crooning “You’re so stupid, I love you so much” to the pages while Toby fails to notice, again, what an incredible person she is.  I’ve loved watching her grow so much, I’m getting weepy here.

OH MY GOD, AND THE NOVELLA?

HOLY SHIT, THAT JUST.  DESTROYED MY WHOLE SOUL.  EXACTLY EVERYTHING I’VE EVER WANTED FROM A STORY ABOUT A NEW SELKIE.  I FEEL LIKE THIS GIVES A LOT OF SUPPORT TO MY HEADCANON THAT SELKIES HAVE TERRIBLE DREAMS ABOUT BEING CLUTCHED IN BLOODY HANDS WHILE A VOICE WEEPS FOR THEIR MOTHER IN THEIR EAR.  I WANT FIRTHA AND GILLIAN TO BE BEST FRIENDS.  I LOVE HOW DIFFERENTLY FIRTHA OBVIOUSLY TREATS GILLIAN, THE FIRST SELKIE IN HISTORY WHO DID NOT CHOOSE THIS.  I LOVE HOW MUCH ATTENTION IS GIVEN TO THE CHOICE THAT SELKIES MAKE, TO TAKE THE SKIN AND ALL IT CARRIES OR DIE.  

I LOVE SELKIES IN THIS UNIVERSE.  I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE THE LUIDAEG CALL IN THAT FUCKING DEBT.  HOLY SHIT.

#october daye #night and silence #toby daye #obviously this is all spoilers so don't come crying to me if you read it before the book #also: i said i wasn't going to be cogent ahead of time so don't @ me #i need to write a fic about liz after she becomes a full selkie because...y'all #i'm so married to that headcanon it's not even funny #it means so much to me that gillian is the world's first truly innocent selkie #the only selkie in the WORLD who has the true and unflinching love of the sea witch #the luidaeg loves all the selkies in a way--loves them for keeping her children alive and hates them for her children's sake #but gillian...with gillian it isn't complicated #gillian is the daughter of the only close relative the luidaeg has who loves her #true and unflinching #and gillian is her mother's daughter so of course the luidaeg loves her #and gillian's hands are clean and she speaks with firtha and she has firtha's skin on her back #and the luidaeg can't help but love her for all those things #god y'all i got A LOT of feelings about these folks #thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to just yell profusely about this book goddamn #idiot teenagers with a queue #redjayson #asked and answered

[snowbellewells]

“Looking for a Heart That’s Not Walking Away”   ~chapter five

This is a canon divergent/AU multichapter I’ve been working on since before season six premiered.  I got really stalled midway through, and had stopped putting it on Tumblr due to lack of interest and only posting on ff, but I’m back and jazzed about it again, so I’m posting it here again as well.  I’d love to here what you think.  It picks up in around 5x15 through 5x17 and then goes way off how 5B wrapped these particular story threads off.  A Liam and Belle centric, though Captain Swan and others have large supporting roles.  The previous chapters can all be found under the same title on ff.net.  (I wish I could offer you a cool graphic for this, but I don’t have that skill unfortunately.)

“Looking for a Heart That’s Not Walking Away”

~chapter five~

(“…we’re just fumbling through the grey…”)

             “Belle, wait…what do you mean?” Emma asks, brow furrowing in consternation, still squeezing Belle’s wrist as if to offer silent support through touch.  “He’s here now?  Granted, you’d think someday I might stop being surprised by the way magical people come and go all the time, but how is that possible?”

           Belle shakes her head, pressing her lips together and tamping down the sudden panic she feels rising more certainly all the time. She just knows her husband has returned, and she cannot be sure what that will mean for their unborn child, those she has come to care about and depend on in his absence, or for herself and her own well-being.  She meets the Savior’s eyes fully, knowing Emma deserves all the information she can offer.  She has never had the opportunity to get to know the Enchanted Forest’s returned princess as well as she would like, but she is sure that Emma won’t leave her to fend for herself in this, which may well put her in Rumple’s crosshairs…and for that Emma must be prepared.

           “I can’t say that I know exactly,” Belle sighs, feeling woefully clueless and unhelpful, and not liking it one bit.  There isn’t much in the world that she can’t do a bit of research on, understand better, and then prepare for, but unfortunately, Rumple has put her in just such a situation now and admitting it stings. She doesn’t really know what she’s even facing. “It’s been nearly six months, but I’m almost certain Rumple altered my memory somehow.  There are too many details of that entire encounter with Hades, as well as Rumple and my final conversation, which I can’t recall.  It isn’t normal.”  She looks now at her hands, fidgeting anxiously with the petals of the offending rose and honestly wanting to tear it to shreds.  Without a single word aloud, Liam reaches forward and takes her hand, twining their fingers together and making her nervous fidgeting cease.  She shoots him a silently grateful look, then draws in a steadying breath to press on.  “Still, I wouldn’t put anything past his capabilities at this point. He could have made some sort of deal, done something for Hades that caused that villain to let him leave the Underworld again.  Whatever it is, I think you all had better make yourselves scarce in the library.  If he is in town, he’ll come here, and until I know what he wants, I don’t want any of you getting hurt.”

           All of them start to argue with her right there; four indignant voices speaking at once and drowning each other out, but the message is clear: they aren’t running out on her, won’t be leaving her to face the Dark One alone.  She is warmed to the bottom of her soul at their solidarity and friendship, but she still forces herself to shake her head.  “Thank you all, really, but I mean it.  Rumple won’t hurt me – at least not physically.  I’m not in danger from him…” she cuts her eyes to Killian and Emma at that. “We can’t necessarily assume that for anyone else.”

           “Doesn’t matter, Lass,” Killian bites out automatically, his eyes hard and sparkling with feeling and determination.  “We won’t be leaving you to deal with him alone and hiding for our own safety.  It isn’t right that you should have to do so, and begging your pardon, but the bloody Crocodile is unpredictable.  You don’t know what he might do – even to you – now.”

           “Aye,” Liam nodded, murmuring his agreement with his younger brother softly, “besides, they may not be scars which show, but the man has already hurt you…quite deeply.”

           Belle looks over her shoulder to seek Liam’s eyes briefly, the expression in hers sad and resigned.  “That may be,” she replies, in equally quiet but decisive tones, “but I chose him.  I married him.  And, for better or worse, I must see through the consequences of that decision.  He’s my husband – and the father of this child,” her hand falls to rest on her stomach, trying to ignore the tightness and the roiling that has started up within, “and if nothing else, I need to reach closure with him and determine our course from here.”

           Henry reaches out then, taking her other hand and squeezing it comfortingly in his growing one.  “I’m sorry, Gran-” he begins, then trips to a halt, swallowing the ‘grandma’ label that she’s a fair bit too young for.  She can see on his youthful face that he’s sorry for bringing the flower into the library at all, for exposing the little haven she has created for herself to outside dangers and reminding her of the pain and trouble still before her to deal with; in truth, just sorry to have upset her, sweet, good hearted young man that he is.  “I mean, Belle, I mean…”

           Taking pity and squeezing his hands back tightly in hers, Belle stops Henry’s floundering by giving him a wobbly smile and shaking her head.  “Please don’t apologize,” she hurries to reassure this one last legacy of Rumple’s family line.  This grandson he could have cultivated a relationship with, had a bit of Bae, his son, back in his life through his brave boy, but instead he tossed the opportunity away, betraying Henry as he had her, and only choosing to care about this precious young man when it suited him or served his purposes.  Her voice trembles a bit with the overload of varied emotion, but she whispers in his ear, “No Henry, please, I was wrong before. I will always be your Gran, if you’ll have me.  None of this is at all your fault.”

           Henry smiles more clearly, nodding his understanding and pressing her hand again in return.  Then, suddenly, a stabbing pain shoots through her stomach, and Belle doubles over with a harsh gasp, probably crushing Henry’s fingers before she can even try to control it.  This shouldn’t be – isn’t right – but there’s no denying the blinding spasm of pain, the clench in her midsection where her baby resides, even if she is still almost two months from delivery.

           Wincing, Belle tries to bit back further exclamation, but the reaction of the three men already surrounding her in concern is immediate and intense.  Liam’s hand is at the small of her back in an instant, warm and steadying; she can sense his presence hovering even as things go a bit fuzzy and unfocused with adrenaline and fear.  Meanwhile, Killian darts off and returns in seconds with one of the comfy armchairs stowed in the corners of the children’s reading section.  Henry rushes to get her a glass of water, and she hears Emma already calling for help from just a few steps away.  Their presence ensconces her comfortingly even as the twist in her gut panics her.  It can’t be – it’s too soon!  Her baby, her little girl, her reason for fighting back to her feet; she simply cannot lose her, can’t bear the thought that she might be in danger.

           Gently, Liam’s hands at her shoulders ease her down into the chair Killian has brought, and Killian kneels in front of her, his one good hand clutching hers, urging her to grip his fingers as hard as she needs if it helps. Belle forces herself to take deep breaths as he urges and ground herself.  

           “Easy, Lass,” Liam soothes, rubbing his hands across her shoulders, “you have to stay calm.  It will be alright.  It will. It must.”

           She nods blindly, glancing down to meet Killian’s upturned blue eyes, haunted and hopeful at the same time.  Liam may have spent ages in Hades’ domain, but somehow the ways life and the real world can break and steal what a person loves most and how quickly what one treasures can be lost have not marked him in quite the same way.  He was the one lost to Killian.  And though he knew guilt, responsibility and hurt much too young, and for things he shouldn’t have had to bear, the world still hadn’t warped him with its cruelty for an entire lifetime – he was taken from it too soon for that to occur.  Just because horrible, unfair things shouldn’t be true or possible doesn’t mean they don’t happen all the time.  The look on Killian’s face tells Belle every bit as clearly as his brother’s touch at her back that he will do anything to make sure she and her little one will be safe, but also that he knows all too well that what is happening right now is also beyond their control.

           They aren’t left waiting much longer; all of her self-appointed supporters are tense and quiet as they watch her struggle to draw even breaths in and out.  Only a few minutes, though they might feel like hours, pass before the four of them hear the wail of Storybrooke’s one ambulance nearing and then coming to a halt just outside the library door.  Liam and Emma have already come to either side of Belle to steady her as she levers to her feet shakily and clutches each of their arms. Killian goes ahead of them, fussing over anything that might be in their path, while Henry gathers her purse and keys and brings up the rear.

           Belle wants to tell them that everything will be fine, that there is no need for them all to make such a scene, but she isn’t sure it’s true, and holding back actual cries of pain and keeping herself breathing somewhat steadily are taking almost all of her conscious thought.  They managed to get her outside the library to meet the EMTs on the front steps, and after that, things move in such an accelerated blur that Belle blinks and is hardly sure how she finds herself lying on the gurney in the back of the ambulance.  The workers are cautioning that only one person can ride with her, and then Liam is beside her, his long legs and tall, strapping frame looking comically folded up as he sits on the bench beside her murmuring softly, his thumb stroking the back of her hand in a soothing rhythm while his other brushes her hair back off her forehead.  “It’s going to be fine, Lass.”  He keeps repeating, “They know what they’re doing.  The wee one will be alright, don’t you worry,” so often that Belle begins to think fondly that it’s as much to reassure himself he isn’t losing them as it is to calm her.

           Storybrooke is not that big, and so it isn’t long before they come to a sudden halt at the ER doors of the hospital on the other side of town.  She feels herself lifted out on the gurney, and Liam is jogging beside them to keep ahold of her hand, answering as best he can any questions the doctors and nurses ask him about what has happened.  When they are about to push through heavy double doors into surgery is when the doctor in charge finally tells Liam he can’t go any further with them.  The last thing clearly tethering her to definite reality is loosed when he has to let go of her hand, and though Belle hears the calm reassurance he forces into his voice, promising he will be right there waiting for her when she comes back out, she still feels herself begin to drift away, unmoored without his centering presence; the fear and hurt taking over.  Not only does she fear for the life of this child – the little girl she has been anticipating – who has given her hope to carry on, but now even with Whale and several nurses, anesthesiologists, and personnel swarming around her like bees in a hive, she feels alone and isolated in her vulnerability.  Even if it all comes out alright, Rumple can get to her now, and she knows it.

           “Belle… Mrs. Gold?... Belle!” she hear Dr. Whale’s voice calling out to her seemingly from much further away than it should be, along with a persistent, annoying beep from one of the machines surrounding her that she realizes vaguely is attached to her somewhere.  She’s being given a warning impossible to follow right now. “You have to calm down!  Do you understand me?  You need to calm down!”

           It does feel as if the beat of her heart is pounding, ricocheting, against the wall of her chest cavity, banging and fighting to get out.  But there doesn’t seem to be anything in her power to stop it. A few more seconds and she feels the prick of a needle in her skin.  Finally, things begin to slow, everything grows even hazier, less distinct, and further away.  She closes her eyes and lets go…

~~~~~0000000~~~~~~0000000~~~~~

           The library is deserted, though in disarray as his love would never normally leave it – teacups and books and a golden tea rose strewn across the reference desk as if they had all picked up and vanished in seconds, which this silent intruder in the Beauty’s sanctuary knows is quite close to the truth.  Watching hidden and unseen in the disused antique elevator, the shadowy Dark figure that now emerges and walks calmly over to the vacated counter has witnessed the entire panicked interlude, but seen no reason to interpose his assistance and give away his presence – not just yet.  There is more he hopes to gather in information while they are all distracted.  Though his warning reunion gift yield a more dramatic and troubling effect than he intended, he senses that Belle is in good hands for the moment and will recover. For all Dr. Whale’s deplorable personal habits and erstwhile reputation, he actually is a quite capable doctor; if he hadn’t been before Regina’s curse, the constant danger and upheaval of Storybrooke has made him into one.

           No, Rumplestiltskin lets the smooth, cunning pirate brothers, the Savior, and his grandson care for his wife for the moment – though he will make sure all of them but Henry pay later for getting anywhere near her, for supporting her in what he senses is a growing resolve to leave him for good.  His chance to find and take the object he seeks is now, and the moment to reclaim his erstwhile love and safeguard both she and his unborn child will come soon enough.  He can bide his time.  He may be many things in both his original realm and this one, but impatient has never been one of them – not when waiting and planning his attack will achieve the maximum amount of damage to his enemies.

           In the long, shallow drawer that pulls out near where Belle often sits on long afternoons, the Dark One locates the hiding place of the key he seeks.  Moving to pull out the drawer, he finds it locked, much to his own consternation. Only pausing a few seconds, a sinister sneer parts his thin, pointed face as a bit of the eerie sing song of his Enchanted Forest persona slides into his voice, while with a flick of his wrist the lock is broken and the drawer slips free to bare its contents for him as he chortles, “Sorry Dearie, you may be clever, but you’ll have to do better than that.” 

           Deft fingers close tightly around the talisman he sought, the door is closed and locked once more.  Then with a last, self-satisfied glance around the large open room, he murmurs to the echoing stillness. “I’ll be back soon, Belle. Wait and see.”  Snapping his fingers, Gold vanishes in a puff of smoke as easily as he had appeared.  He is willing to bide his time until the opportune moment – the moment that will strike the rest of them to their core until they cannot respond to stop him. After all, he has all the time in the world.

Tagging a few who may enjoy:   @whimsicallyenchantedrose @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable @bromfieldhall @dramawiie @kmomof4 @drowned-dreamer @mossandmushroom @laschatzi @ps1473-4 @galadriel26

#ouat ff #liam jones #belle #canon divergent mc fic

[stars-forever-dwell-blog1]

The Questions of Procreation and Continual Self-Creation

When I was seventeen and I thought about my future, I always would breezily reply to the question of children that yes, I definitely wanted them one day. I considered myself a very nurturing person, and I was at the time. The trouble was, I didn’t know how to channel my nurturing instincts in healthy ways, so instead I drew in a string of lost boys looking for their Wendy, and I was only too happy to play the part. Until, of course, true to their natures, they cast me aside with nary a backwards glance when I proved to be less magical, less perfect, than they initially imagined. “And thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless.” And I, being a self proclaimed Wendy, a total Manic Pixie Dream Girl, couldn’t admit how much it hurt, or how draining it was. Until I couldn’t handle it anymore, and was forced to actually think about my own health and balance. And believe me, I refused to for as long as I could hold out. Because one of the gifts of womanhood is mothering, and mothers are selfless, yet are powerful and filled with joy and love at the same time. Uh huh. So me being me, I ran with this idea until I ran myself into the ground. I really had no idea what being a mother actually meant in the first place.

So after this highly dramatic and nauseating stage of my life, when I was around twenty two, I decided on just a grandiose scale that I did not, in fact, ever want kids. And that was that.

I’m thirty two now, and this subject has been on my mind a lot lately. My boyfriend (as of recently fiance) wants “kids.” Not necessarily multiple tiny humans, but the idea of kids. Most likely one.

And my sister has twin boys who are two and a half, and they have definitely made me question my decision a lot. Namely because I adore them to the moon and beyond.

Now, I am not a “baby person.” When I’m at the grocery store and some kid is screaming because they want whatever crappy toy is all bright and shiny and conveniently located so as to illicit the very reaction they’re so loudly displaying, I get annoyed and go to a different aisle. When I see a kid with a snotty nose and sticky crap all over him or herself, all I feel is a mildly insane urge to giggle, because it’s not my problem. And when I see a woman walking around with a self satisfied sense of entitlement because she’s a mother and I’m not, or if she’s clearly expecting me to gush over how supposedly cute her baby, well. . .I think she need to get over herself. (I’m totally not saying that all women do this, but I’ve seen some who do). Being a woman isn’t defined by our choice to have children or not. It’s so much more than that, and my choice is just as valid as hers.

And yet, somehow, when my nephew Lumen is lying face down on the living room floor screaming at the top of his very admirable lungs because there are no more muffins for his snack, or his brother Cypress is squatting in the snow wailing because he’s cold and tired of walking because he’s getting over the flu (even though he was just wailing two minutes ago because he was tired of sitting in his stroller and wanted to walk, dammit), and my feet feel like they are slowly turning into blocks of ice, somehow my heart still manages to become, and remain, a very squishy pile of auntie-goo. Or it’s storytime / bedtime at the end of my fiance’s and my first day visiting for Christmas, and we haven’t had a chance to even look at each other all day because of Christmas and toddler insanity, and I’m about to quietly leave the nursery to go spend a few minutes talking with him before he passes out, when Lumen looks up from the book that my sister is reading to him  and his brother and says, “Auntie, stay,” I am literally powerless to do anything else. Or on the last morning of our visit when I tiptoe into the nursery to peek in on Lu and Cy before we leave, assuming they’re still asleep, and I discover that Cy is lying in his crib, just waking up and repeating my name over and over. And when he sees me all bundled up ready to leave, he demands, “Jacket off!” because he wants me to stay. . .well, I can’t even describe what this does to my heart. Like the Grinch, it grows three sizes.

So all this love and squishiness has really got me thinking. If I feel this way about my nephews. . .how would I feel about a baby of my own? And if I really, truly don’t want kids, then why is it that if you were to ask me how I would celebrate Christmas, Easter, Hallowe’en, teach my kid about spirituality and religion, what kind of schooling options I would want for them, what kind of care I would want during my pregnancy and afterward, what kind of diapers I would use, and if I would make my fiance wear one of those fake boob thingies so he could experience breastfeeding as closely as possible. . .would I have a very well thought out and researched answer for you?

Shit.

So, maybe I want a kid after all. The thought of it excites and terrifies me. Is this normal?

The terrified part is normal. I know. But maybe not for the reasons that I’m experiencing it.

I’m terrified for all the normal reasons, like wanting a safe world for my kid, but also because I just kind of always had it in the back of my head that my kid would view me the way I viewed my parents. Not good. We always had horrible relationships, and the only reason my mother and I get along now (relatively) is because I’ve chosen to just let go of waiting around for an apology, because I know I’m never going to get one. I’ve chosen to forgive her; not because what all she did is cool with me, but because walking around angry and bitter all the time was hurting me. And still, she doesn’t understand. And my dad’s passed away, so that’s somewhat irrelevant, at least for now.

So what if my kid became a teenager and just stopped respecting me, stopped giving a shit about anything I said, much in the same way I did with my parents? I guess it’s always a possibility. But there are things you can do to build a strong relationship based on trust and respect, can’t you? I think so. I never trusted my parents. They weren’t trustworthy. They didn’t really ever listen to me or understand me. They never sought to understand depression. Despite my total lack of regard for their so-called wisdom and authority, I still managed to stay in school, not have sex till I was 19, and never touch hard drugs – something that I feel very strongly about never doing. And yet somehow, my father – a trained, educated counselor – accused me once in my early twenties of being a drug addict. Because I was moody, unhappy, jumping from job to job, and “always broke.” I love how that was the conclusion he came to. I can think of ten different reasons for a twenty one year old to be experiencing all those things.

But I digress. I just would never want to be that kind of parent. So ridiculously out of touch and ignorant to what the fuck is going on with my kid. But I don’t think I would have to be. You don’t have to get old in your mind. You can stay awake, stay aware, ask questions, be humble. My parents read a million “child psychology” books before my sister and I were born, and figured they had all the answers.

Another thing this questioning as of late as thrown into perspective for me is my ridiculously cynical world-view. I realized that I basically have no hope for the human race.

I just look around and see all the bad shit going on in the world – the lack of care and respect for the earth, the animals, each other. The murders, the torture, the rape, the insanity. How people like David Suzuki have been patiently repeating themselves for decades, to no avail. And I ask myself, when will it all stop? When will people wake up? What is it going to take? How far gone does the earth have to be, how many species have to go extinct, how much war and pain does there have to be for the people “in power” to stop and say, “There has to be a better way than this.”

And so I don’t want to bring a child of mine into a world like this.

But I guess, maybe by raising children who are Good People is the way to change things? But I don’t believe in bringing a child into the world with my own agenda attached to him or her. I think parents need to let their kids be who they are – not try to mold them into whatever they want them to be. All I’ve wanted since I was two years old is to work with horses. I have a picture of myself in my aunt and uncle’s barn when I was a toddler, an oversize riding helmet on, sweeping the floor. It’s awesome. But my parents decided that “there’s no future in horses!” so they put my in piano lessons, swimming lessons, gymnastics, tap, ballet, jazz, and pretty much anything else you can think of. Like there’s a ton of money to be made in any of those professions? Not likely. So for my whole life I’ve had this burning inside me, this rock-solid determination that one day my horse dreams will come true! I don’t care if I’m fifty years old, it’s going to happen. Some people have told me it’s already too late, which seriously sucked. But I chose to ignore them and keep going. Because it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Nothing is going to stop me. (Not even a baby?)

But I digress again. Another fear is of losing myself. Because having a child is the most selfless thing you can do. As my sister says, “You’re never Number One again.” Because of my depression and sensitivity, I am high maintenance for myself. I have to spend a lot of energy every day making sure I am okay, in balance. I have to check in, have tea parties, sometimes lie down and spoon myself until I feel safe again.

And I write. Writing is what I do – even when I’m totally not doing it as much as I should be. Even when I’m playing hooky from writing, writing is what I do, who I am. And a big part of my process as a writer is sitting quietly and listening to what the stories have to tell me. If I don’t listen, if I try and force my own ideas onto the developing tapestry of the story, it doesn’t flow like it should, because it’s not true. Much like forcing a kid into ballet when they would rather be doing dressage. It doesn’t flow with the music of their soul. And if I lose my focus, my quiet time, my ability to listen. . .will I still be me?

I think some women are okay with losing themselves for their children. Or maybe they see having children and raising them as themselves. Much like I feel about riding and writing, it’s their calling, their homecoming. But I’m just not willing to give up the pieces of myself that I have worked fucking hard to have. My depression has made a lot of my life up until now suck. I have missed out on so many opportunities. I am in my early thirties and am just now starting to ride and fulfill my equestrian goals. I should be so much further than I am. But I’m not.

So. How do I balance it all, juggle it all? Is it even possible? To be a good mother and a good rider, a good writer? A happy person? A healthy person? A woman?